Terror is here now; we seek justice a notre maniere
Terror is here now.
They had planned well in advance. The work men arrived on time with suitable clothes. Their mood was buoyant, they want to be dervishes. They had smoked earlier they eyes glistened. Their passes were given the once over. The entrance had been opened half an hour before. They got in and cleared the months of grim and dust and surface water that had seeped into the gallery. The plastic and gas canisters were in a blue hold all that Dimitri was guarding like a hungry Cossack.
The plan was simple, the execution deadly. It had to come from the vents. Their spur and motivation was about anger at the infidels who, in Allah’s name, had recently cost the lives of two hundred Americans in the space of eight months. If this was a tit for tat reprisal it was well rehearsed. Dimitri was a skilled bomb disposal expert and had a degree in mechanical engineering. Sergey was a coach of the highest caliber and if group timing was important, he was its architect.
All four would finish, tidy away and leave on time. Signs were erected inside the tunnel. These were laminated and fluorescent plastic cards. Their lingua franca was slang English masked in heavy guttural accents. They wanted to arrive and leave undetected. The conference had attracted people interested in the war on terror. Ogor had downloaded images of those expected to be there when the explosions were timed to set off.
They worked in silence, each aware of the task and consequences. The canisters were taken out, placed in plastic flammable bidons. The tip of each was connected to wires. These were connected to a remote control and linked to a cell-phone which could be activated at a maximum distance of 200 metres. Three canisters and bidons were placed at right angles on each of three columns, half a metre in length, and 3 metres in depth. The timers on each were set for ten a.m. Dimitri placed the remaining three canisters on the central pillar, as he burrowed his way along the channel. When this collapsed under the impact of an explosion, the domino effect would follow.
The timers were set for ten thirty. This was a security measure and an escape clause for the pair. The opening time was the moment when most would rush to claim their places on the first six floors. They were fearlessness in motion and bent on justice. They were all tired to the back teeth of wet politicians. They were no fans of sloganising. They disliked cold bloodied murder.
They thought if the men in power cannot deliver safety and prevent mindless killing and maiming, this would be an example of common justice. They were a team of four, spoke many languages and were trained in other arts.
Lip-reading was a skill. It was a gift when in times of extreme stress. The voices outside suggested all was a normal day. They could be anybody in the world, arrive and leave undetected. They would leave no calling cards. Sergei and Dimitry were the two leaders. They earned and commanded respect; Olga and Anton were loyal and could be trusted. They questioned only if they sensed imminent danger. Now, they were alone in a subterranean workspace. Organization was key. They were childhood friends and were in the third decade of life. They had shared the pain and pleasure of a life spent together.
Nothing was a secret outside personal rapports. They were conscious of prying. Speed was crucial; pace was important; timing and accuracy essential. When they emerged in workmen’s overalls, they gestured to each other. Their clothes were visible testaments to hard work. They disappeared from view. They would meet at midday.
The first explosion sounded muted; dust billowed from the area. The second, timed to happen thirty minutes later would cause important material damage. They heard the wailing sirens. Using heat detecting binoculars, Anton raised the thumb of his right hand. This indicated success. There were injuries. The pact had been to cause maximum material damage and strike fear in the minds of terrorists. They wanted the minimum of bloodshed.
