“Going in,” he whispered.
The access door was thick and unlocked. He turned the handle and eased it open six inches, just enough space to glance inside. A set of metal stairs descended into shadows. The only light was the sun, peeking over his shoulder. Time was precious, so he didn’t hesitate. He slipped through the gap and closed the door. He was instantly swallowed by darkness.
Instincts told him he had nothing to fear, that Schmidt and his men wouldn’t be sitting in the dark, waiting to strike. Manpower was too valuable. So Payne slid his hand along the wall until he found a switch. One flick of his finger and the room filled with fluorescent light.
Gun in hand, he eased down the stairs, step by step, scanning his path for booby traps. From there, he shifted his focus to the room itself. Equipment and supplies were scattered along the perimeter wall, nothing that posed a threat or seemed out of place. Then, and only then, did he turn his attention inward, focusing on the object that dominated the center of the room.
The water tank was the size of a small bus. Supported by steel cables attached to the building’s frame, it appeared to hover in space. Payne was familiar with the basic principles of tuned mass dampers—skyscrapers sometimes swayed several feet in the wind, and TMDs were designed to counteract that, acting like a pendulum—but he had never seen one like this.
If Schmidt had filled one of these with jet fuel, an explosion would be catastrophic. Not only from the force of the blast, but also the lingering effects of the burning fuel, which would pour over the roof like a waterfall of fire, dousing millions of pilgrims, literally melting them in the streets. The prolonged heat would be so intense that the steel columns in the tower would start to melt and buckle. Couple that with the added sway from the disabled TMD and a pancake effect would occur. One floor would fall upon the next, which would fall upon the next, until the whole building collapsed in a pile of rubble. Just like the World Trade Center.
The impact and the debris and the panic and the fire would turn the Great Mosque into a war zone. No one would be safe. No one would be protected. Chaos would run rampant in the city.
It would be the worst man-made disaster in history.
Payne tried to block those thoughts from his mind as he searched the room for explosives. It didn’t take long to find one. Made out of C-4, it was molded to the northern side of the tank and armed with a timed detonator. At first glance it appeared to be a simple design, one he could disarm by separating the explosive from the device, but Payne knew things weren’t always as they seemed, especially in the world of munitions.
Who knew what kind of trigger was concealed?
Just to be safe, he decided to get a second opinion.
“Device located. I repeat, device located in building two.”
There was a slight delay before Jones’s voice filled his earpiece. “Location?”
“Attached to a water tank in the mechanical penthouse.”
A crackle of updates filled his ear as the remaining soldiers scrambled to check the penthouse tanks in their assigned buildings. Once things calmed down, Jones spoke again.
“Type of device?”
“C-four. Armed with a timed detonator.”
“How much time?”
Payne stared at the mechanism. “Good question. The timer is covered in the housing.”
“Any triggers?”
“You tell me.”
Jones paused. “Sorry, I can’t see any from here.”
“No shit. I meant, what should I be looking for?”
“You’re in the penthouse, right? Don’t worry about mercury switches or tilt detonators. There’s too much sway up (here to risk it.”
“What would you use?”
“A hidden tripwire. I’d attach it to the water tank from the back of the casing. That way, if someone removed the device, it would detonate.”
Payne looked closer and spotted everything that Jones had described. A thin green wire dangled out of the device, affixed to the tank with some kind of epoxy. “Okay. I found one.”
“You did? Then you owe me lunch because I just saved your ass.”
“Not a problem. Tell me what to do and the falafel are (in me.”
“Do you have any tools? A screwdriver? Anything like I hat?”
Payne smiled. He reached up his sleeve and pulled a blade from its sheath. “I have a knife.”
“Of course you do,” Jones said with a laugh, well aware of Payne’s fascination with knives. “With one hand, hold the wire steady against the casing. Do not let it pull away.”
“Okay.”
“With your other hand, use the knife to pry the wire off of the tank.”
“That’s it?”
“But don’t cut the wire.”