* * * *
Ali stepped off the airplane and took a deep breath of American air. It tasted foul to his nostrils, something he had already anticipated. Naturally, the Americans had fouled the air as they had fouled everything else they had touched. He ran a hand through his coal black shaggy hair and took a tentative step down the steps to the tarmac. He thought it ironic that with all of America’s fabled riches, the airport he had flown into had been so scaled back that he had to actually walk across the tarmac to get to the terminal.
The economic crisis that had shaken the world had caused most airlines to go out of business. Most of the flights, either domestic or international, were now run through national militaries. The effort to fly him into the United States from Pakistan had been enormous. Nearly a million US dollars had been spent to secure an aircraft, achieve clearance, obtain the proper documentation, and set up a fake, but believable backstory.
The Americans were paranoid—and rightly so. Economic collapse or not, America was still the enemy of many Muslims, and they needed to be taught a lesson. Still, Ali reflected, the cost to just get him to American soil had been prohibitive. But he had been well trained. His twenty years of life had been spent in training camps and intensive study for this mission. He spoke English fluently as well as three other languages. He hadn’t come to die. He was no suicide bomber. He had come to establish terror cells in the disenchanted population.
Shouldn’t be hard, he reflected. He took long strides towards where a security guard was waving him and two other passengers towards a checkpoint. His tall, thin frame and dark skin clearly reflected his nationality, but then America was rich in diversity—one of the reasons they had been the first to collapse, Ali guessed. Without a national identity, without a cohesive moral structure, all you had was anarchy. These Americans thought themselves so superior, and it was the supposed backwater nations that had remained strong in the worldwide economic collapse. Pakistan now stood as one of the strongest countries in the world.
Ali grinned and tugged the sleeves of his white shirt straight. The guard, looking bored, waved him through the door of the practically deserted Washington Dulles Airport. Inside, he found more guards and a metal detector. No problem there. He hadn’t come armed with anything except what he had retained in his mind.
Still the presence of the United States Marine Corp did take him back a bit. Unexpected this, he thought. He paused and let the other passengers and the airplane crew move past him so that he was last in line. No matter. He had been trained to deal with unexpected situations. Easing his breathing, he appeared calm and relaxed.
He addressed one of the Marines standing nearby. “When did the Marines get posted to airport security? Has something happened?”
The man shrugged. “Orders is all. We’re testing out a new security system.”
“New?”
“Yeah.” The Marine pointed to a strange looking device mounted on the ceiling. It was pointed at the metal detector. Everyone had to pass under it.
“What does it do?”
“Dunno. I just do what I’m told. I’m told to stand here.”
“Well, you’re doing a marvelous job at it, I must say.”
The Marine scowled good-naturedly. “Everyone’s a clown.”
Ali returned a friendly smile. His training had served him well. He knew these heathen Americans liked such bantering. Part of his training had required him to befriend several Americans visiting Pakistan over the last few years. He had learned their humor, their manner of thinking, and how they interacted with each other.
The first passenger passed through the metal detector and under the new scanner. Nothing happened and the guards didn’t react. The man walked to where a few more guards stood over the luggage—no doubt every bit of it had been thoroughly checked and double checked before being allowed into the terminal.
He studied the new scanner, but nothing about it revealed its purpose. His instructors had said that the Americans were testing new security devices all the time, but if he just stayed away from any weapons, they would have no reason to detain him. His record was squeaky clean and his face, prints, and DNA appeared on no database. He was just a student, traveling abroad at the behest of rich parents. Very rich. Who else could afford such a trip in these times?
The second person passed through without creating any reaction from the Marines, and that’s when Ali saw him. The man stood like a trained killer—something Ali was very familiar with in the training camps back in Pakistan. He wore no uniform, and stood off to one side holding a small terminal that he studied whenever someone walked through the metal detector. This was the man in charge. His plain civilian like clothing made Ali think of the secret police in his own country, but these soft Americans didn’t have anything like that. So who is this man?
Ali tried to study the man obliquely, lest the man notice and become suspicious. But his examination proved fruitless. The man, even indoors, wore sunglasses that hid his eyes. His plain t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes could be found in nearly any department store in America—though doubtless it was the best America could produce these days. The Marines avoided him like the plague. They stood or watched the crowd at a distance from the man. When they did move, they made a point in walking around the man.
The Pakistani bit his lower lip and edged forward as the line shrank towards the metal detector. It would be his turn to pass through soon. He didn’t worry about being caught, but it did bother him that the Americans had ramped up their security protocols. This had been unanticipated. He decided to take an extra couple of weeks to scout out these measures and determine if they were city wide or just at points of entry into the country.
Ali found himself standing in front of the scanner. He removed his shoes, belt, ballpoint pen, keys, and wallet, placing them in the tray the security guard held out to him. He then walked through the metal detector with nary a squeak from it. So far so good. He eyed the civilian and something about the man’s posture made Ali nervous. The man was no longer leaning against the wall. He now stood, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, though he was still looking at the device in his hand.
The security guard approached him with the tray of his things. “Your possessions, sir,” the man said, holding it out towards him.
“Just a moment,” ordered another voice.
Ali looked up to see the t-shirt man moving towards him. The device had been slipped into a protective pouch and he didn’t seem otherwise armed, but Ali noticed the Marines edging closer at the man’s words, hands tightening on rifles. What just happened?
Putting on his most disarming smile, he turned towards the man approaching him. “Problem, sir?”
“Aye. You are under arrest for potential terrorism.”
Only his training kept the shock from being displayed on his face. How could he know? His eyes flicked up to the unknown scanner hanging above his head. “What is this absurdity? I have done nothing wrong.”
The man nodded, seemingly sad about that truth. “I know. It is not what you have done. It is what you are going to do. Your name is Ali Kha You were trained to infiltrate America, set up terror cells and ferment dissension wherever and whenever you can.”
“This is preposterous! My name is not—”
“I speak of your real name, Ali, not the false name on your passport.”
Ali swallowed. “No. I am a student sent here by my parents to learn about America and attend one of your schools! Is this how you treat guests in your country? I protest! I demand to know who you are. What is your name?”
The man shrugged and pointed towards the device above their heads. “That device is a Ts2 scanner. It has the ability to read brainwaves like we read books. It then translates those readings into images—images you see in your mind is reproduced here.” He patted the handheld device attached to his side. “In essence, what you see, we see. You were thinking of your training, of your mission. We saw it all. As for my name, it is John Dale.??
?
Ali grew cold. He couldn’t believe it. This was insane! When did the Americans get such a device? When? He cleared his throat and shifted his stance. He had no choice now. “I really don’t know what you are talking about. This device you speak of—” and he pointed up to get everyone else to look too. That’s when he made his move.
He lashed out with a foot that caught the Marine on his right side in the face, flinging him backwards and over a row of empty chairs. He then spun and grabbed the Marine on his left and jerked him close, using a crushing elbow strike to stun the man while he went for the man’s sidearm.
He succeeded in freeing the sidearm. Shoving the Marine away he spun to bring the weapon to bear on John, who he figured was the most lethal threat. He was right. Stiffened fingers intercepted Ali’s arm, hitting him with such force just inside the elbow that his arm went numb. The gun fell from nerveless fingers.
Ali reacted with brutal swiftness. His instructors would be pleased. He delivered an elbow strike to John’s head, a knee to the man’s groin, and a crippling punch to the man’s solar plexus. Or he would have if John hadn’t efficiently and smoothly blocked each attempt. John then dropped, spinning with terrible speed to sweep Ali’s legs out from under him with an outstretched leg.
The youth fell hard, striking his head on the floor hard enough to see spots in his eyes. Before he could recover, he found John kneeling over his prone body, with two fingers digging deep under his chin.
“Are you quite through?” the tall man demanded. “You seem to be trained to fight, so you doubtless know what I can do to you from this position. It’s up to you, of course, but I suggest you stop your struggling and let this nice young Marine over there put handcuffs on you. Or you can keep on fighting and I will do it—though I doubt you will remember me doing it by the time I’m done.”
The would-be terrorist swallowed hard. He did not doubt the man could do just what he promised. He nodded his head in surrender.
“Good choice.”
John rolled Ali over, and the young man found his arms quickly handcuffed behind his back. His right arm was still numb, but Ali felt more angry than anything else. This new technology would doom every attempt they made to infiltrate America. And no one would know. He didn’t doubt they would toss him in some dark hole somewhere. The Pakistani embassy would make inquiries, but the Americans would just scratch their heads and shrug.
The situation was intolerable!
“What is this new technology?” he demanded after he had been pulled to his feet.
John shrugged. “I told you about all I know—about the technology that is.”
Ali’s eyebrows furrowed. “What else then?”
“This technology is a collaboration effort between a variety of countries. We are testing it just now, but the facts are these. When the Ts2 finds a criminal—”
“I am not a criminal! I have done nothing wrong.”
Dale removed his sunglasses. His eyes looked sad. “This is no longer true. With this device, we can detect people who intend harm. International law now brands such a person a criminal. You have already been tried and convicted, Ali. Your sentence is death.”
Ali’s face paled. “This is not right!”
John’s eyes narrowed. “I never said it was, son.”
“What will be done with me?”
“The device works. This is clear. But we have another problem. Until everyone knows about it, knows that it works, and understands that if they have violent intentions they will be caught and prosecuted, we will have a massive influx of arrests. Our jails are already at capacity—all around the world. So my superiors have thought of another solution. Your death will be made into a public spectacle. There will be no trial. No presentation of the evidence. No prolonged waiting. You will be taken here to another airplane where you and your fellow prisoners will be taken to an island. You will then most likely die, horribly, for the entire world to witness.” John’s sad eyes looked away. “Hopefully your deaths will convince the world that violence will no longer be tolerated.”
The Pakistani prisoner could just stare at John in stunned silence. He had never heard of such a thing. “Is what you say true?”
“Aye, son. It is.” John turned to the Marines. “Take him away.”
Ali couldn’t make his legs move. Neither could he find the strength to resist as the two soldiers grabbed him under the arms and literally dragged him away. John donned his sunglasses again, hiding those sad, uncomfortable eyes.