ALERT.’
Azrael felt his pulse quicken as he leaned over and tapped at the screen.
‘MILITARY VEHICLE,’ the machine announced. ‘FOUR-POINT-TWO KILOMETRES SOUTH-SOUTHWEST, HEADING 21' 44'' 03'''.’
‘Excellent,’ he said under his breath. ‘Coming straight this way. Something to make this all a little more interesting.’
‘IDENTIFY VEHICLE,’ he tapped into the PTP. The machine sent an instruction to the uplink. The ‘borrowed’ Russian satellite analysed the approaching vehicle, photographed it and found its thermal signature. It then sent this information to the PTP. The data was displayed on the screen. Azrael read it. ‘A troop carrier,’ he said to himself. ‘Driver, co-driver, six troops in back. ETA 2 minutes 6 seconds.’
He leapt from the car, ran around the front and slid into a narrow space behind the control panel of the Collector. His fingers flitted expertly over an arrangement of keys as he kept his eyes fixed on a digital display showing operational parameters. A whirring sound came from deep within the latticework platform as a series of electric motors turned the structure. Numbers flowed down the digital display and Azrael made some final adjustments to the angle of the launchers.
He glanced at his watch. It was one minute to nine. Turning back to the screen, he tapped two more keys then lifted his binoculars to view the horizon and the distant towers of Dubai. From this distance they looked like a clutch of stalagmites projecting upwards from the floor of a cave. A haze of pollution hung over the city and just above the desert floor, super-heated sand shimmering.
Azrael checked his watch again and moved his index finger a few centimetres upward, letting it hover over a red button slightly to the left of the centre of the console.
He felt the plastic against his skin and relished the extra- ordinary sensation of possessing power over life and death. He wanted the moment to last forever. But then if it did, he thought, no one would die and that would never do. He pushed down, hearing a click as the device engaged.
14
‘ALERT. ALERT,’ the PTP in the Land Cruiser screamed at him but the exhilaration of the moment made him momentarily deaf. He ran around the front of the car and saw the army truck approaching. It was kicking up sand, driving fast along the narrow sandy track he had himself taken.
Azrael reached the driver’s seat and stabbed at a control on the dash. He heard a couple of bolts snap on the roof followed by the sound of the aerodynamically designed plastic pod sliding from the roof-rack and thumping to the sand behind the car. Jumping out, he glanced to his left and saw the truck was now only a few hundred metres away.
Close to the back of the Land Cruiser, Azrael yanked on the lid of the box and a metal framework span away from the case. He pulled on a cord to one side of the frame and the arrangement untangled itself. The muddle of spindly poles and cross-beams, metal cylinders and specially designed sand-tyres snapped into place. It was a mini-motorbike, powered by a xenon difluoride battery that worked in conjunction with a powerful solar cell. Azrael pulled a plastic tag from a pouch in his commando pants, leaned into the machine, inserted the tag in a slot just under the handlebars and pushed the ignition button. The bike burst into life.
He jumped on and tore away. Fifty metres from the Land Cruiser, he glanced back to see the truck approaching the missile launchers. He left the track and hit the desert, hearing the rumble of the engine as its powerful four-wheel drive cut through the sand. Gunshots rang out through the desert air. A bullet flew past his right ear. He slipped the bike into a lower gear and squeezed on the gas.
A second bullet whizzed past him, closer this time. He pushed on the accelerator some more, shoved his right hand into his commando pants again and withdrew a slither of black plastic. He turned quickly. The army truck pulled up
Azrael felt his pulse quicken as he leaned over and tapped at the screen.
‘MILITARY VEHICLE,’ the machine announced. ‘FOUR-POINT-TWO KILOMETRES SOUTH-SOUTHWEST, HEADING 21' 44'' 03'''.’
‘Excellent,’ he said under his breath. ‘Coming straight this way. Something to make this all a little more interesting.’
‘IDENTIFY VEHICLE,’ he tapped into the PTP. The machine sent an instruction to the uplink. The ‘borrowed’ Russian satellite analysed the approaching vehicle, photographed it and found its thermal signature. It then sent this information to the PTP. The data was displayed on the screen. Azrael read it. ‘A troop carrier,’ he said to himself. ‘Driver, co-driver, six troops in back. ETA 2 minutes 6 seconds.’
He leapt from the car, ran around the front and slid into a narrow space behind the control panel of the Collector. His fingers flitted expertly over an arrangement of keys as he kept his eyes fixed on a digital display showing operational parameters. A whirring sound came from deep within the latticework platform as a series of electric motors turned the structure. Numbers flowed down the digital display and Azrael made some final adjustments to the angle of the launchers.
He glanced at his watch. It was one minute to nine. Turning back to the screen, he tapped two more keys then lifted his binoculars to view the horizon and the distant towers of Dubai. From this distance they looked like a clutch of stalagmites projecting upwards from the floor of a cave. A haze of pollution hung over the city and just above the desert floor, super-heated sand shimmering.
Azrael checked his watch again and moved his index finger a few centimetres upward, letting it hover over a red button slightly to the left of the centre of the console.
He felt the plastic against his skin and relished the extra- ordinary sensation of possessing power over life and death. He wanted the moment to last forever. But then if it did, he thought, no one would die and that would never do. He pushed down, hearing a click as the device engaged.
14
‘ALERT. ALERT,’ the PTP in the Land Cruiser screamed at him but the exhilaration of the moment made him momentarily deaf. He ran around the front of the car and saw the army truck approaching. It was kicking up sand, driving fast along the narrow sandy track he had himself taken.
Azrael reached the driver’s seat and stabbed at a control on the dash. He heard a couple of bolts snap on the roof followed by the sound of the aerodynamically designed plastic pod sliding from the roof-rack and thumping to the sand behind the car. Jumping out, he glanced to his left and saw the truck was now only a few hundred metres away.
Close to the back of the Land Cruiser, Azrael yanked on the lid of the box and a metal framework span away from the case. He pulled on a cord to one side of the frame and the arrangement untangled itself. The muddle of spindly poles and cross-beams, metal cylinders and specially designed sand-tyres snapped into place. It was a mini-motorbike, powered by a xenon difluoride battery that worked in conjunction with a powerful solar cell. Azrael pulled a plastic tag from a pouch in his commando pants, leaned into the machine, inserted the tag in a slot just under the handlebars and pushed the ignition button. The bike burst into life.
He jumped on and tore away. Fifty metres from the Land Cruiser, he glanced back to see the truck approaching the missile launchers. He left the track and hit the desert, hearing the rumble of the engine as its powerful four-wheel drive cut through the sand. Gunshots rang out through the desert air. A bullet flew past his right ear. He slipped the bike into a lower gear and squeezed on the gas.
A second bullet whizzed past him, closer this time. He pushed on the accelerator some more, shoved his right hand into his commando pants again and withdrew a slither of black plastic. He turned quickly. The army truck pulled up
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