Phondesh noticed that as the three of them used the crystal together, it served to decrease their own probability factor. The more trusting the human psyche, and thus, the more in unity with other humans, and with Wisdom, the more trusting their individual atoms became in releasing the probability factor and opening the hole to hyperspace. This was a unique quality of human DNA that isn't present in Zondon or Glaat nor any other life form in the universe -- only by the Supreme One Himself, and his unique creation, the human.
The probability factor in the other life forms tends to remain constant. Humanity is capable of decreasing it simply by trusting and flowing.
This, of course, begged the question: why was the probability factor among humans this planet so much greater than life in the other parts of the universe? There just wasn't a logical answer.
Chapter 19
Muhammad brought the passports and set them on the table.
'The Canadian passports are better for U.S.,' he said. 'They hardly check them at all, If anything goes wrong, you have the S.A. passports to fall back on -- but only in an emergency. They are for a further assignment you will be briefed on after you've delivered your package. Be discrete with them. Whatever passports you are not using, keep in the hidden compartment in your bag. Here are the papers you are to present to the immigration officials at the Kabul airport. There, you won't need to show your passports. As for your original passports, I would recommend never using them again, as you're names are high on the watch lists, and you would be immediately apprehended at most ports of entry.'
Then he left.
'It just gets worse!' sighed May Lin.
Ernie observed, 'No wonder they trust us so! We've got credentials as international terrorists!'
'Thanks to Doctor Ah Beng, ah?'
'It's a wonder what enemies in high places can do for you, isn't it!'
'Did I her him say something about another mission?'
'We may have to use our Zondon powers to elude them when we get to New York.'
Later, Aziz brought the tickets and other information. He handed Ernie a slip of paper.
'The first address is that of Hussein Haq. The second is the contact information where you will receive your next assignment. I suggest you memorise the addresses and the words you are to say, and what to expect in reply, and then destroy this. You will depart in one hour. As you leave this compound, wear your local outfits but be ready to change into your western clothes.'
They got ready. A car took them out the gate of the compound, then into the down town area where the driver told them to get off and enter a shop. Inside, an old man showed them to a back room where there were toilets.
'Change clothes here, please,' he said.
They changed, and he led them out a back door into an alley, and then through the back door of a shop opposite, which turned out to be a guest house.
A young man, who looked like he was guest house staff, said, 'Sir, your car is ready.' They got into the waiting car as though they were guests.
Any spy agencies trying to keep track of them would have surely lost them by now.
At the airport, they handed over the papers Muhammad had given them, and they were directed to the small jet sitting near the terminal.
While taxiing, the plane had to veer left and right in a few places to avoid potholes caused by shelling. The runway seemed to be in better condition.
After a bumpy fight, they arrived in Dubai. There, they stayed in the transit lounge for six hours before the Emirates flight departed. The wait was deliberately scheduled, they were told, to compensate for any possible delays when leaving Kabul. There was also to be a two hour wait in Frankfurt.
While waiting for the ongoing flight, Ernie decided it would be a good idea to memorise the names in their passports. According to their Canadian papers, they were Scott and Barbara Jones, and son, Ross. In their South African, they were Geoffrey and Kathleen Walker and son, Geoffrey jr.
* * *
A man in a black suit who could have easily passed for a local, entered the departure lounge holding a boarding pass he had just managed to get after pulling a few strings. He looked about the room full of waiting passengers until he saw the ones he thought fit the description: a European looking man with his hair in a pony tail, a Chinese looking woman, with a boy who could be a mixture of the two, but could also pass for an Afghan. His information didn't say what, exactly. The skull cap would have suggested an Afghan, but that would beg the question as to why he was travelling with a European and a Chinese. Perhaps it was a souvenir.
He took a seat some distance away where he could keep an eye on them.
* * *
What was it about the Great Pyramid and the Sphinx? Ibrahim wondered, as he examined the travel poster to his right. He knew them from his classes in school, but now he was trying to remember whether he hadn't also had a dream about it recently.
* * *
The passengers boarded. The plane taxied and took off.
'Everything okay, Mrs. Jones?' said Ernie to May Lin.
'Everything's just fine, Mr. Jones,' she answered. Her hand landed on his.
Ernie thought her hand felt good on his, and gave it a squeeze.
She gave his a squeeze in return, and didn't bother to take it away -- until she saw Ibrahim's big eyes peering around Ernie from the window seat.
She abruptly let go. Ernie looked around and saw Ibrahim smiling at him shyly.
In Frankfurt the man at the transit counter gave them coupons for refreshments, so they sat in the coffee shop until their ongoing flight was called.
As often happened on a long international flight, Ernie began to take notice of a few of their fellow travellers, particularly ones who happened to be waiting for the same connecting flight. There was that family with the unruly children who had sat across from them in the Dubai departure lounge, and had sat just four seats ahead of them on the flight. Now, they were sitting at the next table in the refreshment lounge -- at least the parents were, while their two boys ran up and down the corridor, getting in constant trouble, and their little sister screamed her head off. They were obviously from New York, by their speech. Probably glad to get home. Then there was the grandmotherly looking woman, now sitting on the other side of them, who had had the problem with her carry-on luggage. Two tables over was the man in the black suit. Was he an Indian or an Arab? His features weren't definite. He could also pass for an American. He was holding his pen in a peculiar way, clicking it occasionally. In the corner of his eye, Ernie notice him gazing in their direction, so he looked up, only to see him suddenly look away. Probably embarrassed at being caught staring.
Finally, their flight was called and they boarded.
'I really would like to know what sort of message this is we're carrying,' said May Lin, as the plane lifted off.
'I think it might be something evil,' said Ibrahim. 'I could hear them talking about jihad all the time in Kabul, but they only talk about killing their enemies.'
'I thought that was jihad,' said Ernie.
'My Papa says war with the infidels is only a small part. Jihad is really the struggle to conform to Allah's will in one's own soul. Some things can be done in the name of good, but it becomes evil, if you don't follow Allah's will.'
'Very wise papa you have,' said Ernie.
'Zondon wisdom,' added May Lin.
After a pause, Ernie said, 'I wonder if we can look inside the envelope without making it look tampered with?'
'We should at least try,' said May Lin.
'How can we do this?'
'You two go into the toilet, and if it's in Arabic, Ibrahim can read it.'
Ernie and Ibrahim went to the back of the plane, and found a vacant toilet. Once inside, Ernie pulled out all the contents and set them in the sink. Then, he carefully pulled out the brown envelope. It was sealed, but the glue holding the rest of it together was old, and came apart without tearing.
Inside they found s
everal pages, hand-written in ink, in Arabic, except for one page that consisted of a diagram drawn in pencil, obviously a floor plan of a public building. There were two points marked with the Latin characters, 'A' and 'B'.
Ibrahim began reading and translating into Zondon.
Operation 'Pig Slaughter' is to commence on the 15th. The details you have been downloading and decrypting, you should be able to understand fully by applying the following pages of instructions. Once having done so, you are to take that, along with this packet to a Mr. Habib Islami, a security guard at the New York Stock Exchange. He knows the whole building through and through, as he was placed in that position by our friends. He has been instructed, once he has so familiarised himself, to simply do his duty as a security guard until he receives the information in your possession, along with this packet.
Once having thoroughly studied the contents of this packet, and using it to fill in the gaps in the information you have been receiving so far, take that, along with this packet to Habib. You will find him at guard station 'B' on the diagram on the next page. Be careful. There are two guard stations. The guard at station 'A' is also an Arab, of Morocco, but knows nothing of our cause. To double check that you have the right one, you must first ask his name, and then, say, 'Great is the honour of Allah.' If it is indeed Habib, he will answer, 'And we will avenge His honour.' He has remained secretly at his post for many years, waiting for this moment.
Allah Aqbar!
As the other pages were useless without the original material presumably in Hussein Haq's possession, they didn't bother with that.
Ernie took a pencil from among the things in the sink, and erased the 'A' and the 'B' in the building plan, and rewrote them the other way around.
Ibrahim couldn't refrain from giggling.
Then, he carefully inserted the pages back into the envelope. The residue of the old glue stuck fast, once a bit of saliva was dabbed on, and soon they had the envelope looking untouched and back in the bottom of the carry-on bag. They took their things out of the sink and put them back into the bag, and then returned to their seats.
* * *
The man in the black suit was enjoying his moment of triumph. Obviously, the hidden brown envelope with the scribbling on the front was something important. He had managed to click a photo of that along with the man in the toilet who had been opening the contents, by inserting the flex-tube attachment of his pen-shaped digital camera into the crack in the door. The angle was wrong, so he didn't see what was written on the document, but he got a recording of the boy reading it to the man. He didn't recognise the language -- it wasn't Arabic -- but surely there were experts who could translate it.
Chapter 20
The flight was long but uneventful. They finally landed at John F. Kennedy Airport.
Their Canadian passports were readily accepted, and they went through. There was a limo waiting to take them to the hotel where the kind gentlemen in Kabul had made a reservation for them.
After a good night's sleep, Ernie, with Ibrahim in tow, went off to find the address they had been given. They found a taxi, Ernie showed the driver the address, and they were off.
All the way Ibrahim gawked at the street scenes of New York. At first, the size and style of the buildings had his attention. Then, he began looking at the people, who were even more amazing.
The taxi took them to a brownstone townhouse in Manhattan. They went to the door while the taxi waited.
After they rang the doorbell, a Middle-Eastern looking man answered.
'Hussein Haq?' Ernie enquired.
'Hussein Haq!' yelled the man towards the kitchen. 'You have visitors!'
Hussein Haq came and invited them inside. He seemed like a refined, educated gentleman and so thoroughly adapted to the west that it was hard to picture him performing the act indicated by the pages in the brown enveope.
As soon as they were seated in the lounge, Ernie leaned forward and said, 'Allah calls His messengers.'
Hussein immediately changed his composure to one of deep solemnity. He leaned forward and said, almost in a whisper, 'The servants of the prophet heed His call.'
That was the cue.
Ernie took the envelope out of his shoulder bag and handed it to him. Hussein took it with both hands.
'You will stay for brunch?' he said. 'We'd be most honoured.'
'I'd really like to,' answered Ernie, 'but I'm afraid we have a lot more we must do in so short a time.'
'I understand. I don't want to waylay the messengers of Allah.'
He saw them to the door, and said in a reverent tone, 'Allah be with you.'
After a reception like this, Ernie felt almost guilty about the next destination.
'Wall Street, New York Stock Exchange building,' he told the cabbie.
Another trip ... more sights ... more shocks...
Once there, Ernie went in, Ibrahim following as close as he could, at the same time looking at everything about them.
Ernie remembered the diagram well enough. They first went to make sure station 'B' was where it should be. There was the middle eastern looking man. Then, they went to station 'A'.
Sure enough, the guard there also looked middle eastern.
'Are you Habib Islami?' Ernie asked him.
'No. Habib is stationed at the other entrance.'
'Then, you must be the gentleman from Morocco
'I am,' he answered.
'Does this phrase mean anything to you -- er -- Ibrahim?'
Ibrahim piped in, '"Great is the honour of Allah".'
The guard answered, 'That's Arabic for "Great is the honour of Allah".'
'This is extremely important,' Ernie went on. 'It has to do with a planned terrorist attack involving the New York Stock Exchange building.'
The Moroccan man listened closely.
'Sometime in the next day or so, a middle easterner named Hussein Haq will approach you. I have arranged it so that he will mistake this station for that one where Habib is. When he asks you, you are to answer that you are Habib Islami. He will say the phrase my son just quoted to you. You are to answer -- er -- Ibrahim?'
'"And we will avenge His honour",' Ibrahim said, in turn.
The Moroccan man wrote it down.
'Hussein will give you some written instructions and a plan, which I suggest you turn over immediately to the F.B.I. along with this address.'
He further described Hussein to him. The Moroccan man looked unsure of himself.
'An alternative plan,' said Ernie, 'is to call the F.B.I. first, and then explain to them what I told you, and get their co-operation.'
'But why didn't you contact the F.B.I.?'
'I'm in middle of a high level assignment myself and I can't afford the delay,' was Ernie's answer.
The man agreed.
At that, Ernie and Ibrahim returned to the taxi and went back to the hotel. On the way, Ernie persuaded Ibrahim to try a kosher hot-dog. 'Kosher', he told him, was American for 'halal'.
The food here was good, but Ibrahim was beginning to miss Afghan cooking. There were also the other aspects of Western life that took getting used to -- in fact, he hoped he wouldn't ever get used to it. If one's eyes could give one indigestion, Ibrahim was positive he would have it.
That evening, they caught another flight, westward.
* * *
The man who had worn the black suit on the flight from Karachi was almost kicking himself. Why hadn't he gone ahead and run the changing light after the taxi? Now he had lost them, and didn't see them again until they returned to the hotel later that afternoon -- without the envelope.
But he did manage to get their names and passport numbers. He uploaded the digital photos he had taken during the flight into the file he had opened for the Jones family, and then uploaded that, in encrypted form, to the main server via the Internet. The file was tagged, so that the descriptions and images would be immediately compared to any other incoming data.
* * *
While waiting for their flight, Ernie decided to email his old school chum:
To: Boz
From: Ernie
Subject: Change of email address
Hey Boz...
Thought it was time I got in touch with you. Sam sent me your email address. I don't know if he sent you mine or not, but I've changed it. The new one is in this email.
Is your dad still staying with you? Give him my regards, and also that wife of yours. I might come out there some time. Maybe we could get together.
I also have a big favour to ask you. I did mean to get in touch before I needed the favour ... really, I did. It's just that I've been rushed.
The favour: Could you check discreetly at the Dusit Thani Hotel, and see if they have a guest there named Dr. Nicolai Stanovitch? He was staying in room 733. When I say discreet I do mean discreet. He's not someone you want to know up close. Please take my word for it. Maybe you could even hire a detective to do the asking, if you know of any. If you do, I wouldn't mind paying for it. In fact, it would also be nice to know what he's up to.
'What's this all about?' you're asking. I can't tell you the whole story, but it's led to my flying most of the way around the world. I have reason to believe the doctor is up to no good in a major way. This isn't paranoia or anything, but based on facts I've actually stumbled on.
I hope I don't sound too spooky.
cheers...
Chapter 21
The fifteenth came and went, and as far as everyone in California knew, it was business as usual at the New York Stock Exchange. The Dow Jones index did take a dip, but that was due more to something about Bill Gates than either Islamic terrorists or evil galactic empires.
While the rest of the world debated whether Microsoft was in fact the evil empire, Ernie, May Lin and Ibrahim were rolling past forests and farmland in their used motor home. They had bought it in Denver, where they had decided that doing their own driving would be easier on Ibrahim than travel by bus or train. It saved money on both travel and lodging, and it wasn't altogether uncomfortable. The cab was big enough fit all three sitting side by side in the front. They generally sat there together, as May Lin gave Ibrahim English lessons, or talked about this or that, or simply enjoyed the scenery.
Ernie had to get used to both driving such a large vehicle, and doing it on the right side of the road. Fortunately, the passport also came complete with an international drivers licence.