Scourge was almost as large as a Patriot 3 used by armies around the world and requiring a truck-sized launch platform. It could deliver a relatively small warhead but one with an explosive power equivalent to 450 kilograms of TNT â a destructive force comparable to a cruise missile. Travelling at a fraction over 1000 kilometres per hour, the Scourge would reach its designated target from Azraelâs location in approximately 128 seconds, a little over 2 minutes.
Azrael had just pulled himself into the driverâs seat of the Land Cruiser to complete the set-up procedure and had switched on the car battery to power the telemetry and guidance initiators, when he heard a burst of noise coming from the PTP. He glanced over and saw the screen light up with red lettering. âALERT. ALERT. SATELLITE TRACKING HAS LOCKED ONTO APPROACHING UNIDENTIFIED GROUND VEHICLE. ALERT. ALERT.â
Azrael felt his pulse quicken as he leaned over and tapped at the screen.
âMILITARY VEHICLE,â the machine announced. âFOUR-POINT-TWO KILOMETRES SOUTH-SOUTHWEST, HEADING 21' 44'' 03'''.â
âExcellent,â he said under his breath. âComing straight this way. Something to make this all a little more interesting.â
âIDENTIFY VEHICLE,â he tapped into the PTP. The machine sent an instruction to the uplink. The âborrowedâ 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. âA troop carrier,â he said to himself. âDriver, co-driver, six troops in back. ETA 2 minutes 6 seconds.â
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
âALERT. ALERT,â 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 driverâs 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.
Azrael had just pulled himself into the driverâs seat of the Land Cruiser to complete the set-up procedure and had switched on the car battery to power the telemetry and guidance initiators, when he heard a burst of noise coming from the PTP. He glanced over and saw the screen light up with red lettering. âALERT. ALERT. SATELLITE TRACKING HAS LOCKED ONTO APPROACHING UNIDENTIFIED GROUND VEHICLE. ALERT. ALERT.â
Azrael felt his pulse quicken as he leaned over and tapped at the screen.
âMILITARY VEHICLE,â the machine announced. âFOUR-POINT-TWO KILOMETRES SOUTH-SOUTHWEST, HEADING 21' 44'' 03'''.â
âExcellent,â he said under his breath. âComing straight this way. Something to make this all a little more interesting.â
âIDENTIFY VEHICLE,â he tapped into the PTP. The machine sent an instruction to the uplink. The âborrowedâ 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. âA troop carrier,â he said to himself. âDriver, co-driver, six troops in back. ETA 2 minutes 6 seconds.â
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
âALERT. ALERT,â 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 driverâs 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.
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