Nano by Sam Fisher Page A

torch, and walked quickly away towards the hatch in the side wall.

21
    He watched her tumble into the opening and quickly pull herself to her feet. She checked the door was closed and then smeared petroleum gel around the seam where it sank into the wall. There was no lock on the door but she hardly imagined they would need one.
    â€˜Done?’ she asked.
    â€˜Done. You?’
    She merely smiled, turned and led the way along the narrow corridor that ran parallel to the tunnel.
    The room had been located and prepared in advance. Two chairs, some food, gas masks, antitoxin (just in case), a map and weapons. It was all a precaution. If everything went according to plan they should be out in a few hours.
    Everything was ready.

22
    22 kilometres south of Dubai, 9.10 am
    â€˜Good morning,’ Azrael said over an encrypted video link.
    There was a delay on the line, he looked around him for a second. Sand as far as the eye could see, not a single discordant feature, no sign of civilisation – just how he liked it. The bodies of the eight dead soldiers who had had the nerve to pursue him lay in the bloodied sand 8 kilometres back.
    â€˜No amusing hats and scarves today, Azrael?’ War said, then exploded with a high-pitched laugh that went on and on.
    Azrael said nothing, his face expressionless.
    Finally, War managed to control himself. ‘Good news, I hope?’
    Azrael had no visual of War, just his irritating, permanently amused voice. ‘That would depend upon whether or not you were in the Tower, I suppose.’
    War started up again, an inane chuckle coming down the line. Azrael could imagine the repulsive great slug shaking on his sun lounger. He had seen some rare press photographs of the man.
    â€˜I downloaded these images 60 seconds ago from a news helicopter that has arrived at the scene.’ Azrael depressed a button on his phone and War received the video footage of the burning Cloud Tower, black smoke billowing from one side.
    Azrael heard War clap his hands together. ‘Oh my. That’s just . . . just . . . beautiful. Don’t you think?’
    Azrael took a deep breath. He’d never met War but he would have loved to slit his fat throat . . . slowly.
    â€˜Right,’ War was saying. ‘So far, so good. My friends will be very pleased. And,’ he tapped at the screen of his tablet computer, ‘your second payment is now in your Swiss account. Congratulations. I assume everything is ready for Phase Two?’
    â€˜It is. And the first payment for that work?’
    â€˜Ah yes,’ War responded with a brief chortle. ‘How silly of me.’ More taps on the touch-sensitive screen. ‘And . . . that’s now keeping the rest of your fees company. I have calculated that the first E-Force planes will be arriving at the Cloud Tower in little more than an hour. Contact me as soon as Phase Two has been successfully accomplished.’ The line went dead.
    Azrael clicked shut his video phone and slipped it into the top pocket of his sweat-stained shirt, pulled back on the throttle of the mini-desert bike and shot away. Following a sat nav built into the handlebars of the bike, he set a course northwest. A red light began to blink on the screen. He made a few minor adjustments, keeping the source of the signal directly ahead. Four minutes 23 seconds later, he was very close to the source. Removing a small metal detector from his backpack, he eased himself off the bike and stood, stretching for a moment. Then he switched on the detector and located the precise position of the source in the sand.
    He found the control panel half a metre beneath the surface of the desert, wiped away the final grains of sand, keyed in a memorised alphanumeric and stepped back. Azrael heard a high-pitched whine and the sand around the control panel began to vibrate. Taking a couple more steps back, the terrorist watched as a narrow opening appeared in the