Day Zero (25 page)

T
he others met Tang at the forward lavatories on the upper deck as soon as they were free to move around. Each carried two spare camcorder batteries in their pockets. Seen as normal Ni-Cad batteries under X-ray examination, they were able to power a camcorder for a short time if TSA had asked to turn the thing on. The bulk of their interiors was dedicated to the storage.

Apart from the detonator, which was still in Lin’s possession, the device would be comprised of two ingredients. When mixed together and stuffed into Ma Zhen’s ingeniously shaped carrier, these ingredients would become exponentially greater in power than the sum of their parts.

The men disappeared one by one into the lavatories, carrying out a surreal ballet as they retrieved their portion of the bomb components, and then passed it over to Ma. Each face had the silent resolve Tang had seen in the countenance of Tibetan monks who had set themselves on fire to protest Chinese policies. They knew what they were doing and were determined to do it right. Even Gao, the piggish tough, who’d become the de facto security man for the group, had a sweet earnestness about him as he stepped into the lavatory for his turn in the process.

The stress of waiting wore heavily on everyone. Hu’s hands shook, Gao’s eye twitched, and Ma snapped angrily at the slightest question or suggestion. Tang had to force himself to calm after the panic brought on by Lin’s recent bouts of faux happiness. This was no time to lose focus.

The device was relatively small, capable of bringing down the plane only if placed in the correct location. If it went off early, while it was being assembled, Tang and the other ran the risk of doing little damage but to themselves. If they lived through the explosion, they would be badly maimed prisoners of the United States government for the rest of their miserable lives—if they weren’t beaten to death first by angry passengers.

Hu, Ma Zhen, and Tang carried the primary explosive, a compound known as PETN. Experts sometimes pronounced it “
petin
.” It was an acronym for pentaerythritol tetranitrate, in the same chemical family as nitroglycerin. An ingredient of the commercial plastic explosive Semtex, PETN had been around since before World War I. It was more stable than some of its sister compounds and its quality of giving off a very low vapor trail made it a favorite for terrorists to try to tuck into all sorts of interesting places like Richard Reid’s shoe or Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab’s underwear.

Gao’s batteries carried the second component, the powdered metal that would add heat to the PETN’s explosive power. Altogether there was a scant twelve ounces of material—just enough to fill a soda can. According to Ma Zhen, twelve ounces would be plenty.

Ma had chosen PETN for its shattering force—known as
brisance
. And unlike the Shoe or Underwear bombers, who had tried to use conventional fuses or liquid igniters, Ma had designed an actual electric shock detonator, utilizing the flash attachment from a large DSLR camera.

Once assembled, the device would be marginally larger than the shoe bomb Reid had tried to use on the Paris to Boston flight. In theory, the pressure differential outside the aircraft would help rip a hole in the fuselage—but the man from Pakistan did not want to depend on theory. Ma Zhen had added another component to his device that would double its effective power—something they wouldn’t have to smuggle because they could easily get what they needed once on board the plane: water.

Once it was well mixed, Ma would pour the PETN and powdered metal into a flat, plastic case that resembled a mini tablet computer. This slightly malleable explosive tile would be nested between two plastic hip-pocket water flasks, one concave and one flat, each roughly the same dimensions as the tablet.

The resulting shape charge would turn the water in the concave flask into a liquid blade, slicing like butter through the thin metal fuselage of the Airbus. Pressure differential would do the rest, sucking loose objects and people out the gaping hole. Tang wanted his wife sitting as close as possible to the initial explosion, mercifully sparing her from the long minutes of terror and panic as the plane fell from the sky.

 

 

Eyes closed, with her seat almost fully reclined, Lin heard a rustling beside her. She thought Tang had returned and ignored the sound until she heard a different voice, higher and more tentative. For a fleeting moment she thought it was her daughter, Mei Li. Her heart swelled, but when she turned, it was the little girl with blue eyes from the airport.

“Mattie, right?” Lin pushed the button on her armrest so her seat slid upright.

The child nodded, smiling wide enough to show her missing front tooth. Her face glowed because Lin had remembered her name.

“You should not be here.” Lin craned her head to look up the aisle, terrified of what her husband would do if he came back to find her speaking with this little one. “Where is your father?”

“Reading a motorcycle magazine and worrying about me,” Mattie said, still grinning. “I made you something to cheer you up.” She handed her a piece of carefully folded notebook paper.

Lin opened it up to find the symbol
Shu
ngx
–
double happiness
—drawn in Mattie’s youthful hand and colored with a red marker. She held it to her chest.

“This is . . .” The words stuck in her throat. She swallowed back a sob. “This . . . is much . . . too kind.”

Lin started to say more, but the little girl leaned across her armrest and wrapped both arms around her neck. She held on the way Mei Li had once done.

“I hope you can be happy,” Mattie said, her face pressed against Lin’s neck.

The plane gave a sudden shudder. Lin clutched at the girl to keep her upright. For a moment, she feared her husband had detonated the bomb in another part of the plane. When she realized they’d only hit more turbulence, her heart sank even more. Tang would soon return with the device. If she did not detonate it as planned, he would only do it himself. This little angel reminded her so much of Mei Li. It was unthinkable to kill her.

The plane gave another violent lurch. An overhead bin fell open, dumping a leather briefcase into the aisle. The seat belt chime rang, seeming even more urgent amid the commotion.

“My dad will be worried about me,” Mattie said. She didn’t seem afraid, only aware of her father’s concern. “I should go back to my seat now, but I’ll come see you again.”

“No!” Lin shook her head, horrified at the thought of putting little Mattie near the bomb. “We will talk more when we land,” she lied. “Too many bumps for now.”

“Okay,” Mattie said, reaching to give her one last hug. “I hope you can cheer up.”

Lin watched the precious child run toward the stairs that would take her to the lower level and back to her father, a man who surely would do anything to protect her. The journey would take her past Tang and the others. She groaned within herself, hoping he would be too focused on his task to notice a child.

Lin wracked her brain for a way out. If she spoke up, they would still detonate the bomb. That was far too dangerous. Her husband would return any moment. He was a good man. She knew that. Perhaps she could talk to him, explain the way she felt and buy this child some more time. Lin cared little for the other faces on the airplane, and nothing for her own life. Her sorrow was a stone against her soul that could not simply be removed by a hug or a piece of paper with a childish symbol—but she would not stand by and watch this sweet little girl die.

 

 

Gao was still in the lavatory when the plane began to pitch violently. Waiting outside by the bulkhead, the bucking knocked Tang sideways, shoving him into a wide-eyed blonde as she stumbled out of the adjacent lavatory. The woman gave him a cold glare and muttered some invective oath in Russian. The rumbling continued, as if the pilot had decided to drive over a field of large stones. Hu and Ma had to lean against the wall to keep their feet.

“This will pass,” Tang said. “Go back to your seats before someone sees us loitering together.”

A bony man wearing the red vest of a flight attendant made his way toward them, eyebrows raised, chiding them for disregarding the seat belt sign.

“Go now,” Tang whispered.

Ma checked his watch. His face was pinched into an angry wedge, but he turned to go before the attendant could tell him to. Hu ducked down the front stairs, back to his seat on the lower deck.

Tang wasn’t sure what Gao would do if everyone left him alone. He waited as long as he could, smiling politely to the advancing flight attendant. Behind the lavatory door, Gao banged around as if he was in a fight, letting loose a string of vehement curses.

The seat belt sign chimed again as if to emphasize the need to be seated. The plane continued to rattle and shake. The flight attendant hustled up the aisle.

“Sir, the captain has ordered everyone back to their seats.” The attendant looked at him with raised eyebrows and the half smirk of a little man who thought he had unfettered power over another.

Tang gave a polite nod toward the lavatory. “My friend is sick.” He spoke in halting English, acting as if he’d not fully understood.

Gao’s cursing was easy to hear, even over the rattling airplane.

“We’ll look after your friend,” the flight attendant said. “But you have to return to your seat.”

The restroom door levered open and Gao poked his head out like a camel nosing its way into a tent. His face was pale and slack as if he might actually be ill.

“Your seats, gentlemen.” The attendant shooed them both on their way, then turned his attention to other passengers now that they were moving in the direction he wanted them to go.

“I dropped it,” Gao groaned, grabbing seat backs to steady himself as he shuffled down the aisle.

Tang stopped dead in the aisle, blocking his way. His voice was deadpan, deflated. “What do you mean, dropped it?”

“The powder,” Gao said. The squat man was on the verge of tears. “It was very cramped in there. I removed the lid carefully, just like you showed me, but the plane began to jump around. It’s cramped in there.... Anyway, I dropped it.”

“Wait.” Tang’s chest tightened. The walls of the plane seemed to close in around him. “You lost the powder?”

Gao nodded, hanging his head. “Most of it spilled out when the batteries hit the floor.”

Tang found it difficult to see. He could hardly think. “Could we sweep it up?”

“I tried,” Gao said, stricken by guilt. Nervous blotches mottled his skin from his neck to the top of his head, visible under the short stubble of his haircut. “The rubber tile on the floor is porous, made with tiny lines and cracks for drainage. The powder sifted away before I could retrieve it.”

Tang could do nothing but shake his head. Gao, who barely understood the gravity of what had happened, was already beside himself with guilt.

Another flight attendant in a red sweater stalked up the aisle from the galley, herding them back to their seats.

Tang nodded meekly, belying the turmoil in his gut. He shuffled forward like a condemned man, not even trying to dodge the knees and elbows that blocked his path, ignoring the protesting grunts of other passengers.

His brain was racing by the time he made it back to his seat. “Let me think,” he said to Gao. “We will speak with Ma Zhen when this stops. There is always a way.”

Gao gave a somber nod. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “Truly.”

Tang shooed him away with a tight smile, the best he could muster under the circumstances. “We will speak to Ma,” he said again, because he did not know what else to say.

Back in his seat, Tang buried his face in his hands. He pressed against his eyes until he saw shooting lights and felt the welcome, calming pain.

Could it all be lost so easily? They had all left letters implicating the Chinese government in the attack. If left alive, they would all look like fools, until they were hunted down and killed for their parts in the useless conspiracy. He sighed, resigning himself to living his remaining days in shame. It made sense. This was the fickle Allah who had taken his daughter.