Though he did not know it, the shaheed at Kloten Airport was not alone. Two other suicide bombers had been dispatched to European airports that morning—one to Madrid’s Barajas Airport and another to Schwechat in Vienna—and all had been instructed to hit their detonators at the same instant. The martyr in Madrid was one minute late, but his comrade in Vienna did not explode his weapon until 9:35 Central European time. Investigators in Austria would later determine that the martyr, for reasons known only to himself, had stopped in an airport café for one last Viennese coffee before blasting himself to Paradise.

Yusuf Ramadan was made aware of the bombings at 9:38 while stuck in the midmorning traffic along the Seine. It was not Abu Musa who broke the news to him but the production assistant from France 2 who a few moments earlier had escorted him from the building. It seemed that the station was planning extensive coverage of the terrorist attacks and was wondering whether Ramadan would consider spending the day as a paid consultant and commentator. He immediately agreed without bothering to ask the fee and, ten minutes later, was taking his seat once more on the set.

“Welcome back, Professor Ramadan. What do you think these latest attacks mean?”

“They mean that the United States had better open a channel of communication to the Sword of Allah soon,” Ramadan said. “Otherwise I’m afraid a good deal more blood will be shed here in Europe.”

Chapter 29

29

COPENHAGEN: 3:03 P.M., TUESDAY

They decided a crash meeting was in order and settled on Copenhagen’s airport Hilton Hotel as a suitable site. Adrian Carter arrived first and was sitting in the lounge bar as Gabriel and Sarah strode into the lobby. He directed them toward the elevators with a weary glance, and a moment later they were huddled around the television in Carter’s junior executive suite. Carter turned up the volume very loud. The room had been swept by CIA security, but Carter was a traditionalist when it came to matters of tradecraft and, like Gabriel, regarded electronic gadgetry as a necessary but unfortunate corruption of a once-noble art.

“Zurich, Paris, Vienna: three airport attacks, identical in design and perfectly coordinated.” Carter, staring at the images of carnage and destruction on the screen, shook his head slowly. “One hundred and twenty-nine people confirmed dead, five hundred injured, and Europe’s air transport system in tatters.”

“And what about Europe’s politicians?” asked Gabriel.

“Publicly, they’re saying all the right things: deplorable, barbaric, outrageous. Privately, they’re pleading with us to make a deal with the devil. They’re telling us to end this thing before more blood is shed on their soil. Even our close friend at Downing Street is beginning to wonder whether we should find some way of negotiating our way out of this. The Sphinx, whoever he might be, is a mass murderer and a ruthless bastard, but his timing is impeccable.”