He turned to Ramón, who stood waiting anxiously. “Tell Manuel to take his six best men and position them for surveillance near the northern edge of the compound. They are not to engage the soldiers unless they reach us.” He twisted his head and looked at the map that outlined the perimeter’s defense system. The old Claymore mines were buried just beneath the surface of the jungle floor in a three-meter band that circled the entire complex. It had taken them over two months to lay the three thousand mines, and for three years now, they had remained undisturbed.

“Activate the compound mines and inform the men to stay clear.” He swung to Ramón. “Do it!”

Ramón left quickly.

Abdullah rounded his desk and sat carefully. The room was silent except for a slight scraping sound that came from the bugs in each corner. They were hard-shelled species that clung to each other’s backs with long bipeds.

It was time to send another message. The Americans had never felt terror, not really. Not lately. They had never had their limbs severed or their wives raped or their children killed. So now he would change that.

Where was Jamal?

What if Yuri’s bomb did not detonate? Abdullah shuddered and closed his eyes. Sweat soaked his collar, and he ran a hand across his neck.

Someone walked into his office and Abdullah opened his eyes. The room seemed to shift off center before him. Everything doubled—two doors, two Ramóns. He twisted his head and blinked. Now there was one. He lifted wet palms to the desk and set them before him. A fly settled on his knuckle but he did not bother it.

“Where are the bombs?” he asked.

“The boat with the larger device should be entering Chesapeake Bay now. It will be in place with time to spare.” Ramón’s voice quaked—he was afraid, Abdullah thought. Imagine that, afraid.

“The Lumber Lord is still off Florida’s coast, going north.”

Abdullah nodded. At his right hand the black transmitter sat facing the ceiling.

“Send a message to the Americans,” he said quietly. “Tell them that they have thirty minutes to withdraw their men from the valley.”

He ran a finger over the green knobs. His world had slowed. A drug had entered his body, he thought. But even the thought was slow. As if he had slipped into a higher consciousness. Or possibly a lower consciousness. No, no. It would have to be a higher state of mind, one that approached greatness. Like those boys marching off to their death on the minefields.

“Tell them that if they do not withdraw the soldiers, then we will detonate a small bomb. Don’t tell them it will trigger the countdown for the larger one,” he said, and his fingers trembled on the box.