Scarecrow by Matthew Reilly Page A

trigger. With an explosive whump! , a mortar round shot up into the air vent, disappearing up it at rocket speed before . . .
    . . .  BOOM!!!!
    Six hundred metres above them, the mortar round hit the camouflaged lid that capped the air vent, blasting it to smithereens. Debris rained down the vent, smacking to the ground, at the same time as a shaft of natural grey light flooded into the cavern from above.
    When the rain of debris had cleared, Gant stepped forward again, and surrounded by her team, erected a new device, a much smaller one: a compact laser-emitting diode.
    She flicked a switch.
    Immediately, a brilliant red laser beam shot up into the vent from the diode, disappearing up the chimney, shooting into the sky.
    â€˜All units, this is Fox,’ Gant said into her radio mike. ‘If you’re still alive, pay attention. The laser is set. Repeat, the laser is set. According to mission parameters, the bombers will be here in ten minutes! I don’t care what else is happening in here, let’s clear out of this mine, people!’
    At the Marine compound outside the mine, a communications officer abruptly sat up straight at his console.
    â€˜Colonel! We just picked up a targeting laser coming from inside the mine! It’s Gant’s beam. They did it.’
    Colonel Walker stepped forward. ‘Call the C-130s, tell them they have a laser. And get evac crews to that mine entrance to pick up our people as they come out. In ten minutes that mine is going to be history and we can’t wait for any stragglers.’
    Gant and Mother and the two Marines with them turned together.
    They were still behind the Al-Qaeda barricade and now they had to get back to the Allied one and then beyond it to the sloping entry shaft.
    They didn’t get more than a few yards.
    No sooner had they started moving than they saw a stand-off taking place just in front of the Al-Qaeda barricade, at the edge of no-man’s-land.
    Four Al-Qaeda holy warriors stood surrounded by a six-man squad of the Black-Green Force, caught in the beams of their MetalStorm rifles.
    Gant watched from behind the barricade.
    The Black-Green Force’s squad leader stepped forward, pulled down his ski-mask to reveal a male model’s square jaw and handsome blue-eyed features. He addressed the terrorists. ‘You’re Zawahiri? Hassan Zawahiri . . .’
    One of the Al-Qaeda men raised his chin defiantly.
    â€˜ I am Zawahiri,’ he said. ‘And you cannot kill me.’
    â€˜Why not?’ the Black-Green squad leader said.
    â€˜Because Allah is my protector,’ Zawahiri said evenly. ‘Do you not know? I am His chosen warrior. I am His Chosen One.’ The terrorist’s voice began to rise. ‘Ask the Russians. Of the captured mujahideen, I alone survived the Soviets’ experiments in the dungeons of their Tajik gulag. Ask the Americans! I alone survived their cruise missile attacks after the African embassy bombings!’ Now he started shouting. ‘Ask the Mossad! They know! I alone have survived over a dozen of their assassination attempts! No man born of this earth can kill me! I am the One. I am God’s messenger. I am invincible !’
    â€˜You,’ the squad leader said, ‘are wrong.’
    He fired a burst from his MetalStorm rifle into Zawahiri’s chest. The terrorist was hurled backwards, his torso torn to mush, his body all but cut in half.
    Then the handsome squad leader stepped forward and did the most gruesome thing of all.
    He stood over Zawahiri’s corpse, drew a machete from behind his back, and with one clean blow, sliced Zawahiri’s head from his shoulders.
    Gant’s eyes went wide.
    Mother’s mouth opened.
    They watched in horror as the Black-Green commando then grabbed Zawahiri’s severed head and casually placed it in a white medical box.
    Mother breathed: ‘What kind of fucked-up shit is going on