The Doctor opened the case and removed the bricks of plastic explosives, each individually wrapped in navy-blue plastic and weighing two and a half pounds, or approximately one kilo. When he had finished stacking the bricks, he chose one and peeled off the thick wrap. The plastique was colored a bold, unmistakable orange. Semtex.
He knew what it was capable of, the destruction it could inflict. In an enclosed space, even a large auditorium, the effects would be impressive.
Four vests used in unison in such a space.
The Doctor could only imagine the result.
All this Abdul Al-Obeidi had told him. Borgia had been grateful for his enthusiastic narrative.
He turned to General Sabbatini. “Shall we go through it one last time?”
“The plastique will be cached in an empty fuel reservoir next to the principal dormitory. At last count, the place is filled to bursting.”
“How many?”
“Eight hundred in a building meant to house one hundred fifty.”
“Have you identified any agitators?”
“Easy enough. All they do is complain, the lot of them. Not enough food. Not enough soft drinks. Their rights aren’t being respected. We have no right to hold them so long. Some are more vocal than others.”
Borgia handed Sabbatini a piece of paper folded in half. “A list of phone numbers. Make sure they are on the agitators’ phones…even if they don’t have one yet.”
Sabbatini slipped the paper into his breast pocket. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Their quarters are inspected several times a day. Guards have duplicate keys for all the lockers.”
“Will your men be on the island?”
“Security on Lampedusa is handled by a private contractor. My troops will helicopter in upon receiving word of the incident. I have it on good authority that we will receive a tip that another attack is about to occur.”
“There will have to be casualties,” said Borgia. “Italian blood must be spilled.”
“At least it will be quick. A warrior’s death.”
“Patriots,” said Borgia.
“It will appear as if the agitators detonated the Semtex themselves. Later the pistols and grenades will be found, what’s left of them. It will be all the proof we need.”
“More than enough, one hopes.”
“And Melzi, our distinguished minister of the interior?”
“Everything is set for Torino. His men have identified several terrorist cells. The cells have been provided similar stores of explosives and weaponry. The chemical signature of the plastic explosives will be the same across the board. It may take a few days, a week even, but there will be no denying a high level of coordination between the groups. Only one conclusion can be reached.”
“A revolution,” said Sabbatini.
“A failed revolution.” Borgia’s phone rang. His sister. He sent the call to voice mail. The phone rang again. “Will you excuse me, Massimo? Family.”
“Of course.”
Borgia walked out of earshot. “What is it, Beatrice? Really.”
She was hysterical. “Hadrian is dead. He killed himself. He jumped, Luca. He jumped.”
“’Trice, calm yourself.” Borgia turned and saw that Sabbatini was watching him intently. It was critical he not betray the slightest worry. “What do you mean, he’s dead? I spoke with him earlier.”
“He had been beaten. His face…his eye. There was blood on his shirt. He walked right past me and jumped.”
“Jumped? I don’t understand.”
