them and convinced them of the merits of the plan had said exactly that. “It is a perfect plan, and you are the perfect team to see it through.”
“It is time, my brother,” Ibrahim said, starting the engine and steering the boat into the harbor. “To sea the brothers Kifta sail––and to glory.”
“I am feeling truly wonderful,” Mustafa said as the wind cooled his face. “We wil have accomplished that which most thought impossible, Ibrahim. This is truly Jihad. And our actions wil gain us a new respect from our fel ow Jihadists.”
Jupiter’s many passengers were giddy from hours of sightseeing and enjoying the nightlife, courtesy of Casablanca’s world-famous hospitality. The mammoth vessel slipped away easily from the dock with the help of both bow and stern thrusters and then headed to sea. Its main deck was fil ed with people enjoying the sea breeze as much as Mustafa Kifta who was not a mile away. The great ship crept along the harbor channel and gradual y picked up speed. The vessel was in good company, as colorful fishing boats of every size moved in and out of the harbor, their running lights twinkling like stars dancing across the water. Some of the boats were coming home, fat with fish, while others were anticipating a bountiful night.
The cruise ship passed the southern breakwater, and nothing but black water stretched out before it for miles. Had anyone taken notice, they would have seen one particular fishing boat that seemed on a col ision course with the huge ship’s starboard side.
Eventual y, one woman noticed. She pointed, curious but unalarmed. “Look at that,” she said. The man next to her shook his head as if fisher-men and stupidity went hand in hand.
The smal trawler closed quickly and had approached to within a hun-dred yards of the great ship when a flash of blinding light rose from the sea an instant before a tremendous explosion caused the cruise ship to lurch sideways. The concussion knocked a hundred passengers off their feet and threw others against bulkheads and hatchways and guardrails. The ship’s medical staff would remain busy for the rest of the night, and their arrival in Gibraltar was sure to be delayed, but there were no fatalities, and the ship sustained virtual y no damage. Word got around the back streets of Casablanca and other havens of terrorism.
“Have you heard?” One man was heard saying to another, “Rumor has it the Kifta brothers were trying to sink the great ship and kil al the infidels.”
“Instead, they kil ed themselves.” His companion shook his head. “Something must have gone wrong.”
“True. But they are martyrs anyway, and no one can take that away from them.”
“Yes,” the other replied. “Martyrs.”
DAVIS INTERNATIONAL BUILDING
NO ONE WAS irreplaceable; Alan knew that, but fil ing Dan Mil ar’s position in the company and finding someone with his leadership skil s was proving far more difficult than Alan had anticipated, his personal involvement not withstanding. Headhunters and corporate recruiters had produced two dozen candidates they cal ed ideal.
DII’s director of human resources, Harry Neumann, had whittled the number down to three. Alan had interviewed them personal y, and had dismissed each one of them out of hand. Instead, he had decided to throw Dan’s deputy assistant to the wolves to see if he came out alive. If he did, Alan might give him the nod.
His name was Tim Pol ack. He was part nerd, part human computer, and part prince charming; bright, personable, and a quick learner. Those were qualities Alan insisted on, but were they enough?
It was true that Dan had been grooming Tim to sit at the executive vice president’s desk one day any way, so why not put him to the test. The kid knocked at Alan’s office door and waited. “Get in here,” Alan ordered. He had decided on the rough and tumble approach to see how a twenty-six-year-old with a Harvard MBA would react.