Night of the Galline

I don’t want to destroy a human mind.” Steve said. “This prototype has never been used before on a human. It has caused permanent brain damage to most of our mammalian test subjects. He, like them, will probably never wake up after this session.”

Steve pulled his hands out of the pockets of his white lab coat and sat down at the machine’s controls. He wondered if DHS (Department of Homeland Security) agent, Brandon York, could see anything wearing such dark sunglasses.

“He’s a filthy terrorist! He about killed himself and three other innocent people carrying explosives in his vehicle. I don’t care if he ever wakes up or not. His injuries are fatal. Just get me what he and his cell are up to out his twisted mind before he dies,” Brandon said.

Steve replied, “I have to suppress massive pain from his extensive burns. It’s making it all just that much harder. Plus, I don’t know if I can retrieve anything. His hippocampus is not responding the same way as the other test animals we’ve experimented with using the Synaptic Scalpel. I’m still tweaking the system for a human brain.”

As he turned a knob, the numbers on a read-out changed. First, he slowly turned a knob until the numbers on display stopped increasing and began to decrease. Next, he carefully adjusted the knob back and forth until it displayed the highest number. Last, he pushed a button on the operator’s screen.

The machine began to dissect Mustafa’s brain by using an array of thousands of superconducting magnetic micro pick-ups placed on a cylinder surrounding his head.

Steve looked at Brandon and said, “Ask a question so I can learn his brain’s encoding system. Once I recognize some of his most important thought strand patterns, we can get too specific information.”

Brandon pushed a button on the microphone and said, “Tell me about your last meeting with your cell’s contact.”

Mustafa licked his burnt lips, cleared his dry throat, and began to speak. Aziz said, “Allah Akbar, (God is biggest) by His will this better be good Mustafa.”

I can feel the piercing darkness of Aziz’s eyes. It must echo some deep-seated malevolence.

I replied, “Wa hom dol Allah, praise God, for He has helped our cell see a weakness in Shayatin Ar-Rajim.”

Shayatin means Devil. Ar-Rajim means excommunicated from God, the outcast, condemned or rejected. In Islamic prayer, five times a day, Allah is solicited to protect the faithful from Shayatin Ar-Rajim, translated by some as the Great Satan.

Aziz folds his arms across his chest and glares at me. It feels like his dark eyes see into the depths of my soul, and I feel naked somehow.

“En-sha Allah, If Allah wills it,” I say.

Then I texted one word, “now,” to the other cell members on a cell phone.

Aziz and I are standing in the tree line at the edge of the large grassy area. In the secluded meadow, the cell has previously placed several possible targets, a trash dumpster, a pile of old furniture, some junk cars, and an assemblage of boxes made to look like a small electrical substation with a High Power Transformer or HPT. The full-scale substation mock-up had three long large ropes from a tree strung into the facsimile of the electrical substation on one side and three more heavy ropes leading out of the substation to a different tree on the other side. The erratic web of lighter ropes interconnecting all the fake transformers in the substation looks like a giant drunken spider wired it.

For full five minutes, Aziz and I watch a blip slowly move on my laptop computer screen. Aziz’s impatience and constant fidgeting are wearing on my nerves. He is worse than a leaky faucet late at night. When the small prototype plane finally appears, I have to point out the aero drone. The hard-to-see aircraft quietly circled the area once, and then it dived toward the main HPT in the power substation mock-up.

First, the aero drone avoided trees. Next, threading its way through a web of ropes, it avoided a large trash bin in front of the HPT. Finally, it smashed into the top of the replica.

“Wa hom dol Allah, that terminal maneuver was perfect!” I say. Then I run over to examine the wreckage.

As Aziz slowly walked up to the clutter, he said, “Allah, help me see what has happened here. How can this help our holy cause?”

It feels like even a blind man could sense Aziz’s extreme displeasure. I’m desperately pulling at the shattered pieces of the small airplane now entangled with the large mock-up of the electrical power transformer.

“Aziz, don’t be an infidel. Look at the bigger picture. We did this as a proof of concept demonstration just for you. The aero drone’s warhead we will use is about twice this size,” I tell him while I’m struggling to free the control pod from the twisted aluminum tubing of the wreck.

A sticky conductive foam has rapidly covered about a third of the transformer. From the now stiff foam comes a strong odor of formaldehyde.

Aziz’s eyes had gone wide. “Allah save us all from fools.”

He watches me struggle with the backpack-sized object intertwined with the mess.

“How will you strike fear into the Great Satan’s heart by crashing ultralight airplanes into electrical boxes to foam them? That small amount of explosive payload would yield little damage even at twice the size. It would never bring down a building or a bridge. We need a target of substance.”

The pushrods of the wing, while bent, are still connected from the electronic servos to broken pieces of the ailerons submerged in the now rigid foam. Once I finally dug through the foam to the control pod, removing it with relative ease. First, I had to yank out all the USB connectors. They linked all the computer subsystems, sensors, and servos to the control pod. Next, I opened three heavy-duty latches. Now the control pod easily pops free from the mess. I sat the pod on the ground in between the two of us.

“This will scare the Great Satan.”

I pulled open the vessel to show it contained not only a laptop computer and a game controller but a bloody thrashed chicken that had just died from injuries sustained in the crash.

At first, Aziz chuckled and said, “Koomboolat al-dajej?” (The chicken bombs?)

Then his face soured, and he said, “Fi mish mish!” (In the time of the apricots. An Egyptian idiom, think of something like ‘when pigs fly.’)

He said, “You suggest that we use dead bloody chickens to terrorize the Great Satan and all his minions. Mustafa, I’m not amused!”

I can sense Aziz’s rage. It burns like a red-hot brand which he will use to burn ‘fool’ onto my forehead.

Suddenly the meeting is over. Aziz’s dark eyes changed their focus. He turned and started walking to his car. I picked up the control pod, closed it, and ran behind him.

I say, “En-sha Allah (may He help me now.) We trained the chicken to fly this device into the HPTs. It was so easy to do. Living chickens are better at dealing with silly real-life problems than any electronic computer system. One must program the system with every aspect of the mission. If any situation outside the program occurs, the mission most likely fails. You must consider everything that could happen to make a computer-guided system work. To make such a system requires a lot of time to write the code, and the huge program is bulky and hard to deal with in any computer system, let alone a laptop. A living chicken is different. It can respond to unforeseen situations in the environment while on its way to the target.”

Aziz’s pace slowed, but he continued walking to his car.

I said, “Think about what you saw. The chicken selected the target from several decoys. It flew the aero drone around many obstacles. If one thing is different, it fails. Such as the wind is too gusty for the program to account for or some other stupid problem no one thought of happening develops, then a computer would not have been able to navigate the correct delicate course through all the wiring to the HPT. How many HPTs do you think the Great Satan has?”

Aziz stopped walking. However, he did not turn around.

“May Allah open your eyes as He has ours. America is using every HPT that works. It takes months to get a bad one fixed if one ever fails. The power companies keep no spares. That is way too much money set on the shelf for the rare occasion when one finally fails. The Great Satan and his minions would rather spend this money on themselves than prepare for the future. America’s East Coast power grid will collapse if we can destroy several key transformers in the correctly timed sequence. We will time the attack on HPTs to induce a cascade failure. It will take out lots of other subsystems adding to the chaos. The main HPTs are the weak link. They are very dependable. If one ever fails, the Great Satan sends that transformer back to a special production line to have his minions rework it. It must be disconnected, removed, shipped, fixed, returned, reinstalled, and then the device gets its first full-power test as it is put back in service. As the Great Satan has taught his minions to say, ‘Not in my backyard.’ So, most HPTs are in very remote locations. It could take weeks to bring back the most basic electrical service if done right. En-sha Allah, large areas of America’s East Coast will be unpowered during the hottest part of the year. It will cause much suffering.”

Aziz frowned and said, “America is an industrial giant. Don’t you see the Great Satan’s minions will just make new ones, Mustafa. It is like kicking a beehive. Fearlessly they will redouble their attacks. Look for a better plan. May Allah guide you to something more stunning or destructive. Perhaps, you and your cell could try to infiltrate a big crowd, and then you could detonate explosive suicide vests.”

Aziz seemed to ignore more than the pleading tone of my voice when I said, “No, you don’t understand. You have to make new ones from scratch for each destroyed transformer. When the power load arcs through the conductive foam in the bigger aero drone payload, that will detonate a small explosive warhead. The transformers will be useless hulks of burnt twisted metal. America will have to start a new production line to replace all the destroyed transformers. There will be a lot of pressure to make the production line work as fast as possible. The Great Satan’s minions will fight who should get the transformers as they come off the neophyte production line.

Furthermore, every stupid little thing that goes wrong in their complex work line will make the Americans suspect sabotage. With no actual proof, their paranoia will only grow. The new minions working on the production line will mistrust each other because they are not a team. They’ll fight over every petty dispute when they push the limits of their new jobs, as they must work incredibly long hours for many weeks in a row. Plus, all along the way, from the lowest production worker to the big man in charge, each will be more concerned about themselves and their own lives than the job at hand. So as a final stroke, if someone were to hack into a computer system in such a situation, it would be easy to cause trouble. Say, after it had been running for a week or so, all that one would have to do is post the payroll for everybody to see. Satan’s minions would riot over who is getting the most money.”

“Allah Akbar, what do you want from us?”

Aziz now has a smile that reminds me of someone who has just taken part in a stoning.

I said, “En-sha Allah, we need enough money to raise and train forty chickens. Plus, we need the resources to make about thirty aero drones like this one, but a bigger payload with an explosive component in addition to the conductive foam.”

Aziz asked, “How many targets?”

Aziz’s new expression looks like an orphaned kid eyeing a fig basket at the Bazaar.

I said, “Our cell has decided about twenty. Twenty–five will ensure America’s East Coast will be dark. While the power grid is collapsing, it will take out scores of substations as the computerized system tries to balance the huge unstable power load. It shall take many weeks to replace all the major HPTs. It may even take a year or two for the rest of the subsystems before they are all brought back online. Don’t forget the best part, the first night. The Americans will have to face their greatest fear, themseleves at night in the dark. The Great Satan will rip America apart.”

“Mabrook! (Congratulations!)”

Aziz opened the trunk of his car. From it, he removed one of several plastic bags. This bag contained a checkbook, a debit card, and a new cell phone still in its box. He turns around and hands the items to me.

“Do not waste our money! If you need twenty-five, you make twenty-five, got it! You prepare your plan, but you are to talk to no one about what you are doing outside your cell. Understand! No one. You are at Jihad! It’s now the middle of November. You’ve got about nine months to be ready. On the twenty-sixth of June, you are to call at Noon your local time. Turn on the cell phone. You are to call the speed dial number 1. You will say, ‘Cell 560 is ready’ or ‘Cell 065 is not ready.’ Then turn off the cell phone and destroy it. Until you call, this phone is to stay off. The day before the call, you are to put the phone on its charger. A major release from a well-known cleric will be on our website on the twenty-seventh of June. He shall address many things. En-sha Allah, then his statement will include, ‘We shall teach the Great Satan to fear all of us, from our highest Imam (a cleric of Islam) to our lowest galline.’ That’s your signal to perform your holy attack so that it all happens at 4:30 pm one week later. You are to talk to no one on these dates, not even your cell members. En-sha Allah, this operation will be ready quickly.”

Then Aziz got in his car and drove away.

Still wearing his sunglasses, Brandon said, “Steve, I want information on the aero drones or their base location. Something useful! You should try another memory strand.”

Steve frowned. “Brandon, it’s a brain, not an encyclopedia. I just cannot turn to some page. The memories are inter-connected, more like a web. They do not appear to be in a fixed chronological order. There seems to be a strong association in the data patterns of the memory strands that, in some strange way, limit data loss. None of the lower animal brains we dissected operate in this fashion. The feedback loop of the human neural network is unique. Once I get the framework of a few more of his common memory strands, I can unravel his entire mind like pulling a string on a cheap suit. If I pull the wrong strand, we might impair a hundred vital body functions. We must be careful he could forget how to talk.”

Steve turned a knob and pushed a button on one of the workstation’s screens.

Mustafa began to speak once more. “I get out of the van, and I’m thinking about two years ago and the introducing of each other at the training camp in Yemen. The members of this cell looked the most European, spoke the best English, and had attended a western college. I’m number one of the cell, which means I have specific responsibilities. Allah can depend on me.

I’ve brought back the pieces from Aziz’s test for the cell to examine. When I enter the secluded rural house of the chicken farm in the early afternoon, I find the other four cell members in the main room. I walk through the front door. I put the pod and some of the pieces of the aero drone on the main table. The others started to arrange the details of wreckage like some type of big 3-D puzzle.”

Youseef said, “Wa hom dol Allah. it worked.”

Tariq and Mohammed are now taking out more of the smashed aero drone’s pieces from the back of the old work van. It is a pile of convoluted tubing, ripped stop nylon fabric, and a small engine. Every detail has some of the stinky formaldehyde foam on it somewhere. Abeed went back into another room of the house and re-started a video game.

Mohammed said, “Wa hom dol Allah; it looks like the wing mount held, but the attachment plate has moved more than expected. Mustafa, I still think the wing mount to the structural main fuselage spar should be stronger to hold the bigger payload and take more stress.”

Tariq nodded in agreement, then said, “Look here.”

He points to the aero drone’s bare backbone to the wing mounting plate.

He said, “See how much the plate has flattened the mounting surface of the top tubes. It must be still twisting in flight. It looks like mounting hardware was coming loose because the tubes had started to collapse. The stress from the larger payload will be greater in the full-scale aero drone. The frame will have failed if the flight was longer or the aero drone payload was too large. Allah is trying to show us that the chickens can put the aero drones through more G-forces than first thought possible.”

Youseef said, “We cannot just tighten the blots more. That will crush the tubing. Perhaps we can use more hardware to secure the wing mounting plate to the fuselage spar.”

I shook my head and said, “That will make it harder to assemble, increasing the weight. Assembly must be easy. I don’t want to check and recheck the wing mounts because of some strong wind gusts in the field when I’m trying to keep to a strict schedule of my five aero drones when at my launch location. Plus, I want every ounce for the biggest explosive payload possible. By the will of Allah, it worked, do not make it too complex. It will be hard enough to make drones for twenty-five targets.”

Youseef said, “Twenty-five drones means accepting the complete proposal. The clock has begun. En-sha Allah, may we be strong tools in His holy hands. How long do we have?”

I respond, “We need to be ready as soon as possible. Our best target window is during the heat of summer.”

“En-sha Allah,” said Tariq, “May the Great Satan and his minions suffer at our hands.”

I ask, “Can we get the parts to make many aero drones without attracting too much attention?”

Youseef said, “Our supplier thinks we have been running a small internet hobby store for quite some time. I have convinced them that we are unhappy with our previous supplier. So, we are considering them as our new prime supplier for aluminum tubing. I have represented us on a website as a small company putting together ultra-light airplane kits for sale in Dubai as toys for the rich. If we pay our account on time, they get their profit. They don’t care what we order. As for the engines and propellers, we have a manufacturer believing these are for the kits for sale in Dubai. Only, he believes if the first units we turn out are successful, he could be in on the next big fad in Dubai. He seemed incredibly happy when told we were hoping perhaps for hundreds of orders. Money is what the Great Satan has conditioned his minions to accept as the ultimate reward. We need to keep the accounts paid up to date, and no one will care. One can see how the Great Satan has got his minions tricked with huge piles of little pieces of paper. It becomes easy to see what one has devoted his life’s work to achieving when being judged by Allah. Such a pile is a hard place to find solace before Allah. As everyone knows, one cannot buy your way into Paradise. This greed will be America’s undoing. En-sha Allah, I shall order all the tubing, ripstop nylon, and engines tonight.”

“No,” I say, “you, Tariq, and Mohammed come up with a final design on the bigger aero drone. Search the internet for better ways to mount the cross plate so the wings will mount quickly and securely without adding too much more weight. Order the engines and propellers in groups of five or six over the next six weeks. Don’t order the aluminum tubing and ripstop nylon in one lot. Break it up into at least three lots over the same six weeks. Until we finalize the design, we won’t need all the supplies for twenty-five’s full production lot run. Mohammed, if we get, say, twenty–five baby chicks, attract attention?”

Mohammed stood up and said, “In this rural area, that small of an order will seem unusual. It would be best to get at least fifty to a hundred. Then they’ll think little of it that way. Times are tuff. This operation had hundreds of chickens here before they went bankrupt, and we bought it. The place sat vacant for quite a few years. The bank was glad to unload this piece of property on us. We have spread rumors that you are the heir to a fortune from a spinster aunt. The locals have been allowed to think that the internet store selling ultralights to Dubai is your business from before your aunt died. Unfortunately, as a part of your aunt’s Will, you must raise chickens as she did for at least two years before you can claim the rest of her substantial estate.

For this reason, I suggest using the Ameraucana chicken breed. I like the irony of the breed name. As a plus, it lays colored eggs of blue to green and all the shades in between. It will look like we are going for the small niche market of naturally colored eggs.”

Youseef said, “Mustafa, I think you are wrong. We should get at least all the engines, propellers, and tubing as quickly as possible. They’re the most important part of the aero drones. Nearly everything else we can make for ourselves or buy locally with a little suspicion. Except for the computers, no one cares how many laptops we order.”

I close my eyes, look down and shake my head no. Then I say, “Allah help us succeed; that is why I’m in charge. You’ll attract too much attention.”

Mohammed said, “There needs to be some work on one of the incubators before the chicks arrive. I could use some help with the temporary extra heaters and lighting.”

Mustafa said, “Okay, then tonight, all of us will look at the plane design. Tomorrow, we’ll work on the best one of the old chicken houses. I want those chicks as soon as we can get them. May Allah’s hand guide us all; Wa hom dol Allah.”

I walked out of the front room and found Abeed working on one of the video games he uses to teach a chicken to fly the aero drones. He had strapped his pet Cluck into a pod and had closed it up.

The process of conditioning the chickens seems quite simple. First, when a tone came on at several random times a day. Abeed had the chickens conditioned to peck at a game controller to feed them in their pens. Next, he prepared the chickens to associate different tones from a speaker with a small reward when a game controller inputs were correctly sequenced. After a few weeks of this conditioning, the chickens were ready for the next step. That was to take a chicken and strap it down with harnesses such that they could interact with a game system by use of their beaks.

Each unit had four monitors and a game console so a chicken could play a game. There were quite a few different games that an operator could select for a chicken to play. In this game, it’s one of the more complex levels. When a chicken heard the correct tone, it would first fly high over an area. Next, find a good target. After that, avoid obstacles, the web of electrical wires, and fly the aero drone to the right spot. Finally, get a nice reward. It got a good tone and a few cracked corn kernels in the reward feed bin when a chicken had done well.

You could see the operator’s main viewing screen inside Cluck’s compartment. The most significant difference between this system and the human counterpart was that the chicken’s system uses four screens, one monitor for each eye of the chicken. We had found it had to be one screen on each side of its head, but there was only one top view screen and one for a forward view screen presented for the chicken conditioning. The operator’s system screens showed the image streams exploited to condition any chicken within the simulator training pod.

The system seemed to be flying on its own. It flew high above a high voltage power line that cuts through a forest. While the game displayed this, there was one quiet tone. Suddenly a hawk appeared on the screen above Cluck, the chicken.

Cluck made some panicked squawking noises and pecked wildly at the controller. The aero drone quickly slowed, and the hawk flashed by the forward screen. Next, the hawk did a barrel roll just behind Cluck. The tone changed in pitch and got louder. The picture angle changed radically as the now highly active chicken tried to flee. In this game, there was more than just a nice reward. If the hawk got the chicken, it got quite a substantial electric shock, and it heard a lousy tone. If it escaped, it got to fly around in a simulated field. Then it could pick from a few targets that gave a little bit more cracked corn, playing a delightful sound. Most people would have thought it funny that this hawk had all the markings of a U.S. Air Force airplane. It is easy for me to see that Abeed is immensely proud of his job.

He said, “Mustafa, Allah has helped me. I now have a set up for three chickens at a time.”

There were five working units by the time of training the chickens we were going to use. One set up for each member of the cell to use for the conditioning of his best five chickens.

Abeed said, “Just a couple hours of practice a day, and the chickens start scoring 98 percent or better. The game consoles that use our special game program with real 3D pics are working great. We can simulate any course we want by downloading the most recent pictures off the web. We can teach a chicken to take over after a computer flies a predetermined path near the target. Once the autopilot turns control over to the chickens, they are only good for a target no more than 15 minutes away.”

I said, “I saw you had put U.S. Air Force marking on the hawks to condition the chickens to flee in fear of military aircraft, but I think you should make them afraid of flashing lights from emergency vehicles on the ground.”

Youseef had been listening at the doorway. He always lurked about!

He said, “Wa hom dol Allah; we will need everybody to start making the Golden Unit as soon as possible. That will be our blueprint. Once the design is final, we will be able to project the exact amount of materials we will need. We all must be involved with the Golden Unit’s making so everybody knows how to bend each piece of tubing and assemble every piece of hardware for all the aero drones. How long will the additional programming take? It could be two or three weeks, maybe more. We need to make the Golden Unit now! Abeed needs to be present during the assembly to learn how to make the aero drone for himself. We will each be responsible for making five aero drones and a mobile launcher before some secret date next summer. We all need to do this task together to learn. We need to do the Golden Unit quickly. Then, you can change the conditioning of the chickens any way you like or do it on your own time late at night. Allah knows you will be blaming me if putting the kits together gets behind. We can’t just make twenty-five aero drones, you know. It will take time.”

“Youseef, would you relax?” I said, “I shall see that everybody gets exposed to the assembly of the Golden Unit. Some of us will just have to pull extra duties until we are ready. You included!”

Youseef said, “Do you realize all the control surfaces will have to be custom calibrated to each aero drone to have smooth motion. The fly-by-wire with the USB interconnections to all the remote systems is very picky. The plugs still tend to disconnect during flight. Plus, we must tune each system for its max data flow. You will have to make your five also, Mustafa. You are so quick to tell someone to clean up after a meal, but you always seem too busy to do any such thing yourself.”

There was a tone with the last sentence in his voice that was sharp enough to cut to the bone.

I said, “I have plenty of real extra duties. Such as, it is Allah’s will for me to inspect each aero drone to see if it conforms to the Golden Unit. I shall use it as my fifth unit. Your place is to make your five on time and work with your chickens to ensure their best training. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You get the Golden Unit. That’s not fair! We should draw lots for it. Who inspects your work for defects?” Youseef said, “Mustafa, when a few weeks come and go, and you find you are still behind, do not cry to me to do extra work.”

Youseef turned away and went to look over a small-scale model of their aero drone that they would be making. He studied how the removable wings mounted to the plate that passed through the fuselage backbone spar.

Abeed said, “Youseef is right. I should help with the Golden Unit right now. I can work on the code in the evenings for a while.”

I say, “Your code writing takes twice as long as you suggest. I want a finalized course curriculum before the chicks start coming of age, but I don’t want you sitting in the room just watching us and writing your code for the program. We still have plenty of time to make the aero drones. I want the work on them to be precise and done to the highest of our ability to make. Plus, our work on the computerized operating system for the aero drones is still unfinished. We must do more testing of the USB network to interconnect the subsystems. We shall all have to proceed slow and steady, and we will get the task done on time. En-sha Allah, He shall guide us to be the best tools to do His work. Okay, we all have projects to work on tonight. Tomorrow, we get ready for the baby chicks.”

“That’s Enough, Steve!” Brandon said while madly pushing buttons on his cell phone. “Choose another more important memory like where all the cell members are right now. I don’t have all day. Everybody wants information about this clown and his cell movements. I need this data now!”

He said into the phone, “Yeah, it looks real. Something about chicken-controlled ultra lights taking out the east coast power grid. You may think this is funny, but I assure you that four others of this cell are about to attack the power grid on the Fourth of July. We don’t have a clue where they are at now. If they succeed, you will be laughing in the dark! I’ll see you stand a beat in East Harlem during the power failure if this goes bad. The terrorists are planning for the failure to last a week or so. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Stand by for more information as I get it!”

Brandon closed the cell phone call and scowled.

Steve said, “Every time I cut out a memory, it changes the structure left of the web, Brandon. I must pick up this next thread to undo the more recent memories. There is heavy reinforcement of this memory structure. Once I find the connections around it, I will be able to get by it. You’re just going to have to wait.”

Steve adjusted the offset and pressed a button on the screen.

Mustafa said. “Near sunset, we had all stopped our work to perform Wudu or Ablution. We fill a small washbasin and glass to begin the ritual cleansing before prayer. Only this time, I feel a particular purpose to my actions. For the first time, I’m playing a genuine part in the battle against Shayatin Ar-Rajim.

I start the Wudu by saying the Bismillah and stating what my actions will do.

“In the Name of Allah, I cleanse myself for Maghrib.”

I wash my hands in the correct ritual form, starting with the right and ending with the left. I do this three times. Next, I rinsed my mouth three times from a glass of water I had brought with me. I cleansed my nose in the correct sequence three times. I wash my face three times. Next, I wash my beard three times. Now I cleanse my forearms three times. My head and ears I only wipe once. Last, I cleanse my feet. As a final step to cleansing my feet, I use my pinky finger to clean between my toes. I’m careful not to let any of the rinse water contaminate the wash basins’ fresh water. All rinse water could flow to a drain in the floor.

Each cell member is finished and now ready for the Maghrib, the sunset prayer. I’m meticulous not to nullify my ablution and soiled myself by doing such things as using the toilet, touching my groin, losing consciousness, going into a deep sleep, or passing gas. If I do these things before prayer, I must do Wudu again. The cell is also cautious of the places where we could never pray, such as dunghills, slaughterhouses, graveyards, bathhouses, the middle of the road, the roof of the Ka’bah, and places where work animals drink and rest. For these reasons, the cell members and I have made and kept a neat small shrine for a place all of us could pray.

“This is not what I need to know,” Brandon said, “This is a waste of my time.”

“That’s just too bad,” Steve said, “to eliminate these memory strands, I need to know them from his other memories. Do you realize how many times a day he does this? You’re just going to have to be patient while I unravel his mind. I must identify each memory structure. You don’t want to cut too deep and remove one of the automatic functions of the subconscious.” Steve once more adjusted the offset and pushed a button on his workstation’s screen.

Mustafa said, “I know the Second of the Five Pillars of Islam requires each devoted Muslim to pray five times a day. I think about the seventeen Raka’ahs the Fardh needs the faithful to do each day and all the voluntary ones that I would also do.

My first prayer is called Fajr. Doing this between Dawn to Sunrise, I add two voluntary Raka’ahs. Then I do the two Fardh required Raka’ahs. Next, I would do two more Raka’ahs voluntarily.

My second prayer is Zohr. We do this after true Noon, and I will offer four Raka’ahs before voluntarily. Then Fardh requires I do four Raka’ahs. After that, I would offer two more voluntarily.

The third prayer I must do is called Asr. I would do it at a time from mid-afternoon until just before sunset. I would do four Raka’ahs voluntarily. Then, Fardh requires four Raka’ahs. There are no voluntarily Raka’ahs after the Asr’s Fardh requirement.

My fourth daily prayer is Maghrib. We do it after the sun’s disk has set behind the horizon and is no longer visible until dusk. The Fardh for Maghrib requires three Raka’ahs. Before the prayer of Maghrib, I would offer four voluntary Raka’ahs. After the prayer of Maghrib, two more Raka’ahs I would submit voluntarily.

I required myself and the rest of my cell to do like all devout Muslims and do the fifth prayer of the day, Isha. We do it between the last twilight of dusk and the first light of dawn. The Fardh requires four Raka’ahs. Before the prayer, the cell members and I offer four Raka’ah voluntarily. Then afterward, we offered five more voluntarily. I feel there is no excuse not to pray all five prayers every day. I believe the lazy slackers of the faith of Islam, who get out of doing at least forty - six Raka’ah for their prayers daily, will find themselves unprepared to meet Allah and thus incur His Holy Wrath.”

Brandon said, “You are wasting valuable time with this religious dribble. I need to know what his cell is doing now! Before, they cripple the power grid, not after.”

Steve said, “That is not how the memories are stored. He devotes a lot of his time to these actions. I must learn these strands. Then I can remove his repeating memory of it and get to the details you desire.”

Steve pushed the button on the microphone and said, “Tell me about how you pray.”

Even though the dark glasses, Steve could tell that Brandon had just rolled his eyes up in disgust.

Mustafa said, “For me to do a two Raka’ah prayer, I must do the following twenty-seven steps. If not done correctly, I will have to do the Raka’ah again.

Brandon looked at Steve back in the control room and said, “We don’t have time for this.”

“That’s too bad for you. I must go this route or risk losing it all. You’re just going to have to wait,” Steve said.

Mustafa said, “First, I stand up and face the Ka’bah in Mecca.

Second, I do Niyat, state intention to pray, and say, “I pray the Fardh.”

Or other types of prayers for Allah behind this Imam.

Next, I raised both of my hands to each ear. I touched the lobes of each of my ears with my thumbs, and then I said, ‘Allah Akbar.’

I placed my right hand on my left hand above the naval. I look to the place where my forehead will touch the ground when I do Sujood or prostration.”

I recited silently, “O Allah, how perfect You are, and praise is to You. Blessed is Your name, and Exalted is Your majesty. There is no God but You.”

This step I only do on the first Raka’ah of a set of two.

Next, I say, “I seek shelter in Allah from Shayatin Ar-Rajim.”

Then I say, “In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, and the Most Merciful.”

After a short pause, I continued to the next segment and said, “All praises and thanks be to Allah, the Lord of the Worlds, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful, Master of the Day of Judgment. You alone we worship. From You alone, we seek help. Guide us along the straight path - The path of those you favored, not those who have earned Your anger or went astray.”

Another short pause, then my following quote is, “In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, and the Most Merciful. Say, He is Allah, the One. Allah is Eternal and Absolute. He begets not, nor was He begotten. And there is none co-equal unto Him.”

I said, “Allah Akbar,” as I bowed down into the Rukoo position.

I do this by placing my hands on my knees. I say to myself three times, “How perfect is my Lord the Supreme.”

I hold my back and head in a flat straight line. I’m looking to where my forehead will touch the ground during Sujood.

As I stand up from the Rukoo, I say, “Allah hears those who praise Him. Our Lord, praise be to You.”

Next, I say, “Allah Akbar.” Then I performed the Sujood. It begins by standing up straight and facing Mecca. It ends with my bowing down with my forehead, nose, palms of the hands, knees, and bottoms of my toes, all touching the floor. I must hold my arms away from the sides of my body and away from the ground. I recite silently three times, “How perfect is my Lord, the highest.”

Then I sit up from the floor, saying, “Allah Akbar.”

I sat upright with my knees bent, palms placed on them, and said, “Oh my Lord! Forgive me.”

Next, I say, “Allah Akbar.”

Once more, I performed the Sujood. This time starting from sitting, and recited silently to myself three times, “How perfect is my Lord, the Highest.” I finally stand up, ready to perform the second Raka’ah.

For the second Raka’ah of this set, I perform similarly. When I stand up, I do not place my right hand on the left hand above the naval, nor do I need to silently recite the short phrase afterward as I had done on the first Raka’ah.

Also, this time, between the two Sujoods, I must sit with the left foot under my body. My right foot still had the bottoms of my toes in contact with the ground. My right heel is pointing upwards, thus exposing the soul of my right foot to anyone behind me. In my right hand, I rolled my fingers into the palm of my hand and stuck the index finger straight out. This hand rests on my right thigh. My left hand, I extend all my fingers and rest my left hand on my left thigh.

This time I recite, “In the name of Allah the most Gracious, the most merciful.”

Then I continued as I had before to the end of the Raka’ah. I need to do nine total Raka’ahs for the Maghrib prayer.”

Brandon said, “I’m not going to listen to this clown go through his prayer seven more times from within the control room. You are wasting my time. If he were not comatose, I would use some well-known methods to get the information out of him.”

Steve said, “Yeah, but he is only alive because of the life support. He most likely will stay comatose until he dies. I know you cannot beat a dead horse, but I don’t think you can beat an unconscious horse. You have one way into this fiend’s mind. I can now remove the memories of his daily prayers as we come to them instead of going through each memory strand we encounter.”

Yet again, he turned a knob and pushed a button on the screen.

Mustafa said. “I remembered after that prayer how focused I now seemed to be. The cell gathers to look at the wing mount on the scaled-down model aero drone. The proposed method of using three ten-foot-long, two-inch diameter tubes bound together for the fuselage spar left little choice as to how the wing mounts. At the point where the attachment mounts to the tube cluster of the fuselage spar, at full scale, the four-foot-long and two-foot-wide flat crossbeam was passed through the set so that it passed under the two top tubes and over the one bottom tube. The hardware to mount the cross beam consisted of a bolt secured with a nut. Passing it between the right side - top tube and the lower center tube, there was another nut and bolt every six inches. The design had the bolts passed through the left side top tube through the crossbeam plate and the lower center tube. The plan put this full pattern scale at about six-inch intervals. These were the bolts that had loosened during the last test flight. The wings are mounted to the extended cross beam plate in the field just before launch.

The two aft stabilizers were in a Vee shape at an upward angle of 45 degrees to the end of the fuselage spar. Mounting the engine and propeller to the front of the fuselage, we did by bending just enough of the ends of the top two tubes to form the engine mount. The lower third tube is shaped under the engine and used for extra engine support. The payload is in a cigar-shaped cylinder that hangs just behind the center of the wings to about four feet aft. It hangs from four hardpoint mounts to the fuselage spar. The control pod sat on top of the spar and wings using quick disconnect mountings built into the top part of the wings for the pod. The electronic connections to the rest of the aircraft were by USB connectors from that point.

The design uses pugs for each subsystem for a USB hub that runs up the backside of the control pod. There are connections from each wing, one USB connection for the aileron and one for the video camera at the outer edge of each wing. Then there was one for each of the two aft vee-shaped control surfaces. There also was one for the Satellite Navigation system. Finally, three were for controlling the engine and the rest of the flight sensors. The ten connectors in a row look like some weird techno-version of a rooster’s comb.”

“That’s good!” Brandon said. “More about where the other four are now and their launch schedule. The vile terrorist truck he was driving and the trailer involved in the accident and following explosions came close to being destroyed. Thank God, or we would have had no idea that this was part of a multi-pronged attack. Unfortunately, he has remained unconscious since this morning’s accident. We must get deeper into his memories. I don’t care if you have to rip his brain apart. Just get me data! I need information now! Today is the second of July, less than forty-eight hours until they start their attack.”

Steve once more adjusted the offset and pushed a button on his workstation screens.

When Mustafa spoke, he surprised both men. Speaking in a low clear, slower voice, he said, “What are you doing to me? I can feel you stripping away my mind. Stop it before none of me is left. What is it you want to know? I’ll tell you anything. Just stop stripping away my mind. What has happened to me?”

Brandon grabbed the microphone and said, “You better tell me what I need to know, or I’ll peel your subconscious back like an onion. Got it?”

“Yes. What is it you want to know?” Mustafa said.

Brandon looked at Steve and said, “Will this work?”

“I have no idea,” Steve said, “We have never spoken directly to the unconscious of a human before. He might think he is dreaming, or he may tell the truth. He could say anything.”

Brandon pushed the button on the microphone and said, “How can I know I can trust you?”

Mustafa said in the same lower, slower voice, “I can feel you fumble around in my mind. In the name of Allah, please stop it. You Devil’s spawn, I will tell you anything you want to hear. You can’t stop us.”

Brandon said, with the microphone button still pushed, “You would tell us anything but the truth. Why shouldn’t I peel your mind away?”

Mustafa said, “Do you want the death of me on your soul? No God will ever let one guilty of this sin into Paradise.”

Brandon said, “You would be just one of many I have killed to protect the USA. If Hell Fire is my destination, then yours is the death of oblivion. Peel away the next layer!”

Then Brandon released the button on the microphone.

Mustafa asked, “What has happened to me?”

Brandon said, “Go ahead, tell him. Maybe he will realize his situation.”

Steve pushed the button and said, “You were in an accident this morning. Your truck and trailer were in a large conflagration, destroying them. You have been unconscious since then. You have head wounds and serious perforations of the large intestine. Your inner flora has been released and is attacking your severely burnt body. You are on antibiotics, but the prognosis is poor. With Fifty-six percent of your body burnt, you are dying slowly, and there is little we can do to help you. We feel you are going to die in about 48 hours. In the name of God, please tell us what you have done, and I’ll keep blocking the pain. You can pass from this life in comfort or unbearable pain. It’s your choice.”

Mustafa said, “I am part of a cell of five. We are going to knock out the east coast power grid.”

Brandon pushed the button on the microphone and said, “We’ve got that part, creep. I say peel him in the name of science.”

Mustafa said, “The system will change the date of the target sequence if we don’t check in every hour or so on the network. Our system has long since updated the targets and changed the internet connections. Without my five, the damage will be easier to fix, but the grid has a ninety-five percent chance of the power load being brought down with half the assault force of trained chicken bombs. The system computer is untraceable. For it exists within the web itself. It updates itself to the situation at random intervals, and it is a part of the attack. You can’t just shut down the World Wide Web. Not in time anyway. The system will just move forward the time of the attack to what it calculates as the optimum time. You are doomed. Just kill me anyway, you Devil’s spawn. Make it quick I bore of this life and await Paradise. Ah ha ha-ha, Allah Akbar.”

Steve adjusted another knob and pushed a button.

Mustafa screamed, “Ahaaa, the pain.”

Steve pushed the button on the mike and said, “That was just a tenth of the pain I shall release on you until the last second of your life.” He looked to Brandon.

While the mike was still open, Brandon said, “Such a computer attack we practice against as a weekly test of system confidence. We would have encapsulated it hours ago. If not, soon, we will be neutralizing it. We will gather up your people now that we know of their existence. You are doomed. Goodbye, dirtbag.”

Brandon got up and said, “I can find no room in my heart for pity for a man who only wants to destroy our civilization. For now, I genuinely believe that when destruction is a tool, it is one of the true signs of Evil.”

He turned and walked away, and with that, the door closed behind Brandon York like the back cover on a finished book.

And yet, Steve had to finish what he had started. Mapping less than an eighth of Mustafa’s conscience, this data was unknown. To waste such an opportunity was foolish. Steve blocked the continued dissection of Mustafa’s mind by putting him into a deep sleep. It was well after midnight when he had finished and unraveled Mustafa’s entire mind using the Synaptic Scalpel. The interconnection between the conscience and the sub-conscience was intriguing, showing the complexity of the neural network and its associated feedback loops was astounding. We greatly enriched the database. When I mapped the last grid, Mustafa’s breathed his last breath as a great sigh. It was as if some great weight was taken or removed from the body. Steve wondered if Mustafa had made it to Paradise.