Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (18 page)

 
          
Farouk
held out his hand, and Patrick placed the telephone in it. The Egyptian took
several deep breaths, then spoke in Arabic. After he had finished, Patrick
turned to one of the Night Stalkers and asked, “What did he say?”

 
          
“He
said the bridge and probably Engineering and Combat have been taken by American
commandos. He ordered his crew to resist us to the maximum extent possible.”

 
          
“The
only ones that will be hurt will be your men, Captain,” Patrick said. He spoke
into his helmet communications system, then handed the phone back to Farouk a
few moments later. “We have made contact with your headquarters, Captain. Tell
them anyone approaching this ship will be attacked and killed. This is your
only warning.” Farouk relayed the message, recommending that all forces be dispatched
immediately to disable his ship and prevent it from falling into terrorist
hands.

 
          
“Well,
now the Egyptians know we’re here,” Briggs radioed to Patrick via their battle
armor comm system. “Half the crew is ready to rush us from every corner of the
ship, and soon half the Egyptian military will be barreling down on us. What’s
the plan?”

 
          
“We
need to get in contact with Martindale, have him get every asset we have
available searching for Wendy,” Patrick said. “I want to turn this ship inside
out looking for weapons, I want everyone to get fully recharged and rearmed,
and then I want a plan of action to go in and rescue her.”

 
          
“Patrick,”
Briggs said softly, “we still don’t know if she’s alive.”

 
          
“She’s
alive. I know it.”

 
          
“But
we don’t—”

 
          
“I
said, she’s
alive
, dammit!” Patrick
cried angrily. “I’m going to find her even if I have to move every grain of
sand in the desert to do it.”

OVER THE
MEDITERRANEAN
SEA
 
THAT SAME TIME

           
“You cannot go back, Sekhmet,” said
retired Egyptian army general Ahmad Baris, President Kamal Ishmail Salaam’s
national security adviser and longtime trusted friend of the family.
Fifty-three-year-old General Baris lost most of his right leg in the 1973
Arab-Israeli War, burned off in a tank explosion, but he stayed in government
to serve his country as best he could, rising through the ranks from
onion-peeler and tailor to intelligence coordinator to tactician to
presidential military adviser. “It is too dangerous. Al-Khan’s henchmen and the
Muslim Brotherhood assassins are everywhere.”

 
          
“Not
even to bury my husband?” Susan Bailey Salaam said in a low voice. Her head and
arms were swathed in bandages, and an Egyptian army doctor had inserted an
intravenous tube into a vein in her leg because the second- degree bums on her
arms would not allow it.

 
          
“Especially
not for a funeral,” Baris said sadly. “Trust me. You would not be safe. There
will be a simple ceremony for your husband, no more. It is too dangerous
otherwise.”

 
          
Susan
Salaam and General Baris were on board an Egyptian army helicopter, zooming low
over the Mediterranean Sea westward, about five miles off the coast. Ahmad
Baris had engineered an alternate escape plan for Susan to get out of the city
after the attack so secret that not even the Presidential Guards knew about it.
After the men and women killed or injured in the attack were taken away by
ambulance from the mosque, Baris had Susan taken in several different
ambulances to a waiting army helicopter and whisked out of the city.

 
          
“I
feel like a coward. I feel as if I have abandoned my husband,” Susan said
stonily.

 
          
The
retired general sighed softly, then repositioned his right leg to ease the pain
a bit, which easily got Susan’s attention. “Your husband is dead, Sekhmet,” he
said softly, like a father speaking to his young daughter. “Being killed at his
grave site by more Muslim Brotherhood assassins would not help him or Egypt.”
He paused, then added softly, “You know I would follow your husband into hell,
and I pledge the same to you. Tell me what you wish, and I will do everything
in my poor powers to help you do it.”

           
“What do you suggest, General?”

 
          
“We
are heading toward Mersa Matruh, our largest military base outside Cairo, about
three hundred kilometers west,” Baris replied. “I can have a foreign ministry
transport waiting for us there. The plane can take us anywhere in western
Europe—Portugal, England, Belgium, Ireland. From there, we can request
protection from the American embassy—you are a dual national as well as a
credentialed Egyptian ambassador, so that will not be a problem.”

 
          
“I
will not leave Egypt,” Susan said sternly. “It is my home now, not America.”
She glared at him with her one unbandaged eye. “I’m surprised you would even
suggest it, General.”

 
          
“I
am sorry, Madame. I was only thinking of your safety. I apologize if I have
offended you or dishonored the memory of the president by suggesting you flee
the country.”

 
          
“You
are still one of the most respected men in all of Egypt, perhaps in the entire
Arab world,” Susan said, reaching up and taking Baris’s hand. “Your loyalty is
unquestioned, as is your heart.” She looked at Baris, paused as if considering
her words, then said, “You could be president, or prime minister, if you so
chose. But you stay in the shadows. Your people need you, General. When will
you stand up and lead them?”

           
“I have led men only once, at the
head of a formation of tanks in the Sinai against the Israelis almost thirty
years ago, and nine of every ten men that followed my orders died in less than
a day,” Baris said. “I was the lucky one— I lost only part of my right leg. I
learned that day that I am far more adept at observing and advising than making
actual decisions.”

 
          
“Nonsense,
Ahmad.”

 
          
“As
a famous American psychopathic renegade police officer once said, ‘A man’s
gotta Imow his limitations,’ ” Baris said with a smile. His love for American
cop movies and westerns—the more violent the better—was well known throughout
Cairo
. “I am content and secure in the knowledge
that I have given good, sound advice to many government officials over the
years, and I believe I have served God and made
Egypt
a better place for it. That is enough for
me.” He paused, studying Susan carefully, then asked, “What is it you seek,
Sekhmet?”

 
          
Susan
Salaam did not respond for several moments, and Baris was surprised to see a
faint smile on her lips when she finally replied, “Am I wrong for saying ‘I
would like to see Zuwayy and al-Khan dead’?” Baris did not return the smile, so
hers dimmed and her exotic eyes narrowed. “The truth, my old friend?” Baris
nodded, and she looked away and nodded as well. “I’m happy to be alive. I’m
glad I wasn’t killed. And so I think that perhaps God had a reason for not
wishing me dead. I feel there is something more I must do.” Susan shook her head,
staring off into space as if reading a newspaper headline from a great
distance. She paused, then looked at the retired general. He swallowed as he
saw something ominous in her dark almond-shaped eye and full yet innocent lips.
“Yes. There is work to be done. You and my husband had plans to restore
Egypt
to its rightful place as leader of the
Mediterranean nations and of the Arab world. I want to continue your goals.”

 
          
“My
dear, the concept of a united Arab world is a dream, nothing more,” Baris said,
chuckling despite the strange prickly sensation he felt on the back of his
neck. “Don’t let the apparent successes of pretentious nutcases like Zuwayy or
opportunistic zealots like al-Khan cloud your thinking. The people of Libya
don’t believe Zuwayy is a descendant of a desert king, and no modem Egyptian
will ever believe a man is invested with the power of the gods to rule their
land. The Pharaohs are dead, and long may it stay that way.” He touched Susan’s
hand, breaking her reverie, and smiled with relief when she smiled at him.
“Even though you are a thousand times lovelier than all of
Hollywood
’s Cleopatras put together, Sekhmet, don’t
ever be deluded into thinking the world will tolerate an Arab empire.”

 
          
Susan’s
smile dimmed as she reached up and touched her eyepatch, then ran her fingers
down the left side of her face and left arm, gently tracing the scars and the
pain that outlined them under all the bandages. “No one will ever think I am as
beautiful as Cleopatra. Zuwayy’s and al- Khan’s treachery has seen to that.”

 
          
“Don’t
let revenge and hatred fester inside you,” Baris warned her. “Keep a clear
head. Understand?”

 
          
“Yes,
General.”

 
          
“Good.”
The military helicopter had a computer terminal at the communications officer’s
station, so Baris swiveled his chair over to his computer terminal and logged
on. His usual list of daily intelligence, status, and situation reports started
popping up on the screen. “Our first task is to get you to safety. I.. .”

 
          
“I
must go back to the presidential palace,” Susan repeated. “I must bury my
husband first.”

 
          
“Your
life is in great danger if you go back,” Baris warned her.

 
          
“I
have no choice. If the conspirators want to kill me before or during the
funeral, so be it—I will become
Egypt
’s second martyr. My last duty to my husband
is to help lead his nation forward beyond their grief.” She smiled at her
friend. “But I don’t want you exposing yourself in a vain attempt to stop any
attack if it should come. I want you out of sight, watching, as you do best.
Leave me your best and most trusted aides. I think I’ll be all right until
after the funeral. After that... we will do what we must do. Let’s go to
Alexandria
. Can you find a secure place for us there?”

           
“The
Naval
Academy
on
Abu Qir
Bay
east of
Alexandria
—the commandant is an old friend, and he can
ensure your safety and security. It’s isolated enough to keep us out of sight,
but they have helicopter and fast armed patrol vessel facilities in case we
must make a quick escape from Khan’s goons. Your apartment is less than a
kilometer away.” But as he scanned the daily reports, he came across a shocking
one and read it quickly. Susan noticed his eyebrows lifting higher and higher
with each sentence. “What in hell . .. ?”

 
          
“What
is it, General?”

 
          
“Some
sort of base-wide emergency happening at Mersa Matruh as we speak,” Baris
replied, reading the report with growing surprise. “Listen to this, Susan: On
the night before the attack at the mosque, there was an attack against an
isolated rocket base in
Libya
, including possible chemical and nuclear
material discharge.”

 
          
“I
remember. Kamal was briefed shortly after it happened. We mobilized our border
forces, but otherwise did not want to make it appear we were in any way
involved.”

           
“That’s correct,” Baris said. “A
few hours later, there were a series of attacks by unidentified warplanes,
presumed to be Libyan, against several civilian commercial vessels in the
Mediterranean
. We were told they were some kind of
retaliatory attacks, the Libyans trying to find where the commandos that
attacked their base came from. A total of seven lifeboats filled with
sixty-three men and women evacuated from one of the ships, a Lithuanian-flagged
salvage vessel, and were picked up by our guided missile frigate
El Arish
out of Mersa Matruh.”