Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (21 page)

 
          
“Absolutely.”
Patrick nodded, then went up on deck to relieve Wohl.

 
          
Chris
gave him a quick rundown on the Egyptian Navy’s deployment around them.
Directly in front of the
El Arish
about
five kilometers away was the
Damyat
,
a Knox-class frigate, turned head-on to the
El
Arish
so both its 127- millimeter cannon and four fixed torpedo tubes were
trained on the captured vessel. Flanking the
Damyat
were two British-built fast missile attack craft, the
Ramadan
and the
Badr
, each with one 76-millimeter gun, a twin 40-millimeter gun,
and two Otomat antiship missiles trained on them. Patrick called up the
tactical picture transmitted from the
El
Arish's
Combat
Information
Center
on his electronic visor to study the rest
of the deployment. A mixture of exRussian and ex-Chinese patrol and fast attack
boats surrounded them on all sides, with the heaviest concentration of ships
between them and the base. Chris also briefed him on some of the crew’s
activities—routine maintenance, systems checks, and cleanup details.

 
          
Patrick
held out his hands. Chris Wohl deactivated the power on the hypervelocity rail
gun he was holding, unplugged the datalink from the gun to his battle armor,
opened the chamber to make sure none of the depleted uranium projectiles were
loaded, then placed the weapon in Patrick’s hands. The electromagnetic rail gun
fired nonexplosive projectiles at almost fifty thousand feet per second,
powerful enough to drive the projectile through several feet of steel after
flying more than three miles. Coupled with the sensors built into the Tin Man
battle armor, the gun was deadly and effective to machines of all sizes, from
ships to main battle tanks to aircraft.

 
          
Patrick
plugged the datalink into his suit, chambered a round into the rail gun, made
sure the safety was on, then reactivated it. It immediately reported “READY” on
his electronic visor. “I relieve you, Sergeant,” he said, knowing the ex-Marine
would like a formal guard post changeover.

 
          
“I
stand relieved, sir,” Wohl replied. Even with the exoskeleton, he managed a
salute.

 
          
“Looks
pretty shitty, huh, Sarge?” he said to Chris Wohl, motioning to the Egyptian
ships around them.

 
          
“Nah.
We got them right where we want them, sir,” Wohl replied, and he headed toward
the wheelhouse berth, the spot he liked to go when he took a break.

 
          
It
looked very hopeless, Patrick thought as Wohl disappeared from view. Why in
hell did I lead these men here?

 
          
Several
minutes later, Luger radioed: “Castor, we have a visitor who wants to talk with
you.”

 
          
“I’m
on guard duty,
Texas
. If you can’t handle it, it’ll have to wait until I’m relieved.”

 
          
“This
can’t wait,” Luger responded. “It’s the Egyptian national security adviser,
General Baris. He wants to talk with you directly.”

 
          
“Send
him up here, then.” A few minutes later, Luger escorted an older man in a
business suit, along with an Egyptian naval officer and a female security
guard, up on deck. Luger was carrying a metal briefcase, one that obviously
belonged to the Egyptians. Patrick watched them approach with his all-aspect
sensors but did not stop scanning the sea for any sign of intruders. “General
Baris?
Tasharrafna
,.”

 
          
“Es
salaem
alekum.
You are the one they call Castor, I presume?” Baris asked in
halting but very good English.

           
Patrick did not answer “I am General
Ahmad Baris, retired, adviser to the president of Egypt on national security
affairs. This is my aide and my bodyguard.”

 
          
“It
is very dangerous for all of you to be here,” Patrick said, his voice disguised
by the electronic voice amplifier in the battle armor. “I assure you, the men
on board this ship will not be harmed if they do exactly as I say. I intend on
returning this vessel shortly, as soon as we collect enough intelligence
information to proceed against the Libyans. Anything else?”

 
          
“Aywa, inshaallah”
Baris responded. “My
friend, president, and leader of our country, Dr. Kamal Ismail Salaam, along
with his wife Susan, were assassinated yesterday in
Cairo
during celebration of the Prophet
Muhammad’s birthday,” Baris said. “A suicide bomber, believed to be part of the
Muslim Brotherhood.”

 
          
“Yes.
I had been told about that. I’m sorry,” Patrick said woodenly. After all the
death he had seen in the last twenty-four hours, the news of Salaam’s death had
absolutely no effect on him. “I know President Salaam was very well respected
in the
United States
; his wife was a veteran of the United
States Air Force, I believe.”

 
          
“Yes.”
Interesting comment—Baris filed that away for future use. Could this “Castor”
be a former American Air Force officer himself? “Our intelligence sources
believe the Muslim Brotherhood, led by Jadallah Zuwayy of
Libya
, was responsible for the assassination. He
of course would have also ordered the attacks on vessels in international
waters as well, in retaliation for the attack on his base at Samah. May I
assume that it was you and your men that conducted that raid on Samah?”

 
          
“General
Baris, I allowed you and your aide on board only to reassure you that your men
and your vessel are being well taken care of, and I promise it’ll stay that way
until we depart, unless your men fail to follow my orders,” Patrick said
sternly. “I did not allow you to come up here and interrogate me.
Ma’as salaema,
General.”

 
          
“I
am told you were conducting a search of the waters near where the
El Arish
picked up you and your men,” Baris
went on. “I assume, then, that you lost some men in the attack. I am sorry for
your loss, sir.”

           
Patrick had to take a deep breath to
talk past the lump that unexpectedly formed in his throat. “You may speak with
Commander Farouk for ten minutes, General Baris. Now go.”

 
          
“I
can feel your pain, Castor,” a woman’s voice said—an American woman’s voice.

 
          
Despite
himself, Patrick turned toward the voice, his movements accentuated and
quickened by the electronically controlled exoskeleton. Baris’s aide removed
his service cap and sunglasses—revealing a woman, a very beautiful woman
despite the fact that she wore an eye patch over her left eye. “
Texas
.. .”

 
          
“I
didn’t know, Castor,” David Luger said, as surprised as Patrick. “He ... I
mean,
she
was searched for weapons,
not to verify gender.”

 
          
Baris
turned to the woman. “I shall be below, Madame, interviewing Commander Farouk.”
He bowed slightly to the woman and departed. The security officer stayed, but
moved a discreet distance away. David was unsure for a moment what to do, but
decided that neither woman was any threat to Patrick. He set the metal
briefcase down beside the first woman and escorted Baris below.

 
          
“Most
generals don’t bow to their aides and call them ‘madame,’ ” Patrick observed.
“I assume I’m speaking to Madame Susan Salaam, first lady of
Egypt
?”

 
          
“Yes,”
Susan Bailey Salaam replied. She motioned to Amina. “She is Captain Amina
Shafik of the Republican Guards, assigned by General Baris as my bodyguard.
Shall I assume that I’m speaking to the commander of the American commando team
that attacked Samah and destroyed several surface-to-surface rockets, including
some with nuclear and biochem warheads?”

 
          
“What
are you doing here, Mrs. Salaam?”

 
          
Susan
sighed, then replied, “Surviving. What are you doing here, Castor? On some sort
of crusade to rid the world of weapons of mass destruction? Or do you have some
sort of special affinity with
Egypt
that you would risk your life and those of
your team to destroy weapons that were probably not pointed at any American
targets?”

           
“If the destruction of those
missiles at Samah helped Egypt, I’m glad,” Patrick replied. “But I’m not going
to play twenty questions with you. Go below and talk with the sailors if you
want, or return to your launch.”

 
          
“You
lost someone close to you, didn’t you, Castor?” Susan asked. Patrick did not
reply. “Someone
very
close to you. I
could tell it in your voice, even all electronically fuzzed.” Still no reply.
“You must be hot in that metal suit, Castor. Take it off. I won’t hurt you, and
I certainly won’t report a fellow American soldier to the Egyptian
authorities.” Silence. “At least take off the helmet and let me look at you.
You look like a cross between Robocop and Darth Vader—but your voice doesn’t
sound like either one of those characters.”

 
          
Patrick
simply had no idea why he did it—he had already ordered her away, and he was on
watch, and the navies of at least two countries were within a moment’s notice
of blowing him to hell. But Patrick hefted the big electromagnetic rail gun in
his left hand, unfastened his helmet, and slipped it off.

 
          
Unaltered
by the electronic visor, he could see that she was even more beautiful. She had
let her hair fall to her shoulders in dark, shining cascades; her lips were
full and red; her cheekbones high and striking; her neck graceful; her skin
smooth and dark, adding to the allure. Her one good right eye widened in
pleasant surprise as she studied his face.

 
          
“That’s
much better,” she said in a low but sweet voice. She couldn’t believe how young
and how innocent he looked—she had expected some grizzled old warhorse. He
looked more like a high school teacher than a commando. He didn’t look
dangerous in the least, although his dark blue eyes were hard to read—this was
clearly not his first mission in that getup, she decided, but he looked very
much out of place in it. “Thank you for trusting me.”

 
          
“Now
you can go.”

 
          
“Won’t
you tell me your name? And I’ll bet it’s not Castor. That’s your call sign, at
least the one you’re using on this mission. I’ve worked with lots of
special-ops teams before. I was an intelligence officer in the Air Force—I’ve
briefed dozens of teams from all branches of service before and after they do
their thing. I know how you guys operate.”

 
          
“Mrs.
Salaam, you will—”

 
          
“Call
me Susan. Please. With my husband gone, there will be hardly anyone I know in
this hemisphere that will call me by my first name now. I’ll be the Widow
Salaam forever, especially around the
Mediterranean
.”

 
          
Patrick
hesitated, his words forgotten. He nodded, averting his eyes. “I’m sorry for
your loss, Susan.”

 
          
“And
I am sorry for yours,” Susan said. “I am an American, a former Air Force
officer, an Egyptian, and a widow—but I am first and foremost a woman. I can
tell when someone is suffering. It is more than just a team leader who has lost
men under his command in combat— you have lost someone much closer than that.”

 
          
It
appeared for a moment that he was going to open up to her, but then she saw the
hood go over his blue eyes again, and she knew he was not yet ready. She
quickly decided to give it up. “I am so very sorry,” she said. “You will be
permitted to stay on board this ship for as long as you like. If there is any
assistance we can provide, don’t hesitate to ask. The intelligence services of
Egypt
are at your command.”