Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (55 page)

 
          
“I...
I don’t know, General,” Susan said. “I don’t want to leave
Egypt
now, at a time like this, with
Libya
threatening our very existence almost every
day.”

           
“Why? What are you concerned about,
Sekhmet? Our nation is strong, despite
Libya
’s aggression. They never had enough
strength to destroy
Egypt
militarily, with or without nuclear
weapons. We will survive.” He paused, looking carefully at Susan; then: “Or are
you concerned more about how you might be looked upon by the people of
Egypt
if you left?”

 
          
“Are
you saying that because I’m American, I needn’t be concerned about
Egypt
?” Susan retorted. “I’ve lived here for many
years, General. I speak Arabic. I consider myself an Egyptian. Are you saying
that I’m only concerned about myself and not
Egypt
?”

 
          
“Of
course not, Sekhmet,” Baris said. “What I’m concerned about is that you might
put yourself in grave danger by staying, in some misguided notion that you need
to stay because this is where your husband is buried ... or, yes, because you
may think that the people’s memory of your late husband or yourself might be
tarnished if you left now. Your loyalty for our country is inspiring, Susan,
but you are not safe here.”

 
          
“What
if I were president?”

 
          
Finally,
the truth comes out, Baris thought—this was the secret she had kept to herself
all this time. “Being president will not relieve you of the danger you faced
from Khalid al-Khan and the Muslim Brotherhood,” Baris reminded her. “You will
always be the wife of their political adversary, the wife of the man that Khan
conspired to murder in order to form his ideal Islamic government. In fact, I
believe you will face even greater dangers, greater pressures.

 
          
“The
real struggles will be political. You and the National Democratic Party will be
blamed for every wrong, every deficiency, and every failure. You will be
accused of impeding progress and delivering privileged information to enemies
of the state and to anarchists. There are many citizens and government
officials who agreed with Khan and were happy to see your husband
assassinated—and would happily do the same to you. Your enemies will know your
every move—if they want to ambush you, they’ll know exactly when and where
you’ll be at all times. You are putting yourself in the lion’s jaws, Susan.
Why?”

           
“Because I feel I can do more
inside the government than outside,” Susan replied. “As simply the widow of a
dead president or leader of the opposition, I create nothing but background
noise. Let me trade on my name and my being a widow. Maybe I can do some good.”

 
          
Baris
studied his young friend for a few moments. Her words sounded determined, conclusive,
and decisive—but he still felt uneasy, uncertain. What else was wrong? What
wasn’t he noticing?

 
          
“I
suggest you leave
Egypt
,” Baris said evenly. “Once in
Italy
, or
England
, or the
United States
, you can get on all the talk shows and news
programs and talk about your vision of
Egypt
. You can raise money, attract attention to
your ideas, and gather support. If you try to do it now, with the nation in
chaos and the Libyans threatening to blow the entire country into atoms, your
voice will be lost in the cries of confusion and fear—not to mention your life
will be in terrible danger, just because of who you are.” He took her hands.
“Think about it, my friend. I am only concerned for your safety now—
Egypt
can wait, for a little while.”

           
“I’ll think about it.”

 
          
“Good.”
He kissed her hands, smiled warmly at her, and then departed.

 
          
Khalid
al-Khan was dead. The government was disorganized, frightened.
Egypt
was in grave danger. She had to do
something....

 
          
TRIPOLI
,
UNITED KINGDOM
OF
LIBYA
 
THAT SAME TIME

           
“They can’t pin this on me,”
Jadallah Zuwayy said proudly. “An entire military base destroyed, and they have
no idea who did it to them. God, I wish I could have seen it for myself.”
Beside him, General Tahir Fazani, his military chief of staff, and Juma Mahmud
Hijazi, his foreign minister, looked on with disbelief and fear ...

           
... but mostly they were trying to
decide how to get out of this predicament with their skins still attached to
then- bodies. “Jadallah, let’s not celebrate just yet,” Juma Hijazi, the Libyan
foreign minister, said. “
Egypt
and the entire world are going to be on
high alert after that weapon went off at Mersa Matruh.”

 
          
“Our
plan to take the Salimah oil fields is still on schedule,” Zuwayy said. “We
still have almost fifty thousand troops surrounding Salimah, plus another
twenty thousand Sudanese mercenaries. We can send in every piece of air defense
equipment we own to protect them. Once we move in, we can wire the place with
explosives and threaten to blow it up unless we make a deal for coproduction
rights.”

           
“Just a couple months is all we
need,” Fazani said. “Once we have the first shot of cash in our hands, we head
for
Malaysia
or some island in
Indonesia
and relax.”

 
          
“Or
we can get the hell out
now,”
Hijazi
said. “Damn it, Jadallah, we’ve got more money than Bill Gates tucked away in
secret bank accounts all over the world—why are we staying here acting like targets?
Let’s get the hell out.”

           
“I can’t leave!” Zuwayy retorted.
“I am the king of united
Libya
! I am the head of the Muslim Brotherhood! I
can’t run! I am the leader of a quarter of a billion Muslims around the world
...”

           
“Jadallah, give it up, will you?”
Fazani interjected. “You are not a fucking king, and the Muslim Brotherhood would
gladly turn you over to Kazakov or Salaam or anyone else for the right amount
of cash.”

 
          
“I
say let’s end it—right now,” Hijazi insisted. “Let’s get while the getting’s
good.”

 
          
“If
you want to go so badly, go,” Zuwayy said morosely. Hijazi had thought about
doing exactly that, and he had spoken about it at length with Fazani. But they
needed Zuwayy—not because of any misguided sense of loyalty, but because only
Zuwayy had the bank account numbers and access codes they needed to tap into
the full range of money they had stolen from the Libyan government’s oil
revenues. As the mastermind of their operation, Zuwayy had all the codes—Fazani
and Hijazi had only the codes for their own accounts. If they simply ran,
Zuwayy would eventually hunt them down, slaughter them, and keep all the money.

 
          
“We’re
in this together, Jadallah,” Hijazi lied. “We stay together.” Together—until
they got the codes from Zuwayy, at which time they would jettison his ass and
be done with his delusions of grandeur. “Tahir, let’s take another look at the
military forces we have remaining—I think we should beef up security here in
Tripoli and around our headquarters first, then see how many troops we can
commit to Salimah.” Fazani was more than happy to comply—and if it turned out that
they needed all available troops to secure
Tripoli
and all of their secret headquarters and
shelters, so be it. No one was anxious to march out into the open and have a
cluster bomb dropped on them anyway.

 
          
While
Zuwayy and Fazani worked to reallocate troops in the wake of the nuclear
detonation at Mersa Matruh, Hijazi went to the outer office to have a cigarette
and clear his head. The situation was becoming desperate, he thought. He had to
try to convince Jadallah to escape. But if he wouldn’t, Hijazi thought, he
might have to hire his own strongmen to kidnap Zuwayy and force him to turn
over the bank account numbers and access codes. He wasn’t going to wait much
longer for him to—

 
          
“Excuse
me, Minister,” Zuwayy’s private secretary said, interrupting his thoughts.
“There is an urgent phone call for His Highness.”

 
          
“Take
a message.”

 
          
“Sir,
the caller is Madame Susan Bailey Salaam of
Egypt
.”

 
          
“Salaam?”
What was she calling for? “Send the call to my office immediately. I’ll take it
there.” He thought quickly, then added, “And if the king or General Fazani want
to know where I am, tell them I’m dealing with the Egyptians—don’t tell them
who called.”

 
          
“Yes,
Minister.”

 
          
Hijazi
fairly ran down the hallway of the presidential palace to his office, then closed
the door behind him. He took a shot of whiskey first to calm himself, then
lifted the receiver. “This is the Minister of Arab Unity,” he said in his most
officious tone. “To whom am I speaking, please?”

           
“This is Susan Bailey Salaam, Mr.
Hijazi,” Susan Bailey replied. “Do you need more proof of my identity?”

           
“That depends on what you have to
say to me, Madame,” Hijazi said. “What do you want?”

 
          
“I
wish to end this war between us,” Salaam said. “I wish for the violence and
destruction to end. We have both suffered greatly in the past few days. It is
time to make peace.”

 
          
“What
are you talking about, Madame?”

           
“I’m talking about the attack on
Jaghbub last night, Minister.”

 
          
Hijazi’s
mouth dropped open, and he had to struggle to maintain his composure. “What do
you know of this, Salaam?”

 
          
“I
know everything. I know about the attacks on Zillah and Al-Jawf tonight, too.”

 
          
“Hold,”
Hijazi said. He frantically punched the call from Salaam on hold, then hit the
button to the outer office. “Put in a call to the commander of Zillah Air Base,
and I want him on the line
now.”

 
          
Hijazi
was on hold for over three minutes. Then: “This is Colonel Harb speaking.”

 
          
“This
is Minister of Arab Unity Hijazi, Colonel, speaking from His Majesty’s
residence. I have been informed of an attack tonight on your base. What is
happening?” There was a long, maddening pause.
“Colonel!”

 
          
“The
attack ended only minutes ago, Minister—”

           
“What
attack?”

           
“We... we don’t know any details,
sir,” Harb stammered. “We were hit by antiradar missiles first, and then our
runway was bombed. We’ve lost several fighters and two bombers.”

 
          
“Who
did this?”

           
“We don’t know, sir.... Can you
please hold, sir? I have casualty reports coming in, please—”

 
          
Hijazi
hung up. It was true... God, it was true. He didn’t need to call Al-Jawf to
know that it was hit too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what the damage
was; enemy aircraft had invaded
Libya
only minutes ago, and Susan Bailey Salaam
had told him about it
—before his own
military did!