Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (65 page)

 
          
The
“powered exoskeleton” was a new one for Pavel Kazakov—it made his already
fearsome battle armor sound even more fearsome. “All right, all
right”
Kazakov shouted. He thought
quickly. There was an opportunity here—but Salaam had to play along. What did
she want? What was
her
overriding
desire? Certainly not this general. . . “Here’s the deal, Madame,” Kazakov
said. “You convince McLanahan not to attack us anymore. You keep the sixty
percent majority ownership of Salimah, the Central African Petroleum Partners
keep their thirty percent, and I’ll take the remaining ten percent for myself.”

 
          
“You
cannot give me something that I already own, Kazakov,” Salaam said. “Zuwayy extorted
Egypt
for twenty percent of Salimah, yet he has
done nothing but threaten his neighbors and waste your money—and now he’s put
your very life in danger. He is a psychopathic killer with delusions of
grandeur. He thinks he’s a Libyan king, yet his henchmen are stealing money
from their treasury as if it’s free for the taking. Why do you support him?”

 
          
“Because
he controls an organization that potentially controls forty-five percent of the
world’s oil reserves,” Kazakov replied. “What is it you control? What doyou—?”

 
          
And
then he stopped. He remembered the recent items in the news, the rallies, the
editorials on this beautiful, opportunistic, charismatic woman—they were
calling her the “next Cleopatra.” Could this work ... ?

 
          
“Are
you still there, Kazakov? We’d better come to an agreement soon.”

 
          
“Of
course,” Kazakov went on. “I know just what might change your mind.”

 
          
“Oh,
really? It had better be good—for your sake.”

           
“Everyone calls you the
reincarnation of Cleopatra, an empress of the new
United Arab Republic
..He paused, and he noticed that she did
not rebuff him—interesting reaction! “Why don’t we make you ... an emperor?”

 
          
“What
are you blathering about, Kazakov?”

 
          
‘The
next Muslim Brotherhood Unity Congress, to be held in
Tripoli
,” Kazakov said. “You will attend—and you
will be elected president of the Muslim Brotherhood.” Again, Kazakov noticed,
no rebuke, no derision—she was not only listening, but considering the thought
as well! Finally—much too late—she asked, “What are you talking about, Kazakov?
How can you do this?”

           
“Madame, do you really think the
Muslim Brotherhood would even exist without my support?” Kazakov asked. “Zuwayy
is president of the Brotherhood because I give him the money to bribe the other
members into voting for him. With him, it is a meaningless title—he doesn’t
care at all about Muslims or brotherhood, only money. But you ...”

 
          
“I
am not Muslim, Kazakov.”

 
          
“But
you were on the verge of becoming Muslim, Madame—the world knows this,” Kazakov
said. “I know you have worshiped with your husband; I know you have taken the
baths, read and studied the Quran, fasted during Ramadan, and given the
zakah
, the poor-due—I believe you even
registered yourself as a Muslim so you could accompany your husband on the
Hadj,
the pilgrimage to Mecca and
Medina. All you need to do, from what I know about converting to Islam, is
publicly give the
Shahada
, the
testament of faith. Besides, this whole Muslim Brotherhood thing is one of
Zuwayy’s concoctions to make himself look good and increase his perceived
power. You have a thousand times more charm, charisma, and leadership qualities
than he does. You would captivate the world, Susan.”

           
“This .. . this would never work,
Kazakov. You know nothing about it.”

 
          
“I
know I can turn the Muslim Brotherhood away from Zuwayy—I can expose him as an
impostor, a pretender,” Kazakov said. “With a little cash and the right
information dropped here and there, I can destroy him without hardly lifting a
finger. This paves the way for you to take over the Muslim Brotherhood. But
with you controlling Salimah, you would be more than just a figurehead—you
would be a true leader, a true savior. An empress.”

 
          
Another
long pause—she was actually considering it. Man, Kazakov thought, the one thing
more powerful than money just
had
to
be vanity.

 
          
“And
all I have to do . .. ?”

 
          
“Tell
McLanahan to stay out of
Africa
,”
Kazakov said. “Tell your boyfriend and his bombers not to interfere with our
operations again. You give me a taste of Salimah—just ten percent. Then you and
I will talk about your future ... as the leader of the
United Arab Republic
.”

 
          
There
was another pause, but much shorter this time. “Not one bomb falls on
Egypt
, Kazakov,” Susan Bailey Salaam said, “or
the deal’s off. Destroy Zuwayy. Destroy him.”

 
          
“Yes
. . . Empress,” Kazakov said. He hung up, stood up, and had to bite a knuckle
to keep his excitement in check. Ivana Vasilyeva looked at him strangely as she
entered the room. “For a moment there, Madame Salaam,” he said half aloud, “I
thought you cared for this McLanahan. I guess everything—and everyone—has a
price and a value.”

 
          
“What
is it, Comrade?” Vasilyeva asked.

 
          
“You’ve
got your orders now—you’re going to
Libya
,” he told her. “Get close to Zuwayy, report
on his every move, find out where he’s keeping any American prisoners, and get
ready to kill that pig.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir,” Vasilyeva said. “He won’t be difficult to manipulate.”

 
          
“I
have no doubt. Take control of the situation in that palace. But most
importantly: Save those prisoners. I believe they’re in
Tripoli
—they may even be right in the palace.”

 
          
“I’ll
find them, Comrade.”

 
          
“And
if you find a woman named McLanahan being kept prisoner by Zuwayy, capture her
and get her out of there. She could be the key to getting our hands on the
bastards that put me in this dreary place. If you find her, I want her taken
alive and brought back to me.”

 
          
“What
is she to you, sir?”

 
          
“If
I can use those captives to lure the Tin Man into a trap, then Salaam can go to
hell,” Kazakov said acidly. “I’ll get around to eventually burying that little
bitch too.” He looked at Vasilyeva. “But my real target is the husband, General
Patrick McLanahan. If you encounter him, you are to kill him without fail. Do
you hear me?
Without fail!'

 
          
“Why
don’t I just kill them all, Comrade?” Vasilyeva asked with an evil smile, “and
we will let God sort them out?”

KING JADALLAH AS-SANUSI
STADIUM,
 
TRIPOLI
,
UNITED KINGDOM
OF
LIBYA
 
SEVERAL DAYS LATER

           
No one in the entire Arab world had
seen anything like it in more than forty years—and, some surmised, nothing like
this had been seen in northern
Africa
in
more than
two thousand
years.

 
          
King
Jadallah as-Sanusi Stadium was packed: more than two thousand spectators in the
stands, another fifty thousand on the field, plus another five thousand
dignitaries from all over the world in a specially set-up seating section,
celebrating the opening of the First Muslim Brotherhood World Unity Conference.
News agencies from around the world were carrying the celebrations and speeches
live. It had the atmosphere of the opening day of the Olympics. Security was
tight, almost oppressively so, but it did not deter from the festival
atmosphere of this unprecedented gathering.

 
          
One
by one, the presidents or representatives of the member nations of the Muslim
Brotherhood—Sudan, Palestine, Algeria, Syria, Jordan, Yemen, Somalia, Albania,
Iraq, and Afghanistan—filed into the top VIP section of the stadium, to the
delighted cheers of the crowd. Once these ministers were welcomed and seated,
the provisional member nations of the Muslim Brotherhood, representing most of
the rest of the Muslim world, entered. It was an incredible sight to see
longtime enemies and adversaries greeting and embracing each other, and each
time it happened it delighted the crowd even more.

 
          
The
last representatives to enter were the most important: the host nation and the
leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, King Jadallah as-Sanusi of the United Kingdom
of Libya; and two of its most important provisional members—Crown Prince
Abdallah bin Abd al-Aziz al-Sa’ad, the deputy foreign minister, commander of
the Saudi National Guard, and heir to the throne of Saudi Arabia; and President
Susan Bailey Salaam, the newly elected president of Egypt. The presence of the
Crown Prince was significant in two ways: It signaled a more favorable change
in attitude of the Saudi royal family toward the Muslim Brotherhood and,
secondarily, to Jadallah Zuwayy; yet, because King Fa’ad himself did not
attend, it was apparent that the Saudi royal family wasn’t ready to commit to
joining the Brotherhood quite yet.

 
          
The
stir caused by the appearance of the Saudi Crown Prince was muted in comparison
to the appearance of the president—some said the “queen”—of
Egypt
. Susan Bailey Salaam was greeted with thunderous
applause, singing, cheering, and chanting—and when she lifted her arms, palms
upward, to acknowledge the crowd, their roaring redoubled. The eventual
appearance of the host and leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, Jadallah Zuwayy,
was hardly noticed—Zuwayy tried to delay his appearance on the dais for as long
as he could to allow time for the cheering for Bailey to subside, but he
finally had to step up anyway because it was obvious he would be waiting an
awful long time.

 
          
There
was a brief prayer service, followed by performances by dancers and singers
from each of the member nations, and then each representative was allowed to
give some brief remarks. Some of the representatives were better speakers than
others; some others ran longer than their allotted five minutes. The crowd
became restless. Everyone knew why: They were waiting for
her
to speak. Jadallah Zuwayy had no choice but to speak last: As
the host, he was obligated to let all of his guests precede him. There was
nothing he could do.

 
          
Zuwayy
knew it was going to be a long and wasted day the moment Salaam stepped up to
the microphone and the crowd saw it was her—they cheered for five minutes
straight even before she uttered a single word.

 
          
The
erstwhile king of Libya waited patiently for the cheering for Salaam to die
down; when it was obvious it was not going to do so right away, Zuwayy signaled
his Director of Arab Unity, Juma Mahmud Hijazi, to call for order—and it made
it doubly embarrassing for Zuwayy when the crowd virtually ignored Hijazi’s
request. A sound technician finally had to inject some feedback into the sound
system, and the loud squeal reverberating through the stadium finally helped to
silence the crowd. Zuwayy read his welcoming remarks quickly, without any
passion, and got off the dais as quickly as he could.

 
          
The
members of the audience and those watching around the world who expected Susan
Bailey Salaam to give one of her impassioned, fervent speeches on peace,
freedom, prosperity, and unity among the Muslim nations might have been
disappointed. Susan’s speech lasted only a few short seconds—but she could not
have uttered any more important or rousing words than the ones she chose that
afternoon.