by Dale Brown
Even though the Russian guided weapons were state-ofthe-art, they couldn't interface well with the Megafortress. The antiradar missiles were programmed on the ground to detect and attack any height-finder radar, an integral part of a surface-to-air missile or fighter ground-controlled intercept radar; the air-to-air missiles' seeker was caged straight ahead and would only report if a bright enough heat source crossed its path-they would never know if it locked on or hit its target. The inertially guided missiles had to be programmed with a target on the ground before takeoff, and then their guidance systems had to be aligned on the ground before takeoff-and their accuracy couldn't be updated while in flight. -
Patrick took the king on a quick tour of the AL-52 Dragon. Workers from Sky Masters Inc., including Jon Masters himself, were still poring over it, adjusting components and voltages while a laptop computer measured magnetic fields and predicted power yields and safety margins. "A truly impressive weapon, Dr. Masters," Sanusi said after he had been introduced.
"I wish I could take all the credit for it," Jon said. He motioned inside the belly of the AL-52 just as a little girl emerged, covered in grease and dirt but wearing a big smile. "Your Majesty, may I present Dr. Kelsey Duffield of Nevada, my partner and chief engineer of this particular weapon system. Dr. Duffield, may I present the king of the United Kingdom of Libya, His Majesty, Muhammad as-Sanusi."
"Jon, for Christ's sake!" Patrick gasped. "Pardon me, Your Highness, but… Jeez, Jon, you brought Kelsey Duffield… to Libya!"
"I couldn't keep her away, Patrick," Jon said. "If you're going to yell at me, stand in line-Kelsey's mom isn't done chewing on me yet. Patrick, this is Dr. Kelsey Duffield, our new partner; Kelsey, Brigadier-General Patrick McLanahan, retired, our v.p. in charge of operations."
"Pleased to meet you, General," Kelsey said, giving Patrick a big hug and a kiss. "Don't worry about Dr. Wendy, sir-we'll get her back for you and Bradley." She gave Sanusi a little-girl curtsy, then went back inside the Dragon's fuselage and back to work.
"Not exactly what you expected, huh?" Jon asked.
"I expected anything but a nine-year-old in a war zone, Jon," Patrick said. "We will get her out as soon as we can."
"She's advancing the state of the art in high-power lasers by five years every hour she works on the Dragon," Jon said. But when Patrick glared at him, he held up his hands. "Okay, okay, as soon as we launch, Kelsey goes home."
While Sanusi's men and the Sky Masters tech crews loaded up the planes, Patrick and Sanusi met up with Dave Luger, Hal Briggs, and Chris Wohl in a meeting room, where charts and diagrams had been spread out on a table. "I have never before seen the defenses in Tripoli so strong and tight," the king said. He took out a notepad from his tunic, then started drawing circles and crosses on the charts. "Zuwayy has definitely pulled in and reinforced his forces around Tripoli to prepare for air attacks. These are new mobile antiaircraft missile and gun emplacements-at least ten new units brought in within the past several days. We haven't been able to actually count the number of fighters stationed at Al-Khums and Miznah, but we believe all of their alert aircraft shelters are occupied-that's twelve fighter-interceptors on alert twenty-four-seven at each base." He looked seriously at Patrick. "With all due respect to your men and machines, my friend, it would be suicide to attack Tripoli now."
"We don't have any choice, Your Highness," Patrick said.
"Perhaps," Sanusi said. "But even if you do penetrate those air defenses, there is no way you can locate your wife and your men in the Garden labyrinth. We've narrowed the area down to the southeast complex, which is the presidential palace area, but that only narrows it down to two or three dozen rooms, defended by perhaps five hundred troops."
"I know a way to find her quickly," Patrick said.
Sanusi looked into Patrick's eyes, and his round eyes grew sad and his lips pulled taut. "I think I know how you intend to do this," Sanusi said. "It's madness. Your son will lose both his parents."
"It's the only chance we'll ever get, Your Highness," Patrick said. He looked down, tracing his finger over the air defense circles surrounding their objective. "I don't think I can go back without her again, Muhammad. The pain on my son's face was almost too much to bear."
CHAPTER 10
PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, TRIPOLI,
UNITED KINGDOM LIBYA
THAT NIGHT
"He is with that new whore every hour of every day now," General Tahir Fazani, the Libyan military chief of staff, commented disgustedly in a low voice. He and the Minister of Arab Unity, Juma Mahmud Hijazi, were in Fazani's office in the Libyan Presidential Palace, where a military briefing had just wrapped up-minus the king, Jadallah Zuwayy, again. They had dismissed the rest of the military advisers and were preparing to brief the king on the military-readiness reports. "We're getting ready to go to war with Egypt, and he's over there getting laid."
"Or worse," Hijazi mused. "Do you think he's on the drugs again?"
"God, I hope not," Fazani said. "We're screwed if he is."
"Tahir, why the hell don't we just blow town?" Hijazi asked.
"You know why, Juma-if we don't control the money or don't bump off Jadallah, we come away with nothing — and worse, he'll be coming after us for the rest of his life. We need to get those bank account numbers and passwords first."
"Maybe if he was back on horse, we could get them easier," Hijazi surmised. He nodded to the reports. "How are we looking?"
"It couldn't be better," Fazani said. "Exactly as the planning staff predicted, the intelligence staff tells us Egypt pulled so many forces back toward Cairo that they're unable to set up any kind of meaningful defense, let alone mount an offensive. We don't have enough troops to take Salimah yet, in my opinion, but if Jadallah wanted to mount an offensive, now would be the time to do it. We set up a forward base inside Egypt, move a large number of troops and aircraft there, and we can hold off the Egyptian army forever."
"And if the Americans intervene?"
"They won't-President Thorn is a spineless weakling," Fazani said. "But if he does, we withdraw-but not before destroying Salimah. We blow all the oil wells, just like Saddam Hussein did as his forces left Kuwait." Just then, the outer door opened, and Fazani's aide stepped quickly in. "What is it, Captain?"
"Sir, an American has been arrested by the security forces outside the gate of the Presidential Palace. He was demanding to see the king."
"Why are you bothering me with this drivel, Captain? Have him arrested and taken to the interrogation center."
"He also demands to see the prisoners."
"What prisoners?"
"He says, the American prisoners," the aide said. "The ones captured after the attacks in the Mediterranean Seaincluding the woman, Wendy McLanahan."
Fazani and Hijazi looked at each other in complete surprise. No one, they wordlessly reminded each other, knew about the prisoners-and they sure as hell didn't know any of the prisoners' names! "Does this man have a name?"
"Yes, sir-he called himself McLanahan too. J3figadier General Patrick McLanahan."
Both Libyan ministers jumped to their feet in surprise. "McLanahan? He's hereT Fazani shouted. "Is he armed?"
"Just a small pistol, sir."
Thank God he didn't visit them as he visited Zuwayy in Jaghbub-with his bombers buzzing overhead destroying the place and wearing his medieval armor with the built-in bug zapper, Fazani thought. "Bring him up here, right now!"
"I'll tell Jadallah-" Hijazi said.
"Not quite yet," Fazani said. "Maybe this McLanahan has information that is valuable to us. We'll tell Jadallah… in good time."
A few minutes later, Patrick was standing before both Hijazi and Fazani, his hands shackled in front of him with handcuffs and a chain around his waist. He was wearing plain civilian clothes, similar to urban Arabs. One of the guards set a bag on the desk. "He was found with this, sir," the guard said. Fazani examined the bag: It contained a fake beard, Libyan citizen documents, Libyan money, a s
mall digital camera, a palm-sized radio, a Russian Tokarev pistol-common in both Libya and Egypt-and a fake Egyptian passport. The guard held out another smaller bag-this one held colored contact lenses. "He was wearing these as well. His hair is dyed black, too." Fazani felt his hair-quick, cheap hair dye. "No other weapons."
"Very clever, General," Fazani said in halting but good English. "Fake documents, fake hair, even fake eye color. What do you hope to accomplish here, General?"
"I'm looking for my wife and my men," Patrick said. "I know you're holding them."
"Oh, I am sure you will be joining them soon enough," Fazani said. "But we have questions first."
"I'm not answering any questions. I want the Americans. If I don't come out with them, I'll destroy this palace."
"You will? With what? This pistol?"
"You know how," Patrick said ominously. "The same way I destroyed Samah, Jaghbub, Al-Jawf, and Zillah."
Both Fazani and Hijazi looked decidedly uncomfortable at that point. Fazani paced around Patrick, thinking hard; then: "Then I have a better idea, General: You will recall your bombers immediately, or I will execute your wife and all your men right before your eyes."
"If I don't report in to my unit by the bottom of the hour, Minister, this palace will be destroyed." Hijazi looked at his watch: ten minutes to go. "There is no abort code, Minister-either I report I'm still inbound, or I report I'm coming out with the prisoners, or this place gets leveled. I'm not afraid to die."
"Then it was a suicide mission," Fazani said. "Because I assure you, we will be safe from any of your weaponsunless you intend on dropping a nuclear bomb on us. After the attack, we will all appear on the world news together and tell the world all about your doomed rescue mission and your homicidal bombing raids on Libya."
"Then you'll be doing that report from the rubble of your government buildings and palaces," Patrick said, "because I guarantee you, you won't be able to stop my bombers from attacking this city."
"Then right after your appearance on CNN, General McLanahan, perhaps you, your wife, and your spies will be dragged out of that rubble yourselves," Fazani said. "Either way, we will be safe, and alive, and you'll be dead and disgraced."
"I have a better idea, Tahir-let us tell Jadallah's financier whom we have now," Hijazi suggested. Fazani's eyes brightened at that idea. "I think he will pay handsomely for this man delivered alive to him."
"Don't count on it," Patrick said. "I don't work for any government, but I command a lot of firepower-whoever you bring me to will suffer the same fate as you will."
"I doubt that very much," Hijazi said. "Pavel Kazakov commands many forces as well, and I'm sure he's far wealthier than you are."
"Kazakov?" Patrick exclaimed. "Zuwayy is working with Pavel Kazakov? I should have known."
"I see you've heard of him? Good. He will pay a very generous bonus to the ones who bring you to hint-alive if possible, but dead if necessary. Perhaps we can negotiate a package deal for all of you Americans together-I think Kazakov would love to use you all as an example to others of what happens when you cross him. But first we need to know all about your bombers and other infantry forces you have in Libya. The king has described some very amazing forces-perhaps you can tell us all about them."
"Go to hell," Patrick said.
"Well, that is a little more defiant than the things your wife has been saying while in captivity, General," Fazani said with a smile. Patrick angrily tested his shackles yet another time-they were securely locked. "Imshi. Enta tiqdar la 'met ahsan min kida. Get him out of here, now."
After the guards had taken McLanahan out, Hijazi said, "I'll get Kazakov on the phone right away. I think he's been looking for this guy-I'll bet he'll pay a lot for him."
"You handle Kazakov-I'll notify Jadallah," Fazani said. "This way we cover our asses in case Kazakov blabs that we told him and not our boss."
"Good idea."
"We've also got to get all those captives out of here as soon as possible," Fazani added. "It can't be a coincidence that McLanahan just waltzes in here-the exact spot where we happen to be keeping his wife and his fighters. He's doing a probe. The faster we get him out of here, the better."
Fazani walked over to Zuwayy's residence and notified the Republican Guards that he wished to speak with the king. Ten frustrating, aggravating minutes later, Fazani was told the king was unavailable. Not daring to push aside one of Zuwayy's Republican Guards-they were absolute fanatics about security; their lives depended on it-Fazani asked again, and after another ten-minute wait, he was admitted into the king's private residence.
He could see it immediately. Tahir Fazani had known Jadallah Zuwayy for more than fifteen years, including two years in Sudan where Zuwayy got hooked on heroin. He and Hijazi had nursed him, covered for him, threatened him, and cajoled him into giving up the stuff. They thought they had been successful. "Damn you, Jadallah," he muttered. "What the hell is wrong with you? We're going to war with Egypt any day now, and you're up here getting high."
"What the hell do you want, Tahir?" Zuwayy asked. He was slumped in a chair, drinking something; his head lolled around every now and then as if he were on some sort of sailboat race on the Gulf of Sidra.
"We had a little visit by someone tonight-one Brigadier General Patrick McLanahan."
"An Anglo? So what? Is he an arms dealer? A mercenary? If not, kick him out of the country and.." Zuwayy stopped and looked at Fazani through bloodshot, bleary eyes and blown pupils. "Did you say… McLanahan?"
"The woman we have in your interrogation center is his wife" Fazani said. "He came here to demand we return her and his men to him."
"And you have him? He actually tried to walk in here and demanded we release the prisoners? Was he deranged?"
"I think it's some kind of setup," Fazani said seriously. "I had him taken to the detention center, but I think he should be moved as soon as possible."
"Moved? Yes, he should be moved-straight to Kazakov," Zuwayy said. "This might be our chance to get back in his good graces. Where is he now?"
"The interrogation center," Fazani said. "It should be useful for us to interrogate him as much as possible before we turn him over. He might be able to give us a lot of information on Egyptian defenses as well as exactly what he used to attack all our bases. And if we can find out who he works for, maybe they'll pay even more to get him back than Kazakov will." Zuwayy got unsteadily to his feet; Fazani practically had to catch him to keep him from falling over. "Why don't you let me handle McLanahan, Jadallah? Give me some time to see what he'll do. If he's as tough as his men we captured, it might be easier just to hand him over to Kazakov; but if we can break him quickly, maybe we can explore alternate opportunities."
"Ma'lesh, ma'lesh," Zuwayy said. He returned to his chair and collapsed into it. "You and Juma take c «re of it. I'll be okay in a few hours." Fazani was thankful Zuwayy didn't put up a fight about that, and he headed for the door. But just before he left, Zuwayy shouted behind him, "Wait, Tahir! Did you say you were going to take him to the interrogation center?"
"Na'atn."
"Did you search him first?"
"Of course. We found disguises, fake travel documents, a gun…"
"What about a radio?"
"We found a radio too."
"A small one? A very small one?"
Now Fazani was getting anxious. He turned back toward Zuwayy. "Well… yes, it was small," he asked. "Palmsized, smaller than anything I've ever-"
"No, you idiot, I mean small, like a tack or brad!"
"What are you talking about, Jadallah?"
"The woman, the other McLanahan-she had some kind of transceiver implanted in her arm!" Zuwayy shouted. "If this one has one too…"
"Then they know exactly where he is," Fazani muttered. "God… he was doing a probe, and he's led his forces right to us!"
"Get that transceiver off of him-I don't care if you have to cut all his limbs off!" Zuwayy shouted. "And then evacuate this entire facility
right-!"
And at that moment, the first explosion shook the Presidential Palace like an earthquake.
Sirens and alarms sounded everywhere. Zuwayy was immediately escorted-dragged might be more accuratethrough one of the myriad of escape tunnels that led from the Presidential Palace to the Ginayna, the maze of rooms, prisons, and military barracks under the city of Tripoli. He ran virtually headlong into Tahir Fazani and Juma Mahmud Hijazi, also running for their lives.
"Unidentified aircraft detected all around the city," Fazani said to Zuwayy. "It looks like a massive attackperhaps the entire Egyptian air force!"
"Get to a phone and commence the rocket attack on Sal-
imah," Zuwayy shouted. "I want Salimah destroyed! Now!"
"Forget about Salimah," Hijazi said. "Let's just get out of here and regroup at one of the alternate command centers."
"I will tell the world that the Americans are conducting a preemptive, unprovoked attack on the kingdom," Zuwayy shouted. "I must make a television broadcast to the entire nation immediately! And I want the attack on Salimah started right now. I'm going to evacuate and flee the country before everything is destroyed!"
Hijazi looked at Fazani-and they made a silent agreement. "Good idea, Jadallah," Hijazi said carefully. "Tahir will call in the rocket attack. But… before the Americans freeze all our assets and destroy our communications, I should transfer cash from the treasury to our personal accounts. I can do that from the command center. I just need your account numbers and passwords."
