Domination Bid

by Don Pendleton

  What nobody in American seemed to understand was that Madari really wanted what they wanted in Libya. Madari had no personal aspirations for power. His was simply a mission of revenge.

  “You’re quiet,” a voice said.

  Madari jumped in spite of himself and then turned to see Dratshev had come alongside him. “Just thinking of the past.”

  “I’ve done my best to always put the past behind me.”

  “You’re a philosopher now?”

  Dratshev shrugged and took a drag from his cigarette. “Not a philosopher. Realistic. A pragmatist, perhaps.”

  “I’d consider that a reasonable description based on our short time together,” Madari said. He sighed and nodded toward the equipment being lifted by hydraulics into the undercarriage of the plane. “Are you sure these prototypes are ready for testing?”

  “You didn’t give me a lot of time,” Dratshev said. “But, yes. I think they will perform suitably.”

  “They still seem to require a considerable amount of liquid helium to keep them cool. I don’t know how practical that is.”

  “It’s totally impractical!” Dratshev exclaimed, crushing his cigarette underfoot. “At least for the small arms. As I said, you will only have two shots from each of the twenty-five prototypes. Assuming they were constructed to my exact specifications.”

  “You oversaw the building and testing yourself. You know they are.”

  “It hardly matters, really. Because of the destructive power of an EMP beam, their real-world applications are as a mass-damage weapon. There is little maintenance required, and the actual ability to maintain nominal temperature during charging is a much more practical matter for the larger weaponry. The small arms is another matter and still largely unpredictable.”

  “So you’re saying there could be some danger to my men using them?”

  “Not as long as they follow the instructions.”

  Madari sighed. “And that boils down to waiting between shots for the liquid helium to provide sufficient cooling.”

  “Not just sufficient,” Dratshev reminded him, lighting another cigarette. “Optimal cooling must be achieved.”

  “Or the weapon will melt down and become unusable,” Madari said. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Do you really think these tests are necessary? Wouldn’t it be a sounder plan to simply smuggle them directly into your country?”

  “That’s exactly what the American government is expecting me to do. I cannot afford to be predictable. I’ve stalled these plans as long as I can, and now there’s no turning back. I’ve committed nearly all my resources to this effort. Which brings me to another point. I couldn’t have done this without you. I shall always be grateful.”

  “Is this your way of telling me I’m free to go?”

  Madari chuckled. “I said I was grateful, not insane. You must accompany us. Surely you knew that.”

  “I half expected as much. And, frankly, I must admit that I’m very intrigued to see how they perform under real battle conditions.” Dratshev took a drag from his cigarette and in a gust of smoke he added, “Yet, I don’t see how I can be of more use to you.”

  “On the contrary. We have a very limited supply of weapons.” He gestured toward the last of the crates being loaded. “Once we’ve expended that supply, or if we encounter any difficulties, I will need your expertise to figure out how to manufacture more.”

  “But you’ve left all your equipment at the lab.”

  “Not at all. Most of the equipment at the bunker was transferred to the yacht.”

  “You’ve just said that yacht is a decoy. That it claims to be sailing for the United States.”

  “Exactly. But once at open sea, there will be an emergency—” Madari made quote signs in mid-air “—and the closest port at the time of that emergency will be Derna. As to the equipment, it’s been disassembled and to the unpracticed and uninformed eye, it would look merely like spare parts for the yacht. Remember, I converted that yacht from the hull of freighter. It is quite capable of holding more than it would appear. There are plenty of smuggling compartments aboard. Once the captain corrects course and gets permission to dock, it can be easily off-loaded and transported into waiting trucks.”

  “Won’t they be intercepted as soon as they attempt to enter Libyan waters?”

  “It’s possible, although if they declare an emergency it’s most likely they will be permitted to dock at Derna.” Madari shrugged. “There is always the risk the equipment may be discovered and identified for what it is. But I have made very extensive arrangements for said emergency to keep them in port long enough to offload the equipment while repairs are made.”

  “And then?”

  “Then whatever happens to the boat and its crew will be of little to no consequence.”

  “They are your sacrificial lambs.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Madari countered. “They are merely a resource, nothing more.”

  “So again, I’m left to ask—why not simply move forward with your plans directly? Why this detour to the United States?”

  “I don’t just need to test the weapons, Doctor. I need a way to make a statement to the Americans so they understand that any interference would yield catastrophic results. And finally, there is a man in America who is partly to blame for what happened to me and my family. He must pay the price for what he did.”

  “So you’re doing this not to test the weapons,” Dratshev interjected. “You have a personal vendetta to settle.”

  Madari fixed the scientist with an icy stare. “And if I do?”

  “It’s nothing to me. But you are being a bit hypocritical.”

  “An opinion.”

  “No, it’s much more than opinion. I’ve observed that you’re patriotic and sympathetic to the plight of your country only when it seems to suit your personal ambitions.”

  “Then you’re poorly uninformed,” Madari replied. “And not nearly as insightful as I had first judged you. You see, my paying back this American defense contractor has nothing to do with a personal ambition. The things he did led to the destabilization of my government. We wanted to put a diplomatic power into place, to hold free elections, to remove the dictators that had long occupied the central seats of government.

  “We were very close to doing that until the American CIA stepped in. They used technology created by this American defense contractor to undermine our efforts and ensure the current regime stayed in power. They did this to my people, the common people and freedom fighters, while doing exactly the opposite in Syria. The weapons that should have gone to us went to them instead.”

  “That’s because the Libyan government wasn’t using chemical weapons against the rebels in your country.”

  “No! That’s utter propaganda. I was at all of the secret meetings in Benghazi. I spoke personally with the so-called U.S. diplomats. They lied to us and then they betrayed us! And we’ve been unable to trust them ever since.”

  “I believe some of your people got their revenge,” Dratshev said. “The Americans paid with the lives of several.”

  “Ha! What several? A few low-ranking pawns? My people have died by the thousands! There can be no repayment for that on such a small scale. No, this operation will make a much bigger statement. And now we are at an end to our discussion, as much as I have enjoyed our debate. The equipment is loaded and our time has come. Soon, very soon, we shall strike a new victory for Libya.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  There was a small team guarding the bunker, and they were prepared for the arrival of Phoenix Force. After the first volley of mortar shells was lobbed in their direction, McCarter ordered a tactical retreat to discuss their alternatives.

  “Obviously there’s something they don’t want us to see down there,” Hawkins said.

/>   McCarter nodded. “And then again, maybe this is a stall tactic.”

  “What do you mean?” Encizo asked.

  “We already know that neither Madari nor Stanish was to be found anywhere at the house. We’re already assuming they’ve moved into the project bunker that’s now being heavily defended, but there’s no way for us to prove that. Could be just another dead end.”

  “We still can’t take that chance,” Manning replied.

  “Nope, we bloody well can’t. So let’s rethink this. I believe there may be another way into that bunker.”

  McCarter scratched a rough layout of the testing grounds in the mud with a stick. “Okay, so here’s the bunker complex. According to the plans Bear extracted from the security computers, there’s nothing but a beachhead on the western side. Pretty good chance they won’t have a mortar defense for that area.”

  “There could be some other type of defense, then,” Hawkins said. “Worse than mortars.”

  “Worse than mortars?” Manning asked. “What the hell could be worse than mortars?”

  “Mines.”

  They fell silent at Hawkins’s revelation. It was something McCarter had considered but hadn’t really wanted to bring up. “Okay, it’s a good point to consider. Could be mined or booby-trapped in some other way. But I saw a pretty good-size dock across that beach line. That’s probably how they brought in supplies and other materials by boat.”

  “Or shipped them out,” Encizo pointed out.

  McCarter nodded. “The EMP weapons. Right. We’ll just have to go into it and keep our eyes wide open. We’ll proceed using normal hostile target approach tactics. Understood?”

  The men nodded in unison.

  “Good. Let’s move out.”

  They formed up and headed out single-file, with adequate distance between them and Encizo on point.

  * * *

  Mediterranean Sea

  AS SOON AS STANISH got within range of the yacht—something she considered fortunate given the circumstances—she fired a signal flare. To her surprise, they spotted the flare and must have recognized it as one of their own, because they heaved to and powered down to allow her to catch up. It still took another ten minutes before she reached them.

  She approached port side to the yacht, where she spotted twin locks for craft-to-craft mooring. She tossed the large rope mounted to the front of the powerboat and two men on the deck of the yacht tied her off. They then used a winch to pull her gently into position until the powerboat clips locked into the mounting locks with a clang. Then she scaled the rope-ladder they dropped to her and within a few minutes she was on the bridge.

  The captain introduced himself as Jabir Nero and he spoke passable, if halted, English. “You are Despinis Mishka?”

  She nodded. “Where’s Ishaq?”

  Nero looked puzzled and then shook his head, replying matter-of-factly, “He’s not here.”

  “What do you mean he’s not here?” Stanish demanded, doing her best to keep her tone in check. After all, this was Nero’s ship and he’d kindly granted her permission to board when, as they both well knew, he could just as easily have blown her out of the water.

  “He’s not here. He’s on his plane to America.”

  “Plane?” she repeated. “What plane?”

  Nero shook his head and shrugged. “I’m sorry, miss, he no on this boat.”

  “A decoy,” she whispered more to herself than Nero. Then she asked, “So if this ship isn’t bound for America, where is it going?”

  “I cannot say our destination. Kyrios Madari, he ordered me not to talk until we are ready.”

  “Ready to do what?”

  Nero looked hesitant at first.

  Stanish had never met him personally until now, but she knew of him. He’d been born in Libya, where he’d lived until about ten, when his family was forced to flee to Greece. She didn’t know the details, but Nero had ended up in the Greek foster care system. With no attachments and no known family to speak of, Nero had been the perfect choice to serve as captain of this vessel, and Madari had once told her that Nero was fiercely loyal.

  “I asked a question!” Stanish snapped. “Ready to do what?”

  Nero gestured for her to follow. They left the bridge and walked down the starboard side until reaching some steps that descended to what Stanish guessed was Nero’s cabin.

  “So what’s the big secret?” she asked once they were alone in the cabin.

  Nero dropped a map of the entire region on the table and pointed at a spot she immediately recognized as the port city of Derna, despite the fact the entire map was labeled in Greek.

  “We are to change course here—” he pointed to a marked latitudinal-longitudinal coordinate “—and then radio to the Derna port. We are to declare trouble with our engine and advise them that our attempts to raise our port of call were unsuccessful.”

  “And then what? They permit you an emergency dock?”

  “Yes.” Nero sighed and wiped his big palm across his face. “Then we will unload the equipment under cover of darkness and transport it to those waiting inside Libya.”

  “A grand plan,” Stanish said. “Unfortunately, it’s not likely to work.”

  “Why?”

  “You realize that at this very moment both the Russian and American governments are probably tracking this vessel. The chances are good you won’t make it to Derna.”

  “We have defenses.”

  “Defenses, yes, but defenses that are untested. You would be better to put about and return to the island.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Despinis Mishka, I cannot. I cannot! This would betray Kyrios Madari.”

  Stanish chewed her lower lip in contemplation. She didn’t want to do anything to curtail Madari’s plans. But part of her was still furious at him for lying to her. Why had he told her he was going to be on the boat, and even tried to convince her to go, if he’d known he’d never be on it to begin with? Had he known she’d flat-out turn him down when he suggested she come along, or merely changed his plans when she refused to go?

  It didn’t matter. She couldn’t turn back now. The powerboat didn’t have enough fuel to get her back to the island, and she dared not attempt to head to Athens. She’d be detained immediately by coastal authorities, if not intercepted by a Hellenic naval warship. And then there was the issue of Nero. She couldn’t very well tell him what to do. This was his ship and she didn’t have any authority. A boatload of sailors certainly wouldn’t respect her.

  What if she threatened Nero? Would he cave? Probably not—she didn’t see that would solve anything anyway.

  A klaxon sounded, interrupting her rumination and startling Nero so severely he upset the small table near his bedside as he jumped to his feet. He squeezed past her, whipped open the cabin door and scrambled up the steps for what passed as the bridge.

  Stanish kept on his heels, impressed by the efficiency of the men on the boat. Pockets of men crisscrossed the deck, each on a different but important mission. When they reached the bridge, Nero immediately found the field glasses and raised them to his eyes. On the shimmering, blue-white horizon of water she could make out the bristling outline of another ship.

  Nero grunted and then handed the field glasses to her. “Hellenic navy. Looks like a patrol boat.”

  Stanish, surprised at Nero’s action, took the glasses hesitantly at first but then put them to her eyes for a look. They actually provided a decent magnification, and even from this distance she could tell Nero had called the play exactly.

  As she swung them across the ship, stopping when she saw the various weapons emplacements, Nero spoke to her as if he could see what she saw. It was almost as though he was taking her on a guided tour. “It’s an HSY
-56A gunboat-class patrol boat. Looks like a newer version.”

  “Is it armed?” she asked.

  “Not heavily,” he replied. “But we’re not armored and would be no match.”

  “Why all the concern?” she asked, lowering the field glasses. She glanced at him. “Isn’t it better to just act normal—keep a low profile? I’m sure they’re just on routine maneuvers.”

  Nero seemed to ponder this a moment and then jabbered something at a man who, she assumed, was probably the equivalent of his first officer. The guy barked something back and Nero grimaced. “They wouldn’t have approved our course if it brought us that close to a naval vessel on maneuvers. No, this encounter was no accident.”

  “So you’re saying…”

  “They’re on an intercept course.”

  Stanish said, “You realize that you can’t allow them to detain or search this ship.”

  “We may have no choice.”

  “You have a choice. You have weapons aboard?”

  “Just the one prototype on the top deck.” He pointed out the bridge window to the foremast where a rather large boxy structure protruded. “We were to use it for protection against pirates.”

  “Well, now it looks like you’ll have to use it for other purposes.”

  Nero’s face tightened. “We cannot! We are no match for a warship, despinis.”

  “Well, you’d better change your thinking quick. You’re running out of time.”

  * * *

  PHOENIX FORCE MADE their circuitous route in no time and arrived at the beach unchallenged.

  Encizo peered from the dense foliage and pointed at the charred, smoking remains of the dock edge.

  “What in the bloody hell…?” McCarter began.

  “Looks like the handiwork of a grenade,” Encizo replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Manning. “Maybe a rocket, Gary?”

  Manning pushed forward to get a better look and then shook his head. “No, definitely a localized explosion. I’d say your first guess was correct.”

  James squinted. “Looks like a body floating. There.”