It had not been easy. Twenty-five centuries of foreign domination and domestic dry rot had brought Egypt to its knees, and her people yearned for independence and social justice. He had already given them the first, and was working day and night on the second. Most of the people wanted to believe that. They wanted to believe he would keep his word; but a long line of incompetent leaders had preceded him; so they were born skeptical. The only thing most Egyptians knew for certain was that the Nile would flood and that crocodiles had sharp teeth. How much more time would they give him? Not much. Less than five percent of Egypt’s land was even habitable, much less arable. One fourth of its population lived in the teeming slums of Cairo, suffering under a terrible burden. They would not wait much longer.
“My President, welcome to Heliopolis,” a loud, commanding voice called to him from the rear of the crowd. Heads turned. When they saw the tall, dark officer in the Colonel’s uniform, a path seemed to open for him. Slowly, the Colonel strode toward Nasser’s limousine, untouched by the guards and glowing with confidence.
“Ali Rashid — Colonel Ali Rashid — how very good to see you again.” Nasser’s face beamed as the formality vanished. “It has been too long, has it not?” Nasser lifted his eyes to the sky. “You picked a perfect day for your tests. Not a cloud. It is perfect, eh?”
“Yes. It was Allah’s will that this day should be perfect,” Rashid’s eyes flashed, “and Insha’Allah, God willing, it shall be a memorable one. Come, walk with me,” he said with a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm toward the reviewing stand.
Nasser’s entourage of aides and guards fell in step behind them, but Rashid turned his head and looked slightly embarrassed. “Your staff may care to sit on the far side of the stands,” he said in a quiet voice. “I reserved a section for them. I must admit that we went a bit overboard with the guest list, so there is not much room left. I hated to offend anyone, but I was certain you would agree.”
Nasser paused and looked around at the crowd, ignoring the anxious frowns of his aides and bodyguards as Rashid went on. “As a special surprise, I invited most of the government leadership to attend. I assumed you would prefer they have the prime seats near you, my President. However, if you think that is a security problem…”
“No, of course not, Ali.” Nasser waved the protests of his aides aside, noticing that a ring of heavily armed soldiers had quietly taken up positions to the sides and rear of the reviewing stand. “It appears you have everything well in hand.” Nasser took a few steps, then stopped again and looked back at the soldiers, squinting as he tried to make out the insignias on their uniforms. “Is that not the Third Armored patch I see?” he asked, his voice sounding faintly puzzled. “I thought they were all up in the Delta?”
“They are,” Rashid replied quickly. “However, under these circumstances, I asked for a special detachment to provide support.”
“Does that also explain the tanks I saw as I drove in — the ones hidden in the trees?”
“Obviously, not well enough to fool an experienced eye,” Rashid flattered him. “You can tell that to General al-Baquri. He would not be pleased to hear it from me.”
“That old fox al-Baquri is here, too?” Nasser asked, feeling the first tremor of uneasiness pass through him as he remembered Hassan Saleh’s strange questions. He looked into Ali’s eyes, searching for the answers, but he found none.
“I realize al-Baquri is not one of your favorites, but I hesitated to offend anyone important. Perhaps this day might help him see the light, my President.”
“Well, stranger things have happened.” Nasser smiled and looked deeper into Ali’s eyes, as he had when they were boys in the village. He had always found friendship there, a residue of the many happy hours they once shared. This time, however, he found nothing. It was as if someone had erected a bare, concrete wall across an old familiar path. The wall was cold, and gray; and he could see nothing beyond it, none of the old warmth or fondness — none of the love or hate — nothing. The man was a stranger to him now. Nasser shook his head, convinced his eyes must be wrong. “You are right, Ali, and you are a better politician than I am. Al-Baquri is an insufferable bore, but a necessary one. I only wish the man could find an ounce of humor. That would make him a bit more bearable.”
A large crowd of officers stood waiting at the foot of the reviewing stand, resplendent in their gaudiest dress uniforms. Behind them, the remaining rows were filled with high government officials — those faceless bureaucrats who kept the wheels of his government moving— creaking and bumping along ineptly — but moving nonetheless. Nasser walked down the line, dutifully shaking each hand with a smile and a friendly word until he reached the safe haven of his own seat. Pausing to look up and wave, he found himself staring into the dour, nervous face of General al-Baquri himself. Nasser broke the awkwardness of the moment by reaching out and grasping al-Baquri’s hand. “Good to see you again, Rafiq.” He feigned a smile and noticed that the man’s hand was drenched with sweat. “You must be more careful in this heat, General. Bad things can sneak up on you if you do not.”
“Uh, yes,” al-Baquri replied, looking as if he was about to have a coronary. He pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants leg, glancing over at Rashid and pleading for help.
“The General has been here since dawn supervising every detail of our security plan,” Rashid quickly offered. “I assure you it was hot work indeed.”
Al-Baquri shrank back with a thin, pathetic smile, seemingly relieved when Nasser turned his attention away and scanned the other familiar faces standing behind the Presidential box. He said a few words to some, then turned back toward Rashid and asked, “By the way, where is Hassan Saleh? Has he not arrived yet?”
“Ah! You did not get the message.” Rashid’s voice sounded deeply pained. “Apparently there was some kind of accident last night. Hassan was struck by a car — not seriously, Allah be praised — but the doctors insisted that he stay in the hospital overnight for observation. He telephoned me this morning. You can imagine how disappointed he was that he could not be with us today. It meant a great deal to him.”
“How unfortunate. I had hoped the three of us could stand here together and watch. A fitting culmination, eh? The three boys from that dusty old village, to — this!” His hand swept across the horizon, ending at the two trailers parked on the desert. They were hundreds of feet away, but their dark green color stood out against the hot, light-brown sand. Standing on each trailer, tall and straight as arrows, were the rockets with their noses pointed at a clear blue sky. “Look at our new children,” he smiled. “They are indeed our magnificent new children. When I think what you have done to bring this day to fruition.” Nasser said as he turned to face Rashid. His eyes were wet with tears as he clapped both hands on the Colonel’s shoulders. In a loud, booming voice he turned to the crowd and said, “You make me proud, Colonel Ali Rashid, very proud! That is why I placed these new children of ours in your hands. You are one of the few men in Egypt who have my complete trust.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“The time, man! What is the time?” Saleh asked for at least the tenth time in as many minutes.
“It’s noon, maybe a few minutes before, but your asking me over and over again won’t get us there any faster.” They were on the main highway. Thomson was driving the old Fiat as fast as it would go, and it took all his concentration just to keep the small car’s wheels out of the ruts and potholes. Still, that was not nearly fast enough, so he began to cut in and out, racing down the shoulder and pushing the small car into doing all the things he should not be doing when trying not to be noticed.
“Did you see that line of army trucks full of troops that went past?” Saleh asked as he slumped against the car door, obviously in pain. “They are heading south, for Cairo. Pray we are not too late.”
“Yeah, well pray you can figure out what we’re going to do when we get there,” Thomson answered in an exasperated voice.
“I was invi
ted.”
“Great, but I wasn’t; and this isn’t exactly an official police car. How far do you think we are going to get? Look at yourself… and look at me.”
He and Jeremy had managed to dust off Saleh’s badly disheveled white linen suit. It was an improvement over the hospital gown but not by much. The shoulder seam of the jacket had been ripped open and the pants showed large black grease stains. His shirt was missing several buttons, and the collar was smeared with dried blood. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Saleh’s head was wrapped with a thick white bandage; and his face was a pale, near perfect match.
“Why did you come to get me out of the hospital?” Saleh asked.
“You were my last chance.”
“Your last chance for what? This is my country, not yours. After what you have been through, I would think you owe us nothing, Mister Thomson.”
“I made a promise to someone — and to myself.”
Saleh frowned.
“It was Fengler’s daughter, Ilsa, if you must know. I think Grüber has her.”
“Then get me there. It appears we each have our reasons, now.”
Around the next bend in the road lay the entrance to the base. The wooden gate was down, and it was now manned by a half-dozen heavily armed sentries. Thomson powered through the curve and hit the brakes, skidding to a halt a few feet short of the barrier. The sentries behind it were still Egyptians, but this time they were first-line shock troops, not rent-a-cops like the last bunch he encountered out here. Dressed in full combat gear, they held their assault rifles at the ready and pointed straight at the Fiat. Worse still, they looked as if they knew what they were doing, and they did not look pleased at this unexpected interruption.
Saleh looked out the passenger window and flashed his badge at the closest soldier. “Police! Open this gate immediately and let me pass. I am here on official business.”
“Police?” The man shrugged indifferently. “That means nothing here. Our orders are to keep this gate closed until after…”
“Who gave that order? Quickly, man!”
“I gave it!” Thomson heard a loud, arrogant voice call to them. He turned his head and saw a muscular Egyptian army lieutenant prop his foot on the front fender of the Fiat. From the size of the man, it was lucky the tires had not blown. Slowly, the officer sauntered around to Saleh’s side of the car; so he could get a better look inside. “Who are you to question my men?” he bellowed as he glared down at Saleh.
“Who?” Saleh’s voice cracked like a whip through the hot air. “I am Saleh, Captain Saleh of the Metropolitan Police, Chief of Homicide. I was invited here by my closest personal friend, Colonel Ali Rashid, and we are late.” Thomson could swear he saw the man actually flinch. Not that Saleh’s words or the tone of his voice could have had that much effect, but something had. “Are you going to let me pass, Lieutenant?” Saleh asked, leaning even farther out the window and sounding even angrier, “or must I call the Colonel and give him the name of the dumbest officer in his command?”
“Captain — Saleh, you said?” The lieutenant’s arrogant tone began to vanish. He looked down at Saleh’s badge, while running through the professional consequences of letting or not letting the little man through.
Saleh could see it too, so he kept the pressure on. “Now open that gate, you fool, or would you prefer to be patrolling the Sudanese border tomorrow morning on a camel?” Thomson watched in silent amazement, afraid he would break the magic spell. In a matter of seconds, the big officer began shouting orders, and his men could not open the gate fast enough.
Saleh turned his head toward Thomson and pointed a trembling hand down the open road. “Go, go!”
That was all Thomson needed. He popped the clutch and slammed the accelerator to the floor. “Well, I’ll be damned!” He laughed. “Just like ‘open sesame.’ ” He looked in the rear view mirror and saw the guards disappear in a billowing cloud of brown dust. Saleh dropped his arm and slumped against the door again, his eyes closed and his breathing labored. “Are you all right?” Thomson asked.
“I shall be fine. Drive, man.”
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Captain. Your name appears to have more clout around here than I thought.”
“It was not my name, it was Ali Rashid’s. I now know he is the one who has been behind this. I should have seen it from the beginning. Ali Rashid! How could he do this? We grew up together, the three of us — Rashid, Gamal Nasser, and I. The shame of it, for him to stab us in the back like this.”
“Don’t make it personal. That never works.”
“But it is, it has always been, and it always will be,” he said as he extended his hand toward Thomson. “Where is the revolver?” he asked with a look of grim determination. “The one you took from Sayyid. Give it to me.”
Thomson reached inside his jacket, pulled out the Sergeant’s heavy Webley service revolver, and placed it in the palm of Saleh’s hand. “All that you were supposed to do was get us through the gate, remember?”
“We both knew I was lying,” Saleh shrugged as he checked the cylinder, counting the rounds. “You do see the necessity of my going in there and handling this matter personally, do you not?”
“No. All I see is the condition you’re in.” Thomson shook his head. “You really are nuts. Look at yourself. You can’t even hold the gun steady, much less use it. Hell, you’re in no shape to even get out of the car.”
“Mister Thomson, you would be amazed what a sufficiently determined man can do, when he must — when he has no choice.” Saleh tapped the barrel of the revolver against his bad leg. “Besides, I saw the Uzi you hid beneath the car seat. That is all you should need.”
Thomson gave up, knowing it was no use to argue further with him. In the distance, he saw dozens of cars and trucks parked in the open field behind the packed reviewing stand. “Looks like the show’s a sell-out,” he said. Beyond the reviewing stand, he could see a small concrete building. “There’s the blockhouse, that’s where I am going.” The launch equipment and console would be there, and so would Fengler. Farther out, he saw the two mobile rocket launcher trailers sitting at the edge of the desert. They were the same ones he saw inside the hangar. Back then, the rockets were locked down in their horizontal traveling positions. Now, they stood erect with their noses pointed toward the sky and ready to fire.
Saleh’s eyes went beyond the rockets to the vast expanse of the western desert. He raised a hand, and pointed, “Do you know what we Bedu call that, Mister Thomson?” he asked proudly. “Do you know what we call the desert? We call it ‘la siwa hu,’ where there is nothing but God. Today that is a fitting name, is it not?”
“I didn’t come here to die, Saleh. I came here to stop them. If you waltz in there and start shooting, you’ll blow the only chance we’ve got to stop the rockets; so don’t get all emotional on me.”
“All emotional?” the Police Captain sat up, his angry eyes fixed on Thomson. “I am never emotional. They may have your woman, Mister Thomson; but they have my country. You do not understand what is at stake here or the kind of man we are dealing with. Look out there!” He pointed to the rockets. “If that is Ali Rashid’s handiwork, then the only way to stop it is to stop him. You would not get ten feet alone. Believe me; if Rashid planned it, he is too smart to leave you any opening. My way is the only way in.”
“The only way? I’m not sure there is one,” Thomson said as he pointed at the cordon of soldiers standing around the reviewing stand, and laughed at the absurdity of it all. Slowly, he saw the soldiers turn and stare at the small, fast-moving car now racing toward them. As the soldiers raised their rifles, he added, “We’re going to get our butts shot off, you know.”
Saleh smiled and nodded in agreement. “Perhaps, perhaps not; but I am going for Rashid anyway. If we fail, at least we can do enough damage to slow him down and let them know we tried. We can do no less, can we?”
Thomson looked over at Saleh and smiled. “You know, that’s the first sens
ible thing I’ve heard you say.”
“And I apologize for all the foul things I said to you,” Saleh nodded, “Most of them were not terribly nice.”
“No, but most of them were true.” Thomson made a wide, banking turn as he swung the car into the parking area behind the reviewing stand. With the strong desert wind blowing from behind, the Fiat was quickly engulfed in a cloud of its own choking brown dust, which now served to hide them from the soldiers.
“Let me out here,” Saleh’s voice rasped as he jammed the revolver into his belt and pointed toward the reviewing stand. “That is where Rashid will be. If I cannot stop him, you must prevent the rockets from being fired. But do not worry, Mister Thomson,” his mouth twisted into a thin smile, “they will know we tried.”
“See you in Hell, Captain.”
“Indeed, I am afraid you shall,” Saleh laughed as he opened the door and slipped out into the roiling dust cloud. Then he was gone.
Thomson wanted to help the little man, but he had more than enough problems of his own. First, there were the confused but angry shouts of the soldiers as they began closing in around him. He could not see them, but he heard the sound of men running and the unmistakable jangle of loose military equipment coming his way. That was enough. Saleh was on his own now. Thomson pressed the accelerator to the floor and hoped for the best. The little Fiat began to move, but he could not see a damned thing through the billowing cloud of dust that hung around the car. He coughed and felt his eyes watering, but he knew the troops out in the open who were trying to find him were having it even worse.
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