B008RLW6LA EBOK

by Jack Coughlin

  At a table against one wall, two serious-looking young men with backpacks hanging on their chairs were immersed in a game of chess. That steered Kyle into thinking about pawns and strategy and MI6. The Brits were firm allies, of that he had no doubt, but government intelligence services were always playing games within games. Could C, Sir Gordon Fitzgerald, be using Jeff and Pat and Kyle as bait for some unknown purpose, or multiple purposes? Jeff was not an easy man to fool, but C knew more than all of them put together about what was really going on in Egypt, where the double-cross was an art form. C had used vague terms about his unidentified source without really saying anything about the contact. Did the director of British intelligence even know who it was? Was he being used, too?

  Over at the chessboard, one of the players sacrificed his white knight to the black queen. Kyle’s brain was beginning to hurt from stirring around all of the ingredients in the assignment, and he puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. He was nobody’s white knight, and he had no intention of being sacrificed.

  Once they arrived in Sharm el-Sheikh, Swanson would fall within the operational control of MI6 and be beyond the normal reach-back to Trident for support. Their local contact and guide was to supply him with a handgun. Instead of being overprepared, he thought that would leave him almost naked for firepower. He drained the beer, left the pub, and pulled his personal encrypted phone from his jacket pocket, speed-dialing Washington. Within a few minutes, the Trident team was working to sharply upgrade Swanson’s capabilities during his venture into the land of the Pyramids.

  “One final thing, guys,” he said. “Do a workup on my mysterious new partner from MI6, this Dr. Tianha Bialy.” He spelled the name, and the Lizard confirmed it.

  “I have already done that. MI6 sent me her particulars. Highly educated and a recognized Egyptologist. She’s clean, Kyle.”

  “That’s what worries me. With all of her years studying her academic specialty, she cannot possibly be an expert operative. I doubt that she has had any field training beyond the minimum needed to qualify, although they are passing her off as an experienced hand.”

  “Want me to dig deeper?” The Lizard laughed. “That’s a joke, Kyle. Archaeology. Digging up tombs. Lara Croft?”

  The voice of Lieutenant Colonel Sybelle Summers cut in. “Stay on topic, Liz,” she ordered, then changed her tone. “Kyle, if you don’t want her, we can just abort the mission. It’s dangerous enough without saddling you with more difficulty.”

  “No. They insist that she knows the turf, and they will send her on alone if I cancel out. I’ll just keep a close watch, and if we can’t rely on the Brits, we’re in trouble.”

  “When do you and this mystery woman leave for Sharm?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Stay in touch.”

  “Roger that.”

  LONDON

  TIANHA BIALY SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the soft carpet of a tidy four-room apartment, snug in a thick blue bathrobe and with a towel wound around her wet black hair. A cup of hot tea was within reach, Arabic music swam softly from hidden speakers. Her packing for the trip was done. All she had to do was snap the latches and she would be ready. Passport, documents, cash were in her purse. Makeup would be kept at a minimum. A smart gray skirt and jacket with a modest white blouse were waiting on hangers in the closet. She was ready. She was prepared. She was nervous and welcomed the feel of her fiancé’s strong hands on her shoulders.

  “Why are you doing this, Tianha?” Jonathan Blake was an archaeologist and geologist who had spent most of his working days digging in faraway places in search of clues about the world of old. Somewhere along the line, his interests changed to the more lucrative occupation of hunting for oil.

  “It’s an assignment, Jon. The orders came straight from the top. I can’t refuse it.” She leaned back against him.

  He gently kissed her shoulder. “You are a brilliant academic, my dear. Your phenomenal talents are best suited for archaeological sites and computer searches. Just look at your work in the last five years. Your reputation is already made, and you can lecture at any university you wish.”

  “But I am also an MI6 agent.”

  “You were conscripted by them because of your expertise in the Arab world, my dear, to be an analyst, not some spy adventurer.”

  “That’s why they are sending me down there. I know the people and the culture and the politics. We want to find out who is likely to inherit the levers of power in Egypt before the whole place explodes.” She closed her eyes, and he peeled back the robe from her shoulders, sliding his hands over the soft skin that had the scent of lavender.

  “Anyway, if there is trouble, my American partner will protect me.” She gave a slight shiver.

  “Do you trust him?”

  “I don’t know. He is an absolutely frightening person, Jon. He is not very big, certainly not as tall as you, but there is an absolute sense of confidence about him. He moves like a ghost. He’s smart and obviously lethal, with narrow gray-green eyes that see everything.”

  Jon eased Tianha to the carpet and lay beside her, sliding a hand beneath the robe to cup her breast. “What did MI6 say about him? Surely they gave you his file.”

  She sighed in comfort. “There is not much of a file, believe it or not, because most of it has been blacked out. He is thirty-six years old, a career Marine gunnery sergeant, one of the best snipers in the world, and holds the U.S. Congressional Medal of Honor. Almost everything else has been erased because of security matters. Kyle Swanson officially fell off the map about six years ago.”

  “Can you control him?”

  “I don’t know, but that may not matter. He has his job and I have mine.”

  Jon kissed her, more roughly. “And what is your job down there, Tianha?”

  “Remember the Official Secrets Act, Jon. I can’t tell you. We could both end up in prison.” She grimaced a bit because he was hurting, but also exciting her.

  He pinched her nipple and twisted, and she closed her eyes against the bolt of pain. “To the devil with the Official Secrets Act. What you find could be worth a fortune if we use it properly. Tell me.” He smiled down at her, leaning on his elbows. “I can make you tell me.”

  Tianha leaned up and bit him lightly. “No you can’t.” She laughed.

  Blake curled his hand in her hair and pulled it hard. “You are being a naughty girl, Tianha. You know you will tell me eventually, so make it easy on yourself.”

  She began to struggle, and Blake moved atop her naked body, pinning her to the floor. The belt from her robe was in his hand, and he wrapped it around her wrists when she extended her arms to him. “Not this time, my love,” she whispered, staring into his dark eyes and handsome face. “I go to serve queen and country.”

  “Everything,” he said and lowered his face to her belly, nibbling at the soft flesh. “Tell me everything.”

  “Never.” She slipped her bound wrists over the back of his neck and pulled him down as he spread her legs. “I will never tell you about the Pharaoh. Never.”

  10

  ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SIX people boarded EgyptAir flight MS780 at Heathrow Airport in England for the long southeastern flight to Hurghada International Airport in Egypt. Kyle Swanson was the last passenger to cross the threshold, delaying in order to study the others. After boarding, he told a flight attendant that he needed a moment to go through the coach section and say hello to an old friend at the rear of the aircraft before taking his own seat in the first-class cabin. The attendant asked him to please hurry, for the crew would soon be closing the door and preparing for takeoff.

  The stretch wide-body Airbus was carrying only about half of its capacity, and the cavernous coach area loomed like an empty frame on a wall, a testament to the reluctance of people to travel to the troubled country. Passengers were spreading out, staking claims to vacant seats, as Kyle went down one aisle all the way to the rear, circled through the galley, and came up the other side without seeing anyone suspicious.


  An attendant arrived to take his suit jacket and hang it up, and Swanson settled into the comfortable wide seat next to that of Dr. Tianha Bialy, who gave him a strange look. “Why did you wait so long to get on?”

  “I had to go to the bathroom.” Kyle buckled his seat belt.

  “They now have bathrooms aboard the planes.”

  “Really? I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Are you planning to be rude for this entire trip?” she asked.

  Swanson turned a bit, the hardness of his face slightly easing. “No, not at all. In fact, the better we get along, the better we can work together. I just wish we would have had more time to get to know each other before heading out as partners. That’s certainly not your fault. Happens all the time on missions.”

  The twin engines below the wings growled to life. “I agree. Then let us make the best of a strange situation. Shall we shake hands on it?”

  “Sure,” replied Kyle. “Three days in Sharm, three days in Cairo, maybe a side trip to Alexandria or Port Said, and then back to London. A straight-up business trip for all intents and purposes. We should be able to get through that without gashing each other too much.”

  She laughed at that. “You must call me Tianha, and I probably should not refer to you as a gunnery sergeant when we are in public.”

  “Kyle.” He noticed she had a charming smile when she was relaxed. Just like that, the tension had seemed to drain away from her. “Are you worried, Tianha?”

  “Of course.” The airplane began its long crawl to get in line for the taxiway. “This could be very dangerous. For a woman, even someone like me, it would be impossible to do on my own. How about you, Kyle? Aren’t you worried?”

  “No. I’ve had a lot of experience in volatile situations. I try to keep nasty surprises to a minimum.” The plane shuddered and stopped on the tarmac before moving slowly forward again, and the engine noise grew a notch. An announcement came from the intercom that they were next for takeoff, and the attendants should take their seats.

  “Well, you look very nice in your company’s vice presidential suit and tie instead of a camouflaged battle dress uniform.”

  He laughed as the Airbus began its roll. “Tianha, the suit is my camouflage.”

  By the time the plane was airborne, each knew the other was lying. Nothing had been settled between them.

  HURGHADA, EGYPT

  THE FLIGHT COASTED UNEVENTFULLY across France and down the length of Italy, Greece, and then the broad Mediterranean, with Turkey to the east. After entering Egyptian airspace, they followed the deep crack of the Suez Canal all the way to the Red Sea. As the pilots began to shave off altitude, Swanson examined the approaching coast, where the pale desert sand met blue-green waters. “Not much to this place, is there?”

  “No,” Tianha said. “Hurghada is just another fishing village that has grown up to be a medium-sized city. I’ve been through here a few times before while doing research projects around Aswan and Luxor. Being on the proper side of the canal, it has always been a jumping-off spot to some of the more historic places down south, but mostly they are promoting the diving and fishing opportunities on the nearby islands. The tourism crisis must be pretty severe down here.”

  The Airbus circled lower and sped in for a smooth, one-bounce landing on one of the two long runways. As they coasted to a stop, Kyle noticed that only two other commercial planes were parked before the long terminal area, which was topped by spiky tentlike coverings. Far away, though, were plenty of military aircraft: several varieties of helicopters, a squadron of American-made F-16s, and what looked like old Soviet-era MiGs. Hurghada lived on tourism, but it was also the home of a major Egyptian Air Force base beside the Red Sea. Why had she not mentioned that?

  When the door opened, there was no gate extending into the building, which meant that even on the hottest days when temperatures soared well above 100 degrees, the passengers would deplane on the scalding tarmac and hurry indoors to the air-conditioning. He was glad it was January.

  “Your people have someone meeting us, right?” Kyle asked as they went through customs. “Look at that mob of taxi drivers. The natives seem restless.”

  “They are hurting for fares. Usually, it’s pretty orderly in the taxi ranks.”

  The first passengers to pick up their bags were besieged by drivers offering deals in various languages. To one side, beside a row of yellow molded plastic chairs, stood a middle-aged man wearing white trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt and a skinny dark tie that was slightly askew. He held a simple sign that bore the name of BIALY, and she beckoned to him rather imperiously. He hurried over, bowed politely, and retrieved their bags, then led them outside to a clean hire car waiting beside a decorative garden.

  After securing the suitcases, he removed a package from the trunk, got behind the wheel, and drove away. “Tianha, it’s good to see you again.” The subservient demeanor fell away, replaced by a calm and confident ease.

  “And you, Omar. This is Kyle Swanson. Kyle, meet Omar Eissa, formerly a flight sergeant of the Royal Air Force, and our local contact.”

  After retiring from the RAF, Omar Eissa had drifted back to Egypt, the homeland of his family until his grandfather had moved to England as a student many years before, and his father had fought against the Nazis in World War II. The reward for the exemplary military service to the crown was British citizenship for the entire Eissa family. In trade, the country had received three generations of strong boys in uniform. Omar had become bored after his retirement from active duty, but he had noticed something in his travels throughout Egypt, something that might be interesting in his less active years.

  Tourists and professionals and businesspeople always preferred spotless private vehicles with air-conditioning and a competent, knowledgeable driver who spoke English and other languages to the clattering taxis with open windows and mulish men who smoked vile cigarettes as they drove. The Flighty reached out to old friends and was guided into MI6, which offered financial help to establish a string of hire car agencies throughout Egypt. As a driver himself, he could poke around for intelligence without drawing the attention of the authorities. The more he did it, the more he became just an ordinary piece of the local scenery.

  “Ah. The American. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Swanson.” The driver exited the airport and turned toward the city.

  “Just call me Kyle. Did you bring a pistol for me?” Kyle saw no point in dancing around the main issue. He wanted to gun up as soon as possible.

  Eissa handed the box over his shoulder, and Kyle opened it: a .45 Colt for him and a 9 mm Beretta for Bialy, with spare magazines and a soft shoulder holster for Swanson.

  “Terrific,” Kyle said, working the slide and checking the weapon. “Where are we staying tonight?”

  “You are in adjoining suites at the Marriott down at the beach. It’s the best hotel around, and they were glad to get the business. To stay in character, you will go directly there now to freshen up, like a couple of normal, exhausted travelers.”

  “No argument from me,” said Tianha.

  “Right. At six o’clock, you tell the concierge to call my car agency because you have made dinner plans. Then we will do a full ride around town after dark.”

  From the backseat, Kyle looked in the mirror at the driver’s dark eyes. “You have something special in mind?”

  Eissa grimaced and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Things have been pretty calm around here because the people were making decent livings, and jobs are the best reason there is for not overturning the economy. Also, we are far away from the population centers and the rioting. This morning, however, I came across something rather unusual, and I need your opinion before reporting it to London.”

  “What is it?” Swanson asked.

  “You’ll have to wait a couple of hours,” Omar replied. “I don’t want to influence your thinking.”

  “Come on, pal. Don’t fool around if it’s important.”

/>   “This is my territory, Kyle. I’ll know when to go. I have already driven past it twice, and I don’t want to attract attention.” There was no hesitation in the agent’s voice now. “As for importance, well, let’s just say it could change the entire cricket match.”

  * * *

  OMAR PULLED BENEATH THE canopy of the Marriott as the sky was purpling just before sundown. A chubby doorman moved forward with a friendly smile, his hands clasped behind his back. He knew Omar, and he knew there would be a five-dollar U.S. tip for him to allow the preferred parking spot.

  “Well, what is it tonight, my friend?” The doorman held up his hand. “No, let me guess. You brought that couple in this afternoon, so it’s time for an authentic camel steak and some belly dancing, followed by a romantic stroll on the beach.”

  “If we all don’t get murdered in the process,” Omar said, pressing the folded bill into the doorman’s palm. The instability of the country had sent the foreign exchange rate rocketing for the U.S. dollar.

  “The fucking revolutionaries are murdering our entire country, Omar. I have heard of no problems around here tonight. Do you require protection? I could get a trustworthy man to ride along, or follow in another car.”

  “No, my friend, but thank you. I have an AK-47 on the front floorboard, and my pistol. Anything beyond that, well, we would be dead enough to be no longer concerned. Here come my people now.”