B008RLW6LA EBOK

by Jack Coughlin

  The Harpoons seemed to be looking down at all of the sea traffic as the launch codes transferred to inertial guidance and GPS settings. The deadly birds completed the climbing arch and dove toward the water, flattening into an attack mode at almost the speed of sound. The missiles covered the first ten miles before any of the ships reacted; then a steady chorus of bells and alarms grew in a cascade as battle alerts sounded and the Harpoons bored in on the noisiest ship in the target area, an Iranian naval vessel named the Babr, which was holding station while giving off more than enough radar and radio signals for the missiles to ride a true track.

  The first Harpoon punched in ten feet above the waterline and drilled a burning hole through the crew compartment and the galley before detonating in the engineering spaces, the explosion going upward and outward. A gust of bumpy air lifted the three-foot-wide stabilizing wings of the second missile, and it smashed directly into the bridge, killing everyone there. The ship rose from the water with its top sheared away and its back broken by the dual direct hits. A fireball wreathed in smoke bloomed over the wreckage as the Babr rolled to starboard and began to sink by the stern.

  For miles around, surprised crews stood momentarily frozen as the surprise attack unfolded and the concussion wave of the mighty explosion spread across the sea. Captains on every ship snapped out of the moment, ordered the highest possible alerts, and activated their missile defenses. Boats were ordered lowered to rescue any survivors from the stricken Iranian naval vessel. Almost all eyes were on the tower of black smoke rising into the sky.

  “Here come the other two,” Swanson said, leaning into his telescope with more coins in his palm.

  The white exhaust trails in the clear sky were especially menacing now, because the original target ship was destroyed and no longer able to broadcast and assist the guidance systems of the incoming missiles. They went up, curved over, and dove to begin the sea-skimming run into the crowded sea lanes at 537 miles per hour.

  Flashes of countermeasures erupted from every ship carrying a weapon. Tracers crisscrossed in interlocking fire, and a nearby British frigate pumped off antimissile missiles that swept toward the incoming Harpoons. The combined speed of the weaponry closed the gap fast, and the lead Harpoon in the second wave ran headlong into the defensive web, was peppered by bullets and fragments of antiaircraft shells, and tumbled into the sea.

  The last one kept coming, nicked just enough to slightly change its course. It buzzed erratically out of control for another mile before smashing into the broad side of a 130,000-ton, double-hulled tanker that was registered in the Bahamas and filled with unrefined oil.

  12

  SHARM EL-SHEIKH, EGYPT

  THICK AND UGLY BLACK smoke pouring from the hulk of the burning tanker could be easily seen from the Sea Jet 1 as it pulled into the pier, more than twenty miles away from the site of the Red Sea attack. The ferry passengers had panicked with the sudden appearance of death and destruction on the water and were fearfully scrambling to reach the perceived safety offered by solid earth beneath their feet. It was hard for Kyle to blame them. The blast that had rolled across the water was followed by a tremendous set of waves that shoved the Sea Jet 1 sideways like a toy boat.

  He had remained standing, braced against the pedestal of the big telescope while the disaster unfolded, mentally cataloguing everything that was happening. Bialy and Omar had grabbed the railing and held on tight. Screams of some passengers had blended with the alarm and horns of distressed ships during the first few minutes, until the ferry captain announced over the loudspeaker that bigger ships were surging forward in rescue efforts, and the ferry would stay out of the way and proceed to Sharm under maximum speed. With that, its engines roared and the Sea Jet 1 leapt forward, away from the danger zone.

  “I told you we should have done something!” Bialy yelled at Swanson, her eyes wide in horror. She pointed toward the burning oil tanker and the sinking Iranian ship, blaming him. “We could have prevented this! It didn’t have to happen.”

  “Why don’t you just shut up?” Kyle was tired of listening to her. Dr. Tianha Bialy was no field agent, and she was allowing emotion to impact her judgment. He made a decision on the spot. “We’re done as a team. You’re on the first plane back to London.”

  Then he gave a hard glare at Omar Eissa. At least this guy had some dirt under his fingernails, some mileage as an operator. Can I trust you?

  Eissa looked back unflinchingly. “I suggest we all go to the automobile and prepare to disembark as soon as we can. There’s nothing more to see here.” He gently took Tianha by the elbow and tugged her away from the confrontation.

  She shook him off. “You can’t make me leave, Swanson. You’re not my superior.”

  “No, but I can refuse to work with you any longer. Things are turning nasty in a hurry around here, and your presence would be almost a death warrant for both me and Omar. Those missiles changed the rules. It’s no academic exercise, no series of quiet meetings, but a shooting war. That is no place for a rookie. You just witnessed what could be the start of a war between Egypt and Iran, with God knows who else being drawn in before it’s over.”

  She shrugged away from Omar and crossed her arms, anger rising in her eyes. “I’ll be staying, Swanson. You don’t even speak the language here. If one of us leaves, it will be you.”

  His lips barely moved. “You know, come to think of it, that would be fine, too. Next time I come to Egypt, I had just as soon be part of a Marine Expeditionary Force armed to the teeth. If you wish, call London when we reach the hotel and let the big dogs make the ‘you-or-me’ decision, and tell them I volunteer to leave.”

  “Good,” she snapped. “I will.”

  “Good.”

  They fell silent and went below to the automobile parking deck. Deckhands had been briefed by the captain to stay calm themselves in order to help settle the passengers, and they moved about as if this were business as usual, unlocking axle chains and steel hooks and preparing cargo to be off-loaded. Their eyes reflected an inner fear as they worked without the usual shouts and orders and controlled chaos of docking. More than anyone else, the crew was aware that the ferry had been but a minnow out on that broad sea and would have easily been crushed to splinters by any of the big ships rushing to the rescue of the stricken vessels.

  The ramp was lowered, and Omar kept his place in the line of cars and trucks, ready to react if another driver panicked to get away faster. On almost every trip he had made, the courtesy and temporary friendships shown during the voyage evaporated as soon as the vehicles cleared the pier, and it became every driver for himself.

  Once on the road, Omar looked in the rearview mirror at his two passengers, who sat without speaking against the doors on either side of the backseat. He inhaled a deep breath. “Neither of you has asked my opinion, so I will give it anyway. You are acting like quarreling teenagers. We are a very small team of agents that just happened to be in an advantageous position to see what happened back there. Our report will be invaluable in both London and Washington. If you break us up now because of your petty differences, it will be a long time before another team can be inserted.”

  “Omar—” Kyle started to respond, but Eissa held up a hand to stop him, waving away any words.

  “I’ve heard quite enough. I expected better from both of you.”

  * * *

  THE BLUE NEPTUNE HOTEL loomed like a sultan’s castle of some 375 opulent guest rooms that dominated Shark’s Bay as the lordly anchor for the luxury hotels that were stacked along the Sharm beachfront. Only the very rich could afford to stay there, and though there might be a tourism crisis in Hurghada, Sharm’s hotels were filled, sleek yachts were moored in the busy marina, and a white cruise ship balancing a pyramid of decks was anchored just offshore. It was a mirage of peace, just after noon on a sunny day.

  “They don’t know what’s happened yet. We beat the news ashore,” Omar commented as he pulled up to the front entrance, where palm trees
and a formal garden softened the look of the thick white walls. A few tourists with binoculars were on a plaza, staring at the dirty horizon, but just below them, sunbathers lounged around one of the hotel’s three swimming pools, and farther out, people walked the beach unperturbed, only beginning to wonder what kind of accident had taken place out in the shipping lanes.

  He slid from behind the wheel and called a porter with a rolling rack to take the luggage, and they all filed into the exquisite lobby. A domed ceiling soared over three stories of emptiness, with solid balconies surrounding the interior of the room. Thick rugs were on the hardwood floor, and long tapestries depicting the glory days of the Ottomans stretched up the walls. Before they reached the reception desk, Omar motioned them into an alcove. “Obviously, Sharm is still enjoying the good life, so we must take advantage of it. If we are to continue the mission as a team, I will stay and help.” He spun his key ring on an index finger, then closed his palm around it. “If not, I’m leaving. Neither one of you can do this alone, and I will not jeopardize my cover. Which will it be?”

  Kyle Swanson tugged on his suit, and Tianha Bialy fiddled with her purse. Neither spoke.

  Omar scowled at them and shook his head with disgust, turned on his heel, and walked away.

  “Well,” Bialy asked, “what now?”

  “Omar is a good man, but I don’t need him anymore,” Swanson said. “I’m ready to meet this contact, Sir Jeff’s money friend, get the info dump, and then leave tomorrow morning. My job will be done. In fact, I’ll have the concierge make my airline reservation right now, before the rush starts. You can take over and go behind the scenes with Omar. That will probably be better without me.” He walked toward the reception desk.

  “You’re a right bastard, Swanson.” She hurried toward the door to catch Omar.

  A well-dressed woman with high cheekbones, dark hair, and brown eyes was at the reception desk. “Welcome to the Blue Neptune, sir. How may I help you?”

  “I have a reservation,” he said and handed over his passport.

  She called up the account, had him sign in, and exchanged the passport for a key card. “You have two messages, Mr. Swanson,” she said. “Your friend Mr. Youssef Gaber asks that you join him in his suite, the penthouse, for lunch at one o’clock. The second message actually is just a note that your other luggage arrived safely. Since it was under diplomatic seal, we have stored it in our vault. This came with it.” A small padded envelope had his name on it.

  “Thank you,” Swanson said. “Could you please send everything up to my room? I need to speak with the concierge about a change in my travel plans before I go up. I will probably be staying only one night.”

  “Oh? I have you booked down for three, sir, and this is a very busy season.”

  “I understand, and the hotel can charge my company for those other two nights and rent them out again. Business plans change.”

  She briefly studied the man, who had just thrown away hundreds of dollars in charges without a thought. Being the vice president of an international corporation must be nice, the clerk thought. “Very well, sir. We will hold those dates open until you check out, then refund the cost if we let them out again.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “Now would you please have the concierge meet me in the bar, and tell him to bring the airline schedules for tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Swanson,” she said, and he stopped. “Did you just come across on the ferry from Hurghada? My computer showed your travel plans.”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask? Did something bad happen on the way? Rumors are floating around about a big ship being on fire, and we heard a distant explosion some time ago.”

  “Apparently, some oil tanker had an accident. We were miles away and didn’t see anything more than what you saw and heard. The ferryboat took us away as fast as possible.”

  She gave a nervous smile. Accident! The word she was hoping to hear. Just an accident. She had been around in 2005 when terrorists had set off three bombs in Sharm, wrecked a luxury hotel, killed eighty-three people, and sent tourism into a downward spiral. It took several seasons to recover, and she did not want to live through such a thing again. “Well, I am glad that you all made it safely, sir. You probably need a drink, so the concierge will meet you in the bar immediately and give you a complimentary beverage of your choice.”

  CAIRO

  THE CODED SIGNAL OF the successful attack was flashed to the desk of Major Mansoor Shakuri, who immediately delivered it to his chief, Colonel Yahya Ali Naqdi, who was pleased with the additional damage. The job had been only to sink the old Iranian naval supply ship, but firing of the two extra missiles had bought a bonus with a lucky hit on the huge Bahamanian-registered tanker Llewellyn, filled with crude oil. The huge explosion and ensuing fire had brought shipping to a halt at the mouth of the Suez Canal. He smoothed the piece of paper with his hand and read it again. Sometimes things work out better than expected. Amid such confusion, he decided to advance the timetable for Phase Two.

  “Major, this opportunity must be seized.” Naqdi opened a notebook bound in black leather and flipped to a green tab. “Contact our foreign ministry in Tehran so they can issue an official protest about the unprovoked sinking of the Babr and the terrible attack on this Llewellyn tanker by Egyptian military forces. They must also call upon the United Nations to condemn those unprovoked attacks as a danger to regional stability and express a lack of confidence in the Egyptian military forces to protect these vital waters.”

  Naqdi was up and moving about his office in the Palm Group as his mind spun off the needed chain of events. “Then the Muslim Brotherhood will begin the planned demonstrations, claiming that the Egyptian army is launching a coup of the democratically elected government and that the generals are responsible for open hostility and multiple attacks against both Egypt and Iran.” He paused to let Shakuri catch up with his notes. “It all must take place as soon as possible, Major. Time is important now; minutes are important. Within two hours, I want the Egyptian Parliament demanding that the UN dispatch a peacekeeping force to Egypt.”

  Major Shakuri was writing the instructions as fast as he could. He asked, “And when do we begin the operation at Sharm, sir? Within forty-eight hours?”

  The colonel consulted his notebook, then used his pen to change the designated times. “Do it immediately. This confusion is our friend, Major. I want the boats in the water by four thirty tomorrow morning, and the attack on the hotels to follow exactly ten minutes later. Our transport planes will already be in the air. By daybreak, we will have secured the airport, and units of Iran’s Army of the Guardians will be on the ground in Sharm el-Sheikh.”

  “Once there, we won’t leave.” The major gave a tentative smile.

  The colonel laughed out loud. “No, we won’t. But remember: In this action, we do not want to appear to be a force of invading imperialists. Instead, we are invited guests of elements of the elected host government. We are merely an advance guard for a multinational United Nations peacekeeping force that will derail a military coup by radical Egyptian generals. We plan to help reestablish order in this wicked country, protect our own people and foreign visitors, and stand guard over the most important oil transportation routes on the globe.”

  “That will present an interesting diplomatic situation for the rest of the world, sir.”

  “There is one more thing, Chief of Staff.” The colonel actually broke into a big smile that left Shakuri sweating. “You will turn over my briefings to someone else in the office and fly down to Sharm immediately. I am giving you overall command down there, Major. I need someone trustworthy and smart in charge on the ground, and no one is better suited for the task than you. You have shown your capabilities many times, and now you are ready for a step up. When this is over, you will get a promotion in rank and a new assignment. Meanwhile, you will run the Sharm operation and let no one get in your way. There will be a lot of soldiers of higher ranks to perform the military tasks, but th
ey will all report to you, Major Shakuri. If they have a problem, tell them to call our superiors in Tehran.”

  SHARM EL-SHEIKH

  THE CONCIERGE WAS A polite and sincere young man who had been trained well for the position by growing up in the thriving belt of big hotels along the scenic waterfront. Nothing surprised him any longer about the lifestyles of the wealthiest people in the world. He had seen suicides, assaults, drunks, rapes, drug overdoses, bribery, the bloody aftermath of beatings and murders. He always made sure the ambulances came to the unseen side entrance of the Blue Neptune and handled everything with courtesy, sympathy, and total confidentiality. From what the desk clerk said, this particular meeting with a newly arrived American guest should not take long. He found the man in the bar, staring out one of the big windows toward the sea. “My name is Karam, and I am the concierge, sir. You asked to see me?”

  Swanson motioned for Karam to sit down, and almost immediately, a waitress arrived with a bottle of champagne wrapped in a towel and placed in a bucket of ice. “A small welcome from the Blue Neptune, Mr. Swanson. I heard about your ferry crossing. It is a tragic thing.”

  Kyle put his hand on the bucket. “Thank you, but there is no use ruining this perfectly good bottle of champagne by opening it. Save it for someone else. I won’t be here that long.”