B008RLW6LA EBOK

by Jack Coughlin

  “We can’t afford to let them land in Egypt,” said Patterson. “Once they have a footprint there, it will take all hell to dislodge them.”

  “And we can do nothing to stop them, because to shoot down a bunch of transport planes that are citing a nonexistent UN mandate would be condemned as an act of war. We don’t even know what is aboard those aircraft. Could be blankets or could be bombs, and no one has asked us to intervene,” Hawkins said.

  “What kind of assets do your CIA have in the area?”

  “Not much. Some people to keep an eye on the oil situation, but they are paper-clippers and worker bees. I could throw a bunch of statistics, Wilson, but this is Sharm el-Sheikh, for Christ’s sake. Nothing ever happens there. What do you have?” She looked over at Admiral Kelly Foster, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  “Everything we need to fight two wars at the same time. I have carriers and subs and cruise missiles and all kinds of airplanes, and they are all cocked and locked.” The white-haired admiral looked carefully at the CIA chief. “I believe this is part of some kind of pretty shrewd invasion plan, but I’m not advising the shoot-down of a bunch of unarmed transports and passenger planes until we have much clearer intelligence on what’s happening.”

  Patterson straightened his papers and stared at the wall screen one last time. “Nobody is even suggesting that you do that, Admiral Foster. But let’s take this mess upstairs to the Oval Office and let the boss know the Iranians have outfoxed us. He won’t be a happy camper.”

  SHARM EL-SHEIKH

  KYLE TROTTED AROUND TO the inner street side of the Blue Neptune to use the bulk of the hotel as a shield, found the turnoff for the underground parking garage, and headed down the ramp into the cavernous space, where his steps echoed back to him. Tianha and Omar burst from the exit door from the stairwell about the same time, and they all met at the Mercedes, with Omar punching his personal code into the doorlock pad.

  “Pop the trunk so I can get at the weapons.” Kyle waited only a few seconds for the trunk lid to spring open, and he grabbed the duffel bags that he had put in there only a few hours earlier. He hurled them into the backseat and dove inside the car. “Go!”

  It had barely begun to move when a man came running down the ramp, eyes glittering in a spade-shaped, bearded face. He was spraying long, wild bursts of automatic fire from an AK-47. Bullets clicked off the concrete wall, burst a few overhead lights, and punched into parked cars.

  “Who the hell is that? He’s wearing an Egyptian army uniform.” Omar had started the engine, and the car was rolling.

  “Doesn’t matter if he’s shooting at us,” Kyle said, pulling his .45 Colt.

  Omar grunted agreement and floored the accelerator just as the gunman ran out of bullets and the weapon clicked dry. The man was standing in the middle of the lane, fumbling to reload, and his eyes grew in alarm as he realized that he was defenseless against the onrushing car. He tried to jump away, but Omar caught him with the bumper, and the impact flipped the gunman against another car, where he hit with a hard thump, bounced to the concrete, and lay there broken and still.

  Tianha had her window down on the right side, with her weapon out, while Kyle was in the left rear, also with the windows down and his pistol ready while he scrabbled with his free hand to unzip the bag and reach the better weapons. The noise around the hotel was growing in volume.

  Omar flew out of the top of the ramp and threw the Mercedes into a squealing turn. More Egyptian army soldiers were running across the street and into the hotel, firing as they went. A straggler stopped at the sight of the car that swept past only ten yards from him, turned to shoot, but sprawled flat when Tianha emptied her Glock at him. Then they were gone.

  “Clear over here,” she called.

  “Clear here,” Kyle responded. “Omar, get your own pistol out while I assemble some gear. You think those guys were really Egyptian troops?”

  Omar wedged his pistol under his hip and gripped the wheel tightly. “They’re certainly not the Iranian soldiers who are on the beach side, and they have to be more than a bunch of thugs that just happened to be passing by out here early in the morning with AKs. My guess is they are some sort of raiding party of the Muslim Brotherhood, wearing army uniforms.” They heard gunfire popping from the street in front of other hotels.

  “My God, they are targeting defenseless tourists.” Tianha pushed in a fresh magazine. “This is going to be Mumbai all over again. Hundreds of innocent people were killed and wounded.”

  Swanson looked out the back window at the men surging across the thoroughfare as he recalled the 2008 massacre by Muslim extremists in India. Pakistan was behind it, of course, because the Muslim Pakis and the Hindu Indians had hated each other for ages. Mumbai was just another chapter of the deadly story the two countries were always writing, and in that context it made some sense. A similar attack on Sharm’s hotel row by jihadists, with a highly trained Iranian force right in the neighborhood, was a lot different. It would be bloody and blamed on the Egyptian army. Puzzle it out later.

  “Omar, head for the airport,” Kyle said, finishing assembling the M-16A3 and placing a couple of grenades within easy reach. “Let’s stay focused right now on those Iranians.”

  Tianha turned in her seat to look at him. “They arrived by boat, Kyle.”

  Swanson shook his head. “That’s just the initial assault team. You land over the beach but immediately grab the airport to bring in planes and support. Same thing we did in Somalia.”

  “Impossible,” said Omar. “Iran is too far from Sharm.” They ducked into a side street to avoid a group of men firing at another hotel, sending a scalding surge of bullets into the glass windows and zinging off the concrete.

  “I agree. Fifteen minutes ago, I would have said it was impossible for Iranian troops to be down there on the beach. The point is they cannot remain there without external support. It has to be the airport.”

  “And then?” Tianha was staring out of her window again. “We can’t just keep driving around.”

  “Then? Well, then we just disappear until we can figure out what the hell is going on. Getting us to a safe place is Omar’s department.”

  There was a loud explosion in one of the nearby hotels, and a flash of fire ripped outward over the street from an upper floor. Gunfire rattled like pebbles in a can.

  “A lot of people are going to die tonight,” Tiana said in a sad voice that was almost a whisper.

  Kyle leaned against the seat, rifle across his knees, surrounded by the tools of his trade, finally feeling ready for whatever was to come. By gathering up Omar and Tianha, he had consolidated his forces and increased the available firepower, for three guns were better than one. He was unprepared for anything of the scope of the battle that was happening around them, so all he could do was keep scrambling while he figured it out. In addition, the Lizard had included a sat phone in his package of goodies, so Kyle would finally be able to put aside the charade of cooperation and contact Task Force Trident as soon as he determined what was happening at the airport. “Yes, many will die. But not us. We can hold our own.”

  THE AIRPORT

  THE LIGHTS AROUND THE airport seemed puny in comparison to the glare of Hotel Row. It had been closed all night and was just coming to life, getting ready to handle another routine day of flights. The workers were still sluggish with sleep, and the security guards were totally off balance when the long line of vehicles led by a big military Jeep that mounted a machine gun rolled up to the terminal building and dozens of black-clad soldiers jumped out and ran in with automatic weapons at the ready.

  Major Shakuri walked inside and saw only a small security team that had been taken by surprise, disarmed, and pushed to the floor. There was an unexpected feeling of confidence and power swelling his heart. He moved to an airline counter, and a nervous attendant gave him a microphone that tied into the public address system. Clearing his throat, Shakuri announced, “Do not be alarmed. We are a specia
l force from the Iranian army, and we here at the request of the Egyptian government. You are under our protection. If no one resists, no one will be hurt. Again, please stay calm while we go about our duties.”

  He handed the microphone back to the young woman at the desk and smiled. “Really, my dear. You have nothing to fear.” With an easy stride, he walked to the clump of Egyptian security guards on the floor and told them to get to their feet. “Brothers, I need you to take my men to other sections of the airport. We must put a soldier with a gun in every room. Can you do that for us?”

  The guards were in shock. The airport had been taken by a military force without a shot being fired, and even as they watched, soldiers were fanning out to create a defensive perimeter. Finally, one of the older guards spoke. He was on the early shift to handle customs duty and had no intention of getting into a fight with these dangerous-looking men, so he bowed his head. “Welcome, brothers. We will cooperate.”

  “That is good.” Shakuri clapped him on the shoulder. “You will please escort my tactical air party up to the tower right now so we can finish our work.” A half-dozen technicians peeled away from the soldiers and followed the man out of the terminal area. Others were assigned to the hangars and outbuildings. The major was moving fast to secure the place, and he had remembered to have one truckload of soldiers at the tail of the advance party stop to establish a roadblock. When the reinforcement column arrived, he would extend the perimeter around the runways. Major Shakuri looked at his watch and was pleased that everything had turned out so well. As Colonel Naqdi had promised, the strong and unexpected show of force would determine the outcome. All he had to do was show up.

  His handheld radio beeped, and the tactical air team reported they had taken control of the tower and were in contact with the planes ending the long journey from Iran. “Very well,” Shakuri said. The facility was safely in his hands. “Send the message. This airport is now closed to all other traffic, and any flights except those approved by us must divert to other facilities.”

  With help just minutes away by air and by road, only one thing remained on his list, perhaps the most important. He contacted Lieutenant Taghavi back at the beach, and as the officer answered, Shakuri heard gunfire and explosions in the background. “We have the airport, Lieutenant. Are you ready to attack?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do it,” the major ordered.

  16

  THE AIRPORT

  THE SKY ABOVE THE airport was cloudless in the predawn darkness, and it seemed to Kyle that every light at the facility must be turned on. Corridors of illumination outlined the runways. Stars and planets were still bright in the heavens, and in sharp contrast to that galactic display, a straight line of blinking lights was moving closer, stacked one above another into the distance: planes descending to land.

  Wearing his Egyptian-style clothing, he was hidden in the deep shadow beside an air-conditioning vent on the roof of a gasoline station about a mile from the main gate. From the top of the square cinder-block structure, Kyle had a wide field of view for his binos; he saw the soldiers steadily pushing outward and estimated the perimeter would extend to cover the gas station within thirty minutes. Tianha Bialy was crouched nearby, also with binos, watching for patrols.

  Back on Hotel Row, they could still hear chaos, but at the airport, everything seemed in order, another sign that the military was in charge and commands were being obeyed. The terminal building was a simple long rectangle with bay windows beneath metal awnings across the front, and the structure opened in the rear directly onto the parking apron for the planes. Dozens of figures moved purposefully about, most with weapons, but many of them also obviously airport staff doing their normal jobs, although under new management. Soldiers were establishing a strongpoint in the long, bare parking lot out front: a machine gun on a tripod and some RPGs—rocket propelled grenades—behind a concrete barrier. A beefy Jeep with a mounted automatic weapon was parked near the roadway entrance. He could not make out the exact types of the weapons at this distance but assumed they were all standard military issue and nothing exotic. The soldiers were showing good discipline, he thought; they were probably members of the elite Quds Force.

  Swanson shifted position only slightly when Tianha quietly said, “Omar’s here.”

  There were soft footsteps, and Omar Eissa squatted beside them. “I’m still alive.”

  “That will be counted as a plus,” Swanson joked. “How’d it go?”

  “Easier than anticipated. I followed another hire car right up to the gate, and we both raised hell about everything being closed. The other guy turned away immediately, but I recognized one of the security guys and slipped him some cash. I told him that I had clients who were desperate to get out of town on the morning flights, and he thumbed back over his shoulder toward the Iranian soldiers and told me the airport will be off-limits to all civilian traffic for a couple of days. I obediently turned around and drove off. Here I am.”

  “What is your assessment?” Kyle swung his binos back to the sky. The first plane was on final approach.

  “This group is spread pretty thin over such a very large area, but they are showing no nerves because there is no doubt that they are in control.”

  Kyle scanned the airfield. The troops were indeed moving slowly. “Adrenaline dump. They were all riding a high sense of alertness for several hours before landing and getting out here, all keyed up and ready to fight, only to discover it was a walkover. They burned a ton of energy and now they are thinking, OK, we’ve got time to breathe. Combine that with this early morning hour, and their leaders are going to be busy kicking the troops to make sure they stay awake.”

  Tianha said, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go report to London.”

  “Make sure they pass it straight to Washington.” He did not move the glasses and could now see the first plane swoop down with its landing gear extended like talons, a Boeing 707. It touched down about a hundred meters from the north end of the runway, the great tires squealing and smoking against the tarmac as the engines roared into reverse as it sailed past a squat yellow fuel truck parked beside a concrete turnout.

  “Of course they will, but I will remind them nonetheless.”

  “Your mission, looking for that Pharaoh guy, is in real jeopardy now, Dr. Bialy,” he said and swept his arm toward the airport. “They should consider pulling you out right away.”

  She crossed her arms. “In my opinion, it is now more important than ever for me to find the Pharaoh and get him to supply us with information. I won’t give up.”

  “Look. This has turned into one ugly morning, and the arrival of Iranian combat troops means that all bets are canceled. All three of us will be lucky to survive until sundown.”

  “I’ll wait in the car while you debate some more,” Omar scolded and hustled away.

  Kyle felt the sting of starting to lose his temper again. “I’m sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to start barking. But it is best that you go with Omar and bring our bosses up to speed,” he said in a gentler tone. “I’m going to be busy out here for a little while longer. Get yourself into some regular Egyptian clothes and take the opportunity to stuff some food down your throat, because we don’t know when we will have a chance to eat again. I will join you guys at the safe house just as soon as I can. Omar told me where it was.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  When he did not answer, she left without further comment, apology unaccepted.

  Kyle returned his binos to the airport in time to watch the newly landed plane run to the far end of the runway, turn, and roll off to a taxiway that brought it back toward the terminal. It stopped, and the door opened, with wheeled ladders pushed into place at the front and rear hatches. Moments later, a line of uniformed Iranian soldiers with weapons descended out of the plane and shuffled into formation. A little tractor hooked to the nose of the airliner and hauled it off toward the hangar area, just as the second plane nosed out of the gray morning sk
y. This operation was running like an efficient assembly line, everything happening right on time.

  He stuffed the binos back into the case and stood still and alone on the rooftop for a moment as his subconscious formulated a plan using both facts and logical supposition. An unknown number of large transport aircraft were ferrying in troops, probably hundreds of soldiers, and he could hear an increased volume of gunfire and explosions back at the hotels. He did not know what was happening back there. From a deep pocket of his loose, dirty white trousers, Swanson removed his satellite phone and thought of hitting the button that would link him to Task Force Trident in Washington, but he was running short of time. He was not quite sure who was killing whom, but Kyle could report that one thing was certain: Iran had just invaded Egypt. Tianha would be giving the same thing to London, of course, which would immediately share it with Washington. It would take time for him to explain everything that was happening, and right now minutes were in short supply.

  He could talk or he could act. The darkness was already giving way to faint early-morning light, the planes were coming in at precise intervals, soldiers were fanning out as more arrived, and if Kyle wanted to somehow screw with their efficient plan, he had to move right now. He dropped the phone back in his pocket, slung the rifle over one shoulder and a backpack over the other, and struck out at a slow trot through the shadows, headed for the north end of the runway.

  THE BLUE NEPTUNE

  AT THE COMMAND OF First Lieutenant Taghavi, almost a hundred Iranian commandos rose as one from the sloping shelf of sand bordering the large hotel and spread into a long line, with a squad trailing in reserve. They had waited as still as statues, except for the one incident with the overzealous guard, while the sounds of automatic rifle fire, the quieter pops of pistols, and the occasional explosion resulted in the screams of trapped tourists being slaughtered in the rooms, in the hallways, and around the outside. Although the soldiers suppressed any feelings of humanity until they were told to move forward, they were eager to surge into the melee. The horde of gunmen had worked themselves into a frenzy of bloodlust, but they were so disorganized that they had posted no sentries and never saw the Iranians coming. The gunmen might have been dressed like Egyptian soldiers, but they were just a mob.