It took a full fifteen-minutes for the jet to land and taxi in. An honor guard consisting of twelve fighters marched onto the field and came to attention. One of them carried a green-on-yellow Hezbollah flag.
Once the stairs were rolled into place Kantar stood at the foot of them. But rather than the secretary general, the first man off the plane was a heavily laden Hezbollah noncom. He tossed a salute, received one in return, and began to bawl orders. “Move it, move it, move it!” The stairs rattled as fighters hurried to deplane. “Form up!” the sergeant ordered. “That means you Abdullah.”
That was when Secretary General Haddad appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked even more corpulent than before. And, as Haddad made his way down the stairs, his bodyguards followed. “Mar Haban,” Haddad said. (Hello, greetings.)
“Ahlan wa sahlan,” Kantar replied. (Welcome.)
Kantar was ready for the air kisses this time. “It’s good to see you, sir … Mr. Omar will lead the way. Refreshments are waiting.”
“Ah, you know me too well,” Haddad said. “I am a bit peckish.”
Stairs led up to the main floor where the elevator was waiting. There was barely enough room for Omar, Kantar, Haddad and his bodyguards.
After arriving on the second floor it was a short walk to the executive dining room where a table loaded with food awaited. There was hummus, manakish, falafel and more.
El Saa and two of his sons stood on the opposite side of the table ready to serve. “This is a remarkable feast,” Haddad said, as he made his selections. “I assume you will join me.”
Kantar wasn’t in the least bit hungry, but forced himself to eat anyway. He listened as Haddad rambled on about the war, his granddaughter who was learning to walk, and diabetes.
The diatribe seemed to last forever. But eventually the meal came to an end, and Haddad turned his attention to business. “I brought you a present.”
Kantar knew Haddad was referring to the newly arrived fighters. “Thank you. What a wonderful surprise.”
“You will need them,” Haddad said. “The Allies are closing in from the north.”
“True,” Kantar agreed. “Although they haven’t left Esna. They’re afraid to.”
“Possibly,” Haddad allowed. “But what if they’re waiting for the Chinese?”
Kantar frowned. “I don’t understand. The Chinese will make my position stronger.”
“No,” Haddad said. “They won’t. The Chinese oppose using the bomb … And, should they manage to get this far, they will try to dissuade you. And failing that, who knows? It’s possible that the Allies know these things and are waiting for the Chinese to arrive.”
“But why?” Kantar demanded.
“Because there’s something like 20-million Sunnis in China,” Haddad answered. “The Chinese fear that they will revolt if you blow the dam.”
Kantar thought about Allawi. Now he knew the truth. The helicopter hadn’t crashed. Allawi had been murdered. To prevent him from reporting back.
Should he mention that to Haddad? No. There was no benefit to doing so. “So what should I do?”
“Do what you were sent here to do,” Haddad said. “And that is to cajole, nudge, or bully the Egyptians into forming a government we can deal with.”
“My attempts have failed thus far,” Kantar confessed. “But I have a plan.”
“Tell me about your plan,” Haddad said, as he popped a stuffed date into his mouth.
“There is a man,” Kantar began. “His name is Umar al-Hudaybi. He’s one of three men who claim to be President. When I meet with him I will offer our assistance in return for military access to Egypt.”
“I like it,” Haddad said. “And our friends in Iran and Pakistan will like it too. As for the Russians, they are angry at you, but won’t object. Not if they can base planes here. But understand this, Mustafa … You’re running out of time.”
“Yes, sir,” Kantar replied soberly. “I know.”
***
Al Farafra, Egypt
Cirrus clouds marbled the blue sky as the gray S-class Mercedes entered town. Al Farafra was unexpectedly green. Everywhere Victor Danby looked he saw palm, apricot, and citrus trees. And there was a reason for that.
Al Farafra was home to the Roman spring of Ain Bishay which, along with one-hundred natural wells, made the oasis a tourist attraction before the war. But now, with political uncertainty and gas rationing, the town had few visitors.
But Danby wasn’t there to see the sights. No, he was in Farafra to take care of State Department business, and make some side-money. One-hundred-thousand smackers to be exact. That was the price the Russians had on Mustafa Kantar’s head.
A week earlier Danby had been ordered to make contact with an ex-government official named Umar al-Hudaybi, and convince the Egyptian to take a meeting with terrorist Mustafa Kantar, for which he would be paid fifty-thousand dollars. Al-Hudaybi had agreed, and today was the day.
Then, as Kantar left town, the CIA would kill him. That’s when Danby would go to the spot where Kantar had been killed and take two tissue samples. One for the U.S. government and, unbeknownst to them, one for Russia’s military foreign-intelligence service.
The side-hustle would put a sweet one-hundred-thou in Danby’s Caribbean account. And the Caymans were a much better place for his stash than Switzerland which was very close to the action in Europe.
So Danby was in a good mood as Farook, his driver-bodyguard, turned onto a well-paved driveway. It curved through a grove of trees to end in front of a magnificent residence.
Having toured the home a week earlier, Danby knew the sprawling mansion was made of limestone blocks, just like the pyramids of Giza. The Arab-style house included a formal reception area, a family hall, a circular staircase beyond, separate dining rooms for men and women, two salons, and a spa one level below. All paid for with the money that al-Hudaybi siphoned out of Egypt’s coffers during his tenure as a cabinet minister.
Uniformed guards, all dressed like soldiers from the late 19th century, came forward to check identities and search the car. Then it was time for a bearded major domo wearing a red fez to escort Danby into the house. Danby had to pass through a full-body scanner, and allow his briefcase to be X-rayed, before being free to proceed.
Al-Hudaybi was waiting for him, as were refreshments, and a comfortable chair. This, Danby thought, is the way life is meant to be.
***
Cavallero Airbase, Libya
Cavallero Airbase had been built by the Italians during World War II, and used to launch raids on Allied shipping in the Mediterranean. However, by the spring of 1943 Axis airpower had nearly been eliminated in North Africa, which caused Cavallero to be abandoned.
But shortly after the beginning of World War III Cavallero had been reconstituted as a CIA drone base. It consisted of the original runways, which had been repaired, and three “clamshell” style hangars, each large enough to house Predator drones.
There were trailer-like habs as well, one of which was commonly referred to as “The Crypt.” The windowless box was divided into two “control pods.” Each operation center was manned by a three-person team 24/7. The Pod 2 duty team consisted of Pilot Karen Ho, CIA Case Officer Tim Buxton, and Mission Coordinator Larry Elwood.
Together they were running a Pred B mission over Al Farafra, Egypt. According to the data on the screens in front of Ho, the drone was at 25,000 feet, traveling at a minimal speed of 100mph, and all of its systems were green. “I have the handoff,” Ho said. “The target is ten out from Farafra.”
Elwood took a swig from his can of Liquid X energy drink. The target, a bad boy named Mustafa Kantar, was currently flying from Ar Rashidah, where his Russian-made plane had been forced to refuel, to Al Farafra.
During the flight Kantar’s ride had been under surveillance by a RQ-4B surveillance drone cruising at 50,000 feet. And because that was well above the biplane’s operational ceiling of 15,000 feet the Global Hawk had gone undetected. Now,
having completed its mission, the surveillance aircraft was headed home. “Roger that,” Elwood said, as Ho’s Predator looked down on the ancient plane. “What is that thing?”
“It’s a combination crop-duster and passenger plane,” Buxton said, without looking up from his laptop. “The first ones were manufactured in 1947. About 18,000 were produced and sold all over the world.”
“How do you know this shit?” Elwood inquired, as the Antonov An-2 prepared to land.
“I’m linked to the Cho’ja hive mind,” Buxton replied. “Which means I am all-knowing.”
Both Elwood and Ho were familiar with Buxton’s science fiction references. “In that case you know the plane is on the ground,” Ho said, as she put the Pred into a turn. “And the target is walking to a car.”
The drone was lower now, and Elwood was able to watch, as the tiny figure entered a vehicle. It seemed that Kantar had enough green stuff to hire a plane plus ground transpo.
He took another swig of Liquid X. “Okay, people … This shit is about to get real. Pee while you can.”
***
Al Farafra, Egypt
Kantar felt a heady combination of anticipation and fear as he entered the taxi. The AC wasn’t working, so the windows were down, and hot air blew against his face as the road-weary car made its way through streets lined with mudbrick buildings.
The overhead power lines suggested the presence of modern conveniences. But the unpaved streets, a caravan of Bedouin-led camels, and an open air bazaar were like scenes from the distant past.
Most of Kantar’s attention was focused on his personal safety and the meeting with al- Hudaybi. After a great deal of deliberation Kantar made the decision to travel alone. Bodyguards could protect him from thieves. But their presence could draw unwanted attention, and prompt a drone strike.
As for the meeting, it would have been nice to bring an entourage, in an effort to impress al-Hudaybi. But that had a flip side too …. By making the journey alone Kantar was signaling strength and confidence. He hoped so anyway, as the cab turned into a driveway, and stopped in front of a large house.
After paying the driver Kantar got out and was met by half-a-dozen uniformed guards. Kantar wasn’t carrying official ID. But he was expected and, after surrendering his pistol, was shown into the front lobby where a body scanner awaited.
Kantar couldn’t trust anyone with the bomb’s remote, and he couldn’t bring the device with him. So it had been left behind, hidden deep within the dam.
After passing through the security checkpoint Kantar entered the family hall where al- Hudaybi and another man stood waiting. Al-Hudaybi was wearing a bespoke suit and a pair of shiny shoes. “Mar Haban.” (Hello, greetings.)
“Iinah lamin diwaeiin saruri ‘an ‘altaqi bikum,” (It is a pleasure to meet you), Kantar replied respectfully.
“And you,” al-Hudaybi replied. “I would like to introduce Mr. Tanner, my secretary. He’ll be joining us to take notes.”
Danby offered his hand. He spoke flawless Arabic. “This is an honor Wahda Kantar. The entire world knows of your accomplishments.”
The compliment triggered a momentary surge of pleasure, which Kantar hurried to suppress lest he be manipulated. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Tanner.”
“Come,” al-Hudaybi said expansively. “You came a long way, and are no doubt hungry. We will have something to eat and talk.”
The large table that normally graced the male dining room had been replaced by a smaller version set for three. Tea was served, followed by appetizers, and a steady flow of beautifully prepared dishes. Kantar barely noticed them as he made his presentation.
Kantar began by praising al-Hudaybi’s many accomplishments, and assuring the ex-government official that he, above all others, was the person best suited to lead Egypt through troubled times. And more than that—all the Axis countries stood ready to pour resources both military and commercial into Egypt, thereby ensuring al-Hudaybi’s success and safety were he to convene a Shia-friendly government.
“I know the concept will be met with resistance at first,” Kantar said. “But the Shias’ history with Egypt is a long one. The Shia Fatimids came to power 969 years before Christ, and they founded Fustat, the city that became Cairo.
“Fatimids ruled Egypt for 200 years, and helped shape its culture, Kantar added. “They founded the famous Al-Azhar University which, as you know, exists today.
“All of which means that in spite of subsequent changes Sunnis share a common heritage with their Shia brothers and sisters. And,” Kantar said, “once you assume the presidency we will work with you to remind the population of this common history.
“In the meantime our troops will help keep the peace, and prevent the Allied countries from infringing on your sovereignty.” That was a disingenuous statement to say the least, but at the core of the argument al-Hudaybi could make to the Egyptian people.
During the presentation Mr. Tanner scribbled on a yellow legal pad, and al-Hudaybi nodded occasionally. Finally, when Kantar was finished, his host weighed in. And al-Hudaybi’s response was clear. He was impressed, he was enthusiastic, and he was in.
Kantar felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He thanked al- Hudaybi, asked for directions to a restroom, and excused himself. To relieve himself, yes, but to celebrate as well.
***
Cavallero Airbase, Libya
The Pred was circling high above al-Hudaybi’s mansion as Buxton paced back and forth. He was speaking over a scrambled sat phone. “So he’s in there. Yeah, I get that. Have you seen any non-combatants?”
That was followed by a pause and another question. “But they’re wearing uniforms, right? Okay, that’s a wrap. Get out of there.”
Buxton broke the connection. “Okay, let’s do this thing. Get ready to hit the house.”
Elwood stared. “What? The plan calls for greasing Kantar on his way to the airport.”
“That was draft one,” Buxton replied calmly. “This is draft three. Kantar is in the house. So is al-Hudaybi, who played a role in destabilizing Egypt’s government, and a shithead named Victor Danby. See the Mercedes? The one that’s leaving? That’s his … Bought and paid for with Russian money. The man at the wheel is one of my guys.”
Buxton met Elwood’s gaze. “Once Danby received orders to work with al-Hudaybi, and try to sucker Kantar in, he sold the hit to the GRU. They want revenge for the way Kantar double-crossed them. So, if you look at today’s disposition matrix, you’ll see that all three names are on the to-do list. This is what I call a three-fer.”
Keys rattled as Elwood typed. “Holy shit … You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” Buxton said confidently. “So here goes … I want two Hellfires on the house—followed by two 500-pound Paveways.”
“Coming up,” Ho acknowledged. “Ask, and the bad guys shall receive.”
All eyes went to the main screen. The house was directly ahead, and locked in the video crosshairs. Ho fired.
***
Al Farafra, Egypt
After washing his hands Kantar splashed water on his face. It was refreshing. Then he examined himself in the mirror. You did it, Kantar thought. You did it.
Kantar was one level below the men’s dining room in the spa-like area that opened onto the pool deck. And he was about to go back upstairs when the entire world seemed to explode.
There was a loud BOOM. The building shook, a crystal chandelier crashed to the floor, and Kantar began to run.
A second explosion followed the first as Kantar sprinted out through the open door. The pressure wave from the third explosion propelled him over the water.
As Kantar sank into the cool water, he heard the muffled thud associated with a fourth weapon, and pieces of debris splashed into the water. Some fell past him to land at the bottom of the pool. Who are they trying to kill? Kantar wondered. Me? Or al-Hudaybi? Not that it mattered in the moment. What mattered was oxygen … And getting en
ough of it.
***
Cavallero Airbase, Libya
“Right on the money,” Buxton said, as the weapons exploded in sequence. “No bug splat (collateral damage) so far as I can see.”
“Roger that,” Elwood agreed.
“Bring the bird home,” Buxton said. “My guy will perform the BDA (battle damage assessment).”
“It’s Miller time,” Elwood said. “And I’m buying.”
***
Al Farafra, Egypt
Once the airstrike was over Farook returned to the mansion, parked on the street, and hurried up the drive. Chunks of debris lay scattered about. His digital camera was ready, as was the tissue collection kit in his pocket.
But as Farook rounded a curve he saw that the previously beautiful mansion was mostly rubble now. Fires were burning here and there, smoke poured up into the sky, and whatever passed for a fire department in Farafra would respond soon. That meant the chances of finding the correct bodies were negligible. But that was the task—and Farook was determined to try.
The front of the building had collapsed. That forced Farook to circle north in hopes of gaining access from the east. The swimming pool was to his right. Shards of wood floated here and there—along with what might have been a hand.
But Farook needed more than a hand. What he needed … Farook’s thoughts were interrupted as a man erupted out of the pool beside him.
Then, before Farook could draw the pistol at his waist, the man pulled him off-balance and into the water. Farook didn’t know how to swim—but found that his feet could touch bottom. So he fought. But Farook’s opponent was bigger and stronger.
Farook struggled to dislodge the arm that was wrapped around his neck, failed, and found it was impossible to breath. Nayla, he thought. Nayla. Then he was gone.
***
Kantar let go. Hurry, he thought. Hurry. People will come soon. Hands fumbled with wet clothing. Kantar found a wallet, a set of keys, and the holstered pistol. He kept those items but threw the case containing a scalpel and vials away.
A siren could be heard by then, and when the firemen appeared, Kantar was dragging the body out of the pool. “The explosion threw him into the water,” he told them. “I tried to revive him, but he’s dead.”
Red Flood (Winds of War Book 2) Page 20