The SEALs reached the edge of the seawall. “JUMP, GAMOUDI, JUMP!” yelled Brad Taylor. All six of them leaped over the side and into the harbor, bobbing up in the middle of the front row of fishing boats. Gamoudi, gasping for air, was not that great a swimmer, but the others were experts.
Behind one of the boats, they clipped on their flippers and rifles, which were stowed in waterproof back holsters, and began to swim, kicking fast for the harbor mouth, each of them with one hand on Jacques Gamoudi. The Colonel was lying motionless on his back, being dragged through the water faster than an Olympic one-hundred-meter freestyler.
There were only three hundred yards to go — that was thirty powerful kicks from these guys. And at the end of that, Jacques Gamoudi was dragged inboard the twenty-four-foot-long inflatable.
They kicked the twin Yamaha outboards into life, and the boat surged to the west, making almost forty knots across the calm water, the lights of Agadir growing fainter behind them.
Taylor took the cell phone off the dashboard and hit one button. And for the second time in a week there was a loud burst of applause in the comms room of the U.S.S. Shiloh, for the same three identical words…We got him.
EPILOGUE
THURSDAY, MAY 20, 11:00 A.M.
UNITED NATIONS
NEW YORK CITY
Col. Jacques Gamoudi stood before the General Assembly in one of the most extraordinary sessions ever to take place inside the great round hall of delegates. He was surrounded by bulletproof glass on all four sides.
There were seventy-four different interpreters in the UN’s operations room. The glass was the idea of Adm. Arnold Morgan, as a continuous world precaution against the lawlessness of France, whose representatives were not present. The Admiral had also framed the questions that would be directed to Colonel Gamoudi by the soft-spoken North African diplomat who now served as Secretary-General.
The interrogation lasted for two hours, and by the end of it the international reputation of the Republic of France lay in shreds. Among the exchanges, which were heard around the world, was the following:
Q: And did you personally command that large assault force in Riyadh that overthrew the Saudi King?
A: Yes, sir, I did.
Q: And who hired you to do so?
A: The French Government, sir.
Q: And how much were you paid by the French Government?
A: Fifteen million dollars, sir.
Q: And could you prove that beyond any doubt whatsoever?
A: I could.
Q: And who was responsible for the destruction of the Saudi oil fields and the loading docks?
A: The French Navy, sir. Two submarines, the Améthyste and the Perle. Frogmen and submerged-launch cruise missiles.
Q: And the destruction of the King Khalid Air Base?
A: French Special Forces, sir. Ferried in from Djibouti. Specialists, trained in France, blew the aircraft to pieces.
Q: And could you name the French Commanders?
A: Yes, sir, if you wish.
Q: And why have you decided to betray your country?
A: Because they have tried to assassinate me after I carried out my orders, direct from the President, to the letter.
Q: And how were you saved from the assassins?
A: By the United States Navy, sir. I owe them my life.
Q: And do you know why they saved you?
A: Yes, sir. In order that the world should know the truth of France’s actions.
Q: And will you ever be returning to France?
A: No, sir.
At 3:25 that afternoon, on behalf of the General Assembly, the United Nations Secretary-General apologized unconditionally to the President of the United States for the previous directive condemning the actions of the U.S. in the Strait of Hormuz and the Red Sea. This was formally accepted by the U.S. Ambassador to the UN.
The following morning, Admiral Morgan himself opened negotiations with King Nasir for the U.S.A. to take future charge of the Saudi oil industry. The Saudis would still receive the same money, but the U.S.A. would be responsible for security and the marketing of the product worldwide.
Admiral Morgan was in fact surprised by the ease with which the negotiations proceeded, the relaxed way the King cut the French right out of the equation, confirming, for the moment at least, that he wanted nothing more to do with the Republic of France.
Arnold Morgan thought the King’s attitude bordered on treachery toward his old partners in crime, in the overthrow of the free-spending former Saudi royal household. But then, he was not party to a conversation between the King and the French President, which unhappily ended thus:
“I am afraid, Mr. President, your conduct toward a very close friend of mine is entirely unacceptable to me. As a Bedouin, I cannot condone such betrayal of a good and loyal soldier and, I believe, a friend to us both.
“If it helps you, I should remind you I was a student of the works of E. M. Forster. I wrote my English literature thesis on him at Harvard. That, perhaps, is all you need to know.”
But the French President did not know. And probably never would.
TWO YEARS LATER
BOISE, IDAHO
The two Royal Saudi Air Force Boeings touched down lightly, one after the other, on the runway at the little airport south of the state capital of Idaho. Here, in one of the great mountainous regions of the American Midwest, was the new home of Mr. and Mrs. Jack McCaffrey.
Jack and Giselle stood in the doorway of the tiny arrivals lounge awaiting their guest, who was, incidentally, accompanied by an entourage of forty-seven family and staff members — kid’s stuff compared with the retinue of 3,000 that had often traveled with his predecessor on the Saudi throne.
The guests would be filling the biggest of the local hotels, but the King himself insisted on staying at the McCaffreys’ home for three days. We fought a great battle together, I stay under your roof. And, it was a pretty reasonable roof for the King to…well, pitch his tent: a beautiful white-columned colonial at the edge of the small city, with the snowcapped Sawtooth Mountains rising spectacularly to 6,000 feet to the east and then, beyond, to 11,000 feet.
The family had come here to Idaho with their two boys immediately after the United Nations hearings were concluded. Gamoudi, in different but soon to become beloved mountains, had never been happier.
With his great fortune, he had bought the big house and a large ski chalet over in Sun Valley, and set up a chain of three ski shops and mountain guide centers, which immediately prospered.
The boys, now Andy and John, had settled in swiftly in American schools. Gamoudi spent hundreds of cheerful hours with them and Giselle, exploring the great Idaho peaks above the hundreds of cold, blue lakes.
There were a few very large bears up there, which meant he never ventured far without his old hunting knife, the one that long ago had ended the life of the Mossad hit man at the Marseille restaurant, in a faraway country to which he would never return.
Gamoudi and Giselle had found a special place in the southwest of the state where so many Basque immigrants had once arrived from the Pyrenees in search of cheap land to raise sheep on the mountainside.
There was evidence of Basque culture everywhere here in Idaho — food, restaurants, and timeless stories handed down among the local farmers. You could even buy the famous Basque spicy sausage chorizo, specially made by fourth-generation immigrants, in nearby Payette County.
The McCaffreys had found an earthly paradise among people of a distant but often shared culture. Even the towering mountains, in certain light, looked much the same as the Pyrenees.
And suddenly, here was the King of Saudi Arabia, dressed in Western clothes but waving the distinctive greeting of the Bedouin as he walked down the aircraft steps. He wore the smile of a man whose oil economy has been rebuilt and is back on track and he walked onto American soil as the confident political partner of the U.S. President.
A few local photographers took pictures as the Ki
ng walked straight up to his old rebellion tank commander in Riyadh and hugged him. “JACQUES,” he exclaimed, beaming with camaraderie. “COLONEL JACQUES GAMOUDI!”
In his left hand the King carried a gift — a gilt-edged, leather-bound first edition of E. M. Forster’s Two Cheers for Democracy. Inside he had inscribed the words: For Le Chasseur, my friend…as salaam alaykum, upon you be peace, Nasir.
About the Author
PATRICK ROBINSON is the New York Times bestselling author of Nimitz Class, Kilo Class, H.M.S. Unseen, U.S.S. Seawolf, The Shark Mutiny, Barracuda 945, and Scimitar SL-2. He splits his time between Ireland and Cape Cod.
www.patrickrobinson.com
ALSO BY PATRICK ROBINSON
One Hundred Days (with Admiral Sir John “Sandy” Woodward)
True Blue
Nimitz Class
Kilo Class
H.M.S. Unseen
U.S.S. Seawolf
The Shark Mutiny
Barracuda 945
Slider
Scimitar SL-2
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Hunter Killer am-8 Page 49