Warriors by Barrett Tillman

by Barrett Tillman

  But that was the shooting war, Bennett reminded himself. He thought of his farewell speech to his squadron when he retired. "The United States Navy, gentlemen, is an eighteenth-century institution reluctantly being dragged into the nineteenth century." That had caught the press's attention. So, with one foot in the grave, he jumped in with both feet. He had told his junior officers that their value as aviators would only become apparent to the U. S. government during the next war.

  The reporters had lined up to pursue the retiring aviator's thoughts on the subject. They sensed a controversial quote, or at least a colorful one. "Tell us, Commander Bennett, does that mean you think there will be another war?"

  The junior officers had braced themselves, knowing the skipper's reply. "Well, if we don't think there'll be another war, all of us are wasting a hell of a lot of the taxpayers' money." The base's public affairs officer had his hands full explaining that one!

  It was a February evening in La Jolla, but the air was balmy with a gentle breeze off the Pacific. Bennett loved this small enclave carved into the California coast. He had raised a son and lost his wife here. The memory pained him again. The drunk driver had served barely a year in prison.

  Inside his coat pocket, Bennett felt the engraved invitation to Dave's change of command ceremony. His friend would become captain of the carrier Saratoga on the east coast in a few weeks. Dave had specifically taken time to get together, despite a hectic visit to San Diego. Damn it, he was a good man. Old Dave had chased that MiG-19 right over Hainan into Chinese airspace and ran the bastard out of fuel. No manager or chairbound warrior would have done that, risking his career in the process. But the nagging doubt returned-what had Dave done to ingratiate himself to the power brokers in Washington? Maybe he had changed.

  Or maybe, Bennett mused, I've stayed stagnant while everybody else has progressed.

  Bennett loved the landscaped entrance to his apartment. It was a jungle of bent pines and well-tended flowers. He took in the simple beauty of the place, paying no notice to the figure closing on him from behind. A cultured Middle Eastern voice broke the silence. "I beg your pardon, Commander Bennett?"

  John turned to face a man in gray trousers and expensive light-blue worsted jacket. The stranger carried himself with an air of dignity; of one accustomed to authority. His swarthy complexion was punctuated by a well-trimmed goatee. Bennett thought the Rolex on his left wrist must have cost $5,000. The gray-and-red tie was elegantly knotted and snugged to the perfectly starched collar of his dress shirt. This man had what soldiers called command presence.

  The gentleman extended his hand and Bennett appreciated the firm grasp. This was a very self-composed individual, and Bennett's four-inch height advantage seemed to dwindle.

  "My name is Safad Fatah. I am a Saudi Arabian diplomat. Could I please speak with you a few minutes?" The accent carried a trace of British influence--probably the result of an expensive education in England.

  "What do you want to talk about?"

  "Is it perhaps possible we could talk in your apartment?"

  Bennett started to hedge but the Arab gentleman interrupted.

  "Please, Commander, it will only take a moment. I think you might find it most interesting."

  Bennett unlocked his door, stepped back, and swept his hand inward, inviting the guest to enter. Fatah took in the apartment in a single glance.

  "Please sit down. By the way, how did you know my name?"

  Fatah rested his hands on his plump belly. "I have been in your country for the past five years. I am presently with the Saudi Embassy in Washington, and we obtained your address from some friends in that area."

  Bennett's curiosity intensified.

  "Can I get you something cool to drink? A beer perhaps?"

  Immediately Bennett realized his error. Muslims don't drink alcohol, he thought.

  "No thank you, sir." If Fatah took offense he covered it admirably. "If you have a Pepsi that would be nice."

  Bennett rummaged through his cluttered refrigerator. One of the women he occasionally dated was fond of Pepsi, and there were two cans left.

  As he poured the soda into a glass, Bennett searched his memory. Whom did he know in D.C. who traveled in diplomatic circles? Feeling the warrior's suspicion of diplomats, Bennett kept his distance. He acknowledged the supremacy of civilian leadership over the armed forces, but he drew the line at meddling.

  Bennett sat down across from Fatah and both men sized up one another. Bennett had removed his own jacket but the Arab sat impeccably clad with his coat still buttoned.

  Barely sipping his drink, the Saudi leaned forward and his dark eyes fixed on Bennett's. "Commander, my government would like to discuss with you ·the possibility of a venture in my nation which would make use of your expertise. If it's agreeable to you, we would be pleased to have you as our guest in Arabia. If your schedule permits, we can set the meeting in Riyadh six days hence. I must leave this evening but I shall meet you upon arrival. We will, of course, pay all your expenses and we think you might enjoy a few days as our guest."

  Bennett masked the confusion he felt. His face belied any uncertainty but his mind raced. "And what would you want me--"

  Again Fatah smoothly interrupted. "Please, Commander, I cannot say more than I have. Everything would be made clear to you, but for the present would you please consider that I am not at liberty to divulge more information? My sovereign will explain everything to you in due course."

  The Saudi's initial contact with Bennett was the result of a two-year effort Riyadh had invested in selecting the retired aviator. There was nothing about John Bennett the Saudis did not know; he even looked the part, as if cast for a motion picture. There were the clear gray eyes which could display disarming charm or icy rage. Women especially would see and be moved by those eyes, and Arabs knew women as perhaps no other men on earth. The Prophet had given that knowledge to his people. Of that, Fatah was certain.

  Bennett's cheeks were tanned and there were small lines at the comers of both eyes-testament to 5,000 hours aloft, many of them squinting into the sun in search of adversaries. The carefully groomed hair had a touch of gray now, but the overall impression was one of energy and vigor.

  Following orders from his government, Fatah had selected the fifty-four-year-old retired naval officer after extensive screening.

  Bennett's combat record, his writings on aerial combat, his reputation among his contemporaries and-most important-among his former students, were well known to Fatah. He knew of the man's marriage, the death of his wife, the fact that Bennett's son was enrolled at Arizona State University.

  There had been difficulty obtaining a copy of the thesis Bennett had written at the Naval War College. It had been classified as secret, but the Saudis had obtained Bennett's document, plus several written by other prospective agents. Bennett's opus, Airpower-Key to the Middle East, had confirmed he was the man the Saudis wanted.

  John Bennett at first said nothing as he considered the strange proposal.

  The silence was broken when Bennett rose and stood with his hands behind his back. "Mr. Fatah, can you tell me if your government wishes to utilize my services in any way that could be detrimental to my country, or jeopardize my position as a U. S. citizen and a retired military officer?"

  Fatah rose and looked Bennett square in the face. "Sir, I can assure you that is not the case."

  There was a pause and Bennett strode to the window, staring at the blue Pacific. He said, "Mr. Fatah, I would be honored to be a guest of your king. I have made deployments to the Mediterranean and I would enjoy seeing the Middle East again. How long should I plan on staying?"

  "Oh, I believe three days would be ample time for us to explain our proposal to you. I will have a car pick you up here at noon Thursday. Incidentally, Commander, is your passport current?" Fatah already knew the answer.

  "Yes it is. What will the weather be like this time of year?"

  "It is suitable for a lightweight suit an
d sports clothes." Fatah extended his hand and said, "Then I shall see you in Riyadh next week, Commander."

  After the man left, Bennett opened a Coors and sat with his feet propped on the coffee table. His curiosity was aroused, and he felt sympathy for the cultured Saudi. The kingdom's days were numbered, he thought. The whole region was a caldron now, on a scale not seen in the past millenium. Iran's interminable war of attrition with Iraq finally had reached an. uneasy settlement. Extensive blood-letting without significant gain by either side, severe economic disruption in the Persian Gulf with repeated attacks on third-party ships and ports-all these factors had forced a tenuous cease-fire. But the late Ayatollah and his successors had gained a victory of sorts. Despite the bitter religious discord between both nations, the cold-eyed Muslim priests in Tehran had reached an understanding with the Arab Socialist Baath party in Baghdad. Islam was slowly, reluctantly, uniting.

  The year before, Lebanon's convulsions ended when the Syrian leadership was replaced by the spreading church-state doctrine of the mullahs. Press reports were ominous, for after the moderate Egyptian president and four ministers died in a mysterious plane crash, another bloody civil war was barely averted. The Libyans gleefully played a central role in fomenting turmoil in Cairo, and were suspected of sabotaging the presidential aircraft. It had taken decades, but the entire Islamic world seemed to be rallying under the green flag with star and crescent.

  Nobody was naive enough to believe the Arab states would sublimate their individual differences for long; religious antagonism alone between Sunni and Shiite would guarantee lasting discord. But for the moment, the pressure was on the moderate Muslim nations.

  John Bennett was aware of these facts. But he needed more information, a broader perspective. He set down his beer, grabbed the keys to his Mercedes, and headed for the library. In his methodical way he spent the evening building a background file, then he checked out a copy of the Koran.

  The more he studied recent Middle East history, the more Bennett understood the rarity and importance of Saudi Arabia's relatively stable government. No other Arab nation of significant size had possessed a lasting hierarchy since World War II. There had been important efforts at pan-Arabism, most notably the short-lived Egyptian-Syrian alliance under Gamal Abdel Nasser. But the United Arab Republic, founded in 1958, fell apart within three years when the Syrian army broke with Cairo in resentment over Egyptian influence in Damascus.

  Bennett read about the greater strife that followed. Anwar Sadat, perhaps the only genuine statesman in the region, was assassinated by radical army elements resentful of his accord with Israel. Iraq: plagued by coups and internal rebellion even before the war with Iran. Syria: successive governments toppled, then irretrievably mired in Lebanon. Jordan: perennial difficulty with the Palestinian population, open conflict with the PLO, and the festering matter of Israeli occupation of the West Bank. The list seemed endless.

  But in Islam's holy book Bennett saw glimpses of what hardly could be missed by feuding Muslims themselves. The prophet Muhammad laid out a philosophy of life with strong appeal. Generosity and hospitality were extolled, as were attention to family and devotion to God. The Koran idealized strong, quiet men of action and commitment. If those qualities could be harnessed and directed under a unified leadership, the world would resound with their deeds:

  Arabia

  Barely twelve hours after takeoff from San Diego, the Saudi Air 747 was lined up with the runway lights at Al-'Aqabah, and the Boeing's tires scarred the runway with black rubber upon landing. Bennett was met by an elegantly robed Safad Fatah with a chauffeured limousine and driven to the palace. There the former naval officer was hospitably but quickly shown his elegant quarters and left to sleep off his jet lag.

  Late the next morning Bennett awoke refreshed if not wholly recovered, still in awe of his surroundings. The room was more than sumptuous; it bordered on the decadent, he thought. He considered himself sophisticated and well traveled, but never had he stayed in such a room. Few Muslims would choose such surroundings; the opulence therefore must reflect their view of what infidels desire. The shower and faucet handles must be solid gold. I don't know what these guys want, he mused, but they have the money to buy whatever it is.

  HOURS BEFORE BENNETT STIRRED THAT MORNING, KING Rahman had met with his principal military and civilian advisers. The meeting was solemn. The king, seated on an elaborately ornamented throne elevated above the floor, was noticeably ashen-faced. His ministers sat in a semicircle before him, and all took note of the monarch's pallor but none spoke of it. They did not need to. For as the 747 carrying the party from San Diego had passed the entrance to the Mediterranean at Gibraltar, a brief, violent assault had once more rent the Middle East.

  The Israeli army, in a professionally executed lightning attack, had entered Jordan the night before. The invasion was justified by an announcement insisting the move was aimed it hostile guerrilla forces operating within that nation's borders. Israeli troops had occupied Amman in a matter of hours, supported by overwhelming air and artillery forces that smothered the defenses.

  In Tel Aviv the prime minister announced that King Hussein was safe, en route to Cyprus with his family and senior advisers. The immediate fate of occupied Jordan remained uncertain, but it was unlikely the Israelis would withdraw anytime soon.

  While few analysts agreed on a likely conclusion, most were quick to point out a long succession of events leading to the Israeli action. For several years Israeli public opinion had railed against the political leadership for its lack of action to increasingly violent resistance to Israeli domination of Gaza and the West Bank. Following the well-publicized riots' of the late 1980s, Palestinians had gained wider global support, plus military aid from government and private organizations within Lebanon and Jordan. It was a descending spiral of violence: repression brought resistance and revenge bred itself in kind. Eventually the Palestinian intefadeh, or uprising, expanded beyond stone-throwing. It grew into selective terrorist raids, evolving as more arms and men became available. All too soon larger operations were conducted with supporting arms-often rockets and artillery from Syria and Iran.

  The political chaos in Lebanon, coupled with Jordan's tenuous position between its indigenous Palestinian population and a need to show support for pan-Arabism, bred the cycle of violence. Bennett concluded that Jordan may have ceased to exist as a nation-state in much the way that Lebanon had degenerated.

  With each Palestinian raid, with each Israeli death, the radical element of Israeli politicians gained increasing support from a disenchanted electorate. Consequently, the Likud party-spawned by the earlier hard-line Herut and Liberal parties-found itself ironically in danger of being portrayed as too moderate or even as ineffectual. Therefore, Likud could not afford to alienate the ultraorthodox segments like the Kach party, whose influence now exceeded its small numbers.

  Eventually the fundamentalist, most nationalist Israeli politicians began insisting that Jordan was not a legitimate country, but a creation of the British. This viewpoint gained a 40 percent plurality among the electorate, and political pressure on the government became intense. Some observers predicted that Israel would propose Jordan as the long-awaited Palestinian homeland, thus skirting the sensitive issue of ceding Israeli-occupied land for that purpose. Bennett knew-in fact, had predicted-that some settlement of the Palestinian issue would be the only means of achieving a balance in the region, especially after the turmoil of the late 1980s. He was enough of a realist to know that peace in the Middle East was a pipe dream. But now it may be too late; the time for concessions to the Palestinians may have passed into history. Now they rode the wave of Islamic fundamentalism which seemed bound to sweep all before it.

  Safad Fatah had hinted as much in his San Diego meeting with Bennett. The moderate Arab states, most notably the Saudis, stood to lose everything. All they could hope for was to hold what they already had.

  The king had already met with delegations from
Iran. Khomeini's successors were no less determined than the departed ayatollayh, but they were more pragmatic and had reestablished relations with Riyadh. The long, bitter war with Iraq had shown the folly of pitting Muslim against Muslim and flesh against steel. Now they called for a unified religious war-a jihad-which would once and for all destroy the Jewish state. The superpowers could do little more than observe the growing storm from the sidelines.

  The Saudi monarch now sat on a tenuous throne, knowing that only the power of his oil and money could save him-if coupled with a precisely executed diplomatic scheme by men the quality of Safad Fatah. The Iranians were the key-maintain an accord with them, and the others likely would follow suit. But the king knew that the same men he had hosted over thick coffee and paper-thin wafers were capable of dispatching a team of suicidal assassins the next time.

  Now, addressing his own ministers, the ruler of Saudi Arabia outlined the situation. Though his nation had not been directly involved in the many wars against Israel since 1948, the pattern of combat was well known in Riyadh. Every man in the room knew that no Arab army had seriously threatened the existence of the Jewish state since the Israeli Air Force had grown to early maturity in the mid-1950s. In the usually clear weather of the Middle East, and upon its barren deserts, no army could move on the few roads and hide from Israeli aircraft. Those roads had time and again been lined with the gutted, charred, rusting remains of trucks and armored vehicles.

  John Bennett knew the facts as well as any Arab leader. It was the opening theme in his War College thesis which had brought him to Fatah's attention. Fatah had committed two paragraphs to memory:

  The Middle East arena, from Suez on the canal to Tarabulus in northern Lebanon, is barely 400 miles. A jet aircraft covers this distance in less than one hour at cruising speed. At Mach I the time is barely thirty minutes. Thus, from Tel Aviv the radius of action for a supersonic aircraft puts it within combat in just ten to fifteen minutes.