Yossi was among the circling pilots. “Hey, I might want my money back on that guarantee,” he said in his thick accent. “Does that look like a total kill to you?”
“It looks fairly dead from my angle,” Reg countered, “and it looks like it’s burning inside. I wouldn’t worry about it. The impact of the crash probably killed anything that wasn’t nailed to the walls.”
“Probably you’re right.”
Both of them were thinking the same thing: Probably wasn’t good enough. They made a couple of additional passes, scanning for signs of movement, until it was too dark to see much of anything. Then they flew off to join the rest of the pilots at At-Ta‘if.
Inside the ship, large doors were rolling closed to contain the spread of what the aliens hated most: fire.
6
VICTORY PARTY
The airfield at At-Ta‘if served both civilian and military purposes. The swarm of alien attack planes that had pounded the place with bursts from their energy cannons didn’t discriminate between the two. Nearly every building at the facility had been destroyed. In the absence of electrical power, ground crews had lined the only undamaged runway with pots of kerosene and set them ablaze to guide the victorious pilots to the ground.
Reg, Yossi, and Khalid were among the last to land. When they taxied up to the damaged main hangars, there was a cheering crowd waiting to greet them. Their nationality made no difference to these people. The only thing that mattered was that the pilots had saved them from the horrible, ghastly invaders. The civilians rushed in to surround the planes, cheering and shaking their fists in victory. A contingent of Saudi soldiers pushed their way through the crowd and led the pilots to a fleet of waiting limousines.
“Welcome to being heroes, gents.” Tye was standing in one of the limos, his head and torso poking through the sunroof. He towered above the roof of the car like a sunburned giraffe. “There’s a party in our honor at the royal family’s compound. Hop in.”
They left the airfield and sped east through one of the finest suburbs of At-Ta‘if, Tye still hanging out the sunroof. But the trip wasn’t all cheering and smiles. Parts of the city had been hit hard by pulse blasts. They drove past working-class Saudis who were retrieving their possessions from smoldering buildings. In one spot, bodies were laid out on a sidewalk, surrounded by mourners. When the drivers slowed to steer around the pedestrians, Reg looked out his window and made eye contact with an older, unveiled woman. She was cradling a dead boy in her arms and wailing with grief. But as the limousine passed, she did a remarkable thing: She pumped her fist in the air and let out a ululating war cry in honor of the victorious pilots. Beneath the surface of their new riches and creature comforts, Reg realized that Fadeela had been right: The Saudis were still a fierce, desert people.
A short time later, they arrived at their destination, the royal family’s summer palace, and entered a world of nearly unimaginable opulence. Behind the heavily guarded gates, a broad swath of manicured lawn rolled up a gentle slope toward a magnificent white mansion. It was an architectural fantasy, part storybook European castle, part Arabian palace. A pair of domed minarets stood on either side of the ornately tiled building. The winding driveway led them beneath canopies of palm trees and ferns. All the doors and windows of the great house had been thrown open, revealing that a lavish party was under way inside. Guests spilled out onto the tiled verandas and balconies overlooking the gardens.
Their limousine driver steered away from the main house and took the sweaty pilots to the compound’s Olympic-sized swimming pool. They showered in the cabanas and changed into the Arab-style clothing provided for them. The ankle-length shirts, called thobes, fit Yossi and Reg comfortably, but Tye’s was a full six inches too short. They marched up the hill to join the gathering.
“I feel like I’m wearing a dress,” Reg complained.
“How do you think I feel,” Tye said, his hairy, freckled shins poking out below his hemline.
“Don’t worry. Both of you look very beautiful and sexy,” Yossi joked without smiling. Then, looking around him, he said, “To have a garden like this is every Arab’s dream.”
The grounds were lush beyond reason. There was a greenhouse full of orchids. Pomegranate and citrus trees grew beside birds-of-paradise, date palms, and many other exotic plants. There were peacock blue tiles lining a circular fountain and actual peacocks wandering the lawn. Mercedes-Benzes and Rolls-Royces were parked along the driveway, and a group of well-heeled Saudis stood admiring an elaborate, man-made waterfall. Off in the distance was another building that looked like a French château. As the three men began climbing the steps to the party, waiters rushed toward them to offer golden caviar and sweet tea.
“I can’t believe this place,” Reg remarked, as they crossed the patio.
“What’s the good of owning a country if you don’t have a nice house or two,” deadpanned Yossi.
The elaborate main doors of the house opened onto a ballroom. Well-dressed men, and Saudi women with sheer veils concealing their diamond necklaces mixed with soldiers and pilots in loud conversation. There were more than two hundred people inside, but the room was large enough to accommodate twice that number.
When they saw Reg enter, many of the pilots broke off their conversations and came over to greet him. They were all heroes to the world, and Reg was a hero to them. One by one, they embraced him, some of them with tears in their eyes. Khalid was among them.
With a big grin on his face, Reg put an arm around his old friend.
“We made it. We actually did it.”
“It was a piece of pie. I mean cake. It was a piece of cake.”
The two of them laughed. Khalid stepped back and admired his friend’s new wardrobe. “You look good in Saudi fashion, Teacher. It suits you. But on you,” he said, turning to Tye, “it looks like a dress.”
A hyperkinetic American woman, wearing a wireless headset, introduced herself to Reg as Mrs. Roeder. Blinking rapidly, she explained that she and her husband were “event coordinators for the House of Saud.” She pointed out Mr. Roeder, a man in a suit and tie, who was standing halfway up a staircase on the far side of the room. He nodded back. She took Reg by the arm and began leading him across the room. “The scuttlebutt is that you sort of took charge of the non-Saudi forces during the air battle today and helped Commander Faisal out,” she said.
“Helped him out?” Reg asked with an incredulous glance. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
“Well, the king heard about it, and he’s very anxious to meet you.” She glanced up at the balcony overlooking the party. A grinning elderly man in a white robe leaned over the balustrade and beckoned them upstairs. Reg recognized him immediately, having seen his photograph hundreds of times. It was Ibrahim al-Saud, the king of Saudi Arabia. Faisal was standing right behind him.
As Mrs. Roeder led them up the stairs, Khalid put a hand on Reg’s shoulder.
“Have you heard from Thomson? Did he get the tape recording?”
“He’ll be here soon,” Reg assured him, as Mrs. Roeder tugged at his arm. “Nothing to worry about.”
“I suppose I should say thank you,” the American woman said, speaking a mile a minute. “We all should. You guys were incredibly brave up there today.”
“All in a day’s work,” Reg joked.
“I mean, what do you say to a bunch of guys who just saved your life? Thanks, right?” Just as quickly, she was on to another subject. “Let me tell you something. It wasn’t easy pulling this party together. Everything is such a mess out there. It’s absolutely crazy. You try getting fresh lettuce in the middle of an alien attack. But the king really wanted to express his appreciation so we’re doing the best we can.” She was distracted by a message coming through her earpiece and stopped to listen.
“This one?” she asked, pointing toward Khalid. “Got it.” With a professionally ingratiating smile, she put her hand on Khalid’s shoulder.
“Sir, they’re asking that
you not come upstairs. They’ll talk to you later. Would you mind?”
It looked like Faisal might make trouble for Khalid after all. Maybe for Reg as well, since he’d loudly urged Khalid to disobey the orders to attack. The two men exchanged a tense look before Reg continued up the stairs.
“I’ll put in a good word for you,” he said.
Once he was above the crowd, Reg scanned the partygoers, looking for Thomson. The colonel’s diplomatic skills would’ve come in very handy right about then, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Reg’s eyes fell on a tall, veiled woman standing near the doors. Despite her coverings, he knew instantly that it was Fadeela. Standing with a group of women, she raised her glass ever so slightly in a clandestine toast. Reg smiled conspiratorially as he reached the top of the stairs.
“Your Majesty, may I present Major Cummins of the British Royal Air Force.”
Reg had never met a king before and didn’t know what he was supposed to do. After running his fingers through his hair, he did the same thing he would have done upon meeting the queen of England. He knelt down and bowed his head.
The king’s broad grin erupted into a belly laugh. When Reg looked up, everyone around him was laughing, too. Mrs. Roeder joined Reg at floor level and blinked.
“There’s really no need for that, Major. In this country, people consider the king their equal. A simple handshake would be appropriate.”
Chagrined, Reg got to his feet. Obviously there was no harm done because the king put his arm around Reg like he was part of the family and introduced him to eight or ten of his brothers, nephews, and advisors. The patriarch of the al-Saud clan was well into his seventies, a tall thin man who was a little unsteady on his feet but mentally very sharp. He offered Reg a chair.
“Commander Faisal informs me,” the king began with a twinkle in his eye, “that you were a great hero today. That you rallied the foreign forces on our soil and led them capably in the battle.”
“I did what I could,” Reg replied, shooting a glance at Faisal.
“No, no. It is not a time for false modesty. If Faisal tells me it is so, it is so. And he tells me that without you, our Holy City would have come to ruin. For this we can never thank you properly. We al-Sauds are the custodians of Mecca, and it is a responsibility we take very seriously. You have given us a very great gift in helping to save Mecca from these godless invaders, and it is my plan to reward you handsomely.”
Reg’s ears perked up. When the king of Saudi Arabia, one of the wealthiest men in the world, used the words “reward you handsomely,” he wasn’t talking about a gold watch and a weekend in Bahrain.
“There is no need to decide now. Think about it for a day or two and decide what you would like to have. If it is within our power, it shall be done.”
Reg surprised himself by immediately glancing toward Fadeela. “That’s very generous. I’ll give it some thought,” he said. “Can I ask why you didn’t want to see Khalid Yamani? He deserves as much thanks as I do.”
The expression on the old man’s face instantly soured. “Kamak Yamani has long been a valuable and beloved servant of ours. He has done much to enrich the people of our country, but his son, Khalid, has brought him nothing but shame and grief. Faisal has told me Khalid was a student of yours.”
“That’s right,” Reg said. “He’s also a friend.”
“I see,” said King Ibrahim, with obvious displeasure. But my offer to you is still good. You will be rewarded for your bravery just as Khalid Yamani will be punished for his cowardice.”
“Cowardice?” Without meaning to, Reg scoffed at the king’s words. “Without Khalid we might not have succeeded today. He should get as much credit as anyone. He showed more courage than some of your other pilots.” Again, Reg glanced pointedly at Faisal.
The king’s eyebrows arched, and his face iced over. He exchanged a few words with Faisal before turning back to Reg, explaining a little history to him in a chilly tone.
“I am told you were a pilot during the Gulf War and that you made a rather serious and costly mistake, is this right?”
“Yes, sir,” Reg admitted, suddenly quieter. Every high-ranking Saudi knew about Reg’s “mistake.”
“In that same war, your friend Khalid Yamani also made a very grave mistake. Yours was an error of judgment made under the stress of battle. And I understand your superiors have forgiven you.” That was partially true. “But Lieutenant Yamani’s error was made in calmness. His heart, I am afraid, is corrupted with the poison of”—he turned to one of his assistants for a translation—“poisoned with malice and jealousy.”
Faisal leaned forward and explained. “He accused me of lying and of cowardice. He said I was not the one who repulsed the attack of the Iraqi national guard. It was a serious matter to do so,” he said in a threatening way that implied Reg would be wise not to make the same mistake. “But, because of the great standing and reputation of his father, he was spared from the punishment he deserved. Today he ran from the battle and disobeyed my orders. This time there can be no mercy.”
“Mercy? Mercy?” Reg asked, getting visibly angry. “Why should he need your mercy?” Mrs. Roeder quickly put a firm hand on Reg’s shoulder to remind him where he was, but it didn’t do much good. He yelled past the king at Faisal. “You ordered those men to their deaths when you could have waited. Khalid was right to disobey that order. I would have done the same thing.”
Faisal turned to the king. “You see, even the foreign pilots clearly understood my orders.”
Without meaning to, Reg had further incriminated Khalid.
The king stood up to show that the interview was over.
“Tonight is a time for celebrating. We are here to rejoice in our victory. We will handle this unpleasant business at a future time. I am sorry to have detained you for such a long while, I’m certain you have friends and comrades you wish to greet more than a tiresome old man. Mr. and Mrs. Roeder, please invite Major Cummins to the events tomorrow and make sure he has everything he needs.” He smiled warmly and clasped Reg’s hands in his own. “Once again, we thank you most humbly.”
Reg stood up, but wasn’t quite ready for this royal audience to end. He already knew what he wanted as his handsome reward: He wanted Khalid to be fully exonerated. But the Roeders each took one of his elbows and firmly guided him toward the stairs.
“Take a tip?” Mr. Roeder asked. “Don’t raise your voice to anyone in the royal family. Doesn’t usually work out in your favor.”
“Major, if you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, please come out to the spaceship with us,” Mrs. Roeder said in one ear.
“The king is heading out there in the morning with a huge entourage,” her husband said in the other.
Reg looked surprised. “The spaceship? Aren’t you worried about survivors?”
“We’re hoping for survivors.” Mrs. Roeder blinked. “The king wants his picture taken with some of them. You know, standing there with his boot on their necks and his sword raised in the air. Something to boost morale while the country’s getting back on its feet.”
“But more importantly,” Mr. Roeder went on, “how are we going to learn about them if there aren’t any survivors. We’ve got to make these suckers talk. Find out where they came from and why they did this to us.”
“Exactly. The king has already called some translation experts in from Switzerland.”
“They’re mathematicians and biologists mainly,” Mr. Roeder said, glancing at his watch. “People who might be able to figure out how to communicate with the aliens.”
“Not that the Saudis don’t know how to interrogate a prisoner, you understand, but this is a unique situation. They’re arriving tonight.”
“I hope you’ll come tomorrow. There’s going to be film crews, foreign ambassadors, and lots of the royals. It should be interesting. A real historic-moment type of situation.”
“Also, that would be the perfect time to ask for your reward from the king, so we could get
pictures of the whole thing. It’d save us from having to set up a separate ceremony.”
“Well, it was sure nice to meet you. All you pilots are being housed in the guest quarters on the far side of the pool. Looks like a French château, you can’t miss it. Very luxurious. You’ll love it.” Then they hurried away to take care of other business.
Reg searched the party, looking for Khalid and Thomson. If the colonel had the tape, it would be enough to make Faisal back off. It contained the proof of his cowardice during the dogfight.
Reg found Tye instead and enlisted his help. The two of them searched the extensive grounds of the royal compound. As they hunted through the gardens, checking the various gazebos and greenhouses, they passed a large gaggle of strolling Saudi women.
“Babe alert,” Tye said out of the side of his mouth. “Check out those sexy veils!” But as they passed by, it was the women who did the checking out. The black-gowned figures surrounded the men, sizing them up, and offering opinions on their manly attributes.
“How handsome this one is.”
“I like the other one. Cute, la?”
“Not enough muscle. I think he will blow away in a strong breeze.”
One of them stepped forward and, although it was dark, Reg knew who it was beneath the dark headcloth. She complimented him.
“He is handsome, brave, and unafraid of women. Why don’t we have more Saudi men like this one?”
When Reg took her by the arm and pulled her aside, the other women gasped at his forwardness.
“Major Cummins,” Fadeela protested, “every garden has a thousand eyes. This is not a safe place for us to talk.”
“Listen, Fadeela, I’ve got something important to tell you.” He paused to consider how he should break the news. It was just long enough to give her the wrong idea.
“There is a rumor,” she said, “that the king will reward you with whatever your heart desires. If you are going to ask my advice about choosing a Saudi bride, I can recommend a very lovely and talented young woman.”
Complete Independence Day Omnibus, The Page 63