“You can ride with these men,” Ali told Reg. “They are delivering water to the camp.”
Reg tilted his head back so he could see the line of trucks. “Good enough,” he said, staring toward the road. “I’ll ride in back with the barrels.”
“Wait!” Fadeela stopped him.
“What is it?”
She looked him over, worried about his appearance. She made a quick adjustment to his uniform. “Let me hear what you are going to say when someone asks you a question.”
Reg grunted inarticulately.
“Perfect.” She smiled.
“Guess I should go,” Reg said without moving. He lifted the edge of his keffiyeh so he could see Fadeela’s face.
She looked up at him, concerned. “And remember: Get yourself as close to Faisal as you can before you speak to him, preferably when there are many people around him. If you can put a hand on him—”
“I know. I know.” They’d already gone over the best way to approach Faisal several times. “But before I go…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you wish to wish me good luck? In England, it would be appropriate to give me a kiss right about now. It’s sort of a tradition.” Although it was dark, he saw that his words had startled her. Nevertheless, her lips parted slowly into a warm smile.
“I’m always interested in trying new things,” she said softly. She moved toward him until her lips were only inches from his. “If and when you make it back alive, we should discuss this subject at length.” Then she stepped back and offered him a military salute.
Reg let his keffiyeh fall again to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll definitely take you up on that,” he said, then began shuffling his way toward the idling Toyotas. As he wandered half-blind into the headlights, the men in the trucks all noticed his strange behavior and the fact that his uniform was too small. Reg groped the air until his hands found the tailgate. With Ali’s help, he climbed on and perched atop the stack of steel water drums.
“How long should we wait for you?” Ali whispered.
“Not long. If I’m not back in a couple of hours, move on to Plan B without me.”
Ali was confused. “Plan B? What is that?”
“You’ll think of something.”
Ali grinned and stepped away, motioning the convoy to continue. But the driver of the lead vehicle waved him over for a word. He was concerned.
“Who is this lunatic you’re putting on my truck?” the man asked. “What’s the matter with him?”
Ali leaned in close and stared menacingly at the driver. “Can you keep a secret?”
Intimidated by Ali’s size and strength, the man nodded vigorously that he could.
“He’s royal. One of the king’s favorite nephews. He went crazy under all the pressure, so I’d stay out of his way if I were you. Don’t even talk to him.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” the man stammered. “Thank you, sir.” Then he shifted into gear and started up the twisting mountain road. The higher the road climbed, the more treacherous the turns became. Steep canyon walls rose on either side, and Reg quickly understood why Faisal had chosen to retreat to this place: It was safe and easy to defend. Dirt service roads ran along the clifftops, allowing troops and weapons to be moved into place. In the moonlight, Reg could see the silhouettes of field cannons, mortars, and rocket launchers overlooking the road. If the aliens tried to force their way through the pass, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. The obvious difference, of course, would be that the fish would be shooting back.
When they’d traveled four or five miles, the first trees began to appear, and soon they reached the army’s main staging area: a large, level field on the south side of the road. Hundreds of soldiers, their weapons, equipment, and vehicles were located in the dried grass. The noise of gasoline-powered generators jackhammered the air, and high-intensity lamps flooded the field with a glaring light.
*
The water trucks turned off the road and, moving slowly, followed the tire tracks that led to the center of the camp. Just as Reg was about to slip over the side and make his way to the nearest shadows, the convoy was stopped for an inspection.
Reg pushed the keffiyeh even lower over his eyes and slouched against the water drums. One of the soldiers walked around behind the truck. When the man spoke, Reg shrugged his shoulders and grunted noncommittally. Apparently, this answer was not satisfactory because the guard repeated the question, testily this time. Reg knew he’d have to try something else. After hesitating for a moment, he imitated something he’d seen his student-pilots do a thousand times: He waved a hand at the heavens, and said, “Insha’allah!” It was an all-purpose phrase meaning; Who knows? Or It’s in God’s hands. It was the thing people said when they didn’t know what else to say. Luckily, it seemed to amuse the soldier. He chuckled and waved the trucks forward.
As they moved deeper into the camp, Reg waited for an opportune moment to slip away. Despite the late hour, everyone was wide-awake and buzzing with energy. Groups of soldiers were everywhere: Most of them were moving from place to place, preparing for the next confrontation. They drove past a cluster of utility vans that had been outfitted to act as mobile field-communications centers and on toward the loudest, brightest, noisiest part of the camp: the mess tent. Reg jumped to the ground, walked alongside the truck for a few paces, then turned away as if he knew exactly where he was headed. Some soldiers spoke to him, but he kept his head down and brushed past them without drawing much attention. Or so he hoped. As he moved away from the lights, he began to breathe easier until someone came up from behind and grabbed his arm.
“You are the Englishman, the Teacher. I know you.”
Reg wheeled around to find himself face-to-face with a tall man in a well-tailored blue suit caked with dust. He looked like a commercial airline pilot. He had wavy hair combed straight back, a small goatee, and bright teeth that he displayed in an ear-to-ear smile. Reg recognized him as the Yamanis’ chauffeur.
“My name is Abdul. What happened to your uniform?”
“Happy to see you again,” Reg whispered. He clamped a friendly arm around Abdul’s shoulders, then forced him to walk. “Listen, I’m looking for someone, and I want you to help me find him.” Abdul nodded. He was a little confused about where Reg was leading him, but he agreed to help.
Not far away, a tent flap pushed open, and a clutch of Saudi officers stepped out of the command tent. When Faisal ducked outside and strode past them, they hurried to keep pace. He was on his way to the radio vans with a message he wanted relayed to his advance troops, the men stationed closest to the fallen destroyer. It was important enough that he wanted to explain it himself. When they saw him coming, the communications technicians snapped to attention and saluted. Faisal ordered them to ease and asked for the latest reports. It was evident from their faces that his soldiers regarded Faisal with a type of respect akin to awe. He had already defeated the aliens once, and they believed he could do it a second time. They would have followed any order he gave them.
“The message shall say exactly this: King Ibrahim is hiding here in the mountain pass to Dawqah with an army of less than one hundred men to protect him.”
“But, sir, we just monitored one of the king’s communiqués. He is in At-Ta‘if.”
“Can our advance troops hear those same broadcasts?”
“No, sir.”
“Then deliver the message as I gave it to you. Say that if the king is killed, the army will surrender. Tell them to remain in their positions but intercept any enemy forces that advance in this direction.”
“He is setting a trap, a very intelligent trap,” one of the radiomen told the others enthusiastically. They quickly joined him in loud praise of the strategy. By that point, all of them knew the aliens were interrogating the humans they caught, and the information they gleaned gave them a powerful advantage, By planting the false information in the minds of his men, Faisal was trusting that it would eventually make its
way into the alien consciousness. It might have been the first interspecies disinformation campaign. After basking in the adulation of his troops, Faisal and his officers turned to go, but a strange-looking soldier stepped into their path and lifted his keffiyeh.
“Good evening, Commander,” Reg said with a level stare. When Faisal saw who it was, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to back up. He glared at Reg and reached for his pistol. Very loudly, Reg invoked the Bedouin custom of hospitality. “I ask to be accepted as a guest in your camp!” he shouted.
There was a moment of tense silence. From the murderous looks he was getting, Reg thought every man in the camp must know about the price Faisal had put on his head. But the next moment, the commander regained his composure and relaxed. He even forced himself to chuckle. The others followed his lead.
“Major Cummins, you startled me.”
“I am asking to be accepted as your guest,” Reg said again, just as loudly.
“Gentlemen,” Faisal said, turning to the others, “this is one of the pilots who assisted me in destroying the enemy over Mecca. Everyone will treat him as a brother while he remains here with us.” He spoke to them with a broad smile that disappeared the moment he turned back to face Reg. “What do you want?”
“I was at your base in Al-Sayyid today when your stockpile of biological agents was taken by the aliens.”
Before he could go on, Faisal interrupted him, saying that Reg was mistaken. “Saudi Arabia has no biological-weapons program.” Then he sent his radio operators back to work and led Reg several paces away so they could speak without being overheard. His officers followed. “There is no need for my men to know about the weapons you are talking about,” he said angrily.
“I disagree. We’re all in danger of being exposed to some very lethal diseases. If the aliens can figure out a way to deploy those poisons, everyone from here to Sweden is in danger.”
“Yes, I know,” Faisal shot back. “But I don’t think you came here to criticize us for having developed these weapons.”
“You’re right. I came here because I’ve got a plan to get them back. Actually, it’s Fadeela’s plan.” When they heard her name mentioned, Faisal’s officers tensed up and looked as if they might come at Reg all at once. On the day that should have been his coronation as a major hero, Faisal had suffered the pain of having his bride-to-be “kidnapped” by a band of foreigners. The men surrounding him seemed anxious to avenge their hero’s suffering.
“Where is Fadeela now?” Faisal asked.
“Safe,” was all Reg would say.
“Women are so unpredictable, so full of surprises, don’t you agree, Major?”
Reg didn’t return the smile he was offered. “Fadeela’s no ordinary woman.”
Faisal only shrugged, then ordered his officers to leave them. Reg wasn’t happy to see the men leave. Although they were hostile, they were also witnesses that would make it difficult for Faisal to go back on his promise of hospitality. Faisal walked to the front of the command tent and invited Reg inside. He smiled that smug smile of his when Reg thought twice before heading into the tent.
“Major, you would not have come here unless you needed my help with your plan. I think you have no choice but to trust me.”
Realizing he was right, Reg went inside, and the two antagonists talked for the next half hour. Outside, a dozen men held their ears close to the tent, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. They heard Faisal laugh when Reg explained what he wanted to do. “It would be suicide,” the commander said loudly. But Reg doggedly continued to explain how the plan could work in a voice that was too low for the men outside to hear. They argued about the dangers of the biological weapons, air support, and the equipment Reg and his team would need for their raid. The men listening knew Faisal was seriously considering lending his help when he poked his head outside and asked for one of his lieutenants, a man who had climbed the first few stories of the tower at the front of the alien ship.
When the two men finally emerged from the tent, they synchronized their watches, looking somber but optimistic. Faisal carried a handwritten list which he turned over to one of his supply sergeants. “Major Cummins will be traveling to Dawqah with a fragile cargo,” he announced, gesturing past the hilltops toward the Red Sea. “Give him one of our best trucks and all the supplies on this list. Make sure it is organized and ready for him in ten minutes.” Then he leaned in close to Reg, and whispered. “Your plan is dangerous, but I believe it can work. I expect to see you and your people back here within a few hours. With Fadeela Yamani, of course,” he added.
“If we’re lucky, and we get the air support we need,” Reg said, “you’ll see her.”
“Good luck,” he said, smiling. The two men shook hands before Faisal turned away to attend to other business. Despite his encouraging tone, he was certain he would never see Reg Cummins again. Or Fadeela Yamani. They would both be killed before they ever set a foot inside the ruined city destroyer. He was resigned to the fact that the legend he was creating for himself would take on a bittersweet twist at the end: But before they could be wed, his lovely bride was carried into the desert and slain by the savage infidels. It wasn’t the ending he’d imagined, but it was one he could live with.
When Faisal was gone, the Yamanis’ chauffeur, Abdul, approached Reg enthusiastically. “Dawqah? Why are you going there? Mr. Yamani and I will go with you.”
“Abdul, where is Khalid? I have to talk to him.”
“Impossible,” Abdul said, pointing to the surrounding hilltops. “He is somewhere up there, a prisoner. No one may speak to him, only his father.”
“Well, let’s talk to his father, then.” They went to the Yamanis’ Rolls-Royce and, when they opened the back door of the limousine, found Mr. Yamani disheveled, sitting bolt upright, yelling into a cellular phone. He appeared to be midway through an argumentative strategy session with the Saudi king. Although he seemed in better spirits than the last time Reg had seen him, there was a manic quality to the way he spoke into the receiver and slashed his free hand through the air. Abdul, like an orderly in a psychiatric ward, reached into the car and took the phone away from the old man, gently but firmly.
“I told you, sir, the telephone is not working. But look who is here. You have a visitor. Do you remember Major Cummins? He is going to Dawqah.”
Yamani looked up, confused. He stared at Reg for a moment without recognizing him. Then his expression changed.
“The Teacher! Come in, come in.” Warmly, he waved Reg inside and offered him the seat facing his own. He seemed all at once to regain control of himself. “Do you have any news about my daughter? They tell me she was killed today, but I don’t believe them.”
Reg assured him that Fadeela was alive and well. Then, looking into the old man’s eyes, he asked a series of questions in order to determine the man’s mental state. Yamani recognized the patronizing tone in his voice.
“I have not completely lost my mind, Major Cummins, and I will thank you not to speak to me as if I have. The telephone, it is simply a game. A way of thinking out loud while I sit here with nothing to do. Now, tell me, what is this about going to Dawqah?”
We’re not actually going to Dawqah,” Reg explained. “That’s just the cover story.”
“I don’t want to hear a story. I want to hear the truth.”
As quickly as he could, Reg outlined the plan, leaving out one important detail. He didn’t say that Fadeela would be joining the raiding party. There wasn’t any point in adding to the man’s burden. Mr. Yamani appeared to follow Reg’s explanation, nodding and grunting at the appropriate moments. But when he was finished, Yamani seemed lost again.
“Dawqah is a nasty little town,” he said. “The beaches are polluted with oil, and there is absolutely nothing to do there. I suggest we rendezvous in Jeddah instead. Have you ever been to Jeddah?” Reg could see he was wasting valuable time.
“Take care of yourself, sir. It’s time for me to go.” He sta
rted out of the car, but Yamani grabbed his sleeve and held fast. He seemed to be having another painful moment of clarity, but it was impossible to be sure. Tears welled up and poured down his cheeks.
“I am grateful, very grateful to you. Tell Fadeela that her old father is joining the war, that he is going to fight from now on.”
“I’ll tell her,” Reg promised. But the once-great man didn’t hear him. His mind had darted off in a new direction, and he began shouting angrily at his chauffeur.
“Abdul, coffee! Where are you? Bring me some coffee. Don’t you realize we are at war? You know I can’t fight without my coffee!”
It looked like the last war Mr. Yamani would ever fight was the one for control of his mind. Reg figured the chances of him winning were somewhere between slim and none. Then again, he reminded himself, the old man had a better chance of making a full recovery than he and his ragtag unit had of living past sunrise.
He didn’t check to see if the supply sergeant had given him all the items on the list. He got in the truck and drove away at once, wondering if he could trust Faisal. A couple of miles down the road, he pulled off the road after a blind curve to make sure he wasn’t being followed, then continued down the hill.
14
THE RAID
When Reg pulled an armored Mercedes truck off the road and drove toward the stand of scrub brush, everyone’s mood changed dramatically. The fact that he was back made it seem like anything was possible. Sutton and Yossi ran out to meet the truck and jumped on the running boards.
“Cummins,” said Sutton, “you’re the luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. I’m beginning to think I ought to stick close to you. Maybe some of that luck will rub off.”
“Luck?” Reg asked with a cockeyed grin. “Maybe. But also a lot of skill.”
“More like a lot of chutzpah.” Yossi laughed.
Once Reg pulled the truck to a stop, the others bombarded him with questions about what Faisal’s reaction had been, the size of the army in the hills, and the dangers he had faced.
Complete Independence Day Omnibus, The Page 76