Wings Of Fire

by Dale Brown

  But twenty minutes after starting the attack, Wickland was disappointed. "Not one rocket anywhere," he said. "I didn't even see the storage sheds. Maybe they were one of the other buildings I attacked, but I didn't see anything that looked like it housed a Scud-sized rocket."

  Tanaka checked the fuel readouts and the strategic planning chart on one of his multifunction displays. The display showed the position and fuel status of their support aircraft, the Sky Masters Inc. DC-10, proceeding from Scotland to the refueling anchor over the Mediterranean Sea. The fuel status of both the tanker and the Megafortress were represented as large circles-as long as the circles overlapped, they could rendezvous. But the edges of the circles were getting closer and closer-they couldn't wait any longer.

  "Castor, this is Headbanger."

  "I see it, guys," Patrick McLanahan said. He was able via datalink to look at the same strategic chart as the flight crew-and in fact he had been looking at that very display. "You're about fifteen minutes to bingo with the tanker."

  "Sorry we couldn't get those rockets for you."

  "Maybe you did get them-we won't know until we go in there and check. You did a good job, guys. Have a good trip home."

  "Roger that. Good luck down there. Headbanger out."

  Patrick met the Mi-24 attack helicopter as it settled in for a landing at one of the many helipads at the airfield near Jaghbub. He removed his helmet as Muhammad as-Sanusi climbed out of the helicopter and approached him. "It is good to see you, my friend," Sanusi said, embracing him warmly. "And it is good to see this place still in one piece." "Two bombers got in, but they dropped well short of the

  airfield," Patrick explained. "No damage, no casualties on our side."

  "And your bomber is heading home?"

  "He is a few minutes from rendezvousing with a tanker aircraft as we speak."

  'Too bad. I would have liked to learn more about that plane's capabilities."

  "We struck targets in Zillah and Al-Jawf," Patrick said. "The runway appears to have been cratered nicely, so the bombers and fighters there should've had to move to Surt Air Base. We struck several targets at Al-Jawf, but we can't be sure we hit any rockets. I'm afraid that threat still exists."

  "But you have given us precious time to finish capturing the weapons stored here," Sanusi said. "By tomorrow afternoon, we should be long gone, with several million dollars' worth of weapons-enough to keep our little army going another few months. Thanks to you, my friend."

  They heard the sounds of an approaching heavy helicopter, and a few moments later a CV-22 Pave Hammer tiltrotor aircraft settled in for a landing. Patrick extended his hand, and Sanusi took it. "I wish you luck, Your Highness," he said. "I don't know what's going to happen, but I was glad to be on your side."

  "You are a good man and a fine leader, Mr. McLanahan," Sanusi said. "I am sorry about your wife; I hope God protects her. You will go home now to see your son, I presume?"

  "Yes. But I have a little unfinished business in Alexandria first."

  "You do not seem to be the vengeful type to me."

  "I really don't know who or what I am anymore, Your Highness."

  "I think I do-and I like what I see. I hope your superiors see it the same as I." Sanusi looked carefully at Patrick, then said with a faint smile, "I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again, sir. I hope it is in happier times.

  "I hope you're right, Your Highness," Patrick said. "But I don't think so."

  ABU QIR, ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT THAT SAME TIME

  From the seventeenth-floor high-rise apartment, one of the best high-rise condominiums in all of Egypt, Susan Bailey Salaam had an extraordinary view of Alexandria. From her living-room balcony she could see west all the way to the Corniche and Fort Qayt Bay, built on the site of the Pharos, the four-hundred-foot-tall lighthouse that was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. From her bedroom, she could see all the way down Abu Qir Bay, the mouth of the Nile, and at night even see the glow of Cairo far on the southern horizon.

  That evening, Susan was standing on the living-room balcony, smoking a cigarette and letting the cool Mediterranean breezes wash over her. Inside, General Ahmad Baris was inside, sorting and organizing sheaves of documents. He was having a difficult time keeping her attention.

  "The death toll at Mersa Matruh is... is enormous, Sekhmet," Baris said tonelessly when he joined Susan on the balcony a few minutes later. "They fear over eleven thousand perished in the attack. The entire Ramses Corps has been destroyed, and the Amun Fleet lost almost fifty percent of its men and ships, with the fatalities increasing by the hour."

  "Bastards," she replied woodenly. "How dare they lay waste to our nation like this?"

  'The weapon that detonated at Mersa Matruh was an enhanced-radiation thermonuclear device with an estimated yield of one to two kilotons, or one to two thousand tons of TNT. Everything within two kilometers was hit with a massive dose of radiation that killed them within a few hours, slowly and painfully. I'm sorry.

  "In addition, Libyan and Sudanese ground forces have crossed our southern border and have surrounded the entire

  Salimah complex," Baris went on. "They are obviously ready to stage an attack on the Salimah oil fields, probably within the next few days."

  "Why haven't we searched for survivors at Mersa Matruh yet?" Susan asked. "Maybe Patrick is alive."

  Aha, Ahmad Baris thought, it was Patrick McLanahan and his commandos that were occupying her mind. Could he be occupying her heart as well... ? "Are you all right, Sekhmet?"

  "Fine ... just fine." She went over and sat down on the sofa.

  Captain Shafik answered the phone in Susan Bailey Salaam's home office. Her eyes grew wide with surprise, and she gave the phone to General Ahmad Baris-and moments later, his eyes grew wide with shock as well. "What is it, General?" Susan asked, returning to the living room.

  "I just heard from my sources in the Ministry of Defense. Two bases in Libya have just been struck from the air."

  "What? Which ones? Which bases?"

  "Zillah and Al-Jawf. Reports say that a number of Libyan aircraft were also shot down," Baris went on.

  "The Americans ... ?"

  "Dr. Kalir has been in contact with the American embassy, and they insist that no American forces are involved."

  "Could it have been some of our air forces?"

  "All Egyptian military air forces have been dispersed and brought in toward Cairo to protect the capital," Baris said. "But in any case, we don't have that kind of firepower, unless we massed every aircraft in our entire arsenal. Planning an operation of that magnitude would take weeks."

  It was Patrick, she thought. It had to be. He must be alive! But where did he get the support? Where were his air forces? They couldn't possibly be in Egypt-Baris would have known about that. Certainly not in Libya. Israel? Offshore in the Mediterranean Sea somewhere? He might be able to sneak in one large "baby" aircraft carrier into the

  area without anyone knowing, but would that carry enough firepower to destroy two Libyan military bases? Impossible ... or was it?

  "Could it have been McLanahan and his men, General?"

  "They must have died in the nuclear explosion," Baris replied. "The bunker they were based in was guarded by troops day and night, and all of those troops were killed by the radiation."

  "But they were underground...."

  "The radiation kills humans even in bomb shelters," Baris explained. "Besides, they were just high-tech infantry forces-even with their fancy suits of armor, they could not have destroyed two Libyan military bases in one night. Only a few nations have that kind of firepower-the United States, Russia, maybe Germany, perhaps Israel. But we certainly should have known something was going to happen. It had to be in retaliation for the explosion at Mersa Matruh-but who could have done it, and why would they not have consulted us?" Susan did not answer. Her eyes were darting back and forth, as if examining the scene of a terrible traffic accident just moments after the crash.

/>   "What are you thinking about, child?"

  "Nothing ... nothing," Susan Bailey Salaam said absently. "Thank you for the information. I need some rest now. Is there anything else?"

  "Only to ask you once again-what do you want to do, here, in Egypt?" Baris asked, stepping over and standing beside her. "We are officially in protective custody, by order of the Supreme Judiciary, but I assure you, we can leave anytime we please-my friends in the Ministry of Defense and the Intelligence Bureau will see to that. The security forces of the Supreme Judiciary are nothing more than Khalid al-Khan's hired goons, easily brushed aside. I have access to aircraft, safe houses, visas, and many friends overseas, especially in the United States."

  "I... I don't know, General," Susan said. "I don't want to leave Egypt now, at a time like this, with Libya threatening our very existence almost every day."

  "Why? What are you concerned about, Sekhmet? Our nation is strong, despite Libya's aggression. They never had enough strength to destroy Egypt militarily, with or without nuclear weapons. We will survive." He paused, looking carefully at Susan; then: "Or are you concerned more about how you might be looked upon by the people of Egypt if you left?"

  "Are you saying that because I'm American, I needn't be concerned about Egypt?" Susan retorted. "I've lived here for many years, General. I speak Arabic. I consider myself an Egyptian. Are you saying that I'm only concerned about myself and not Egypt?"

  "Of course not, Sekhmet," Baris said. "What I'm concerned about is that you might put yourself in grave danger by staying, in some misguided notion that you need to stay because this is where your husband is buried ... or, yes, because you may think that the people's memory of your late husband or yourself might be tarnished if you left now. Your loyalty for our country is inspiring, Susan, but you are not safe here."

  "What if I were president?"

  Finally, the truth comes out, Baris thought-this was the secret she had kept to herself all this time. "Being president will not relieve you of the danger you faced from Khalid al-Khan and the Muslim Brotherhood," Baris reminded her. "You will always be the wife of their political adversary, the wife of the man that Khan conspired to murder in order to form his ideal Islamic government. In fact, I believe you will face even greater dangers, greater pressures.

  "The real struggles will be political. You and the National Democratic Party will be blamed for every wrong, every deficiency, and every failure. You will be accused of impeding progress and delivering privileged information to enemies of the state and to anarchists. There are many citizens and government officials who agreed with Khan and were happy to see your husband assassinated-and would happily do the same to you. Your enemies will know your every move-if they want to ambush yoti, they'll

  know exactly when and where you'll be at all times. You are putting yourself in the lion's jaws, Susan. Why?"

  "Because I feel I can do more inside the government than outside," Susan replied. "As simply the widow of a dead president or leader of the opposition, I create nothing but background noise. Let me trade on my name and my being a widow. Maybe I can do some good."

  Baris studied his young friend for a few moments. Her words sounded determined, conclusive, and decisive-but he still felt uneasy, uncertain. What else was wrong? What wasn't he noticing?

  "I suggest you leave Egypt," Baris said evenly. "Once in Italy, or England, or the United States, you can get on all the talk shows and news programs and talk about your vision of Egypt. You can raise money, attract attention to your ideas, and gather support. If you try to do it now, with the nation in chaos and the Libyans threatening to blow the entire country into atoms, your voice will be lost in the cries of confusion and fear-not to mention your life will be in terrible danger, just because of who you are." He took her hands. "Think about it, my friend. I am only concerned for your safety now-Egypt can wait, for a little while."

  "I'll think about it."

  "Good." He kissed her hands, smiled warmly at her, and then departed.

  Khalid al-Khan was dead. The government was disorganized, frightened. Egypt was in grave danger. She had to do something....

  TRIPOLI, UNITED KINGDOM LIBYA THAT SAME TIME

  "They can't pin this on me," Jadallah Zuwayy said proudly. "An entire military base destroyed, and they have no idea who did it to them. God, I wish I could have seen it for myself." Beside him, General Tahir Fazani, his military chief of staff, and Juma Mahmud Hijazi, his foreign minister, looked on with disbelief and fear ...

  ... but mostly they were trying to decide how to get out of this predicament with their skins still attached to their bodies. "Jadallah, let's not celebrate just yet," Juma Hijazi, the Libyan foreign minister, said. "Egypt and the entire world are going to be on high alert after that weapon went off at Mersa Matruh."

  "Our plan to take the Salimah oil fields is still on schedule," Zuwayy said. "We still have almost fifty thousand troops surrounding Salimah, plus another twenty thousand Sudanese mercenaries. We can send in every piece of air defense equipment we own to protect them. Once we move in, we can wire the place with explosives and threaten to blow it up unless we make a deal for coproduction rights."

  "Just a couple months is all we need," Fazani said. "Once we have the first shot of cash in our hands, we head for Malaysia or some island in Indonesia and relax."

  "Or we can get the hell out now" Hijazi said. "Damn it, Jadallah, we've got more money than Bill Gates tucked away in secret bank accounts all over the world-why are we staying here acting like targets? Let's get the hell out."

  "I can't leave!" Zuwayy retorted. "I am the king of united Libya! I am the head of the Muslim Brotherhood! I can't run! I am the leader of a quarter of a billion Muslims around the world ..."

  "Jadallah, give it up, will you?" Fazani interjected. "You are not a fucking king, and the Muslim Brotherhood would gladly turn you over to Kazakov or Salaam or anyone else for the right amount of cash."

  "I say let's end it-right now," Hijazi insisted. "Let's get while the getting's good."

  "If you want to go so badly, go," Zuwayy said morosely.

  Hijazi had thought about doing exactly that, and he had spoken about it at length with Fazani. But they needed Zuwayy-not because of any misguided sense of loyalty, but because only Zuwayy had the bank account numbers and access codes they needed to tap into the full range of money they had stolen from the Libyan government's oil revenues. As the mastermind of their operation, Zuwayy had all the codes-Fazani and Hijazi had only the codes

  for -their own accounts. If they simply ran, Zuwayy would eventually hunt them down, slaughter them, and keep all the money.

  "We're in this together, Jadallah," Hijazi lied. "We stay together." Together-until they got the codes from Zuwayy, at which time they would jettison his ass and be done with his delusions of grandeur. "Tahir, let's take another look at the military forces we have remaining-I think we should beef up security here in Tripoli and around our headquarters first, then see how many troops we can commit to Salimah." Fazani was more than happy to comply-and if it turned out that they needed all available troops to secure Tripoli and all of their secret headquarters and shelters, so be it. No one was anxious to march out into the open and have a cluster bomb dropped on them anyway.

  While Zuwayy and Fazani worked to reallocate troops in the wake of the nuclear detonation at Mersa Matruh, Hijazi went to the outer office to have a cigarette and clear his head. The situation was becoming desperate, he thought. He had to try to convince Jadallah to escape. But if he wouldn't, Hijazi thought, he might have to hire his own strongmen to kidnap Zuwayy and force him to turn over the bank account numbers and access codes. He wasn't going to wait much longer for him to-

  "Excuse me, Minister," Zuwayy's private secretary said, interrupting his thoughts. "There is an urgent phone call for His Highness."

  "Take a message."

  "Sir, the caller is Madame Susan Bailey Salaam of Egypt."

  "Salaam?" What was she calling for? "Send th
e call to my office immediately. I'll take it there." He thought quickly, then added, "And if the king or General Fazani want to know where I am, tell them I'm dealing with the Egyptians-don't tell them who called."

  "Yes, Minister."

  Hijazi fairly ran down the hallway of the presidential palace to his office, then closed the door behind him. He

  took a shot of whiskey first to calm himself, then lifted the receiver. "This is the Minister of Arab Unity," he said in his most officious tone. 'To whom am I speaking, please?"

  'This is Susan Bailey Salaam, Mr. Hijazi," Susan Bailey replied. "Do you need more proof of my identity?"

  "That depends on what you have to say to me, Madame," Hijazi said. "What do you want?"

  "I wish to end this war between us," Salaam said. "I wish for the violence and destruction to end. We have both suffered greatly in the past few days. It is time to make peace."

  "What are you talking about, Madame?"

  "I'm talking about the attack on Jaghbub last night, Minister."

  Hijazi's mouth dropped open, and he had to struggle to maintain his composure. "What do you know of this, Salaam?"

  "I know everything. I know about the attacks on Zillah and Al-Jawf tonight, too."

  "Hold," Hijazi said. He frantically punched the call from Salaam on hold, then hit the button to the outer office. "Put in a call to the commander of Zillah Air Base, and I want him on the line now."

  Hijazi was on hold for over three minutes. Then: "This is Colonel Harb speaking."

  "This is Minister of Arab Unity Hijazi, Colonel, speaking from His Majesty's residence. I have been informed of an attack tonight on your base. What is happening?" There was a long, maddening pause. "Colonel!"

  "The attack ended only minutes ago, Minister-"

  "What attack?"

  "We... we don't know any details, sir," Harb stammered. "We were hit by antiradar missiles first, and then our runway was bombed. We've lost several fighters and two bombers."