Mintab’s consciousness returned as his lungs took in deep breaths. “Ya Colonel,” Mintab whimpered, his eyes remaining closed. “I think they have gone to the naval base at Benghazi.” He knew Walid talked a lot on the telephone with the admiral at Benghazi. Surely, that was where they had fled.
“You do, do you?” This he would check out. Admiral Asif Abu Yimin, the old man, was there. The admiral would offer protection to Walid and Samir. He looked down at the figure beneath him, watching the chest heave in and out. Mintab buying time. He would do the same thing. He shook his head, acknowledging that Mintab was lying. The politician had no idea where the two were, and if he were Walid or Samir, he would not trust Mintab with his plans, either.
He looked at Sergeant Adib and snapped his fingers. Alqahiray held his hand out. The sergeant unbuckled his holster and pulled his pistol out.
He pulled the slide back, slipping a bullet into the chamber. He passed the loaded weapon to the colonel. Alqahiray moved his foot and put the pistol against Mintab’s head.
“Any last words, Mintab?” And, before the man could answer, Alqahiray pulled the trigger. “I guess not.” The sound echoed once before the soundproofing on the walls absorbed the noise. The smell of gunpowder mingled with the strong, acrid smoke of the smoldering Greek cigarette as it burned another mark on the arm of Alqahiray’s chair.
The sound of breaking china jerked Alqahiray’s attention toward the kitchen. The gunshot had surprised his new aide returning with their tea and pastries. Alqahiray smiled, then glanced down for a moment at Mintab’s body.
Alqahiray blew the smoke from the barrel. He turned to the sergeant and smiled. “One should always have a last word prepared.” He moved aside to avoid the spreading puddle of blood. “Get him out of here.”
Alqahiray glanced toward Major Maloof. The tea tray hung from one hand.
On the floor, broken cups and spilled tea stained the thin, worn carpet near the kitchen door. Hot tea soaked the young officer’s pants leg.
“Major Maloof, you must be more careful. Go get more tea, and don’t be clumsy this time.” He stepped up to the chair and grabbed his cigarette.
Frightened aides were useless. It would be a short tour of duty for Major Maloof.
White-faced, Major Maloof hurried back through the swinging doors into the small kitchen behind them.
Sergeant Adib turned to the two guards, pointed to the body on the floor, and jerked his thumb toward the hallway. They grabbed Mintab by the ankles and dragged him across the floor and through the door. The dead man’s head bounced along the matting and off the step leading from the upper level of computer consoles to the next. A trail of blood marked the passage. Activity in the operations room slowed, then stopped, as operators watched the execution and subsequent disposal of the man known as the president of their new republic.
“And, for these two, Colonel?” Sergeant Adib asked, tilting his head toward the two intelligence officers.
Alqahiray tossed his lit butt at the nearby ashtray. He stared at the two traitors, amused at how the tall one unabashedly returned the stare.
He returned the stare until the prisoner broke eye contact. Alqahiray shook his head. “Ah, Sergeant Adib. We shall take them with us to the laboratories. I think these two are volunteers for our project to bring the Western powers to their senses and help Jihad Wahid.”
Sergeant Adib nodded and saluted. “Aiwa, ya Colonel.”
Alqahiray looked around the operations room. Those at the consoles returned their concentration to the computer screens as his gaze turned toward them. Alqahiray smiled. Another lesson for the masses. Anyone can build respect if they work hard enough at it, but the conventional way just took too damn long. Fear built loyalty very quickly. He noticed that the twelve computers they had started Jihad Wahid with nearly a month ago had grown to twenty. What other new initiatives had Walid and Samir started while they had him incarcerated?
He walked back up the steps and shoved himself into his chair, pulled another cigarette from the dwindling package, and lit it.
Things were going very well on his return. If he could find Walid and Samir, he could nip this little insurrection in the bud and concentrate on the important issues of consolidating power within his new country and assuming the strong leadership it needed. He glanced toward the two prisoners near the steel doors. Well, at least he had Samir’s able assistants.
The events along the North African coast that rattled the overall plan of Alqahiray to unite the Arab countries from Morocco to Sudan as an empire was being overshadowed by his hunt for those who had overthrown him four weeks ago.
Major Maloof returned with fresh cups of tea and several croissants. He held the tray while Alqahiray took a couple of pastries and stirred his tea. Maloof stared at the large bloodstain near the foot of the stairs and the trail leading from it. The two empty cups rattled slightly as Maloof held the tray.
“Ahsan? Ahsan, you listening?” asked Alqahiray.
Maloof jumped. “Sorry, Colonel. My thoughts wandered.”
Alqahiray leaned forward and poked him roughly in the chest, nearly causing Maloof to drop the tray again. “Ahsan, I have had enough of people’s thoughts wandering. Don’t wander too much, or you may never wander again. Understand?” He leaned back and crossed his legs.
“Yes, sir, Colonel. Sorry, Colonel. It won’t happen again.” Maloof took a half step back, just out of the immediate reach of Alqahiray. The cups rattled noticeably on the tray as Maloof fought to bring the trembling under control. He shut his eyes, concentrated, and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the rattling stop. He smiled and opened his eyes.
Alqahiray was leaning across the arm of the chair, holding the edge of the tray and smiling at him. “Is that better, Ahsan?” Alqahiray released the tray and leaned back in his chair. The rattling started again. “Of course not, Ahsan. Of course not.” He waved the man away and watched as his new aide — a short-term one for the job at this rate — hurry across the floor and through the kitchen doors. The lesson with Mintab would be a strong one for his new aide. The fear racing through Ahsan would temper any disloyalty — for a time. Eventually, fear is replaced with complacency, and from complacency comes a feeling of security. Security creates a source for rebellion.
Major Bahar stepped in front of the stanchion. “Colonel, the orders have been passed.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “I will talk with Major Maloof and explain his duties as your aide.” He turned to leave, stopped and, with his hands behind his back, faced Alqahiray again. “Ahsan is a good boy, sir. He will serve you well.” Bahar paused before he added, “And loyally.”
“Good, Major. Let’s hope others do so as well,” he replied, staring hard at Bahar.
“Of course, my Colonel. We are your loyal subjects,” Bahar replied, lowering his head respectfully.
Alqahiray took a sip of the hot tea. “This tastes so much better drinking it here. Hot tea is never a good drink when caged, Major Bahar.” He patted the arms of the chair. “Now tell me about the rescue the Americans attempted in southern Algeria. Why have we not heard from them? What forces do we have there, and what forces did they have?”
“We have a small force of twenty Algerian soldiers. A captain is in charge, Colonel, but I do not know his name. I can find out if it interests you. A small force of American Marines survived the destruction of their rescue helicopters. We had an arrangement with the Taureg Bedouins in the area that the nomads may have the site, the equipment, and material after the Americans were captured. The Americans were to be turned over to us, with the exception of one.”
“That sounds reasonable to me, Major,” Alqahiray answered. Then, after a slight pause, he added, “One? Which one? Not one of the Marines?” He would never give up an American military person. The propaganda opportunities were too great.
“No, sir, not a Marine,” Bahar answered, his lips in a tight smile. “A blond girl; they want a young blond girl the Tauregs have seen at the compound.
Probably for their slave trade. Blond girls bring many camels, and I understand such auctions can go on for weeks. The seller can become a rich man with a blond woman.” Alqahiray smiled. “I would like to see this vision whose looks bend an entire tribe to our cause. I don’t understand why they didn’t just sneak in one night and take her. Why go through this bloodshed?”
Bahar shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, Colonel. What I know is that she was part of the bargain.”
Alqahiray nodded. He would have liked to have had the Marines as his prisoners, but he realized it was not to be.
“But our forces and the Marines have disappeared into the desert? It is too bad, but even I cannot control the Sahara when it demands a sacrifice. I fear we have heard the last of both the Americans and our own. The Marines would have been a nice display for the world press. The Americans won’t know what happened to them any more than we do, so we shall wait and see if that knowledge can be used to our benefit.”
“I would submit, ya Maadi, that forcing the Americans out of Algiers is a higher priority.”
Alqahiray slid down from his chair. He would decide the priorities, not Bahar. He tossed the lit cigarette toward the ashtray, scoring a hit.
Bahar’s eyebrows rose slightly. Several cigarette butts of varying lengths surrounded the ashtray. This was the first one to go in since the colonel’s return.
“You are right, Major. Driving the Americans out of Algiers is more important. We must show the world we can defend our new borders.”
“And the Spanish?”
Alqahiray glared at him. They both knew the new country had limits to its capabilities, regardless of the rhetoric. He ignored the question.
“I am going to the laboratories, Major Bahar. I have a plan for ridding ourselves of the Americans in Algiers and off our coast. You stay here.
For your own sake, ensure my orders are transmitted this time; properly understood and executed. Understand?”
Major Bahar nodded, his arms crossed behind his back. “Of course, my Colonel. I will have a report when you return.”
“Good. We must reassert our grip on the situations confronting us. I will need to talk to our Navy and Air Force leaders. Have we repaired the video teleconferencing equipment while I’ve been gone?”
Major Bahar nodded. “Yes, sir. In fact, we now have two computers with their own teleconference capability,” he said, pointing out two huge workstations outfitted with small cameras above the CRT. Small microphones were mounted on the side of the workstation.
“Where did we get these?”
“From our friends in China, where they now make these computers.”
“Good. I will be interested in seeing how this computer version VTC works. Schedule one for this afternoon with the Navy and Air Force. Make sure Tripoli Naval Base is included. I want a separate video teleconference afterward with Admiral Asif Abu Yimin in Benghazi.”
“I will try, sir. Not all the command posts have the video cameras installed yet.”
“Then tell them to install them!”
Major Bahar stepped aside as Alqahiray stomped toward the steel doors.
As the colonel passed, Major Bahar glanced into the ash can. He was right; it had been the first one to score.
Sergeant Adib, a few inches taller than Alqahiray, with his broad shoulders about twelve inches wider and a stomach two inches smaller, fell in step behind the Libyan leader. Muscles rippled beneath the starched, creased uniform. The expressionless face of Sergeant Adib, offset by a sharp forehead and chin, accented wary eyes that wandered from side to side watching, waiting. His whole gait reminded some of a lion on the prowl, looking for prey and prepared to leap without warning. Operators looked away to avoid eye contact with the two men.
Alqahiray might be the more mercurial, but Adib was the more dangerous.
Along the top of the operations room, two more of the seventeen surveillance warning lights changed from green to red while three of the red ones flicked to green. Twelve remained a constant red.
“Bahar, what is this? Why are twelve of them red? We never have so few enemy satellites in range for this long!”
“I do not know, sir. Colonel Samir—”
“It is Major Samir. I did not promote him. He is still a lousy major.”
“Sorry, sir. Major Samir said he thinks the Americans have moved their satellites to where they are fighting in Korea.” He pointed at the light array. “It is only because of the new orbits to support the Americans in Korea that we even have these few. There are times when we have gone for hours without enemy intelligence coverage.”
As if hearing Bahar’s pronouncement, all the lights went red.
“Like now, Colonel Alqahiray,” Bahar said, nodding toward the lights.
Alqahiray stared at the lights, waiting for one of them to turn green.
He stared silently for nearly five minutes before turning to Major Bahar, smiling. “This is great news, Major.”
One of the lights flickered to green.
It never changes for Libya, thought Alqahiray as he stepped to the steel double doors. The Americans always watch us. However, that watch used to be continuous, with a twice monthly exception of nineteen seconds! Those nineteen seconds had provided the window of opportunity for them to change the GPS satellites to reflect a five-mile error and cost the United States one of its newest destroyers. Things were going to change in the years — no, months — to come as he wielded more power and influence against the Europeans than the Americans could bring to bear. Korea was sucking them out of the Mediterranean. It was keeping China from attempting to manipulate his own plans to gain control of the Mediterranean Sea.
America’s own misplaced values and beliefs in a higher ideal would always hinder America. Words, words, words. That was all it was, anyway.
Even Americans doubted the values their government spat out to the world. America was on its way out like the old, vanished Roman Empire.
Everyone but them could see that. Their influence in Europe waned with the passing of the Soviet Union. When the big bear threat to Europe disappeared in the early nineties, Europe believed it lost its need for America. Foolish and naive they are. He smiled. The events of September 11 would never have happened without the laws that allowed so much uncontested immigration and visas — all for the sense of fairness.
Fairness kills. Always protect your own first, and to hell with what others think.
The French, ‘ group of pompous fools, would love to see the Americans go. The French illusions of past grandeur would remain just those: illusions. America had two areas where it wielded great influence: its economy and its military might. That military might disappeared yearly as less and less attention was paid to what most Americans believed to be unnecessary: a strong national defense. America was destined to forever relearn history. The continuing success of the North Koreans in pushing the South Koreans and their American ally south would cause the United States to abandon the Mediterranean. If he could just hold out until Sixth Fleet was sucked away.
That would leave the United States with only its economy as the remaining strategic resource of influence. After he consolidated his power, Alqahiray would degrade that influence. America did 65 percent of its trade with Europe. Two of the three major ports they needed to keep the trade going were Al geciras, Spain, and Livorno, Italy. There was little he could do about Rotterdam. Eventually, maybe, but not now. His plans for those two other cities would bring Europe to its knees.
Alqahiray saw this epiphany in the few moments it took him to reach the steel doors of the operations room. In those few steps, he laid the genesis for his grand strategy in shoving America out of the Mediterranean and back across the Atlantic.
“Colonel,” Sergeant Adib said, interrupting Alqahiray’s thoughts. “What do you want to do with our prisoners?”
Alqahiray looked at the two officers who stood eight feet from him, their backs against the wall.
“We are going to take
them with us, Sergeant Adib.”
He turned to the two prisoners. “Are you two going to welcome me back?”
The two officers stood side by side. The one on the right seemed to be at attention, the military creases of his shirt and trousers as sharp as if he had stepped into a freshly ironed uniform. He and Adib must use the same laundry, thought Alqahiray. The prisoner met Alqahiray’s stare eye-to-eye without flinching. Alqahiray refused to play stare-down, especially with men destined for the lime pit.
He moved his attention to the other man. The smell of ammonia, the smell of fear surrounded this prisoner. It made Alqahiray’s lips curl in disgust. He hated cowards. All men hate cowards. The prisoner’s matted black hair glistened with sweat, and his eyes, when he locked up briefly, shone with moisture. Sweat stains beneath the armpits spread down both sides of the wrinkled gray uniform shirt. Why do cowards piss themselves?
“Well? I said, are you going to welcome me back?”
The brave one spoke first. “Welcome back, Colonel.” He bowed his head once in concession to the senior officer.
“Please, Colonel. I haven’t done anything. I am loyal to the cause,” begged the other, his eyes wavering between the colonel and the floor.
“What is the cause, you pitiful thing of a Libyan officer? What is the cause? Tell me!” he screamed.
The man flinched, drawing his hands up in front of his face. “We are the cause, Colonel. Islam is the cause. The Arab nations are the cause,” he stuttered to the amusement of Alqahiray. The man brought his hands down slightly and looked up.
Alqahiray slapped the man, knocking him against the white stucco wall of the corridor. “You heretical fool! I am the cause!” he shouted, poking himself in the chest repeatedly. “I am the cause, and you forgot that, didn’t you. You thought if you rid yourselves of me you could control Barbary?” The slap caused pain to shoot through Alqahiray from his wound. He shouldn’t have hit him so hard. Stars danced around the edge of his vision. He must remember he was still recovering from a bullet wound.
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