Ricketts tried not to think about the U.S. side of the operation. That wasn’t his job. His job was to get the Sheikh. And he had just the plan — if his agents were right, and hadn’t sold him and the entire operation out to somebody else for more money. The agents who would help with the transfer were already in place. He had visited them during the night. The decoys were set, the helicopters ready, and the shooters standing by. The actual grab was the last piece, though obviously the most important.
Ricketts drove around three sheep, which were wandering through town, and manuevered his truck and trailer into a narrow street lined on both sides with two-story buildings. The motorcycle shop was on the far corner. It was small and crowded and there was no place to park in front of the shop. A large van had been waiting there and when the driver saw Ricketts coming in his mirror he pulled away from the curb. It was timed perfectly. Ricketts turned into the spot and switched off the engine. He checked his watch.
The shop didn’t open until ten. Through the shop window, Ricketts could see almost all of the inventory of motorcycles, motor scooters, and mopeds. He knew that most were used, but a few were new. He also knew that the shop had been asked to bring in several new motor scooters because Assam — an elusive man whose family had come from Dar al Ahmar and who was known mostly for his apparently unlimited influence and money — wanted to buy one for his niece for her birthday. Assam had promised to personally pick it out with her, not just to send a lieutenant to do it for him. He would be in between eight and ten that morning to choose, before the shop opened.
Ricketts stepped out of the truck and stretched. He wore old Arab clothing and moved stiffly, as if he were twenty years older than he was. His dark face was covered with what looked like a one-week beard that had a lot of gray, unlike his actual beard. As he went to the door of the shop he noticed the four armed men on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, already in place to protect their boss, Ricketts’s target. Nice work, he thought to himself. They were exactly where they should be. The other six bodyguards that Assam would bring would undoubtedly go inside the shop with him. They had to. If they didn’t, all would be lost.
It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. Ricketts shielded his face as he pressed against the locked glass door. He knocked loudly and shouted in perfect Arabic, “Hondas are here! Open up!”
There was no reply. He banged again, and glanced around as if concerned about waking somebody up. “Hey! You said to be here early! I’m here. Where are you!? Hey!”
Finally he heard something inside the store. He stood back and nodded expectantly. He glanced over at his Hondas to be sure someone wasn’t trying to unchain them. The shop door opened. “Yes. You made it.”
“Of course, I made it. I brought the motor scooters. Where do you want me to put them?”
“Right in the front of the store. Our guest will inspect them there, his niece can ride whichever ones she wants, and then we will do business inside.”
Ricketts nodded several times. “Coffee?”
“Of course,” the man said, indicating the inside of the shop.
They went through the door and left it standing open. In the back of the shop, the man poured steaming thick coffee out of an ornately decorated copper pitcher into a dark blue cup. Ricketts drank and took in the room. He could quickly see that everything had been prepared and all was in place. The line on the floor was almost invisible, more a line drawn in the lingering dust by a finger. He could see it clearly though, and knew the others who needed to could as well. All they had to do was get the Sheikh beyond the line toward the back of the store and they would be in business.
Ricketts looked into his agent’s eyes. “Is everything ready to close the sale?”
The man’s eyes flickered knowingly. “Yes.”
“Are you sure our friend will come?”
“I am never sure of anything.”
Ricketts poured himself more coffee. “I drove a long way with my new Hondas. I don’t want to waste the trip.”
“He does what he wants. If he decides not to buy the motor scooter for his niece, then that will be that. We cannot tell him what to do. We were fortunate to get the notice we did.”
“Do you have any more information on when he will be here?”
“He will be here when he wants to be here.”
“Before the store opens. Yes?”
“That is what he said. He might come today or another time. We will see.”
“So we wait,” Ricketts said, sipping his thick coffee.
“We wait.”
“Here we go,” Woods said, going hot mike as they taxied toward the catapult. The two Tomcats were to be the first planes to be shot off on the earliest launch of the day, just west of Israel.
Wink was studying the chart he had been given an hour before the brief. He was starting to get anxious.
The sun was rising over the horizon on a spectacular morning. The calm Mediterranean lay in peaceful surrender underneath the Washington, gently holding it up. The water was an uncharacteristically dark purplish blue, with occasional foam.
Since waking Pritch, Woods had been up planning the flight. He had gone over all the information the Major had given him until he had everything memorized. The schedule, the frequencies, everything.
“Tiger know what he’s supposed to do?” Woods asked as he turned the nosewheel toward the catapult with the rudder pedals.
“He just hopes nobody looks too close.”
“Don’t we all,” Woods said, his voice revealing some tension.
They taxied to the catapult and stopped. They put their hands up while the ordnancemen removed the pins from the six missiles they carried on nearly every flight: two Phoenix, two Sparrow, and two Sidewinder. The ordie gave them a thumbs-up and showed them the long red flags attached to the safing pins they had pulled from the weapons and counted them for Woods to see. Woods inclined his head, and the ordie turned away. They taxied forward and kneeled the Tomcat. The airplane was ready and so were they. Woods stole a quick glance forward to cat two; Big and Sedge were ready, wings forward, engines at full power. He watched as their catapult jerked. The nose of the Tomcat went down toward the deck, then raced toward the bow. Big rotated the Tomcat as it left the deck, sucked up the gear, and climbed away in a right-hand clearing turn. After a quarter of a mile he turned left to parallel the ship’s course.
Woods felt tension go into the catapult as the shuttle pulled on the nosewheel launch bar. He hurried through the final items on his takeoff checklist with Wink. The radios were silent.
“Ready?” Woods asked quickly. “Ready,” answered Wink just as quickly. Woods saluted and put his head back. The Tomcat jerked downward, then shot down the deck.
“Good speed,” Wink called calmly the way he always did as the Tomcat flew off the end of the carrier.
Woods automatically raised the landing gear, pulling up and away from the carrier in his left-hand clearing turn. He climbed to five hundred feet and leveled off. He felt exhilaration; he was full of coffee and energy. The weather was spectacular, the water was beautiful, and the plane was performing perfectly. He was finally doing what he had been training to do for years. He felt calm and completely alive. He accelerated and caught up with Big, who tapped his helmet and pointed to Woods, giving him the lead. As they passed seven miles away from the ship, Woods pulled back steadily on the stick until they were climbing quickly away from the water.
Woods returned overhead the ship and orbited at six thousand feet for five minutes waiting for the S-3 tanker to arrive at its station. It felt like an hour and a half. His heart was beating rapidly and his breathing was deeper and faster than he was used to.