The captain of the guards laughed. “Amusing fellow. We’ll see how amusing you will find your new accommodations.”
“Ask the general. He’ll vouch for me. He must be Libya’s friend. You let him land here.”
“Of course. We wanted the plane. It is confiscated. Now belongs to Libya’s Socialist People’s Army.”
Murdock tried to relax. He should have expected this. He went with the captain to the same car where they had taken Nassar. He was propelled into the backseat, where Nassar sat scowling.
“It’s all a mistake. As soon as I can get to talk to General Buruk, we will straighten it out. This officer thinks he’s a big man. He will take credit for capturing my plane. It’s his now, he says. He said no one told him we were coming.”
“But they let you land.”
“The tower must have known. In Libya, the chain of command is not as good as it could be.”
The captain of guards leaped in the front seat of the car, and it drove rapidly off the tarmac and out of the airport.
Ten minutes later, Murdock was pulled away from Nassar and pushed into a cell in the basement of what Nassar had called a branch police station.
Murdock looked around. No way out. The cell was six by eight and had no bunk, no blankets, not even a chair. In one corner of the room sat a five-gallon bucket that had recently been used as a urinal.
He found a dry spot along the far wall and sat down against it. Two or three hours to straighten it out. Murdock wondered.
Two days later, he still sat in the cell. Night and morning he did exercises. He had been fed twice. The food was strange but adequate. At least he was alone in the cell. He heard other inmates jabbering away in Arabic. He swore again that he would learn something of the language of the land he had to work in. Next time.
Near the end of the second day, a jailer came and unlocked his cell, said something to him, and pushed him along a corridor. They went up the steps to the first floor, and he was pushed into a room that had two chairs and a table.
A well-dressed man sat in one of the chairs. He said something in Arabic, then changed to English.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Murdock, our guest from Bahrain. At first we thought you were a CIA spy. Now we know that you are not. You are simply a common criminal. You will be deported today as an undesirable alien. A friend has purchased a ticket for you to Cairo. You will be on the ten-oh-five flight. Is that satisfactory to you?”
“Yes.”
“You are one of the fortunate ones. I have never known the military police to release anyone put in this jail in less than three months. Indeed, a fortunate one. I will be your guard until you are on the plane. You’ll wear wrist and ankle shackles. No option.”
A man came in the room and fastened the iron and chain shackles on his ankles and wrists. Then the man in the neat suit led him out the front door to a police car that took them both to the airport.
“A common criminal?” Murdock said. “What have been my crimes?”
“The report I saw shows you as a thief, a robber, a molester of children, and a radical against the state. It is enough. No more talk, or I might change my mind, shoot you, dump you out of the car, and cash in your airplane ticket. Quiet.”
Murdock never said another word until they were at the airport gate. The policeman talked in Arabic to the check-in clerk, pushed a ticket in his hands, and marched him to a loading door that had not opened yet. The man shouted, and someone quickly swung out the door.
Down a long corridor, then into an airplane. He was relieved to see that it was a large jet with seats six across. The attendant looked at his ticket, said something to the policeman, who shook his head vigorously.
“Egypt has agreed that you may stop over there in the plane, but you must not leave, and you must keep your irons on. Understood?”
Murdock nodded.
His seat was the last one in the cabin. He figured there would be no one around him.
When the regular passengers boarded a half hour later, the plane was only half full, and no one sat within five rows of him.
Murdock slept. No one brought him any food. When he awoke from time to time, he realized no one was served anything. Economy flight, Libya style.
When they landed at the Cairo Airport, an Egyptian policeman came on the plane before anyone left, was pointed to Murdock, and sat in the seat across the aisle from him.
Murdock didn’t try to talk with him. Was it still Arabic? He didn’t remember. The passengers deplaned, some new ones came on, and just before the plane took off, another man came in, talked to the attendant a moment, then hurried back to where Murdock sat.
“Commander Blake Murdock, U.S. Navy,” the man said, grinning so wide Murdock was afraid his eyes would close.
The sudden English surprised him. “Yeah. Yes sir. Something went wrong in Libya.”
The man laughed and strapped himself into the seat. The policeman hurried up the aisle and evidently went off the plane.
“We’ve been hunting you for three days over four continents. Where the hell you been?”
Murdock told him. He motioned to his chains. “Can I get these off?”
“Commander, you outrank me. I’m only a lowly captain in the army. Military liaison at the embassy in Cairo. I just happen to have a key. The Libyan police do this quite often.”
“Where are we going?”
“Next stop, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. No more police. I’d say you’ll have a debriefing by our embassy people there. They like to keep up to date on Colonel Mu’ammar al-Qaddafi’s jail cells. I bet you can tell them something along those lines.”
The shackles came off, and the captain pushed them under the seat. “Oh, I’m Captain Thomas Utts, sir.”
Murdock held out his hand. “You know what happened in Bahrain?”
“Yes. Once you got General Nassar out of the picture, the prime minister, who had been in Qatar, returned to the country and was named the new head of the government until a successor to the king can be determined. Our Marines and your SEALs went back to the amphibious ship in the gulf, and the prime minister thanked the U.S. for liberating his country and with such a small loss of life and almost no property destroyed. That could be a record for a U.S. Marine invasion.”
“What about the SEALs?”
“My guess is that they are back on the Enterprise by now. Oh, one more message. The doctor on the carrier reports that the reattaching operation on your man Adams went well, and they are waiting to see if all of their handiwork is a success.”
“Anything on Holt?”
“Your radioman. Yes, the same doctor told me by phone early this morning that Holt’s blindness was temporary. He has back almost fifty percent of his sight, and the percentage of recovery is increasing every day. He said something I didn’t understand about shock more than damage, and some of it may have been psychological. Holt told the doctor he saw Adams’s severed arm lying on his stomach. That was the last thing he remembered seeing.”
Murdock felt his stomach rumble. “Hey, they serve dinner on this flight? They have any food on board at all?”
“This is a Libyan airliner, remember that.” He chuckled. I’ll go see what kind of clout I have with the attendants.”
Ten minutes later he came back with a covered tray. On it were two hot meals, a lunch sandwich, and two cups of coffee.
“For you,” Captain Utts said. He sat down and watched Murdock eat.
“I’ve heard the chow isn’t exactly officer’s mess quality in Qaddafi’s jails.”
Murdock mumbled and took another bite of the pepper steak. He was sure that he had never before eaten such marvelous-tasting food.
As soon as they landed at Riyadh, Captain Utts hurried Murdock out of the airport to a waiting embassy limo that drove quickly to the Air Force base nearby. There Murdock was provided with a set of cammies and boots that almost fit him. Then the car drove him to the embassy.