As they scudded over the massive construction site where the Twin Towers had once stood, Gideon had to restrain himself from asking Parker what the hell was going on. Back at the UN, President Diggs had preempted Gideon’s questions, telling him it was a long and complicated story, and since they were working against time, Parker would brief him during their flight to Mohan.
Even if Gideon had tried to speak during the chopper flight, the noise inside the cabin would have made conversation impossible. So Gideon found himself thinking about his older brother. How they had fought for as long as he could remember—first over childhood treasures like candy and toys, later over sports and girls, and later still, over politics—and how all their years of fighting had come to a head one night seven years earlier. They’d exchanged some ugly words, too ugly for even the most sincere apology to erase. Not that either of them had even tried. But since then, they hadn’t seen or even spoken to each other.
At Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, Gideon and Parker were escorted from the Sikorsky to a waiting Gulfstream G5. They boarded the jet and settled into a pair of leather seats that faced each other over a gleaming teak table. Before the engines had even spooled up, Gideon pressed Earl. “Okay, Uncle Earl. Tell me what this is about.”
“You heard the president. There’s not a simple answer—”
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Gideon insisted.
Earl Parker fixed Gideon with a look, then sighed. “I hate to do this to you, son, but you need some context to understand the trouble that Till-man’s gotten himself into.” From his briefcase, he pulled a thick, bound folder. “This briefing book has up-to-the-minute intel on Mohan. It’ll help explain what’s happened to your brother. Get through as much of it as you can, and I’ll fill in the rest.” Before Gideon could speak, Uncle Earl preempted him with a reassuring smile. “I promise.”
“Forty-eight hours to save his life? That sounds a little melodramatic.”
Parker regarded Gideon compassionately. “I’m not being coy, son, but I do need you to read the briefing. Especially the sections about Abu Nasir.”
Gideon felt his body being pressed back into his seat as the Gulfstream acclerated down the runway. He looked out the window as they lifted into the air, climbing quickly before banking away from the Manhattan skyline. Then Gideon turned his attention to the heavy book Uncle Earl had handed him.
Gideon's War and Hard Target
Abu Nasir? Gideon remembered seeing the name in the State...
CHAPTER THREE
GIDEON HAD LEFT BOGOTÁ on the red-eye, so he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep. But Uncle Earl’s cryptic he rom hwords kept his fatigue at bay as he propped the briefing book on the table in front of him and tried to absorb as much as he could.
Mohan had been an independent state for nearly four hundred years. The State Department described the current Sultan as a decent and tolerant-enough leader who’d grown the economy tenfold by tapping the oil reserves beneath Mohan’s coastal waters. The latest drilling project was a billion-dollar state-of-the-art rig owned by Trojan Energy and christened the Obelisk. If the geology was correct, it would be the most productive rig in history. Three other major energy companies had already closed agreements with the Sultan and were drawing up plans for a dozen more rigs just like the Obelisk.
But the Sultan’s government also suffered from the typical problems found in most modern nations where one royal family runs the show: nepotism, corruption, and the lack of a broad power base. These weaknesses had created conditions that were now being exploited by the jihadis. No longer content to govern themselves under Sharia law within the boundaries the Sultan allowed them, they were agitating for another insurgency. The Sultan had requested military assistance from the United States to help suppress the jihadis, and a core congressional group, led by Senator McClatchy, wanted to comply. But President Diggs had refused, reluctant to get our troops stuck in the middle of another civil quagmire halfway across the world.
Of the several insurgent factions in Mohan, one was headed by the man Parker had mentioned, Abu Nasir. What Gideon found most interesting was that Nasir was not Mohanese. He was an unidentified Westerner wanted by the Sultan for smuggling drugs and dealing arms. He’d also developed a reputation for piracy and kidnapping, holding Western oil executives hostage for impossibly large ransoms, which he used to fund the insurgency.
Gideon spent another hour wading through the briefing book until the words started to blur. He read the same section over and over until he finally gave up, leaning back in his comfortable leather chair, and sinking into a fitful sleep.
When the G5 was descending through a scattering of puffy clouds many hours later, Parker was drinking coffee from a mug with the presidential seal on the side and working on his laptop. He looked up over his reading glasses at Gideon rubbing his eyes and said, “Sleeping Beauty awakes!”
Gideon took a moment to orient himself. According to the bulkhead monitor, their estimated time of arrival was in twenty minutes.
Parker glanced down at the briefing book, which was splayed open, spine up, on Gideon’s lap. “I see you didn’t get very far,” he said, smiling with uncharacteristic affection. “You needed that sleep pretty bad.”
“Yeah. But since we’re landing soon, what I really need is for you to tell me what’s going on.”
“How much did you read about Abu Nasir?”
“No more questions, Uncle Earl. Just tell me what’s happening with my brother.”
“All right.” Parker nodded but hesitated a good ten seconds before he spoke again. “We have good intelligence that Abu Nasir is your brother.”
Gideon blinked. Unable to make sense of the words he’d just heard.
Parker dropped his shoulder;
Parker allowed Gideon to absorb this before continuing. “I know it sounds insane. I’m still trying to get my own head around it.”
“How good is this intelligence?”
“Very,” Parker said, then handed Gideon a photo from the pocket of his briefing book. Behind the CLASSIFIED stencil was a grainy surveillance photo of a bearded man who was clearly unaware that he was being photographed, focused instead on someone or something out of the frame. The features behind the beard resembled Tillman’s, yet it was not him at all. The hot anger that had once animated his eyes was now extinguished, replaced by an icy and far more lethal indifference.
“This is Tillman?”
Parker nodded. “It was taken a little over a month ago.”
Studying the face of the stranger reminded Gideon of why he’d decided not to follow Tillman into the army and had gone to college instead. Gideon knew that his brother’s reasons were more pragmatic than patriotic. He’d enlisted in order to avoid serving time for a street brawl during which he’d almost killed a man five inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier than he was. The man was left in such rough shape that the D.A. tried to bump the charges from assault and battery to attempted murder. Because of Uncle Earl’s well-connected intervention, Tillman managed to avoid prison, and found himself in the army. He thrived as a soldier and was quickly promoted to the most elite ranks of the Special Forces. He’d finally found a way to channel the anger and the violence that had always run through him like a live wire. As angry as Tillman had once been, though, Gideon couldn’t bring himself to believe Parker’s story.
“The last time you spoke to him, where was Tillman working?” Parker asked.
“Afghanistan.”
“After that, he was sent to South America, then Indonesia. But Mohan was his first long-term assignment. Al Qaeda and its offshoots had been making inroads with the local population, and Tillman was sent to infiltrate their ranks. And he did. Posing as a Chechen arms dealer, he fed crucial information to the Sultan’s intelligence service. With Tillman’s help, the Sultan was able to beat back the insurgency.” Parker sighed heavily. “But that’s when things started going wrong.” Parker tapped the seat beside him. “Come over here so I can show you.”