That conversation had taken place five months ago, and Faisal had been in their pocket ever since, having no choice but to provide whatever funding they required… drinking more than ever, gambling more than ever… and losing more than ever. And since the New Mexico Event, he had slipped into an even deeper depression.
He stood at the window of his hotel suite overlooking the Great Sphinx, whirling an ice cube around the bottom of an empty whisky glass.
“What’s the matter, Muhammad?” asked his chief bodyguard, Ma’mun, also a minor member of the Saudi royal family. “I’ve never seen you this way.”
“Kashkin and al-Rashid have been lying to me,” Faisal said. “There have been two bombs since the beginning. That’s why they wanted so much money so urgently.”
“Should we leave the city? Are we in danger here?”
Faisal gave him an ironic smile. “To destroy Las Vegas would be more like a bad joke than an act of terror.”
Ma’mun thought about that a moment. “Yes, I agree.”
“We’re as safe here as anywhere,” Faisal assured him. “All we can do is hope the city doesn’t wither on the vine after the American economy begins to collapse… which will surely happen after the second weapon is used. These are a panicky people. They have been spoiled by too many years of safety and isolation. Look how they act already. Martial law in their major cities? Please. Do you believe the Jews would react this way?” He wagged a bony finger. “They would not. No, the lives of the Jews would go on as normal. And when the bomb finally went off, they would mourn their dead and begin to rebuild… their faith in their Jew god even stronger than before.”
Ma’mun nodded grimly. “For all that is bad about them, yes, the Jews are very brave. I do not deny it. But I think no braver than the Americans.”
Faisal took a seat on his Italian black leather sofa and kicked off his slippers. “You forget, my friend. The PlayStation generation controls here now.” He sighed then. “But we shall soon see which of us is right.”
Ma’mun took out his iPhone, running his thumb over the apps. “The lease on the hotel suite is up for renewal this week.”
“Renew it.” Faisal lit a cigarette and sat pondering his own words about the Jews. It was true they would not be so easily panicked. They were very accustomed to living with the knowledge that every day could be their last. Perhaps it was time he took a lesson from them and began to live his own life the same way.
“Arrange a game for tomorrow evening, Ma’mun. Also, call the agency and be sure there are enough women available. I think it’s time for me to resume my winning ways.”
At last Ma’mun had reason to smile. “Na’am sayyideti.” Yes, sir. He turned and left the room.
19
Crosswhite and Tuckerman sat in a holding cell in one of the local police precincts now being utilized by the 82nd Airborne as a forward operating base. On the front of the building was a sign that read Fort Apache. They had been cooling their heels there for the last eight hours, and Crosswhite was beginning to wonder what the hell was going on. It shouldn’t have taken more than a few hours for the Pentagon to renounce them for the liars they were and order them turned over to the Chicago police. The division was preparing to withdraw from the city by order of the president, so it was remotely possible that he and Tuckerman would just be left behind for the police to take charge of when they reoccupied the building. Still, it was odd that the major in command of the FOB hadn’t come to tell them what was going on or even just to chew their asses for having lied. He’d been a pretty big prick upon their arrival.
The guards who checked in on them from time to time claimed to know nothing.
Crosswhite let go of the bars and turned to look at Tuckerman, who sat on his bunk against the wall, clearly unhappy in the knowledge that he was destined to spend the rest of his life sleeping on such a bed. “Does this make any sense to you? We should have heard by now.”
Tuckerman looked up at him. “We’re not exactly a priority, Dan. We’re just a couple of two-bit criminals. Be careful you don’t go believing your own bullshit.”
Crosswhite frowned. “That’s not the point.”
Tuckerman smirked. “As if there is a point. Sit down, will ya? You’re making me nervous. What’s your hurry, anyhow? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a fucking cell. At least here we don’t have to put up with anybody’s bullshit.”
“I ain’t giving up that easy,” Crosswhite said. “The next time they open this door, we’re making our move. We may not get away, but we can at least go down fighting.”
“Not me,” Tuckerman said. “I didn’t get into this to kill GIs. I did the crime. I’ll do the time.” He tilted his head back against the wall. “Wonder if anybody will ever find that money. Maybe it’ll still be there if we ever get out. If I get out first, I’ll leave your half.”
“You’re fucking dreaming,” Crosswhite said. “They’ll never let us out. People are dead, remember? And it doesn’t matter they were shit bags. The law’s the law.”
“Yeah, but we also saved that little girl. We might get parole in twenty or thirty years.”
Crosswhite rolled his eyes and turned to grip the bars again. “Hey!” he shouted. “We need some food back here, guys!”
A steel door opened, and the sound of boots on concrete came echoing from around the corner. Sergeant Naples appeared and stood staring at him. “Guess what,” he said.
Crosswhite stared back. “Don’t tell me… the bomb went off in some other city.”
Naples shook his head. “I made some calls of my own. Turns out you’re not even active duty anymore. Word is you got run out of Delta.”
Crosswhite let out a heavy sigh and turned to lie down on his bunk, putting his boots up on the bars. “So what’s that tell ya?”
Naples scratched his head. “Tells me the brass musta been pretty pissed about you getting the Medal of Honor for making them look bad.”
“None of it was as it appeared, believe me.” Crosswhite laced his fingers behind his head and lay staring up at the ceiling. “Why don’t you do us a solid, Nipples, and unlock that door before you guys pull out, huh? You got my word we won’t make a move until after you’re gone.” He lifted his head. “Don’t just leave us to the local yahoos.”
Naples shook his head. “You’ll be gone long before we pull out. We just got word your CO is on the way to pick you up.”
Crosswhite stole a startled glance at Tuckerman and sat up on the bed, turning to put his boots on the floor. “Come again?”
“About an hour ago, Major Byard got a call from some guy named Pope back in Langley. I’m guessing you know him? Anyhow, Byard still can’t believe you guys are actually attached to SOG.” This was the Special Operations Group of the CIA. “I told him last night you were the real deal, but he didn’t believe me, and now he’s out there feeling stupid.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying the major’s embarrassment. “This Pope said to tell you your orders have changed and that you’ll remain here under protective custody until a Colonel Shannon arrives.”
At that, Tuckerman turned and put his boots on the floor. “Colonel Shannon.”
“Right,” Naples said, shaking a cigarette loose from a box of Marlboros and lighting up. “I don’t know what the hell your original orders were, but it doesn’t sound like SOG is too happy with you two. Byard was ordered to keep you under lock and key until the colonel gets here.”
Crosswhite stared across at Tuckerman. “What do you wanna bet the asshole shows up looking like Sam Trautman from Rambo? Just to rub my nose it.”
Tuckerman went slack in the jaw. “He wouldn’t.”