“Omar—” Kyle started to respond, but Eissa held up a hand to stop him, waving away any words.
“I’ve heard quite enough. I expected better from both of you.”
The Blue Neptune hotel loomed like a sultan’s castle of some 375 opulent guest rooms that dominated Shark’s Bay as the lordly anchor for the luxury hotels that were stacked along the Sharm beachfront. Only the very rich could afford to stay there, and though there might be a tourism crisis in Hurghada, Sharm’s hotels were filled, sleek yachts were moored in the busy marina, and a white cruise ship balancing a pyramid of decks was anchored just offshore. It was a mirage of peace, just after noon on a sunny day.
“They don’t know what’s happened yet. We beat the news ashore,” Omar commented as he pulled up to the front entrance, where palm trees and a formal garden softened the look of the thick white walls. A few tourists with binoculars were on a plaza, staring at the dirty horizon, but just below them, sunbathers lounged around one of the hotel’s three swimming pools, and farther out, people walked the beach unperturbed, only beginning to wonder what kind of accident had taken place out in the shipping lanes.
He slid from behind the wheel and called a porter with a rolling rack to take the luggage, and they all filed into the exquisite lobby. A domed ceiling soared over three stories of emptiness, with solid balconies surrounding the interior of the room. Thick rugs were on the hardwood floor, and long tapestries depicting the glory days of the Ottomans stretched up the walls. Before they reached the reception desk, Omar motioned them into an alcove. “Obviously, Sharm is still enjoying the good life, so we must take advantage of it. If we are to continue the mission as a team, I will stay and help.” He spun his key ring on an index finger, then closed his palm around it. “If not, I’m leaving. Neither one of you can do this alone, and I will not jeopardize my cover. Which will it be?”
Kyle Swanson tugged on his suit, and Tianha Bialy fiddled with her purse. Neither spoke.
Omar scowled at them and shook his head with disgust, turned on his heel, and walked away.
“Well,” Bialy asked, “what now?”
“Omar is a good man, but I don’t need him anymore,” Swanson said. “I’m ready to meet this contact, Sir Jeff’s money friend, get the info dump, and then leave tomorrow morning. My job will be done. In fact, I’ll have the concierge make my airline reservation right now, before the rush starts. You can take over and go behind the scenes with Omar. That will probably be better without me.” He walked toward the reception desk.
“You’re a right bastard, Swanson.” She hurried toward the door to catch Omar.
A well-dressed woman with high cheekbones, dark hair, and brown eyes was at the reception desk. “Welcome to the Blue Neptune, sir. How may I help you?”
“I have a reservation,” he said and handed over his passport.
She called up the account, had him sign in, and exchanged the passport for a key card. “You have two messages, Mr. Swanson,” she said. “Your friend Mr. Youssef Gaber asks that you join him in his suite, the penthouse, for lunch at one o’clock. The second message actually is just a note that your other luggage arrived safely. Since it was under diplomatic seal, we have stored it in our vault. This came with it.” A small padded envelope had his name on it.
“Thank you,” Swanson said. “Could you please send everything up to my room? I need to speak with the concierge about a change in my travel plans before I go up. I will probably be staying only one night.”
“Oh? I have you booked down for three, sir, and this is a very busy season.”
“I understand, and the hotel can charge my company for those other two nights and rent them out again. Business plans change.”
She briefly studied the man, who had just thrown away hundreds of dollars in charges without a thought. Being the vice president of an international corporation must be nice, the clerk thought. “Very well, sir. We will hold those dates open until you check out, then refund the cost if we let them out again.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Now would you please have the concierge meet me in the bar, and tell him to bring the airline schedules for tomorrow.”
“Mr. Swanson,” she said, and he stopped. “Did you just come across on the ferry from Hurghada? My computer showed your travel plans.”
“Yes.”
“May I ask? Did something bad happen on the way? Rumors are floating around about a big ship being on fire, and we heard a distant explosion some time ago.”
“Apparently, some oil tanker had an accident. We were miles away and didn’t see anything more than what you saw and heard. The ferryboat took us away as fast as possible.”
She gave a nervous smile. Accident! The word she was hoping to hear. Just an accident. She had been around in 2005 when terrorists had set off three bombs in Sharm, wrecked a luxury hotel, killed eighty-three people, and sent tourism into a downward spiral. It took several seasons to recover, and she did not want to live through such a thing again. “Well, I am glad that you all made it safely, sir. You probably need a drink, so the concierge will meet you in the bar immediately and give you a complimentary beverage of your choice.”
The coded signal of the successful attack was flashed to the desk of Major Mansoor Shakuri, who immediately delivered it to his chief, Colonel Yahya Ali Naqdi, who was pleased with the additional damage. The job had been only to sink the old Iranian naval supply ship, but firing of the two extra missiles had bought a bonus with a lucky hit on the huge Bahamanian-registered tanker Llewellyn, filled with crude oil. The huge explosion and ensuing fire had brought shipping to a halt at the mouth of the Suez Canal. He smoothed the piece of paper with his hand and read it again. Sometimes things work out better than expected. Amid such confusion, he decided to advance the timetable for Phase Two.
“Major, this opportunity must be seized.” Naqdi opened a notebook bound in black leather and flipped to a green tab. “Contact our foreign ministry in Tehran so they can issue an official protest about the unprovoked sinking of the Babr and the terrible attack on this Llewellyn tanker by Egyptian military forces. They must also call upon the United Nations to condemn those unprovoked attacks as a danger to regional stability and express a lack of confidence in the Egyptian military forces to protect these vital waters.”
Naqdi was up and moving about his office in the Palm Group as his mind spun off the needed chain of events. “Then the Muslim Brotherhood will begin the planned demonstrations, claiming that the Egyptian army is launching a coup of the democratically elected government and that the generals are responsible for open hostility and multiple attacks against both Egypt and Iran.” He paused to let Shakuri catch up with his notes. “It all must take place as soon as possible, Major. Time is important now; minutes are important. Within two hours, I want the Egyptian Parliament demanding that the UN dispatch a peacekeeping force to Egypt.”
Major Shakuri was writing the instructions as fast as he could. He asked, “And when do we begin the operation at Sharm, sir? Within forty-eight hours?”
The colonel consulted his notebook, then used his pen to change the designated times. “Do it immediately. This confusion is our friend, Major. I want the boats in the water by four thirty tomorrow morning, and the attack on the hotels to follow exactly ten minutes later. Our transport planes will already be in the air. By daybreak, we will have secured the airport, and units of Iran’s Army of the Guardians will be on the ground in Sharm el-Sheikh.”