Major Mansoor Shakuri stood about ten feet back from the waterline and slowly moved a flashlight-sized infrared green laser signal toward the incoming boats. He had flown in the previous day from Cairo to be the advance spotter for the raiders and to assume overall command once they had all landed. It felt good to be out from under the thumb of his demanding superior and back in the field, doing some of the real work for which he had spent his lifetime in training. This was a command worth having.
Ten boats had been scheduled to be put in the water by a wallowing, nondescript cargo ship that had carried the entire seaborne attack force to within ten miles of the beach. Each boat was to contain ten commandos, so there would be a hundred men coming up in the first wave. They would do nothing more than secure the beach while the boats went back for a second load and then fetched in the third and final wave. Shakuri would have three hundred soldiers across the beach by 0400. Even if detected, they were not to move out until ordered. Defend only, not attack, at this point, Colonel Naqdi said. Be patient and give the plan time to unfold.
The first boat hit the sand and slid forward, with the assault force jumping out and running past him to the shelter of a belt of small sand dunes at the top edge of the beach. One soldier, hard and lean with a grease-blackened face, and dressed entirely in black, peeled away, came close, and saluted. A belt of machine-gun ammunition hung around his neck, and an officer’s tab was on his tunic. “First Lieutenant Taghavi reporting, sir. First wave is present and accounted for. One man lost his grip and fell off. Perhaps the boats can pick him up on the return trip, although he probably drowned.”
“No matter, Lieutenant. Spread your men in good defensive positions and hold. It won’t be long before a force this size is spotted, and we cannot be certain of the Egyptian response. And have the men dig, Lieutenant; the deeper the hole, the better they are going to like it if a firefight breaks out. Assign someone to take over this signal laser for me.”
As Major Shakuri turned, he saw the shadow of someone darting away nearby but ignored it. The first wave was safely on the ground.
15
Major Shakuri forced himself to remain calm as he walked the broad area where a makeshift convoy of vehicles was gathered. The drivers were all members of the Muslim Brotherhood, but not a one had ever taken part in a real battle, so they were drawn to the spectacle of the black-clad soldiers who had stormed ashore in front of the Blue Neptune Hotel. Shakuri, with his pistol out, snarled as he pushed them to regain their attention and focus on their job for the night. “All drivers to your vehicles immediately. Start the engines and stay in your seats, prepared to receive passengers. We will move out as soon as the men are loaded. Do not be left behind, or you will be severely punished.”
There were excited whispers as the drivers retreated to their cars and trucks and buses, for they had not been informed of their exact duties tonight. The cover of deception had been pulled away, and the drivers saw Iranian soldiers on the sands, moving with precision and purpose. Shakuri still had not disclosed the destination to them all; just that they were to get ready to move. In moments, the motors turned over, and the area hummed with the coughs and pops and whine of a traffic jam.
By the time he had completed a quick walk-around inspection, the major heard the boats at the beach again, coming in protected by the first wave of defenders. Another hundred men splashed out of the surf and ran to the parking lot. Shakuri climbed into an Egyptian army J8 Jeep with a 12.7mm machine gun mounted in the rear and pointed the lead group into the Toyota pickup truck just behind it. Black-clad shock troops filed like ants into the vehicles, remaining totally silent. Even when equipment snagged, someone tripped, or there was a mix-up about who went where, every problem was sorted out with hand signals, with noncoms pushing the troops into position.
Although he had been watching closely, Shakuri was surprised when a soldier appeared at his side, as if out of the night itself. “Ready, sir. Ninety-eight men counted.”
Above the rumble of the idling vehicles, the major could detect the higher-pitched engines on the inflatable boats, which were already speeding away to bring in the final wave of troops. He ran a mental count to be sure he had enough wheels and was certain that he did. “Drop a sergeant here to guide the next convoy, with the driver of that Jeep, who has been briefed.”
He did not know if the soldier saluted, for the lieutenant had disappeared just as fast as he had arrived. Shakuri’s nervousness melted away as he settled into his seat. He was on his own, out from beneath the thumb of Colonel Naqdi, and his confidence was bubbling. “Head out,” he barked at the driver. “Airport.” Behind him, the gunner racked in a belt of ammo.
On the beach of the Blue Neptune, a security guard in a crisp white shirt and dark pants let his curiosity get the best of him. He opened the door that led from the main building to the swimming pools, walked down the sidewalk through the lush foliage, and stopped when he looked out at the edge of the water. Little boats filled with men were roaring to the shoreline, and more were gathered on the sand below him, not moving. His job had required him to draw his sidearm before, when particularly bothersome thieves and muggers were molesting guests, and the reflex of facing danger made him reach for the pistol. A pair of silenced submachine guns coughed, and the bullets almost cut him in half, dropping him dead on the spot. “Fool,” said Lieutenant Taghavi. No one was supposed to die yet. The third force was almost out of the water and heading for the transport rendezvous point. For now, staying with the plan was all that counted.
Inside the building, Tianha and Omar heard nothing other than their own footsteps and heavy breathing as they fled down the concrete fire stairwells, hands grasping the metal bannisters. Each floor had a red door that opened onto hallways, but they bypassed those exits in a dash to the parking basement. Their survival lay in getting to the car and leaving the area before the soldiers closed it down. Regular hotel guests probably would be safe enough in their rooms, but a pair of agents from British intelligence would definitely not fare well in whatever was about to unfold.
Satellites and computers throughout the Middle East had painted the big aircraft since they had lifted off the tarmac of various military airfields in Iran and joined in a loose three-plane formation and headed east, with permission, through the skies of its friendly neighbor, Iraq. No American warplanes rose to challenge them, for there had not been any U.S. combat troops in Iraq since December 2011, and most of the billion-dollar airbases had fallen into total disrepair after being thoroughly looted. The Iraqi Air Force had only a handful of F-16s and not enough trained pilots to fly them, so they stayed on the ground because they were not being attacked.
The huge Iranian air fleet lumbered along a carefully predetermined route that skirted the American zone of control that still existed over Afghanistan and dodged Israel entirely. Instead of hiding their presence, the planes flaunted it, broadcasting to anyone who asked that they were on a humanitarian mission at the request of the United Nations and the Egyptian government. In both the Mediterranean Sea and the Red Sea, U.S. Navy fighter jets with air-to-air missiles on hard points sat on carrier decks in position for hot launches. Fighters flying Combat Air Patrols above the American battle groups extended their patrols into wider circles. Fighters from Israel zoomed up to take a look. No one could detect any overt threat, and the Iranian planes sped on.