“What the hell is this?” asked Wilson Patterson, a former four-star general who was now the national security adviser for the president. The results from the computer readings were plainly projected on a wall screen in the Situation Room of the White House. “Iran is running a mercy flight to Egypt? That is horse shit!” Patterson had never lost his Marine vocabulary.
“The United Nations has not authorized any such thing. The only request came from the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt just a few hours ago. No one has acted on anything yet, and there has been no meeting of the Security Council.” Belinda Hawkins was the president’s chief of staff, and she had come to the big conference room wanting answers, not more questions.
“We can’t afford to let them land in Egypt,” said Patterson. “Once they have a footprint there, it will take all hell to dislodge them.”
“And we can do nothing to stop them, because to shoot down a bunch of transport planes that are citing a nonexistent UN mandate would be condemned as an act of war. We don’t even know what is aboard those aircraft. Could be blankets or could be bombs, and no one has asked us to intervene,” Hawkins said.
“What kind of assets do your CIA have in the area?”
“Not much. Some people to keep an eye on the oil situation, but they are paper-clippers and worker bees. I could throw a bunch of statistics, Wilson, but this is Sharm el-Sheikh, for Christ’s sake. Nothing ever happens there. What do you have?” She looked over at Admiral Kelly Foster, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
“Everything we need to fight two wars at the same time. I have carriers and subs and cruise missiles and all kinds of airplanes, and they are all cocked and locked.” The white-haired admiral looked carefully at the CIA chief. “I believe this is part of some kind of pretty shrewd invasion plan, but I’m not advising the shoot-down of a bunch of unarmed transports and passenger planes until we have much clearer intelligence on what’s happening.”
Patterson straightened his papers and stared at the wall screen one last time. “Nobody is even suggesting that you do that, Admiral Foster. But let’s take this mess upstairs to the Oval Office and let the boss know the Iranians have outfoxed us. He won’t be a happy camper.”
Kyle trotted around to the inner street side of the Blue Neptune to use the bulk of the hotel as a shield, found the turnoff for the underground parking garage, and headed down the ramp into the cavernous space, where his steps echoed back to him. Tianha and Omar burst from the exit door from the stairwell about the same time, and they all met at the Mercedes, with Omar punching his personal code into the doorlock pad.
“Pop the trunk so I can get at the weapons.” Kyle waited only a few seconds for the trunk lid to spring open, and he grabbed the duffel bags that he had put in there only a few hours earlier. He hurled them into the backseat and dove inside the car. “Go!”
It had barely begun to move when a man came running down the ramp, eyes glittering in a spade-shaped, bearded face. He was spraying long, wild bursts of automatic fire from an AK-47. Bullets clicked off the concrete wall, burst a few overhead lights, and punched into parked cars.
“Who the hell is that? He’s wearing an Egyptian army uniform.” Omar had started the engine, and the car was rolling.
“Doesn’t matter if he’s shooting at us,” Kyle said, pulling his .45 Colt.
Omar grunted agreement and floored the accelerator just as the gunman ran out of bullets and the weapon clicked dry. The man was standing in the middle of the lane, fumbling to reload, and his eyes grew in alarm as he realized that he was defenseless against the onrushing car. He tried to jump away, but Omar caught him with the bumper, and the impact flipped the gunman against another car, where he hit with a hard thump, bounced to the concrete, and lay there broken and still.
Tianha had her window down on the right side, with her weapon out, while Kyle was in the left rear, also with the windows down and his pistol ready while he scrabbled with his free hand to unzip the bag and reach the better weapons. The noise around the hotel was growing in volume.
Omar flew out of the top of the ramp and threw the Mercedes into a squealing turn. More Egyptian army soldiers were running across the street and into the hotel, firing as they went. A straggler stopped at the sight of the car that swept past only ten yards from him, turned to shoot, but sprawled flat when Tianha emptied her Glock at him. Then they were gone.
“Clear over here,” she called.
“Clear here,” Kyle responded. “Omar, get your own pistol out while I assemble some gear. You think those guys were really Egyptian troops?”
Omar wedged his pistol under his hip and gripped the wheel tightly. “They’re certainly not the Iranian soldiers who are on the beach side, and they have to be more than a bunch of thugs that just happened to be passing by out here early in the morning with AKs. My guess is they are some sort of raiding party of the Muslim Brotherhood, wearing army uniforms.” They heard gunfire popping from the street in front of other hotels.
“My God, they are targeting defenseless tourists.” Tianha pushed in a fresh magazine. “This is going to be Mumbai all over again. Hundreds of innocent people were killed and wounded.”
Swanson looked out the back window at the men surging across the thoroughfare as he recalled the 2008 massacre by Muslim extremists in India. Pakistan was behind it, of course, because the Muslim Pakis and the Hindu Indians had hated each other for ages. Mumbai was just another chapter of the deadly story the two countries were always writing, and in that context it made some sense. A similar attack on Sharm’s hotel row by jihadists, with a highly trained Iranian force right in the neighborhood, was a lot different. It would be bloody and blamed on the Egyptian army. Puzzle it out later.
“Omar, head for the airport,” Kyle said, finishing assembling the M-16A3 and placing a couple of grenades within easy reach. “Let’s stay focused right now on those Iranians.”
Tianha turned in her seat to look at him. “They arrived by boat, Kyle.”
Swanson shook his head. “That’s just the initial assault team. You land over the beach but immediately grab the airport to bring in planes and support. Same thing we did in Somalia.”
“Impossible,” said Omar. “Iran is too far from Sharm.” They ducked into a side street to avoid a group of men firing at another hotel, sending a scalding surge of bullets into the glass windows and zinging off the concrete.
“I agree. Fifteen minutes ago, I would have said it was impossible for Iranian troops to be down there on the beach. The point is they cannot remain there without external support. It has to be the airport.”
“And then?” Tianha was staring out of her window again. “We can’t just keep driving around.”
“Then? Well, then we just disappear until we can figure out what the hell is going on. Getting us to a safe place is Omar’s department.”
There was a loud explosion in one of the nearby hotels, and a flash of fire ripped outward over the street from an upper floor. Gunfire rattled like pebbles in a can.
“A lot of people are going to die tonight,” Tiana said in a sad voice that was almost a whisper.
Kyle leaned against the seat, rifle across his knees, surrounded by the tools of his trade, finally feeling ready for whatever was to come. By gathering up Omar and Tianha, he had consolidated his forces and increased the available firepower, for three guns were better than one. He was unprepared for anything of the scope of the battle that was happening around them, so all he could do was keep scrambling while he figured it out. In addition, the Lizard had included a sat phone in his package of goodies, so Kyle would finally be able to put aside the charade of cooperation and contact Task Force Trident as soon as he determined what was happening at the airport. “Yes, many will die. But not us. We can hold our own.”