The lights around the airport seemed puny in comparison to the glare of Hotel Row. It had been closed all night and was just coming to life, getting ready to handle another routine day of flights. The workers were still sluggish with sleep, and the security guards were totally off balance when the long line of vehicles led by a big military Jeep that mounted a machine gun rolled up to the terminal building and dozens of black-clad soldiers jumped out and ran in with automatic weapons at the ready.
Major Shakuri walked inside and saw only a small security team that had been taken by surprise, disarmed, and pushed to the floor. There was an unexpected feeling of confidence and power swelling his heart. He moved to an airline counter, and a nervous attendant gave him a microphone that tied into the public address system. Clearing his throat, Shakuri announced, “Do not be alarmed. We are a special force from the Iranian army, and we here at the request of the Egyptian government. You are under our protection. If no one resists, no one will be hurt. Again, please stay calm while we go about our duties.”
He handed the microphone back to the young woman at the desk and smiled. “Really, my dear. You have nothing to fear.” With an easy stride, he walked to the clump of Egyptian security guards on the floor and told them to get to their feet. “Brothers, I need you to take my men to other sections of the airport. We must put a soldier with a gun in every room. Can you do that for us?”
The guards were in shock. The airport had been taken by a military force without a shot being fired, and even as they watched, soldiers were fanning out to create a defensive perimeter. Finally, one of the older guards spoke. He was on the early shift to handle customs duty and had no intention of getting into a fight with these dangerous-looking men, so he bowed his head. “Welcome, brothers. We will cooperate.”
“That is good.” Shakuri clapped him on the shoulder. “You will please escort my tactical air party up to the tower right now so we can finish our work.” A half-dozen technicians peeled away from the soldiers and followed the man out of the terminal area. Others were assigned to the hangars and outbuildings. The major was moving fast to secure the place, and he had remembered to have one truckload of soldiers at the tail of the advance party stop to establish a roadblock. When the reinforcement column arrived, he would extend the perimeter around the runways. Major Shakuri looked at his watch and was pleased that everything had turned out so well. As Colonel Naqdi had promised, the strong and unexpected show of force would determine the outcome. All he had to do was show up.
His handheld radio beeped, and the tactical air team reported they had taken control of the tower and were in contact with the planes ending the long journey from Iran. “Very well,” Shakuri said. The facility was safely in his hands. “Send the message. This airport is now closed to all other traffic, and any flights except those approved by us must divert to other facilities.”
With help just minutes away by air and by road, only one thing remained on his list, perhaps the most important. He contacted Lieutenant Taghavi back at the beach, and as the officer answered, Shakuri heard gunfire and explosions in the background. “We have the airport, Lieutenant. Are you ready to attack?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do it,” the major ordered.
16
The sky above the airport was cloudless in the predawn darkness, and it seemed to Kyle that every light at the facility must be turned on. Corridors of illumination outlined the runways. Stars and planets were still bright in the heavens, and in sharp contrast to that galactic display, a straight line of blinking lights was moving closer, stacked one above another into the distance: planes descending to land.
Wearing his Egyptian-style clothing, he was hidden in the deep shadow beside an air-conditioning vent on the roof of a gasoline station about a mile from the main gate. From the top of the square cinder-block structure, Kyle had a wide field of view for his binos; he saw the soldiers steadily pushing outward and estimated the perimeter would extend to cover the gas station within thirty minutes. Tianha Bialy was crouched nearby, also with binos, watching for patrols.
Back on Hotel Row, they could still hear chaos, but at the airport, everything seemed in order, another sign that the military was in charge and commands were being obeyed. The terminal building was a simple long rectangle with bay windows beneath metal awnings across the front, and the structure opened in the rear directly onto the parking apron for the planes. Dozens of figures moved purposefully about, most with weapons, but many of them also obviously airport staff doing their normal jobs, although under new management. Soldiers were establishing a strongpoint in the long, bare parking lot out front: a machine gun on a tripod and some RPGs — rocket propelled grenades — behind a concrete barrier. A beefy Jeep with a mounted automatic weapon was parked near the roadway entrance. He could not make out the exact types of the weapons at this distance but assumed they were all standard military issue and nothing exotic. The soldiers were showing good discipline, he thought; they were probably members of the elite Quds Force.
Swanson shifted position only slightly when Tianha quietly said, “Omar’s here.”
There were soft footsteps, and Omar Eissa squatted beside them. “I’m still alive.”
“That will be counted as a plus,” Swanson joked. “How’d it go?”
“Easier than anticipated. I followed another hire car right up to the gate, and we both raised hell about everything being closed. The other guy turned away immediately, but I recognized one of the security guys and slipped him some cash. I told him that I had clients who were desperate to get out of town on the morning flights, and he thumbed back over his shoulder toward the Iranian soldiers and told me the airport will be off-limits to all civilian traffic for a couple of days. I obediently turned around and drove off. Here I am.”
“What is your assessment?” Kyle swung his binos back to the sky. The first plane was on final approach.
“This group is spread pretty thin over such a very large area, but they are showing no nerves because there is no doubt that they are in control.”
Kyle scanned the airfield. The troops were indeed moving slowly. “Adrenaline dump. They were all riding a high sense of alertness for several hours before landing and getting out here, all keyed up and ready to fight, only to discover it was a walkover. They burned a ton of energy and now they are thinking, OK, we’ve got time to breathe. Combine that with this early morning hour, and their leaders are going to be busy kicking the troops to make sure they stay awake.”
Tianha said, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go report to London.”
“Make sure they pass it straight to Washington.” He did not move the glasses and could now see the first plane swoop down with its landing gear extended like talons, a Boeing 707. It touched down about a hundred meters from the north end of the runway, the great tires squealing and smoking against the tarmac as the engines roared into reverse as it sailed past a squat yellow fuel truck parked beside a concrete turnout.
“Of course they will, but I will remind them nonetheless.”
“Your mission, looking for that Pharaoh guy, is in real jeopardy now, Dr. Bialy,” he said and swept his arm toward the airport. “They should consider pulling you out right away.”