“We discussed it before you called, Kyle.” Sybelle again. “You are the only thing we have on the ground right now, so you have to go with your gut. Try to confuse and bother them, because they are operating very close to the edge of their capabilities. At some point, these Iranian visitor units must link up with the big forces of the Muslim Brotherhood for major support, and those are tied down in Cairo and the big cities right now.”
The general said, “That can’t happen, Gunny. Do what you can to delay and destroy. Make them chase shadows and shake them off schedule until the big cheeses around here figure out what to do. Buy me some hours, Gunny. Buy me a whole clock full of hours. Someone will be here 24/7 if you need to talk.”
“Yes, sir.” He terminated the call, already starting to think like a guerrilla.
In Washington, the Trident team members exchanged looks around the table until Commander Benton Freedman spoke. “One man going against thousands? Is it a suicide mission — a Jews at Masada or a King Leonidas at Thermopylae thing?”
“No, Liz. We are just unleashing the mutt.”
“Sir, are you referring to Marc Antony’s call to ‘Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war’? Shakespeare?”
“Whatever. Get out of my office. I’m going over to the White House to brief the president. You guys sift everything we have to determine how we can help Kyle and whether we can resupply him down there in the middle of nowhere. We need to feed our war dog. I think he’s going to bite some serious Iranian ass.”
18
Sir Gordon Fitzgerald, the chief of the British Secret Intelligence Service, was welcomed at the door of the cottage by Sir Geoffrey Cornwell and guided into the library, where Lady Patricia sat before a large fire, stroking the silver whiskers of a fat orange cat that had wandered in from outside a week earlier and made itself at home. The head of MI6 rubbed the cat with a pudgy finger. “Does this beast have a name?”
“Cat,” replied Lady Patricia. “Her assigned job is to keep away the elephants.”
“There are no elephants in Oxford,” C said, moving to a chair.
“She is very good.” The cat purred so contentedly that she vibrated.
Sir Jeff poured glasses of whisky and handed them around. “So, Gordon, have you come to release us from this ivy-covered prison?”
They clinked glasses and drank. “That would be one of the reasons. We have found no trace of any more threats against you since the attack in the tube station. We know now that the person behind the scheme, this Mansoor Shakuri fellow from Iran, held a high position with the Palm Group in Cairo — a cover, of course — but he seems to no longer be there. The major has popped up, of all places, in Sharm el-Sheikh.”
“I see.” Jeff finished off his drink and put the glass aside. “So he is off to fry bigger fish than us.”
C nodded and put down his own drink, then folded his hands over his ample belly. “Unfortunately, things are a bit too confused down there at the moment to conduct a thorough investigation, but the international finance boys in Europe and the United States are cracking the records of the Palm Group with the intention of interrupting the cash laundering from Iran. Doubt the Palm Group will be a bother much longer; it looks like nothing more than a front, anyway. Your own security can take over now, and you both can go home.”
“I shall abscond with this cat,” Lady Pat said with mock severity.
“Please consider the cat a small gift from a grateful government for your trouble and cooperation,” C replied. “Now, let us move to a more important point. Have you been in contact with Gunnery Sergeant Swanson?”
Pat and Jeff glanced at each other. “No,” said Jeff. “Has something happened to him?”
C lifted a hand as if to bat away any concern, although there was a moment of uncomfortable silence. “No, no, no. At least, none of which we are aware. Your lad and our agent did not get out before the Iranians arrived in Sharm, and they seem to be caught in the middle of those shocking developments. A report from Dr. Bialy said they are in an MI6 safe house for the time being. If they just keep their heads down, they should be fine until we can plan an extraction.”
There was a sharp laugh from Lady Pat, who unceremoniously dumped the large cat from her lap onto the floor and brushed her hands together to get rid of the sticking fur. “Kyle is not going to keep his head down when all of that, that mess is going on.”
“Dr. Bialy warned us that Swanson is proving difficult, if not impossible, as a working partner. Please, if he calls you for any reason, tell him to remember his role: He was to have the private conference with the Egyptians and then report back here. That was all. Dr. Bialy has the very different assignment of identifying and contacting a valuable source, and he was to assist her in whatever way he could. He has proven unwilling or unable to do that.”
Lady Pat went to the bar, poured herself another shot, then refilled the glasses of the men. She picked a thin cigar from a silver box and lit it. “That partnership was doomed from the start, Gordon,” she said. “We can dress Kyle up in a nice suit and tell him to act like a civilian and play second fiddle to the doctor, but Kyle is what he is. He has a very low tolerance for bullshit, pardon my language.”
Sir Jeff picked up the thought. “With Sharm going to the devil for the moment, according to the telly, there is simply no possible way that Kyle will sit still. He has probably contacted his people in Task Force Trident back in Washington by now, although I do not know that for a fact. It would be best to understand that he is now back under their command, and no longer under yours.”
“Jeff, this American must not interfere with Dr. Bialy’s mission!”
“Let us just wait and see if Swanson and Bialy live through this next twenty-four hours, George. There will be plenty of time later to worry about your unknown source.”
Kyle Swanson stood beneath a hot shower, washing away the muck and blood of the night and letting the clutter of thoughts settle in his mind. Soap and shampoo did not require much mental power, so his mind was free to roam, and possibilities swept along like scenes in a slide show. “Delay and destroy,” the general had said, a process that Kyle had already begun. Next step? What’s the next step?
He had been up all night, seen action, created some chaos, but was now running on battery power and needed rest. Sleep discipline was important to any operator who needed to maintain his edge over a long period of time, and he had not had much rest since leaving California. He turned his face to the falling water and let it sluice around his eyes and into his ears, then leaned against the tiled wall so the hot stream could work on the knots in his neck. It was interesting that with an invasion under way, the water and electricity still worked.
Recon. That was the next step, and he did not have to do it all himself. The two MI6 people in the next room were virtually indigenous to the area, spoke the language, knew the strange customs, and could go out and mingle with the populace without arousing suspicion. They would be just two more people on the street in what was bound to be a day of unrest. Done with the shower, he toweled off. Were they sleeping together? The way Omar protectively rubbed Tianha’s shoulder as they stood side by side last night back at the hotel indicated their relationship was more than casual. So what? Their business, not his, unless he could use that nugget of information somewhere down the road.
It would be best not to shave this morning, for every man in town wore at least a stubble of beard. In the mirror, he saw that a nick on the side of his neck was only a small, clean cut that was already beginning to heal, not much more than the bite of a razor, although it had been inflicted by a piece of flying shrapnel when the airliner blew up. He dug into the shaving kit for the bottle of meds, shook out a five-milligram tab of Ambien, and swallowed it dry. Marines sleep when they are told, but Kyle also believed in better living through chemistry. The sleeping aid would help put him down and keep him down for a couple of hours without being bothered by the bright sun and the noise outside while Omar and Tianha went out to see what was what. By the time they returned, he would be up.