"And if the Americans intervene?"
"They won't-President Thorn is a spineless weakling," Fazani said. "But if he does, we withdraw-but not before destroying Salimah. We blow all the oil wells, just like Saddam Hussein did as his forces left Kuwait." Just then, the outer door opened, and Fazani's aide stepped quickly in. "What is it, Captain?"
"Sir, an American has been arrested by the security forces outside the gate of the Presidential Palace. He was demanding to see the king."
"Why are you bothering me with this drivel, Captain? Have him arrested and taken to the interrogation center."
"He also demands to see the prisoners."
"What prisoners?"
"He says, the American prisoners," the aide said. "The ones captured after the attacks in the Mediterranean Seaincluding the woman, Wendy McLanahan."
Fazani and Hijazi looked at each other in complete surprise. No one, they wordlessly reminded each other, knew about the prisoners-and they sure as hell didn't know any of the prisoners' names! "Does this man have a name?"
"Yes, sir-he called himself McLanahan too. J3figadier General Patrick McLanahan."
Both Libyan ministers jumped to their feet in surprise. "McLanahan? He's hereT Fazani shouted. "Is he armed?"
"Just a small pistol, sir."
Thank God he didn't visit them as he visited Zuwayy in Jaghbub-with his bombers buzzing overhead destroying the place and wearing his medieval armor with the built-in bug zapper, Fazani thought. "Bring him up here, right now!"
"I'll tell Jadallah-" Hijazi said.
"Not quite yet," Fazani said. "Maybe this McLanahan has information that is valuable to us. We'll tell Jadallah… in good time."
A few minutes later, Patrick was standing before both Hijazi and Fazani, his hands shackled in front of him with handcuffs and a chain around his waist. He was wearing plain civilian clothes, similar to urban Arabs. One of the guards set a bag on the desk. "He was found with this, sir," the guard said. Fazani examined the bag: It contained a fake beard, Libyan citizen documents, Libyan money, a small digital camera, a palm-sized radio, a Russian Tokarev pistol-common in both Libya and Egypt-and a fake Egyptian passport. The guard held out another smaller bag-this one held colored contact lenses. "He was wearing these as well. His hair is dyed black, too." Fazani felt his hair-quick, cheap hair dye. "No other weapons."
"Very clever, General," Fazani said in halting but good English. "Fake documents, fake hair, even fake eye color. What do you hope to accomplish here, General?"
"I'm looking for my wife and my men," Patrick said. "I know you're holding them."
"Oh, I am sure you will be joining them soon enough," Fazani said. "But we have questions first."
"I'm not answering any questions. I want the Americans. If I don't come out with them, I'll destroy this palace."
"You will? With what? This pistol?"
"You know how," Patrick said ominously. "The same way I destroyed Samah, Jaghbub, Al-Jawf, and Zillah."
Both Fazani and Hijazi looked decidedly uncomfortable at that point. Fazani paced around Patrick, thinking hard; then: "Then I have a better idea, Generaclass="underline" You will recall your bombers immediately, or I will execute your wife and all your men right before your eyes."
"If I don't report in to my unit by the bottom of the hour, Minister, this palace will be destroyed." Hijazi looked at his watch: ten minutes to go. "There is no abort code, Minister-either I report I'm still inbound, or I report I'm coming out with the prisoners, or this place gets leveled. I'm not afraid to die."
"Then it was a suicide mission," Fazani said. "Because I assure you, we will be safe from any of your weaponsunless you intend on dropping a nuclear bomb on us. After the attack, we will all appear on the world news together and tell the world all about your doomed rescue mission and your homicidal bombing raids on Libya."
"Then you'll be doing that report from the rubble of your government buildings and palaces," Patrick said, "because I guarantee you, you won't be able to stop my bombers from attacking this city."
"Then right after your appearance on CNN, General McLanahan, perhaps you, your wife, and your spies will be dragged out of that rubble yourselves," Fazani said. "Either way, we will be safe, and alive, and you'll be dead and disgraced."
"I have a better idea, Tahir-let us tell Jadallah's financier whom we have now," Hijazi suggested. Fazani's eyes brightened at that idea. "I think he will pay handsomely for this man delivered alive to him."
"Don't count on it," Patrick said. "I don't work for any government, but I command a lot of firepower-whoever you bring me to will suffer the same fate as you will."
"I doubt that very much," Hijazi said. "Pavel Kazakov commands many forces as well, and I'm sure he's far wealthier than you are."
"Kazakov?" Patrick exclaimed. "Zuwayy is working with Pavel Kazakov? I should have known."
"I see you've heard of him? Good. He will pay a very generous bonus to the ones who bring you to hint-alive if possible, but dead if necessary. Perhaps we can negotiate a package deal for all of you Americans together-I think Kazakov would love to use you all as an example to others of what happens when you cross him. But first we need to know all about your bombers and other infantry forces you have in Libya. The king has described some very amazing forces-perhaps you can tell us all about them."
"Go to hell," Patrick said.
"Well, that is a little more defiant than the things your wife has been saying while in captivity, General," Fazani said with a smile. Patrick angrily tested his shackles yet another time-they were securely locked. "Imshi. Enta tiqdar la 'met ahsan min kida. Get him out of here, now."
After the guards had taken McLanahan out, Hijazi said, "I'll get Kazakov on the phone right away. I think he's been looking for this guy-I'll bet he'll pay a lot for him."
"You handle Kazakov-I'll notify Jadallah," Fazani said. "This way we cover our asses in case Kazakov blabs that we told him and not our boss."
"Good idea."
"We've also got to get all those captives out of here as soon as possible," Fazani added. "It can't be a coincidence that McLanahan just waltzes in here-the exact spot where we happen to be keeping his wife and his fighters. He's doing a probe. The faster we get him out of here, the better."
Fazani walked over to Zuwayy's residence and notified the Republican Guards that he wished to speak with the king. Ten frustrating, aggravating minutes later, Fazani was told the king was unavailable. Not daring to push aside one of Zuwayy's Republican Guards-they were absolute fanatics about security; their lives depended on it-Fazani asked again, and after another ten-minute wait, he was admitted into the king's private residence.
He could see it immediately. Tahir Fazani had known Jadallah Zuwayy for more than fifteen years, including two years in Sudan where Zuwayy got hooked on heroin. He and Hijazi had nursed him, covered for him, threatened him, and cajoled him into giving up the stuff. They thought they had been successful. "Damn you, Jadallah," he muttered. "What the hell is wrong with you? We're going to war with Egypt any day now, and you're up here getting high."
"What the hell do you want, Tahir?" Zuwayy asked. He was slumped in a chair, drinking something; his head lolled around every now and then as if he were on some sort of sailboat race on the Gulf of Sidra.
"We had a little visit by someone tonight-one Brigadier General Patrick McLanahan."
"An Anglo? So what? Is he an arms dealer? A mercenary? If not, kick him out of the country and.." Zuwayy stopped and looked at Fazani through bloodshot, bleary eyes and blown pupils. "Did you say… McLanahan?"
"The woman we have in your interrogation center is his wife" Fazani said. "He came here to demand we return her and his men to him."
"And you have him? He actually tried to walk in here and demanded we release the prisoners? Was he deranged?"