"And the radiation…?"
"Some captured medical radioisotopes, scattered along the roads and paths. Not enough to be picked up by a radiation-detecting aircraft or satellite, but plenty to be picked up by ground-based sensors. You don't need much if you got the rumor mill going properly-start spreading rumors by radio and teletype that there's been a nuclear detonation in the desert, and bad news travels real fast."
"So all the messages and reports about an American nuclear attack…?"
"Provided by us," Sanusi said. "Complete with pictures, eyewitness accounts, sensor data, even some soldiers suffering radiation sickness. Combined with what's happened at Mersa Matruh, folks will believe anything now."
"Eventually the army will send in troops to secure this base," Chris Wohl said. "You can't fool them forever."
"We'll be out of here before they get brave enough to send someone with more brains, Sergeant," Sanusi said. "But I think the action will be starting elsewhere, and they'll hold off on investigating Jaghbub for a while."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because I'll be the one starting the action," Sanusi said with a smile. "And now, with your help, we'll make an even bigger splash."
They drove out to the flight line, where the burned-out hulks of several helicopters and one large jet, about the size of a Boeing 727, sat. The runway was lined with dozens of bomb craters-there didn't appear to be more than one or two hundred feet of usable pavement any-
where. But Patrick already figured that Sanusi and his men were masters at concealment and camouflage. "Okay, Your Majesty-how did you do it?"
"A little sand, a little wood- it won't stand up to closer scrutiny, but visually, they look real enough," Sanusi replied. "A couple men can sweep them off to the side in a few minutes, and it takes less than an hour to put them all back in." He stopped his Humvee. "Your attack destroyed most of the buildings and facilities aboveground, but not all of them-and best of all, the POL storage is intact."
"It is?"
'The army put most of the petroleum storage underground, so your big explosive didn't destroy it," Sanusi explained. "The fuel farm your bombs blew up were the old tanks. The underground tanks were topped off, toothere's probably one hundred thousand gallons of jet fuel down there, ready to go. Maybe more. All his weapons are underground, too-bombs, missiles, rockets, guns, rifles, and ammunition from seven-millimeter to fifty-sevenmillimeter. I would need a thousand men to help me haul it all away." He looked at Patrick. "And I'll trade it all for some help."
"What do you want us to do?"
"Stop Zuwayy and whoever's behind this sudden military buildup of his," Sanusi said. "Zuwayy's got something up his sleeve, and he's getting some big-time financing to do it. I'm only irritating him right now-but you could really put the hurt on him. I assume that because you were still in the vicinity of the base, you didn't use all your resources here-I'm convinced you can destroy any base, any military site, in Libya or Egypt."
Just then, Patrick heard, "Tin Man, this is Headbanger."
"Go ahead, Headbanger."
"Thank God we got you, sir," George "Zero" Tanaka, the pilot aboard the EB-52 Megafortress bomber, said. "We were just about to bug out for an emergency landing strip. What's your situation?"
"We're secure," Patrick reported. "What's youi status?"
"We're a few minutes past bingo for the secondary recover base," Tanaka said. Patrick knew that the secondary recovery base for the EB-52 was an isolated abandoned air base near Vol'vata, in the extreme southern tip of Israel-no support, no fuel, just a relatively safe piece of concrete on which to set a two-hundred-thousand-pound plane and wait for help. It was also their last planned emergency recovery base-any other emergency strips they might use from here on out would be in Egypt, Libya, Sudan, or Algeria-or they would ditch in the Mediterranean Sea or Red Sea. "We lost our tanker support. Got any instructions for us?"
The question, Patrick thought, was rather moot now. Patrick knew he shouldn't trust anyone, especially a Libyan, but Muhammad as-Sanusi was different-or so he hoped.
"Yes, I have instructions," Patrick said. "Get a fix on my location-you'll find a seven-thousand-foot concrete airstrip here. We have fuel, possibly weapons, some support equipment."
There were a few moments of silence as the Megafortress crew plotted his location; then: "Ahh… verify this location, sir?" Tanaka asked.
"The location is accurate: Jaghbub, Libya."
"And you are secure?"
"Affirmative."
"Then you wouldn't mind telling me the nickname of the base where we launched from."
Their conversation was on a secure satellite link, but Patrick was still pleased that the Megafortress crew thought of a code phrase to use that only a few folks would know; plus, by saying a nickname, if Patrick was under duress, he could make up any name without arousing suspicion. "Hooterville," Patrick replied, giving the nickname the B-52 crews once used for Blytheville Air Force Base in rural northeastern Arkansas.
"Good copy, Tin Man," Tanaka replied. "We'll see you shortly."
Patrick turned to Muhammad as-Sanusi and extended a hand. "You've got yourself a deal, Your Majesty," he said. "My first plane will be here in a few minutes."
Sanusi issued orders in Arabic, and most of his men raced off in their vehicles. "My men will have the runway, taxiways, and hangars cleared away for your aircraft immediately," he said. He shook Patrick's armored hand. "Welcome to Jaghbub, United Kingdom of Libya. Ahlan wa sahlan, es salaem alekum. You are most welcome." He looked at Patrick's gloved hand, touching the strange BERP fabric and composite exoskeleton with wonder. "I have got to get me a few of these!" he said with glee.
Shortly after the 1986 American air attacks, the late Libyan dictator Colonel Muammar Qadhafi built a complex called Ginayna-"the Garden"-under the streets of the town of Hun. Ginayna was actually an immense complex of underground tunnels, shelters, alternate command posts, and military storage facilities, extending out several dozen kilometers around the city. Despite its size, it was possible to reach any point of Ginayna from anywhere on foot within an hour. When fully staffed-as it was right nowGinayna housed over thirty thousand persons.
The complex-five stories underground, shielded by six layers of Kevlar and steel and with its own power generator and air scrubbers, was meant to protect Qadhafi and his personal protection forces in case of another massive attack. It was said that Ginayna was the Doomsday shelter-since a very large majority of the personnel staffing it were women, it was said that Qadhafi planned to repopulate Libya with the personnel housed within Ginayna.
Jadallah Zuwayy considered Ginayna his primary residence. It was craziness to live anywhere else. He was surrounded by plenty of security, they were safe from most all bombs and missiles-the complex was considered strong enough to withstand anything except a direct hit bj a nuclear weapon-and there were plenty of escape routes out "of there. Sure, he lived like a rodent-but better to be a live rodent than a dead king.
Ginayna was broken into sections controlled by the various branches of the armed services, but Zuwayy stayed mostly in the section reserved as the operational headquarters of the Revolutionary Guard. This was Zuwayy's personal protection force; five thousand men and women, equipped with the best weapons and afforded the best training of all the Libyan armed forces. The main corps of the Revolutionary Guard was the Praetorian Guard, the unit charged with protection of Zuwayy himself, as opposed to all of the king's residences and offices.
It was the only unit in all of Libya that Zuwayy would trust with this particular group.