"How did you get on base?" Patrick asked. "The security on this base has never been tighter. How…?"
"It is about your wife, Wendy McLanahan," Sanusi said.
Patrick's mouth dropped open in surprise. Bradley stopped whimpering and broke out in a wide, teary-eyed smile. "Mommy…?"
"Fifteen minutes. Silver Strand State Park, east side, near the boat rental shop."
"I know where it is."
"Then be there in ten minutes," Patrick said. Sanusi disappeared-Patrick had no idea how he expected to get out of the gym after the commotion they started, but somehow he knew he would. "Let's go, Bradley."
"Are we going to see Mommy?" he asked excitedly. Patrick did not-could not-answer.
It took longer than ten minutes for Patrick to explain to Fred Jackson and his security police units what all the yelling and screaming was about. But Patrick explained everything to Jackson, including where and when he was going to meet with Sanusi. Jackson offered to have a few of his men tag along, but Patrick declined.
He already had someone on the way prepared to do that.
It was thirty minutes later when Patrick arrived at the rendezvous point, a small glass-and-concrete white building between the base and the Loews Coronado Resort where folks could rent sailboats during the summer. Sanusi and his men didn't arrive for another twenty minutes. Patrick was somewhat dismayed to see them-he had thought security at the naval base was tighter than that.
Patrick's concern was assuaged after he met up with Sanusi and greeted him. "I am sorry to be late, my friendthe naval security forces detained us momentarily," the king said. "I am grateful you explained who we were. They agreed to release us under your supervision-after they took away our ID cards."
"You had false ID cards?"
"Real ID cards with false photos on them," Sanusi said. "It is laughably easy to take IDs from lockers in your recreation facilities. We had no trouble crossing the Mexican border with false Israeli passports, and getting on base was simplicity itself-does no one patrol the shores at your seaside bases?"
"What about my wife, Your Highness?" Patrick asked.
"Ah yes-enough of the security lecture," Sanusi said. "I believe your wife is alive, my friend. She and several Americans are still held by the pretender Zuwayy in Tripoli, in one of his underground bunkers south of the city."
Patrick knelt down and put an arm around his son, hugging him with joy. Bradley was more interested in Sanusi's men, one of whom now had a splint around his left knee. "Have your men seen her? Are you certain?"
"We have not seen her," Sanusi replied. "But the guards have reported to my men that the woman spoke her name, and that name was McLanahan. When this was told to me, I ordered my agents inside Tripoli to try to stay in contact with her, and I made arrangements to travel here to tell you myself. Because of you, my men and I are still patrolling the desert, probing for weaknesses in the Libyan army. We will help you all we can."
"I'm grateful, Your Highness," Patrick said. "I just hope we can reach her in time." He turned away and spoke: "Patrick to Luger, Briggs, and Wohl."
"Luger's up."
"Wohl's up, in sight, your four o'clock." Patrick turned, and Sanusi looked in the same direction-just as Chris Wohl peeked his head above the low concrete rim of an adjacent rest room building about a hundred yards away. Patrick had called and asked that he cover him and Bradley during this meeting-just in case.
"Very wise precaution, General McLanahan," Muhammad as-Sanusi commented, his smile beaming. He waved at Wohl; his wave was not returned. None of them could see what weapon Wohl was carrying, but there were no doubts in anyone's mind that he was more than proficient with it at this close range.
"Just a heads-up, Muck-Naval Intelligence has just initiated a foreign-contact log on you," David Luger reported. "They'll start setting up surveillance on you, probably tap your phones, all that stuff. The contact log said that Muhammad as-Sanusi made contact with you right there in Coronado?"
"He and his men are with me right now," Patrick said. "So I should assume we're under surveillance right now, correct?"
"I think that would be a safe assumption. What's happening?"
"The king says Wendy and the Americans are alive."
"Holy shit! That's great! Can we confirm it? Do we have a location?"
"No, and no," Patrick said. "But I want to get the force loaded up and headed back to Jaghbub right away."
"You got it, Muck," Briggs said. "But just to let you know, the feds have really cracked down on Sky Masters. They've got us in virtual lockdown as we speak, and Jon has received notice of an FBI security inspection team that wants unlimited access to inspect the base tomorrow morning. My guess is that they're not there to do a security audit-they'll shut down the facility. I'm sure we've got Defense Intelligence Agency guys on our butts, and now we'll have to contend with Naval Intelligence."
"Which means we start immediately," Patrick said. "I'll go with the king and Dave to Libya and get the base set up; you and Chris will split up and help Jon get our planes airborne with as many weapons and as much fuel as we can carry."
The Suburban screeched to a halt in front of the security gate, and six men in plain dark business suits hopped out and assembled at the electric gate. The man from the front passenger seat picked up the phone mounted on the fence beside the gate. "Special Agent Willison, FBI, Los Angeles. My office called this morning." The gate was buzzed open by the guards inside, and the agents rushed in.
They were met inside the guardhouse by a young man who extended his hand to welcome them but was greeted instead by upraised ID cards and stern, intimidating expressions. "I'm Special Agent Larry Willison, FBI," the lead agent said. "And you are?"
"John Landow, assistant security director of Sky Masters Inc., the prime contractor in this facility."
"I asked to meet directly with Dr. Masters or General McLanahan. Where are they?"
"They're both in the lab right now," Landow said, "but they can meet you as soon as you clear security."
"I happen to know that General McLanahan is in San Diego," Willison said angrily, "and Dr. Masters was told to meet us here. Now I want you to call him and have him meet us right outside. I've been ordered to consider any more delays as obstructing a federal investigation, and I am authorized to take him, and anyone else who doesn't cooperate fully, into custody."
"Agent Willison, I assure you, no one is trying to hamper any investigation," Landow said. Landow was tall, in his early sixties, with bright blue eyes and a ready smile-
but when the smile vanished, he looked very mean and serious. "I was informed the general was here-if I'm mistaken, then I apologize. And I promise you, Dr. Masters will be right outside by the time you clear security."
"What do you mean, 'clear security'?" one of the other agents asked. "We submitted all of our credentials yesterday. We're demanding immediate access. That means right now."
"Agent, if you knew anything at all about this facility, you know that no one gets immediate access," Landow said. "The security requirements in this facility are established by folks very much higher than our pay grades or even our boss's pay grade, and I'm not allowed to violate them. I faxed your office a copy of the entry procedures-I trust you received them?" The FBI agents nodded. "That is exactly what we'll do. My time estimate is accurate-no more than fifteen minutes to clear security. Shall we get started?"
Willison and the others had no choice but to agree. "But I want no one else to enter or leave this facility," he said. "That outer gate remains locked. All aircraft movement will cease immediately, all aircraft engines will be shut down, and all external power carts will be detached from all aircraft. If we see one aircraft with even so much as a courtesy light on, we'll arrest each and every individual in this facility."