The Icarus Agenda Part 1

The Icarus Agenda.

by Robert Ludlum.

Prologue

The silhouetted figure in the doorway rushed into the dark, windowless room. He closed the door and, by rote, quickly made his way across the spotless black vinyl floor to a bra.s.s table lamp on his left. He switched on the light, the low-wattage bulb creating shadows throughout the confined, panelled study. The room was small and confining but not without ornamentation. The objets d'art, however, were neither from antiquity nor from the progressive stages of historical artistry. Instead, they represented the most contemporary equipment of high technology.The right wall glistened with the reflection of stainless steel, and the quiet whirr of a dust-inhibiting, dust-removing air-conditioning unit ensured pristine cleanliness. The owner and sole occupant of this room crossed to a chair in front of a computer-driven word processor and sat down. He turned on a switch; the screen came alive and he typed in a code. Instantly, the bright green letters responded.

Ultra Maximum SecureNo Existing InterceptsProceed The figure hunched over the keyboard, his anxiety at fever pitch, and proceeded to enter his data.

I start this journal now for the events that follow I believe will alter the course of a nation. A man has come from seemingly nowhere, like an artless messiah without an inkling of his calling or his destiny. He is marked for things beyond his understanding, and if my projections are accurate, this will be a record of his journey... I can only imagine how it began, but I know it began in chaos.

Chapter 1.

Masqat, Oman. Southwest AsiaTuesday, 10 August, 6:30 pm The angry waters of the Oman Gulf were a prelude to the storm racing down through the Strait of Hormuz into the Arabian Sea. It was sundown, marked by the strident prayers nasally intoned by bearded muezzins in the minarets of the port city's mosques. The sky was darkening under the black thunderheads that swirled ominously across the lesser darkness of evening like roving behemoths. Blankets of heat lightning sporadically fired the eastern horizon over the Makran Mountains of Turbat, two hundred miles across the sea in Pakistan. To the north beyond the borders of Afghanistan, a senseless, brutal war continued. To the west an even more senseless war raged, fought by children led to their deaths by the diseased madman in Iran intent on spreading his malignancy. And to the south, there was Lebanon where men killed without compunction, each faction with religious fervour calling the others terrorists when all-without exception-indulged in barbaric terrorism.The Middle East, especially Southwest Asia, was on fire, and where the fires had previously been repelled, they were no longer. As the waters of the Gulf of Oman furiously churned this early evening and the skies promised a sweep of ravage, the streets of Masqat, the capital of the Sultanate of Oman, matched the approaching storm. The prayers over, the crowds again converged with flaming torches, streaming out of side streets and alleyways, a column of hysterical protest, the target the floodlit iron gates of the American Emba.s.sy. The facade of pink stucco beyond was patrolled by scrubby long-haired children awkwardly gripping automatic weapons. The trigger meant death, but in their wild-eyed zealotry they could not make the connection with that finality. They were told there was no such thing as death, no matter what their eyes might tell them. The rewards of martyrdom where everything, the more painful the sacrifice the more glorious the martyr-the pain of their enemies meant nothing. Blindness! Madness!It was the twenty-second day of this insanity, twenty-one days, since the civilized world had been forced once again to accept the dreary fact of incoherent fury. Masqat's fanatical ground swell had burst from nowhere and now was suddenly everywhere, and no one knew why. No one, except the a.n.a.lysts of the darker arts of brush fire insurrections, those men and women who spent their days and nights probing, dissecting, finally perceiving the roots of orchestrated revolt. For the key was 'orchestrated'. Who? Why? What do they really want and how do we stop them?Facts: Two hundred and forty-seven Americans had been rounded up under guns and taken hostage. Eleven had been killed, their corpses thrown out of the emba.s.sy windows, each body accompanied by shattering gla.s.s, each death via a different window. Someone had told these children how to emphasize each execution with a jolting surprise. Wagers were excitedly made beyond the iron gates by shrieking maniacal betters mesmerized by blood. Which window was next? Would the corpse be a man or a woman? How much is your judgment worth? How much? Bet!Above on the open roof was the luxurious emba.s.sy pool behind an Arabic latticework not meant for protection against bullets. It was around that pool that the hostages knelt in rows as wandering groups of killers aimed machine pistols at their heads. Two hundred and thirty-six frightened, exhausted Americans awaiting execution.Madness!Decisions: Despite well-intentioned Israeli offers, keep them out! This was not Entebbe and all their expertise notwithstanding, the blood Israel had shed in Lebanon would, in Arab eyes, label any attempt an abomination: The United States had financed terrorists to fight terrorists. Unacceptable. A rapid deployment strike force? Who could scale four storeys or drop down from helicopters to the roof and stop the executions when the executioners were only too willing to die as martyrs? A naval blockade with a battalion of marines prepared for an invasion of Oman? Beyond a show of overpowering might, to what purpose? The sultan and his ruling ministers were the last people on earth who wanted this violence at the emba.s.sy. The peacefully-oriented Royal Police tried to contain the hysteria, but they were no match for the roving, wild bands of agitators. Years of quiescence in the city had not prepared them for such chaos; and to recall the Royal Military from the Yemenite borders could lead to unthinkable problems. The armed forces patrolling that festering sanctuary for international killers were as savage as their enemies. Beyond the inevitable fact that with their return to the capital the borders would collapse in carnage, blood would surely flow through the streets of Masqat and the gutters choke with the innocent and the guilty.Checkmate.Solutions: Give in to the stated demands? Impossible, and well understood by those responsible though not by their puppets, the children who believed what they chanted, what they screamed. There was no way governments throughout Europe and the Middle East would release over 8,000 terrorists from such organizations as the Brigate Rosse and the PLO, the Baader Meinhof, the IRA and scores of their squabbling, sordid offspring. Continue to tolerate the endless coverage, the probing cameras and reams of copy that riveted the world's attention on the publicity-hungry fanatics? Why not? The constant exposure, no doubt, kept additional hostages from being killed since the executions had been 'temporarily suspended' so that the 'oppressor nations' could ponder their choices. To end the news coverage would only inflame the wild-eyed seekers of martyrdom. Silence would create the need for shock. Shock was newsworthy and killing was the ultimate shock.Who?What?How?Who...? That was the essential question whose answer would lead to a solution-a solution that had to be found within five days. The executions had been suspended for a week, and two days had pa.s.sed, frantically chewed up as the most knowledgeable leaders of the intelligence services from six nations gathered in London. All had arrived on supersonic aircraft within hours of the decision to pool resources, for each knew its own emba.s.sy might be next. Somewhere. They had worked without rest for forty-eight hours. Results: Oman remained an enigma. It had been considered a rock of stability in Southwest Asia, a sultanate with educated, enlightened leadership as close to representative government as a divine family of Islam could permit. The rulers were from a privileged household that apparently respected what Allah had given them-not merely as a birthright, but as a responsibility in the last half of the twentieth century.Conclusions: The insurrection had been externally programmed. No more than twenty of the two hundred-odd unkempt, shrieking youngsters had been specifically identified as Omanis. Therefore, covert operations officers with sources in every extremist faction in the Mediterranean-Arabian axis went instantly to work, pulling in contacts, bribing, threatening.'Who are they, Aziz? There's only a spitful from Oman, and most of those are considered simple-minded. Come on, Aziz. Live like a sultan. Name an outrageous price. Try me!''Six seconds, Mahmet! Six seconds and your right hand is on the floor without a wrist! Next goes your left. We're on countdown, thief. Give me the information!' Six, Five, four... Blood.Nothing. Zero. Madness.And then a breakthrough. It came from an ancient muezzin, a holy man whose words and memory were as shaky as his gaunt frame might be in the winds now racing down from Hormuz.'Do not look where you would logically expect to look. Search elsewhere.''Where?''Where grievances are not born of poverty or abandonment. Where Allah has bestowed favour in this world, although perhaps not in the after one.''Be clearer, please, most revered muezzin.''Allah does not will such clarification-His will be done. Perhaps He does not take sides-so be it.''But surely you must have a reason for saying what you're saying!''As Allah has given me that reason-His will be done.''How's that again?''Quiet rumours heard in the corners of the mosque. Whispers these old ears were meant to hear. I hear so little I should not have heard them had Allah not willed it so.''There must be more!''The whispers speak of those who will benefit from the bloodshed.''Who?''No names are spoken of, no men of consequence mentioned.''Any group or organization? Please! A sect, a country, a people? The Shiites, the Saudis... Iraqi, Irani... the Soviets?''No. Neither believers nor unbelievers are talked of, only "they"?''They?''That is what I hear whispered in the dark corners of the mosque, what Allah wants me to hear-may His will be done. Only the word "they".''Can you identify any of those you heard!''I am nearly blind, and there is always very little light when these few among so many worshippers speak. I can identify no one. I only know that I must convey what I hear, for it is the will of Allah.''Why, muezzin murdenis? Why is it Allah's will?''The bloodshed must stop. The Koran says that when blood is spilled and justified by impa.s.sioned youth, the pa.s.sions must be examined, for youth-''Forget it! We'll send a couple of men back into the mosque with you. Signal us when you hear something!''In a month, ya Shaikh. I am about to undertake my final pilgrimage to Mecca. You are merely part of my journey. It is the will of-''G.o.dd.a.m.n it!''It is your G.o.d, ya Shaikh. Not mine. Not ours.'

Chapter 2.

Washington DCWednesday, 11 August, 11:50 am The noonday sun beat down on the capital's pavement; the midsummer's air was still with the oppressive heat. Pedestrians walked with uncomfortable determination, men's collars open, ties loosened. Briefcases and bags hung like dead weights while their owners stood impa.s.sively at intersections waiting for the lights to change. Although scores of men and women-by and large servants of the government and therefore of the people-may have had urgent matters on their minds, urgency was difficult to summon in the streets. A torpid blanket had descended over the city, numbing those who ventured outside air-conditioned rooms and offices and cars.A traffic accident had taken place at the corner of twenty-third Street and Virginia Avenue. It was not major in terms of damage or injury, but it was far from minor where tempers were concerned. A taxi had collided with a government car emerging from an underground parking ramp of the State Department. Both drivers-righteous, hot and fearing their superiors-stood by their vehicles accusing each other, yelling in the blistering heat while awaiting the police who had been summoned by a pa.s.sing government employee. Within moments the traffic was congested; horns blared and angry shouts came from reluctantly opened windows.The pa.s.senger in the cab climbed impatiently out of the back seat. He was a tall, slender man in his early forties, and seemed out of place in surroundings that included summer suits, neat print dresses and attache cases. He wore a pair of rumpled khaki trousers, boots and a soiled cotton safari jacket that took the place of a shirt. The effect was of a man who did not belong in the city, a professional guide, perhaps, who had strayed out of the higher and wilder mountains. Yet his face belied his clothes. It was clean-shaven, his features sharp and clearly defined, his light blue eyes aware, squinting, darting about and a.s.sessing the situation as he made his decision. He put his hand on the argumentative driver's shoulder; the man whipped around and the pa.s.senger gave him two $20 bills.'I have to leave,' said the fare.'Hey, come on, mister! You saw! That son of a b.i.t.c.h pulled out with no horn, no nothing!''I'm sorry. I wouldn't be able to help you. I didn't see or hear anything until the collision.''Oh, boy! Big John Q! He don't see and he don't hear! Don't get involved, huh?''I'm involved,' replied the pa.s.senger quietly, taking a third $20 bill and shoving it into the driver's top jacket pocket. 'But not here.'The oddly-dressed man dodged through the gathering crowd and started down the block towards Third Street-towards the imposing gla.s.s doors of the State Department. He was the only person running on the pavement.The designated situation room in the underground complex at the Department of State was labelled OHIO-Four-Zero. Translated it meant 'Oman, maximum alert'. Beyond the metal door rows of computers clacked incessantly, and every now and then a machine-having instantaneously crosschecked with the central data bank-emitted a short high-pitched signal announcing new or previously unreported information. Intense men and women studied the printouts, trying to evaluate what they read.Nothing. Zero. Madness!Inside that large, energized room was another metal door, smaller than the entrance and with no access to the corridor. It was the office of the senior official in charge of the Masqat crisis; at arm's length was a telephone console with links to every seat of power and every source of information in Washington. The current proprietor was a middle-aged deputy director of Consular Operations, the State Department's little known arm of covert activities. His name was Frank Swann, and at the moment-a high noon that held no sunlight for him-his head with its prematurely grey hair lay on his folded arms on the top of the desk. He had not had a night's sleep for nearly a week, making do with only such naps as this one.The console's sharp hum jarred him awake; his right hand shot out. He punched the lighted b.u.t.ton and picked up the phone. 'Yes?... What is it?' Swann shook his head and swallowed air, only partially relieved that the caller was his secretary five storeys above. He listened, then spoke wearily. ' Who? Congressman, a congressman? The last thing I need is a congressman. How the h.e.l.l did he get my name?... Never mind, spare me. Tell him I'm in conference-with G.o.d, if you like-or go one better and say with the secretary.''I've prepared him for something like that. It's why I'm calling from your office. I told him I could only reach you on this phone.'Swann blinked. 'That's going some distance for my Praetorian Guard, Ivy-the-terrible. Why so far, Ivy?''It's what he said, Frank. And also what I had to write down because I couldn't understand him.''Let's have both.''He said his business concerned the problem you're involved with-''n.o.body knows what I'm-forget it. What else?''I wrote it down phonetically. He asked me to say the following: "Ma efham zain." Does that make any sense to you, Frank?'Stunned, Deputy Director Swann again shook his head, trying to clear his mind further, but needing no further clearance for the visitor five floors above. The unknown congressman had just implied in Arabic that he might be of help. 'Get a guard and send him down here,' Swann said.Seven minutes later the door of the office in the underground complex was opened by a marine sergeant. The visitor walked in, nodding to his escort as the guard closed the door.Swann rose from his desk apprehensively. The 'congressman' hardly lived up to the image of any member of the House of Representatives he had ever seen-at least in Washington. He was dressed in boots, khaki trousers and a summer hunting jacket that had taken too much abuse from the spattering of campfire frying pans. Was he an ill-timed joke?'Congressman-?' said the deputy director, his voice trailing off for want of a name as he extended his hand.'Evan Kendrick, Mr. Swann,' replied the visitor, approaching the desk and shaking hands. 'I'm the first term man from Colorado's ninth district.''Yes, of course, Colorado's ninth. I'm sorry I didn't-''No apologies are necessary, except perhaps from me-for the way I look. There's no reason for you to know who I am-''Let me add something here,' interrupted Swann pointedly. 'There's also no reason for you to know who I am, Congressman.''I understand that, but it wasn't very difficult. Even newly-arrived representatives have access-at least the secretary I inherited does. I knew where to look over here, I just needed to refine the prospects. Someone in State's Consular Operations-''That's not a household name, Mr. Kendrick,' interrupted Swann again, again with emphasis.'In my house it was once-briefly. Anyway, I wasn't just looking for a Middle East hand, but an expert in Southwest Arab affairs, someone who knew the language and a dozen dialects fluently. The man I wanted would have to be someone like that... You were there, Mr. Swann.''You've been busy.''So have you,' said the congressman, nodding his head at the door and the huge outer office with the banks of computers. 'I a.s.sume you understood my message or else I wouldn't be here.''Yes,' agreed the deputy director. 'You said you might be able to help. Is that true?''I don't know. I only knew I had to offer.''Offer? On what basis?''May I sit down?''Please. I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just tired.' Kendrick sat down; Swann did the same, looking strangely at the freshman politician. 'Go ahead, Congressman. Time's valuable, every minute, and we've been concerned with this "problem", as you described it to my secretary, for a few long, hairy weeks. Now I don't know what you've got to say or whether it's relevant or not, but if it is, I'd like to know why it's taken you so long to get here.''I hadn't heard anything about the events over in Oman. About what's happened-what's happening.''That's d.a.m.n near impossible to believe. Is the Congressman from Colorado's ninth district spending the House recess at a Benedictine retreat?''Not exactly.''Or is it possible that a new ambitious congressman who speaks some Arabic,' went on Swann rapidly, quietly, unpleasantly, 'elaborates on a few cloakroom rumours about a certain section over here and decides to insert himself for a little political mileage down the road? It wouldn't be the first time.'Kendrick sat motionless in the chair, his face without expression, but not his eyes. They were at once observant and angry. 'That's offensive,' he said.'I'm easily offended under the circ.u.mstances. Eleven of our people have been killed, mister, including three women. Two hundred and thirty-six others are waiting to get their heads blown off! And I ask you if you can really help and you tell me you don't know, but you have to offer! To me that has the sound of a hissing snake so I watch my step. You walk in here with a language you probably learned making big bucks with some oil company and figure that ent.i.tles you to special consideration-maybe you're a "consultant"; it has a nice ring to it. A freshman pol is suddenly a consultant to the State Department during a national crisis. Whichever way it goes, you win. That'd lift a few hats in Colorado's ninth district, wouldn't it?''I imagine it would if anyone knew about it.''What?' Once again the deputy director stared at the congressman, not so much in irritation now but because of something else. Did he know him?'You're under a lot of stress so I won't add to it. But if what you're thinking is a barrier, let's get over it. If you decide I might be of some value to you, the only way I'd agree is with a written guarantee of anonymity, no other way. No one's to know I've been here. I never talked to you or anyone else.'Nonplussed, Swann leaned back in his chair and brought his hand to his chin. 'I do know you,' he said softly.'We've never met.''Say what you want to say, Congressman. Start somewhere.''I'll start eight hours ago,' began Kendrick. 'I've been riding the Colorado white water into Arizona for almost a month-that's the Benedictine retreat you conjured up for the congressional recess. I pa.s.sed through Lava Falls and reached a base camp. There were people there, of course, and it was the first time I'd heard a radio in nearly four weeks.''Four weeks?' repeated Swann. 'You've been out of touch all that time? Do you do this sort of thing often?''Pretty much every year,' answered Kendrick. 'It's become kind of a ritual,' he added quietly. 'I go alone; it's not pertinent.''Some politician,' said the deputy, absently picking up a pencil. 'You can forget the world, Congressman, but you still have a const.i.tuency.''No politician,' replied Evan Kendrick, permitting himself a slight smile. 'And my const.i.tuency's an accident, believe me. Anyway, I heard the news and moved as fast as I could. I hired a river plane to fly me to Flagstaff and tried to charter a jet to Washington. It was too late at night, too late to clear a flight plan, so I flew on to Phoenix and caught the earliest plane here. Those in-flight phones are a marvel. I'm afraid I monopolized one, talking to a very experienced secretary and a number of other people. I apologize for the way I look; the airline provided a razor but I didn't want to take the time to go home and change clothes. I'm here, Mr. Swann, and you're the man I want to see. I may be of absolutely no help to you, and I'm sure you'll tell me if I'm not. But to repeat, I had to offer.'While his visitor spoke, the deputy had written the name 'Kendrick' on the pad in front of him. Actually, he had written it several times, underlining the name. Kendrick. Kendrick. Kendrick. 'Offer what?' he asked, frowning and looking up at the odd intruder. ' What, Congressman?''Whatever I know about the area and the various factions operating over there. Oman, the Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar-Masqat, Dubai, Abu Dhabi-up to Kuwait and down to Riyadh. I lived in those places. I worked there. I know them very well.''You lived-worked-all over the Southwest map?''Yes. I spent eighteen months in Masqat alone. Under contract to the family.''The sultan?''The late sultan; he died two or three years ago, I think. But yes, under contract to him and his ministers. They were a tough group and good. You had to know your business.''Then you worked for a company,' said Swann, making a statement, not asking a question.'Yes.''Which one?''Mine,' answered the new congressman.'Yours?''That's right.'The deputy stared at his visitor, then lowered his eyes to the name he had written repeatedly on the pad in front of him. 'Good Lord,' he said softly. 'The Kendrick Group! That's the connection, but I didn't see it. I haven't heard your name in four or five years-maybe six.''You were right the first time. Four to be exact.''I knew there was something. I said so-''Yes, you did, but we never met.''You people built everything from water systems to bridges-race tracks, housing projects, country clubs, airfields-the whole thing.''We built what we were contracted to build.''I remember. It was ten or twelve years ago. You were the American wonder boys in the Emirates-and I do mean boys. Dozens of you in your twenties and thirties and filled with high tech, p.i.s.s and vinegar.''Not all of us were that young-''No,' interrupted Swann, frowning in thought. 'You had a late-blooming secret weapon, an old Israeli, a whiz of an architect. An Israeli, for heaven's sake, who could design things in the Islamic style and broke bread with every rich Arab in the neighbourhood.'His name was Emmanuel Weingra.s.s-is Manny Weingra.s.s-and he's from Garden Street in the Bronx in New York. He went to Israel to avoid legal entanglements with his second or third wife. He's close to eighty now and living in Paris. Pretty well, I gather, from his phone calls.''That's right,' said the deputy director. 'You sold out to Bechtel or somebody For thirty or forty million.''Not to Bechtel. It was Trans-International, and it wasn't thirty or forty, it was twenty-five. They got a bargain and I got out. Everything was fine.'Swann studied Kendrick's face, especially the light blue eyes that held within them circles of enigmatic reserve the longer one stared at them. 'No, it wasn't,' he said softly, even gently, his hostility gone. 'I do remember now. There was an accident at one of your sites outside Riyadh-a cave-in caused when a faulty gas line exploded-more than seventy people were killed including your partners, all your employees, and some kids.''Their kids,' added Evan quietly. 'All of them, all their wives and children. We were celebrating the completion of the third phase. We were all there. The crew, my partners-everyone's wife and child. The whole sh.e.l.l collapsed while they were inside, and Manny and I were outside-putting on some ridiculous clown costumes.''But there was an investigation that cleared the Kendrick Group completely. The utility firm that serviced the site had installed inferior conduit falsely labelled as certified.''Essentially, yes.''That's when you packed it all in, wasn't it?''This isn't pertinent,' said the congressman simply. 'We're wasting time. Since you know who I am, or at least who I was, is there anything I can do?''Do you mind if I ask you a question? I don't think it's a waste of time and I think it is pertinent. Clearances are part of the territory and judgments have to be made. I meant what I said before. A lot of people on the Hill continuously try to make political mileage out of us over here.''What's the question?''Why are you a congressman, Mr. Kendrick? With your money and professional reputation, you don't need it. And I can't imagine how you'd benefit, certainly not compared to what you could do in the private sector.''Do all people seeking elective office do so solely for personal gain?''No, of course not.' Swann paused, then shook his head. 'Sorry, that's too glib. It's a stock answer to a loaded stock question... Yes, Congressman, in my biased opinion, most ambitious men-and women-who run for such offices do so because of the exposure and, if they win, the clout. Combined, it all makes them very marketable. Sorry again, this is a cynic talking. But then I've been in this city for a long time and I see no reason to alter that judgment. And you confuse me. I know where you come from, and I've never heard of Colorado's ninth district. It sure as h.e.l.l isn't Denver.''It's barely on the map,' said Kendrick, his voice noncommittal. 'It's at the base of the southwest Rockies, doing pretty much its own thing. That's why I built there. It's off the beaten track.''But why? Why politics? Did the boy-wonder of the Arab Emirates find a district he could carve out for his own base, a political launching pad maybe?''Nothing could have been farther from my mind.''That's a statement, Congressman. Not an answer.'Evan Kendrick was momentarily silent, returning Swann's gaze. Then he shrugged his shoulders. Swann sensed a certain embarra.s.sment. 'All right,' he said firmly. 'Let's call it an aberration that won't happen again. There was a vacuous, overbearing inc.u.mbent who was lining his pockets in a district that wasn't paying attention. I had time on my hands and a big mouth. I also had the money to bury him. I'm not necessarily proud of what I did or how I did it, but he's gone and I'll be out in two years or less. By then I'll have found someone better qualified to take my place.''Two years?' asked Swann. 'Come November it'll be a year since your election, correct?''That's right.''And you started serving last January?''So?''Well, I hate to disabuse you, but your term of office is for two years. You've either got one more year or three, but not two or less.''There's no real opposition party in the ninth, but to make sure the seat doesn't go to the old political machine, I agreed to stand for re-election-then resign.''That's some agreement.''It's binding as far as I'm concerned. I want out.''That's blunt enough, but it doesn't take into account a possible side effect.''I don't understand you.''Suppose during the next twenty-odd months you decide you like it here? What happens then?''It's not possible and it couldn't happen, Mr. Swann. Let's get back to Masqat. It's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned mess, or do I have sufficient "clearance" to make that observation?''You're cleared because I'm the one who clears.' The deputy director shook his grey head. 'A G.o.dd.a.m.ned mess, Congressman, and we're convinced it's externally programmed.''I don't think there's any question about it,' agreed Kendrick.'Do you have any ideas?''A few,' answered the visitor. 'Wholesale destabilization's at the top of the list. Shut the country down and don't let anyone in.''A takeover?' asked Swann. 'A Khomeini-style Putsch?... It wouldn't work; the situation's different. There's no Peac.o.c.k, no festering resentments, no SAVAK.' Swann paused, adding pensively, 'No Shah with an army of thieves and no Ayatollah with an army of fanatics. It's not the same.''I didn't mean to imply that it was. Oman's only the beginning. Whoever it is doesn't want to take over the country, he-or they-simply want to stop others from taking the money.''What? What money?''Billions. Long-range projects that are on drafting boards everywhere in the Persian Gulf, Saudi Arabia, and all of Southwest Asia, the only stable areas in that part of the world. What's happening over there now isn't much different from tying up the transport and the construction trades over here, or shutting down the piers in New York and New Orleans, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Nothing's legitimized by strikes or collective bargaining-there's just terror and the threats of more terror provided by whipped-up fanatics. And everything stops. The people at the drafting boards and those in the field on surveying teams and in equipment compounds just want to get out as fast as they can.''And once they're out,' added Swann quickly, 'those behind the terrorists move in and the terror stops. It just goes away. Christ, it sounds like a waterfront Mafia operation!''Arabic style,' said Kendrick. 'To use your words, it wouldn't be the first time.''You know that for a fact?''Yes. Our company was threatened a number of times, but to quote you again, we had a secret weapon. Emmanuel Weingra.s.s.''Weingra.s.s? What the h.e.l.l could he do?''Lie with extraordinary conviction. One moment he was a reserve general in the Israeli Army who could call an air strike on any Arab group who hara.s.sed or replaced us, and the next, he was a high-ranking member of the Mossad who would send out death squads eliminating even those who warned us. Like many ageing men of genius, Manny was frequently eccentric and almost always theatrical. He enjoyed himself. Unfortunately, his various wives rarely enjoyed him for very long. At any rate, no one wanted to tangle with a crazy Israeli. The tactics were too familiar.''Are you suggesting we recruit him?' asked the deputy director.'No. Apart from his age, he's winding up his life in Paris with the most beautiful women he can hire and certainly with the most expensive brandy he can find. He couldn't help... But there's something you can do.''What's that?''Listen to me.' Kendrick leaned forward. 'I've been thinking about this for the past eight hours and with every hour I'm more convinced it's a possible explanation. The problem is that there are so few facts-almost none, really-but a pattern's there, and it's consistent with things we heard five years ago.''What things? What pattern?''Only rumours to begin with, then came the threats and they were threats. No one was kidding.''Go on. I'm listening.''While defusing those threats in his own way, usually with prohibited whisky, Weingra.s.s heard something that made too much sense to be dismissed as drunken babbling. He was told that a consortium was silently being formed-an industrial cartel, if you like. It was quietly gaining control of dozens of different companies with growing resources in personnel, technology and equipment. The objective was obvious then, and if the information's accurate, even more obvious now. They intend to take over the industrial development of Southwest Asia. As far as Weingra.s.s could learn, this underground federation was based in Bahrain-nothing surprising there-but what came as a shocker and amused the h.e.l.l out of Manny was the fact that among the unknown board of directors was a man who called himself the "Mahdi"-like the Muslim fanatic who threw the British out of Khartoum a hundred years ago.''The Mahdi? Khartoum?''Exactly. The symbol's obvious. Except this new Mahdi doesn't give a d.a.m.n about religious Islam, much less its screaming fanatics. He's using them to drive the compet.i.tion out and keep it out. He wants the contracts and the profits in Arab hands-specifically his hands.''Wait a minute." Swann interrupted thoughtfully as he picked up his phone and touched a b.u.t.ton on the console. 'This ties in with something that came from MI-6 in Masqat last night,' he continued quickly, looking at Kendrick. 'We couldn't follow it up because there wasn't anything to follow, no trail, but it sure as h.e.l.l made wild reading... Get me Gerald Bryce, please... h.e.l.lo, Gerry? Last night-actually around two o'clock this morning-we got a nothing-zero from the Brits in OHIO. I want you to find it and read it to me slowly because I'll be writing down every word.' The deputy covered the mouthpiece and spoke to his suddenly alert visitor. 'If anything you've said makes any sense at all, it may be the first concrete breakthrough we've had.''That's why I'm here, Mr. Swann, probably reeking of smoked fish.'The deputy director nodded aimlessly, impatiently, waiting for the man he had called Bryce to return to the phone. 'A shower wouldn't hurt, Congressman... Yes, Gerry, go ahead!... "Do not look where you would logically expect to look. Search elsewhere." Yes, I've got that. I remember that. It was right after, I think... "Where grievances are not born of poverty or abandonment." That's it! And something else, right around there... "Where Allah has bestowed favour in this world, although perhaps not in the after one."... Yes. Now go down a bit, something about whispers, that's all I remember... There! That's it. Give it to me again... "The whispers speak of those who will benefit from the bloodshed." Okay, Gerry, that's what I needed. The rest was all negative, if I recall. No names, no organizations, just c.r.a.p... That's what I thought... I don't know yet. If anything breaks, you'll be the first to know. In the meantime, oil up the equipment and work on a printout of all the construction firms in Bahrain. And if there's a listing for what we call general or industrial contractors, I want that, too... When? Yesterday for G.o.d's sake!' Swann hung up the phone, looked down at the phrases he had written, and then up at Kendrick.'You heard the words, Congressman. Do you want me to repeat them?''It's not necessary. They're not kalam-faregh, are they?''No, Mr. Kendrick. none of it's garbage. It's all very pertinent and I wish to h.e.l.l I knew what to do.''Recruit me, Mr. Swann,' said the congressman. 'Send me to Masqat on the fastest transport you can find.''Why?' asked the deputy, studying his visitor. 'What can you do that our own experienced men in the field can't? They not only speak fluent Arabic, most of them are Arabs.''And working for Consular Operations,' completed Kendrick.'So?''They're marked. They were marked five years ago and they're marked now. If they make any miswired moves, you could have a dozen executions on your hands.'That's an alarming statement,' said Swann slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his visitor's face. 'They're marked? Would you care to explain it?''I told you a few minutes ago that your Cons Op briefly became a household name over there. You made a gratuitous remark about my elaborating on congressional rumours, but I wasn't. I meant what I said.''A household name?''I'll go further, if you like. A household joke. An ex-army engineer and Manny Weingra.s.s even did a number on them.''A number...?''I'm sure it's in your files somewhere. We were approached by Hussein's people to submit plans for a new airfield after we'd completed one at Qufar in Saudi Arabia. The next day two of your men came to see us, asking technical questions, pressing the point that as Americans it was our duty to relay such information since Hussein frequently conferred with the Soviets-which, of course, was immaterial. An airport's an airport, and any d.a.m.n fool can fly over an excavation site and determine the configuration.''What was the number?''Manny and the engineer told them that the two main runways were seven miles long, obviously designed for very special flying equipment. They ran out of the office as if both were struck by acute diarrhea.''And?' Swann leaned forward.'The next day, Hussein's people called and told us to forget the project. We'd had visitors from Consular Operations. They didn't like that.'The deputy director leaned back in his chair, his weary smile conveying futility. 'Sometimes it's all kind of foolish, isn't it?''I don't think it's foolish now,' offered Kendrick.'No, of course it isn't.' Swann instantly sat forward in his chair. 'So the way you read it, this whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing is all about money. Lousy money!''If it isn't stopped, it'll get worse,' said Kendrick. 'Much worse.''Jesus, how?'Because it's a proven formula for economic takeover. Once they've crippled the government in Oman, they'll use the same tactics elsewhere. The Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar, even the Saudis. Whoever controls the fanatics gets the contracts, and with all those ma.s.sive operations under one ent.i.ty-regardless of the names they use-there's a dangerous political force in the area calling a lot of vital shots we definitely won't like.''Good Lord, you have thought this out.''I've done nothing else for the past eight hours.''Say I sent you over there, what could you do?''I won't know until I'm there, but I've got a few ideas. I know a number of influential men, powerful Omanis who know what goes on there and who couldn't possibly be any part of this insanity. For various reasons-probably the same mistrust we felt whenever your Cons Op flunkies showed up-they might not talk to strangers but they will talk to me. They trust me. I've spent days, weekends, with their families. I know their unveiled wives and their children-''Unveiled wives and children,' repeated Swann, interrupting. 'The ultimate s...o...b..t in the Arab vocabulary. The broth of friendship.''A harmonious mixture of ingredients,' agreed the congressman from Colorado. 'They'll work with me, perhaps not with you. Also, I'm familiar with most of the suppliers on the docks and in the lading offices, even people who avoid anything official because they make money out of what you can't get officially. I want to trace the money and the instructions that come with the money and end up inside the emba.s.sy. Someone somewhere is sending both.''Suppliers?' asked Swann, his eyebrows arched, his voice incredulous. 'You mean like food and medical supplies, that kind of thing?''That's only-''Are you crazy?' exclaimed the deputy director. 'Those hostages are our people!. We've opened the vaults, anything they need, anything we can get to them!''Like bullets and weapons and spare parts for weapons?''Of course not!''From all the accounts I read, what I could get my hands on at the newsstands in Flagstaff and Phoenix, every night after el Maghreb there's four or five hours of fireworks-thousands of rounds shot off, whole sections of the emba.s.sy sprayed with rifle and machine-gun fire.''It's part of their G.o.dd.a.m.ned terror!' exploded Swann. 'Can you imagine what it's like inside? Lined up against a wall under floodlights and all around you everything's being blasted with bullets, thinking, "Jesus, I'm going to be killed any second!" If we ever get those poor souls out, they'll be on couches for years trying to get rid of the nightmares!'Kendrick let the emotion of the moment pa.s.s. 'Those hotheads don't have an a.r.s.enal in there, Mr. Swann. I don't think the people running them would allow it. They're supplied. Just as the mimeograph machines are supplied because they don't know how to operate your copiers and word processors for the daily bulletins they print for the television cameras. Please try to understand. Maybe one in twenty of those crazies has a minimum intellect, much less a thought-out ideological position. They're the manipulated dregs of humanity given their own hysterical moments in the sun. Maybe it's our fault, I don't know, but I do know they're being programmed, and you know it, too. And behind that programming is a man who wants all of Southwest Asia to himself.''This Mahdi?''Whoever he is, yes.''You think you can find him?''I'll need help. Getting out of the airport, Arab clothes; I'll make a list.'The deputy director again leaned back in his chair, his fingers touching his chin. 'Why, Congressman? Why do you want to do this? Why does Evan Kendrick, multi-millionaire-entrepreneur want to put his very rich life on the line? There's nothing left for you over there. Why?''I suppose the simplest and most honest answer is that I might be able to help. As you've pointed out, I made a lot of money over there. Maybe this is the time to give a little of myself back.''If it was just money or "a little" of yourself, I'd have no trouble with that,' said Swann. 'But if I let you go, you'll be walking into a minefield and no training on how to survive. Has that thought struck you, Congressman? It should have.''I don't intend to storm the emba.s.sy,' answered Evan Kendrick.'You might not have to. Just ask the wrong person the wrong question and the results could be the same.''I could also be in a cab at Twenty-third Street and Virginia Avenue at noontime today and be in an accident.''I presume that means you were.''The point is I wasn't driving. I was in a taxi. I'm careful, Mr. Swann, and in Masqat, I know my way around the traffic, which isn't as unpredictable as Washington's.''Were you ever in military service?''No.''You were the right age for Vietnam, I'd guess. Any explanation?''I had a graduate school deferment. It kept me out.''Have you ever handled a gun?'I've had limited experience.''Which means you know where the trigger is and which end to point.''I said limited, not imbecilic. During the early days in the Emirates, we kept ourselves armed at our construction sites. Sometimes later also.''Ever had to fire one?' pressed the deputy director.'Certainly,' replied Kendrick, his voice calm, not rising to the bait. 'So I could learn where the trigger was and which end to point.''Very funny, but what I meant was did you ever have to fire a gun at another human being?''Is this necessary?''Yes, it is. I have to make a judgment.''All right then; yes, I did.''When was that?''When were they,' corrected the congressman. 'Among my partners and our American crew was a geologist, an equipment-logistics man, and several refugees from the Army Corps of Engineers-foreman types. We made frequent trips to potential sites for soil and shale testings and to set up fenced compounds for machinery. We drove a camper, and on several occasions we were attacked by bandits-wandering nomad gangs looking for strays. They've been a problem for years, and the authorities warn everyone heading into the interior to protect themselves. Not much different from any large city over here. I used a gun then.''To frighten or to kill, Mr. Kendrick?''By and large to frighten, Mr. Swann. However, there were times when we had to kill. They wanted to kill us. We reported all such incidents to the authorities.''I see,' said the deputy director of Consular Operations. 'What kind of shape are you in?'The visitor shook his head in exasperation. 'I smoke an occasional cigar or a cigarette after a meal, Doctor, and I drink moderately. I do not, however, lift weights or run in marathons. However, again, I do ride Cla.s.s Five white water and backpack in the mountains whenever I can. I also think this is a bunch of bulls.h.i.t.''Think what you like, Mr. Kendrick, but we're pressed for time. Simple, direct questions can help us a.s.sess a person just as accurately as a convoluted psychiatric report from one of our clinics in Virginia.''Blame that on the psychiatrists.''Tell me about it,' said Swann, with a hostile chuckle.'No, you tell me,' countered the visitor. 'Your show-and-tell games are over. Do I go or don't I, and if not, why not?'Swann looked up. 'You go, Congressman. Not because you're an ideal choice but because I don't have a choice. I'll try anything, including an arrogant son of a b.i.t.c.h which, under that cool exterior, I think you probably are.''You're probably right,' said Kendrick. 'Can you give me briefing papers on whatever you've got?''They'll be delivered to the plane before takeoff at Andrews Air Force Base. But they can't leave that plane, Congressman, and you can't make any notes. Someone will be watching you.''Understood.''Are you sure? We'll give you whatever deep cover help we can under severe restrictions, but you're a private citizen acting on your own, your political position notwithstanding. In short words, if you're taken by hostile elements, we don't know you. We can't help you then. We won't risk the lives of two hundred and thirty-six hostages. Is that understood?''Yes, it is, because it's directly in line with what I made clear when I walked in here. I want a written guarantee of anonymity. I was never here. I never saw you, and I never talked to you. Send a memo up to the Secretary of State. Say you had a phone call from a political ally of mine in Colorado mentioning my name and telling you that with my background you should get in touch with me. You rejected the approach, believing it was just another politician trying to make mileage out of the State Department-that shouldn't be difficult for you.' Kendrick pulled out a notepad from his jacket pocket and reached over, picking up Swann's pencil. 'Here's the address of my attorney in Washington. Have a copy delivered to him by messenger before I get on the plane at Andrews. When he tells me it's there, I'll get on board.''Our mutual objective here is so clear and so clean I should be congratulating myself,' said Swann. 'So why don't I? Why do I keep thinking there's something you're not telling me?''Because you're suspicious by nature and profession. You wouldn't be in that chair if you weren't.''This secrecy you're so insistent on-''Apparently so are you,' Kendrick broke in.'I've given you my reason. There are two hundred and thirty-six people out there. We're not about to give anyone an excuse to pull a trigger. You, on the other hand, if you don't get killed, have a lot to gain. What's your reason for this secrecy?''Not much different from yours,' said the visitor. 'I made a great many friends throughout the whole area. I've kept up with a lot of them; we correspond; they visit me frequently-our a.s.sociations are no secret. If my name surfaced, some zealots might consider jaremat thadr.''Penalty for friendship,' translated Swann.'The climate's right for it,' added Kendrick.'I suppose that's good enough,' said the deputy director without much conviction. 'When do you want to leave?''As soon as possible. There's nothing to straighten out here. I'll grab a cab, go home, and change clothes-''No cabs, Congressman. From here on until you get to Masqat you're listed as a government liaison under an available cover and flying military transport. You're under wraps.' Swann reached for his phone. 'You'll be escorted down to the ramp where an unmarked car will drive you home and then on to Andrews. For the next twelve hours you're government property, and you'll do what we tell you to do.'Evan Kendrick sat in the back seat of the unmarked State Department car staring out of the window at the lush foliage along the Potomac. Soon the driver would veer to the left and enter a long wooded corridor of Virginia greenery five minutes from his house. His isolated house, he reflected, his very lonely house, despite a live-in couple who were old friends and the discreet, though not excessive, procession of graceful women who shared his bed, also friends.Four years and nothing permanent. Permanency for him was half a world away where nothing was permanent but the constant necessity of moving from one job to the next, finding the best quarters available for everyone, and making sure that tutors were available for his partners' children-children he wished at times were his; specific children, of course. But for him there had never been time for marriage and children; ideas were his wives, projects his offspring. Perhaps this was why he had been the leader; he had no domestic distractions. The women he made love to were mostly driven like himself. Again, like himself, they sought the temporary exhilaration, even the comfort, of brief affairs, but the operative word was 'temporary'. And then in those wonderful years there was the excitement and the laughter, the hours of fear and the moments of elation when a project's results exceeded their expectations. They were building an empire-a small one, to be sure-but it would grow, and in time, as Weingra.s.s insisted, the children of the Kendrick Group would go to the best schools in Switzerland, only a few hours away by air. 'They'll become a boardroom of international mensch!' Manny had roared. 'All that fine education and all those languages. We're rearing the greatest collection of statesmen and stateswomen since Disraeli and Golda!''Uncle Manny, can we go fishing?' a young spokesman would invariably implore, wide-eyed conspirators behind him.'Of course, David-such a glorious name. The river is only a few kilometers away. We'll all catch whales, I promise you!''Manny, please.' One of the mothers would invariably object. 'Their homework.''That work is for home-study your syntax. Whales are in the river!'All that was permanence for Evan Kendrick. And suddenly it had all been shattered, a thousand broken mirrors in the sunlight, each fragment of b.l.o.o.d.y gla.s.s reflecting an image of lovely reality and wondrous expectations. All the mirrors had turned black, no reflections anywhere. Death.'Don't do it!' screamed Emmanuel Weingra.s.s. 'I feel the pain as much as you. But don't you see, it's what they want you to do, expect you to do! Don't give them-don't give him-that gratification! Fight them, fight him! I will fight with you. Show me your posture, boy!''For whom, Manny? Against whom?''You know as well as I do! We're only the first; others will follow. Other "accidents", loved ones killed, projects abandoned. You will allow that?''I simply don't care.''So you let him win?''Who?''The Mahdi!''A drunken rumour, nothing more.''He did it! He killed them! I know it!''There's nothing here for me, old friend, and I can't chase shadows. There's no fun any longer. Forget it, Manny, I'll make you rich.''I don't want your coward money!''You won't take it?''Of course I'll take it. I simply don't love you any more.'Then four years of anxiety, futility and boredom, wondering when the warm wind of love or the cold wind of hate would blow across the smouldering coals inside him. He had told himself over and over again that when the fires suddenly erupted, for whatever reason, the time would be right and he would be ready. He was ready now and no one could stop him. Hate.The Mahdi.You took the lives of my closest friends as surely as if you had installed that conduit yourself. I had to identify so many bodies; the broken, twisted, bleeding bodies of the people who meant so much to me. The hatred remains, and it's deep and cold and won't go away and let me live my life until you're dead. I have to go back and pick up the pieces, be my own self again and finish what all of us were building together. Manny was right. I ran away, forgiving myself because of the pain, forgetting the dreams we had. I'll go back and finish now. I'm coming after you, Mahdi, whoever you are, wherever you are. And no one will know I was there.'Sir? Sir, we're here.''I beg your pardon?''This is your house,' said the marine driver. 'I guess you were catching a nap, but we have a schedule to keep.''No nap, Corporal, but, of course, you're right.' Kendrick gripped the handle and opened the door. 'I'll only be twenty minutes or so... Why don't you come in? The maid'll get you a snack or a cup of coffee while you wait.''I wouldn't get out of this car, sir.''Why not?''You're with OHIO. I'd probably get shot.'Stunned, and halfway out of the door, Evan Kendrick turned and looked behind him. At the end of the street, the deserted tree-lined street without a house in sight, a lone car was parked at the curb. Inside, two figures sat motionless in the front seat.For the next twelve hours you're government property, and you'll do what we tell you to do.The silhouetted figure walked rapidly into the windowless sterile room, closed the door and in the darkness continued to the table where there was the small bra.s.s lamp. He turned it on and went directly to his equipment that covered the right wall. He sat down in front of the processor, touched the switch that brought the screen to life, and typed in the code.Ultra Maximum SecureNo Existing InterceptsProceed He continued his journal, his fingers trembling with elation.Everything is in motion now. The subject is on his way, the journey begun. I cannot, of course, project the obstacles facing him, much less his success or failure. I only know through my highly developed 'appliances' that he is uniquely qualified. One day we will be able to factor in more accurately the human quotient but that day is not yet here. Nevertheless, if he survives lightning will strike; my projections make that clear from a hundred different successfully factored options. The small circle of need-to-know officials have been alerted through ultra max modem communications. Child's play for my appliances.

Chapter 3.

The estimated flying time from Andrews to the US Air Force base in Sicily was seven hours plus. Arrival was scheduled for 5 am, Rome time; eight o'clock in the morning in Oman, which was four to five hours away depending on the prevailing Mediterranean winds and whatever secure routes were available. Takeoff into the Atlantic darkness had been swift in the military jet, a converted F-106 Delta with a cabin that included two adjacent seats in the rear with tray tables that served both as miniature desks and surfaces for food and drink. Swivelled lights angled down from the ceiling, permitting those reading to move the sharp beams into the areas of concentration, whether they were ma.n.u.script, photographs or maps. Kendrick was fed the pages from OHIO-Four-Zero by the man on his left, one page at a time, each given only after the previous page was returned. In two hours and twelve minutes, Evan had completed the entire file. He was about to start at the beginning again when the young man on his left, a handsome, dark-eyed member of OHIO-Four-Zero who had introduced himself simply as a State Department aide, held up his hand.'Can't we take time out for some food, sir?' he asked.'Oh? Sure.' Kendrick stretched in his seat. 'Frankly, there's not a h.e.l.l of a lot here that's very useful.''I didn't think there would be,' said the clean-cut youngster.Evan looked at his seat companion, for the first time studying him. 'You know, I don't mean this is in a derogatory sense-I really don't-but for a highly cla.s.sified State Department operation, you strike me as being kind of young for the job. You can't be out of your twenties.''Close to it,' replied the aide. 'But I'm pretty good at what I do.''Which is?''Sorry, no comment, sir,' said the seat companion. 'Now how about that food? It's a long flight.''How about a drink?''We've made special provision for civilians.' The dark-haired, dark-browed young man smiled and signalled the Air Force steward, a corporal in a bulkhead seat facing aft; the attendant rose and came forward. 'A gla.s.s of white wine and a Canadian on the rocks, please.''A Canadian-''That's what you drink, isn't it?''You've been busy.''We never stop.' The aide nodded to the corporal who retreated to the miniature galley. 'I'm afraid the food is fixed and standard,' continued the young man from OHIO. 'It's in line with the Pentagon cut-backs... and certain lobbyists from the meat and produce industries. Filet mignon with asparagus hollandaise and boiled potatoes.''Some cut-backs.''Some lobbyists,' added Evan's seat companion, grinning. 'Then there's a dessert of baked Alaska.''What?''You can't overlook the dairy boys.' The drinks arrived; the steward returned to a bulkhead phone where a white light flashed, and the aide held up his gla.s.s. 'Your health.''Yours, too. Do you have a name?''Pick one.''That's succinct. Will you settle for Joe?''Joe, it is. Nice to meet you, sir.''Since you obviously know who I am, you have the advantage. You can use my name.''Not on this flight.''Then who am I?''For the record, you're a crypta.n.a.lyst named Axelrod who's being flown to the emba.s.sy in Jiddah, Saudi Arabia. The name doesn't mean much; it's basically for the pilot's logs. If anyone wants your attention, he'll just say "sir". Names are sort of off limits on these trips.''Dr Axelrod? The corporal's intrusion made the State Department's aide blanch.'Doctor?' replied Evan, mildly astonished, looking at 'Joe'.'Obviously you're a PhD,' said the aide under his breath.'That's nice,' whispered Kendrick, raising his eyes to the steward. 'Yes?''The pilot would like to speak with you, sir. If you'll follow me to the flight deck, please?''Certainly,' agreed Evan, pushing up the tray table while handing 'Joe' his drink. 'At least you were right about one thing, junior,' he mumbled to the State Department man. 'He said "sir".''And I don't like it,' rejoined 'Joe', quietly, intensely. 'All communications involving you are to be funnelled through me.''You want to make a scene?''Screw it. It's an ego trip. He wants to get close to the special cargo.''The what?'Forget it, Dr Axelrod. Just remember, there are to be no decisions without my approval.''You're a tough kid.''The toughest, Congress-Dr Axelrod. Also, I'm not "junior". Not where you're concerned.''Shall I convey your feelings to the pilot?''You can tell him I'll cut both his wings and his b.a.l.l.s off if he pulls this again.''Since I was the last on board, I didn't meet him, but I gather he's a brigadier general.''He's brigadier-bulls.h.i.t to me.''Good Lord,' said Kendrick, chuckling. 'Inter-service rivalry at forty thousand feet. I'm not sure I approve of that.''Sir?' The Air Force steward was anxious.'Coming, Corporal.'The compact flight deck of the F-106 Delta glowed with a profusion of tiny green and red lights, dials and numbers everywhere. The pilot and co-pilot were strapped in front, the navigator on the right, a cushioned earphone clipped to his left ear, his eyes on a gridded computer screen. Evan had to bend down to advance the several feet he could manage in the small enclosure.'Yes, General?' he inquired. 'You wanted to see me?''I don't even want to look at you, Doctor,' answered the pilot, his attention on the panels in front of him. 'I'm just going to read you a message from someone named S. You know someone named S?''I think I do,' replied Kendrick, a.s.suming the message had been radioed by Swann at the Department of State. 'What is it?''It's a pain in the b.u.t.t to this bird, is what it is!' cried the brigadier general. 'I've never landed there! I don't know the field, and I'm told those f.u.c.king Eyetals over in that wasteland are better at making spaghetti sauce than they are at giving approach instructions!''It's our own air base,' protested Evan.'The h.e.l.l it is!' countered the pilot as his co-pilot shook his head in an emphatic negative. 'We're changing course to Sardinia! Not Sicily but Sardinia! I'll have to blow out my engines to contain us on that strip-if, for Christ's sake, we can find it!''What's the message, General?' asked Kendrick calmly. 'There's usually a reason for most things when plans are changed.''Then you explain it-no, don't explain it. I'm hot and bothered enough. G.o.dd.a.m.ned spooks!''The message, please?''Here it is.' The angry pilot read from a perforated page of paper. ' "Switch necessary. Jiddah out. All MA where permitted under eyes-"''What does that mean?' interrupted Evan quickly. 'The MA under eyes.''What it says.''In English, please.''Sorry, I forgot. Whoever you are you're not what's logged. It means all military aircraft in Sicily and Jiddah are under observation, as well as every field we land on. Those Arab b.a.s.t.a.r.ds expect something and they've got their filthy psychos in place, ready to relay anything or anyone unusual.''Not all Arabs are b.a.s.t.a.r.ds or filthy or psychos, General.''They are in my book.''Then it's unprintable.''What is?''Your book. The rest of the message, please.'The pilot made an obscene gesture with his right arm, the perforated paper in his hand. 'Read it yourself, Arab-lover. But it doesn't leave this deck.'Kendrick took the paper, angled it towards the navigator's light, and read the message. 'Switch necessary. Jiddah out. All MA where permitted under eyes. Transfer to civilian subsidiary on south island. Routed through Cyprus, Riyadh, to target. Arrangements cleared. ETA is close to Second Pillar el-Maghreb best timing possible. Sorry. 5.' Evan reached out, holding the message over the brigadier general's shoulder and dropped it. 'I a.s.sume that "south island" is Sardinia.''You got it.''Then, I gather, I'm to spend roughly ten more hours on a plane, or planes, through Cyprus, Saudi Arabia and finally to Masqat.'I'll tell you one thing, Arab-lover,' continued the pilot. 'I'm glad it's you flying on those Minnie Mouse aircraft and not me. A word of advice: Grab a seat near an emergency exit and if you can buy a chute, spend the money. Also a gas mask. I'm told those planes stink.''I'll try to remember your generous advice.''Now you tell me something,' said the general. 'What the h.e.l.l is that "Second Pillar" Arab stuff?''Do you go to church?' asked Evan.'You're d.a.m.ned right I do. When I'm home I make the whole d.a.m.n family go-no welching on that, by Christ. At least once a month, it's a rule.''So do the Arabs, but not once a month. Five times a day. They believe as strongly as you do, at least as strongly, wouldn't you say? The Second Pillar of el Maghreb refers to the Islamic prayers at sundown. h.e.l.l of an inconvenience, isn't it? They work their Arab a.s.ses off all day long, mostly for nothing, and then it's sundown. No c.o.c.ktails, just prayers to their G.o.d. Maybe it's all they've got. Like the old plantation spirituals.'The pilot turned slowly in his seat. His face in the shadows of the flight deck startled Kendrick. The brigadier general was black. 'You set me up,' said the pilot flatly.'I'm sorry. I mean that; I didn't realize. On the other hand you said it. You called me an Arab-lover.'Sundown. Masqat, Oman. The ancient turbo-jet bounced on to the runway with such force that some of the pa.s.sengers screamed, their desert instincts alert to the possibility of fiery oblivion. Then with the realization that they had arrived, that they were safe, and that there were jobs for the having, they began chanting excitedly. Thanks be to Allah for His benevolence! They had been promised rials for servitude the Omanis would not accept. So be it. It was far better than what they had left behind.The suited businessmen in the front of the aircraft, handkerchiefs held to their noses, rushed to the exit door, gripping their briefcases, all too anxious to swallow the air of Oman. Kendrick stood in the aisle, the last in line, wondering what the State Department's Swann had in mind when he said in his message that 'arrangements' had been cleared.'Come with me!' cried a be-robed Arab from the crowd forming outside the terminal for Immigration. 'We have another exit, Dr Axelrod.''My pa.s.sport doesn't say anything about Axelrod.''Precisely. That is why you are coming with me.''What about Immigration?''Keep y