However, there was one disturbing aspect of the long ride. The quartet of travelers did not know their exact destination when the trip began, and this unexpected arrival at an Oman naval base unnerved Mike to a great extent. The thought occurred to him that he might have been compromised. Perhaps the mysterious entity who picked up his messages at the letter drop had rolled over for al-Mimkhalif. He glanced over at Imran and Ayyub, who sat with their AK-47 assault rifles nearby. Those weapons might end up being used to protect him; or perhaps kill him in a violent act of revenge. Mike turned to Sabah, speaking in English. "Have you been here before?"
"No," Sabah said. "But I know about this place and the man that is supposed to be in command." He suddenly pointed ahead over the driver's shoulder. 'There is the entrance."
The two young naval sentries on duty gave the vehicle and passengers a careful scrutiny, then allowed the limo to continue onto the base. The driver went down a well-paved road for another ten minutes before buildings and dockside structures came into view through the hazy desert air. The ride ended in front of a two-story building where a petty officer opened the door to allow Mike and his companions to disembark.
"Min karib " the petty officer said, turning and walking toward the building.
The quartet of visitors followed closely, and Mike was more than a little relieved that their escort was not a firing squad. The two bodyguards slung their weapons over their shoulders as the group was led into the edifice and upstairs to an outer office. Evidently they were expected, for a door was being held open for them. Imran and Ayyub stayed outside while Mike and Sabah stepped into an office where an officer, bearing the large gold band of a commodore on his epaulets, stood up.
"Welcome to the Zauba Fast Attack Squadron," the officer said in perfect English, beaming a smile at Sabah. "It is good to see you again, brother."
"The feeling is mutual," Sabah replied. "I did not know whether it would be you greeting us or some other officer."
"You and your friend have been deemed important enough to be brought to me personally."
Sabah indicated Mike with a nod of his head. "Allow me to introduce my companion, Mikael Assad."
Mahamat smiled at Mike. "You seem uneasy, my friend."
"Indeed," Mike said. "I was not expecting to be brought to such a place as this."
"Sit down," Mahamat invited. "Brother Sabah and I met on a couple of occasions in the past. Thus, I shall explain the situation to you." He waited until his guests were comfortable before continuing. "We are an isolated unit, far from our higher headquarters. As far as everyone is concerned, we are conducting normal routine coastal patrols. That is an impression we work hard to maintain."
"I see," Mike said. "Am I to understand the impression is not entirely accurate?"
Mahamat laughed. "Of course it is not!"
Mike's thought processes were going full-speed as he assessed the meaning behind the commodore's words. He was not surprised by the officer's next utterance.
"We are part of al-Mimkhalif."
Sabah turned to Mike. "And what do you think of that, Mikael?"
"I am flabbergasted," Mike said, not having to feign shock and surprise. "How clever of our leaders."
"I have been informed of you, Mikael," Mahamat said. "You are a hero to our brotherhood. Imagine! An escape from the American Embassy in Islamabad, then making a lone journey of evasion across Pakistan to rejoin your comrades."
"It was our righteous cause that gave me the courage and skills I needed," Mike replied.
"And you, old comrade," Mahamat said, looking at Sabah, "are as appreciated as ever. Your efforts in organizing weapons and supply deliveries have also been noted by our esteemed leader."
"I am humbled by the honor," Sabah said.
"I never thought about a leader," Mike said. "I assumed we were commanded by a group of dedicated Islamic brothers."
"We have but one leader," Mahamat said. "And you will meet him soon. But first we have to prepare you for future operations that will be both dangerous and complicated."
"We are eager to participate in such a phase of our jihad," Sabah assured their host. "It sounds like decisive actions are going to be taken."
"Most assuredly," Mahamat said. "And the first thing we must do is have you outfitted as officers with complete uniforms. We will also see to it that your bodyguards are disguised as sailors. You will be going out very soon aboard my flagship to observe the first part of al-Mimkhalif's struggle to establish a destiny of victory dedicated to the glory of Islam. Because of the clandestine nature of these activities, you must not look like outsiders."
Mike was now eager for more information. "What will we be doing?"
"There is a troublesome small craft," Mahamat said. "An air-cushion vehicle, to be exact, that must be destroyed before we can continue. This must be taken care of before our strategy can be advanced toward its final phases. Even now, our decoy is out like a baited hook to draw our victim into a trap."
"It sounds as if this is all going to happen very quickly," Sabah said.
"We expect action in the next couple of days or so," Mahamat said. He pressed the buzzer on his desk and their petty officer escort stepped into the office. "Raqib, take these men and their servants to the tailor shop for uniforms as previously directed."
"Aywa, Amid!" the petty officer said with a salute. He gestured to Mike and Sabah to follow him as he walked toward the door.
.
DHOW NIJM ZARK
ARABIAN SEA
VICINITY OF 15deg NORTH AND 70deg EAST
10 OCTOBER
1200 HOURS LOCAL
CAPTAIN Bashar Bashir and his crew were bored into a state of numb lethargy. They had been tracking back and forth from east to west, then west to east since dropping off their passengers in Ras Alhad, Oman. To add to their frayed tempers, they were not being paid for the activity. But when one takes on jobs from al-Mimkhalif, one must expect certain disadvantages, such as unreasonable and unexplained demands. Once a vessel, even an old wooden one like the Nijm Zark, begins its association with a terrorist organization, she and the crew are at their client's mercy.
Bashir's mate, a surly individual named Bakhtiaar Ghanem, was standing wheel watch, working the spokes as he kept the compass as close to west as possible under the pressures of current and wind. Bashir stood beside him, glancing down at the quartet of crewmen dozing in the shade in front of the quarter deck. The fifth was up in the rigging on the mainmast, watching all points of the horizon.
Ghanem snarled. "Shiyatin min jahannam--the devils of hell! I hate being bait like this."
"Aywa" Bashir agreed. "But there is nothing we can do about it."
"What if those cursed American airplanes come around?" Ghanem said. "They'll make short work of us."
"I think if we are bait, there will be other planes nearby to attack the Americans," Bashir suggested.
"Are you crazy? What makes you think al-Mimkhalif has airplanes?"