Returning to his home village to recover from his wounds, he was welcomed as a hero. Though he knew, as most of his fellow officers did, that their victory was not complete and that retention of the bridgehead across the channel was tenuous, they had nonetheless done what the world had least expected — defeated the Israelis in open battle. For the first time since the Crusades, an Islamic army had defeated a non-Islamic army in battle. While the significance of this was lost to most of the world, it gave Egypt a new beginning, a beginning that Hafez was part of.
Again Hafez's life changed. Marriage to the daughter of a wealthy merchant from his home village was followed by selection for advanced military schooling, promotion, attendance at the American Command and General Staff College, and, finally, selection to battalion command in the Republican Guard Brigade. These successes gave him a satisfaction and security in purpose that had escaped him in his youth.
Into this secure world that Hafez had built, Sadiq, an image from his troubled past, came like a thief in the night. Into Hafez's ear Sadiq poured the poison of discontent and hate, thinly veiled as the Word. "The Brotherhood, and Islam," Sadiq said, "need your help." The apparition from his past frightened Hafez. Instead of sending Sadiq off, however, as his conscience told him he should, he stayed and listened.
"The time has come," Sadiq had whispered, "to sweep away the temporal government that tears Egypt and its people away from the bosom of Islam and the teachings of the Book. The new caliph has come. Like the sun rising in the east, he is spreading the word as Muhammad had done. We are but his soldiers, serving the will of God." The thought that Sadiq was serving another country was numbing. Rather than protest and end the discussion, Hafez had sat in silence, listening to the words of treason flow from the mouth of his "friend." "My brother, we are but instruments in his hands. We can only submit to his will. Prepare yourself for the day. When it is time, I will find you."
Like a shadow, Sadiq had moved back into the night before Hafez could reply. That had been days ago. Since that meeting Hafez had had to refight the age-old battle he had fought many times before. Who was he? Was he, as Sadiq had said, nothing more than an instrument in the hands of God? Was he a soldier who owed loyalty to no man but only to his nation? Or was he something else — something more important?
Hafez stopped. His wanderings had taken him away from the river and out of the city. To the west, across the flood plain, he could see the outlines of great pyramids of Giza, the symbol of four thousand years of Egyptian civilization. They were ageless, unchanging. For a moment Hafez focused his thoughts on them. Alexander the Great had passed in their shadows and disappeared into history. They had been there for a thousand years before the first Roman took that name. Mohammed and his early followers had driven past them in their drive to spread the word of their new True Faith. Behind them the Turks and the British had come and, in their time, had gone, like the others.
Still the pyramids stood, looking down on the events of man like great spectators. Hafez was mesmerized by them. Thousands of years ago his ancestors had built them with little more than their bare hands, their minds, and their muscles. The pyramids were more than monuments of stone to rulers long since dead. They were an ageless symbol of the first civilization of the Western world — a civilization that never passed from existence, as so many other civilizations and empires that had viewed them had. And Lieutenant Colonel Ahmed Hafez was the product of that civilization. He was an Egyptian. At that moment he could not explain what that meant. He did not fully understand how that would, or could, help him in his current dilemma. But he knew that his heritage, symbolized by the pyramids, was important, perhaps critical.
Dixon entered the outer office of the deputy for plans and operations of the Office of Military Cooperation, Egypt, and approached the desk where a female sergeant E-5 sat fingering through the early-moming distribution dump. Dixon stood there for a moment and waited for her to notice. When it was clear that she either did not notice him or was ignoring him, he set his briefcase on her desk and announced, "Sergeant, would you inform Colonel Wilford that Major Dixon is here for his 0830 meeting."
The sergeant looked up. Dixon's announcement was not a request; it had been an order. It took her a moment to comprehend that — just enough time for Dixon to notice her look of annoyance before it turned into a polite smile. "Yes, sir, of course. Would the major have a seat?"
Her efforts to shoo him out of her space failed as Dixon simply replied in the negative and continued to stand in front of the desk, waiting for her to execute his order. Seeing that the sooner she got him in to see Wilford, the better, she buzzed the intercom and, without waiting for a response, announced, "Sir, your 0830 appointment is here."
There was a noticeable hesitation before Wilford told her to send him in. The sergeant gave Wilford a short "Yes, sir," flipped off the intercom, and looked up to Dixon. "Sir, the colonel will see you now."
Without so much as a "thank you," Dixon took his briefcase from the sergeant's desk, stepped back, and entered the open door of Wilford's office, stopping three feet in front of his desk. Coming to a position of attention, Dixon saluted and announced his presence. "Sir, Major Scott Dixon reporting as ordered."
The man in front of Dixon returned his salute, then stood up and leaned across the desk as he extended his right hand. "Welcome to Egypt, Dixon. Glad to have you." Wilford paused, then added, "I was under the impression you had already been promoted."
Dixon stepped forward to shake Wilford's hand. "I was hoping I would be. It will be a while before that happens. The rate of promotion really slowed down after the latest round of budget cuts." Even though Wilford was bent over, Dixon had to look up in order to look into his new superior's eyes — eyes that were already studying him as if he were a newly discovered microorganism. The fact that he was taller than Dixon seemed to please Wilford. It was a natural reaction. Some senior-ranking officers are more comfortable when they are taller than their subordinates. The handshake was also meant to be a gauge of the new man. Dixon extended his hand and prepared for that test. If it was a firm grasp, he would respond with an appropriate amount of firmness, just enough to show that he could take it. If it was merely a quick cupping of the hands, Dixon would respond in kind, withdrawing his hand as soon as it was polite to do so. If it became a tug of war, Dixon was prepared to hold his ground without challenging the superior. Fortunately, it was a simple pressing of the flesh followed by an invitation to take a seat.