Their little convoy ripped through the base without incident, and angled toward a large aircraft hangar at the end of a runway, where the large sliding doors had been opened. The nuke was already secured inside, waiting for them. Machine gun emplacements bristled at the corners of the building, snipers were up top, and patrols ranged in a far circle. The three vehicles drove inside and stopped.
Prince Colonel Mishaal bin Khalid waved from his own Humvee. Kyle got out of the Mercedes, walked over, and snapped a salute. Mishaal looked exhausted. “Good evening, Gunny.”
“Hello, sir. Did you get things settled down in Ash Mutayr?”
The prince made a sardonic laugh. “Yeah. New commander is in place and everything is calm. Place needs some rebuilding.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So now I come up here and find that Jeddah is in turmoil.” Mishaal stared at Kyle. “Trouble seems to follow you.”
“I wouldn’t know about any trouble, sir. Everything seemed fine when we left there a few hours ago.”
“Gunny, do you remember the name of Mohammed Abu Ebara? The head of the Religious Police?”
Kyle looked lost for a few moments. “Right. I believe His Majesty, King Abdullah, may have mentioned the name to me.”
The prince took Swanson by the elbow and guided him to a space where they could speak in private. “Somebody killed him today. Apparently a sniper.” He arched an eyebrow.
Swanson held up both hands. “Don’t look at me,” he protested. “I was on the road coming up here. But is that a bad thing?”
They were interrupted by the approaching roar of a C-130 coming off the taxiway and approaching the hangar.
“No, Gunny, it was not a bad thing. The demonstrations about Ebara being a martyr are already calming down. His removal takes a lot of steam out of the coup.”
“Inshallah, then,” Kyle said. “God’s will.”
“Inshallah. His Majesty was curious about the circumstances. About your welfare.”
“Is he changing my instructions?”
“No. Just being cautious and careful.” The roar of the propellers dropped in volume as the plane spun about so that the ramp was in line with the hangar doors.
“Please let His Majesty know that I appreciate his concern. And that there is nothing that can connect me to the death of Ebara. You remember that gun case I brought in aboard the first C-130? Well, I am going to put that same weapon on the plane right over there. It soon will be out of the country.”
“Let’s get to this new job, then.”
Staff Sergeant Joe Tipp was playing the major in command on this trip, and approached with the clipboard and the papers for the transfer. Mishaal held up his hand and said, “Please wait one more moment, Major.” Tipp stopped, puzzled, looking at Kyle.
Swanson asked the prince, “What?”
“His Majesty is also curious about something else, Gunny Swanson. He spoke with President Tracy today and was given the good news that the nuclear missile that was taken in Khobz has been found and is safe. King Abdullah reminded me that you were in Khobz when another Muslim cleric involved in the rebellion was killed by a sniper’s bullet. His Majesty is wondering about your possible involvement in that entire scenario, particularly if you had anything to do with the missing weapon.”
Swanson fiddled with a pen in his shirt pocket, then glanced up at the prince. Decision time. He had to maintain the trust of both the king and the prince. If he lied about the nuke, they would find out about it sooner or later anyway, and that bond of trust would be destroyed. It was too much of a risk.
“Please tell His Majesty that I can neither confirm nor deny anything about my missions. If he wants to press the matter, I am sure that another call to President Tracy would set him at ease. It would be good to remember that Khobz was under siege and your army base there had already been attacked with an ambush. Who is to say what might have happened if that fight went the wrong way?”
Prince Mishaal turned and brushed his uniform. Dust flew off in small puffs. “I guess anything is possible, Gunny. The main thing is that the weapon was bagged safely. Now let’s do this one.”
While Joe Tipp and Mishaal went through the paper drill, Kyle grabbed the gun case from the trunk of the Mercedes and hustled up the ramp.
Sybelle was once again waiting at the bulkhead. “You okay? We heard about this Ebara clown going down.”
“I’m good.” He put down the gun case.
“Good. Because we’ve got a big problem,” she said, holding out a clipped-together computer printout.
“How big?” Swanson asked, taking the papers and beginning to read.
“Oh, about the size of the Chinese army.”
47
BEIJING, CHINA
THE DIMINUTIVE GENERAL ZHU Chi sat at the end of a long table, smoke curling from the tip of his cigarette, while his staff took him through their Power Point presentation. An array of three large clocks hung on the side wall, set to the matching times in Beijing, Saudi Arabia, and Washington. It was eleven o’clock on Saturday night where he sat and the diversionary moves were to get underway at first light on Sunday. He would give the American satellites plenty to absorb and by this time tomorrow, the bandit leaders of the breakaway province of Taiwan would be frantic.
Weather forecasters predicted a sunny, warm day with gentle waters in the Taiwan Strait and the South China Sea. The tide tables were favorable. During the next forty-eight hours, the detailed planning of the Combined Staff would put in motion what would be the biggest show in the world, albeit a brief one.
Thousands of troops would march in long columns and hundreds of armored vehicles and trucks loaded with everything from gasoline and ammunition to food would crowd onto the roads, heading toward the loading points. Helicopters would mass and squadrons of fighter aircraft would be armed and in the air flying protective cover missions.
At ports all along the China coast, the complex process of loading a huge military force onto more than two hundred ships, including the commandeered merchant vessels, would begin. It would be intentionally slow and careful, so as to be seen in full. Missile sites would be activated and military radio channels would stay busy. Television crews would be allowed into selected staging areas, but no questions would be answered. The foreign reporters would draw their own conclusions.
That was the easy part. It was all a massive feint; nothing was going to happen in the Taiwan Strait or the South China Sea. Even so, the gigantic movement was excellent training, a dress rehearsal for the eventual day when such an invasion really would be undertaken.
A staff planner tapped a key to change the computer screen and another slide colored the wall screen, a light blue background with arms of gold olive branches surrounding a North Pole view of the globe-the emblem of the United Nations. On Sunday, the Chinese representative to the UN would demand a meeting of the Security Council on Monday morning to lodge a formal protest about recent behavior of Taiwan, acts that the government of China considered aggressive and warlike. Again, it was part of the deception, but the other governments of the world could not take the chance that an angry China was ready to take Taiwan by force.
“That will mark the end of Phase One,” the planner announced, leaving the UN symbol lingering on the wall.
The general stubbed out the remains of his cigarette and adjusted his glasses. His eyes moved around the impassive faces of the other ranking officers at the conference table. “Very well,” he said. “Issue the appropriate orders to begin Phase One.”
The room erupted into activity as the other commanders and the staff members hurried off to launch the intricate process. Zhu Chi loosened his tie. He would get some sleep now and meet early in the morning with Jiang Julong, the party chairman of the Central Military Commission. They would discuss issuing final approval for the next step.