“The situation is troubling. When we were back at the hotel, for a moment, I thought you might really have something that my country would find of great interest. Now, with the general dead and the nuclear weapon missing, I have grave doubts.” The Chinese intelligence officer spread open his palms in frustration.
“Jamal? What do you think?” asked Kyle.
“I’m also uncertain, just like the major. This revenge thing Juba has going with you is not the same for a decent terrorist as dropping a nuke on Israel. No offense, Kyle, but you’re a pretty small fish in comparison.”
Swanson rose from his chair and went to a white greaseboard hanging on a wall. “I assure all of you that this lunatic’s obsession is not returned by me. He should have learned the last time we met that there is no honor involved; I just want him dead. We literally blew apart the house in which he was hiding, and he was buried under the debris. Plus, I’m certain that I hit him with a.50 caliber bullet just before the bomb struck. Somehow he lived through it. I’ll do the same thing again, and use every weapon available to us. This is no duel. It’s just his fantasy.”
Mishaal stood and stretched. The tension was locking up his muscles. “Still, he is very dangerous. He has the weapon. We must get it back.”
“Maybe it is not quite as urgent as we first thought. Juba coming out and identifying himself actually is a help. Hell, I didn’t even know he was in the game until now. Under his terms, we have a time cushion before he even tries to set off the nuke because he wants me within range.”
“But Kyle, he can punch the button at any time,” Jamal said. “Let me play psychiatrist for a minute with this nutcase. Maybe he just wants you to be close enough to watch him do the launch, to show you that you failed to stop him. Then, once the missile is away, he can try to settle accounts between the two of you.”
Swanson picked up the black grease pen and uncapped it. “That’s where he has a real problem. I don’t think he can do it.”
“Why?” Mishaal rested against the edge of the desk. “Look at everything he has done, or caused, so far. The man is diabolical.”
Kyle wrote a big number “9” on the board. “That’s how many men he has with him. It’s not enough. Think about it, guys. This is no fire and forget weapon. Nukes are sophisticated. They need special crews for taking them from a warehouse, crane operators, crews for convoys, command and control personnel, vehicle operators, communicators and escorts. Every man involved is highly trained, and those who work with the weapon itself must be trained and certified. Codes are kept in steel boxes with combination locks. This thing is in two separate parts, in two separate APCs. I don’t think he has the manpower or the know-how to even string the cables between the missile carrier and the command track, much less actually be able to mount the warhead. Juba’s brilliant, but he doesn’t know everything and he cannot do it alone. I do not think that bird is going to fly anywhere.”
They all jerked around suddenly when there was a loud pounding on the door and Captain Omar al-Muallami charged inside and shouted, “We have found it!”
57
THE ENTIRE HIGHWAY SOUTH from Tabuk was instantly commandeered and police and troops cleared it of all civilian traffic to make way for the trucks and armored vehicles swarming out of King Abdul Aziz Military City toward the reported location of the missile, some fifty miles away. Thick clouds of sand were pulled behind the moving vehicles and fighter aircraft took over the skies. A pair of large command helicopters flew above the storm in a tight side-by-side formation. Prince Mishaal, along with his aide and a few senior officers were in the lead bird. Kyle Swanson, Henry Tsang, and Jamal were aboard the flanking chopper, which had been constructed to ferry generals around, not to wrestle its way into combat zones.
They sailed along through the copper-tinted sky, wrapped in comfort. Soft blue cushioned seats faced forward like easy chairs bolted to the metal deck. Side doors closed out the passing wind, while internal soundproofing reduced the rotor noise to a whine. Strong air-conditioning filtered out the dirt and kept the passengers cool. Kyle thought that it would have been an enjoyable flight if nuclear Armageddon wasn’t brewing at the other end of the trip.
The two command helicopters slowed and settled into a lazy circle at about a thousand feet when they neared the scene, the pilots wary of possible shoulder-launched missiles from the terrorists who were assumed to be somewhere below. Kyle looked out and down. No question. They had arrived; there it was.
Juba’s lethal little convoy had left the main road at a small unmarked crossroad and driven down into a hidden valley of sand and rock, where hundreds of old vehicles had been dumped over the years to rust away beneath the blistering desert sun. The rare rains that would transform the dry wadi into a raging river would also rearrange the hundreds of metal carcasses in haphazard fashion, burying some, stacking others against one another, and resurrecting steel skeletons that had been buried in earlier floods. A few abandoned huts were scattered along the high sides of the valley, and their empty windows and doors yawned open and dark.
Swanson looked at it all with the practiced eyes of a sniper. Juba had chosen the place well. Over the years, this changing landscape had created plenty of places in which to hide.
The missile was clearly visible in the vast junk field, thrusting up out of its armored carrier and locked into its proper firing position of a 60-degree angle, pointed north, toward Israel. A conical shape was on the top, and the ominous missile looked ready to fly.
The second APC, which had carried the nuclear warhead, was abandoned about fifty meters away, and its strong crane hung over the side. The chain hoist had made it possible for the thieves to lift the heavy payload from its carrying crate and mount it atop the blunt end of the missile.
Even before they had taken off from the military city, Prince Mashaal had ordered the wadi blocked off in all directions and surrounded. From the air, Kyle saw a developing scene that was taking the shape of a huge donut as a ring of steel, mobile firepower, and soldiers closed in. Scout helicopters drew no antiaircraft fire when they swooped low across the zone, so the two command helicopters dashed in and landed on the far side of the highway even as military traffic continued to grind past.
Kyle returned his radio headset back on its rest, unbuckled his seatbelt, and pushed the door back. The sudden blast of heat and rotor downwash came as a shock when he stepped from the protective cocoon, and he shielded his eyes and jogged forward to escape the thick dirt cloud. When he was clear, he looked up and realized that, standing at ground level, he could not even see the wadi that descended on the far side of the highway.
The rest of the command group was also dismounting, but were standing around like spectators at a soccer match, in awe of the might of the military machinery that was parading all around. Henry Tsang stepped next to him and Kyle said, “Somebody is probably going to have to get killed before they realize this is no exercise.”
“I see tanks and soldiers, but I don’t hear any shooting,” the Chinese commando agreed. He carried an AK-47 in his right hand. “I do not like it when things go so easily.”
“Juba is drawing us in closer,” Swanson replied. “He wants to see some targets of value.”
“He really just wants you, Gunny,” said Jamal, slapping a fresh clip of ammunition into an M-16.
“Well, that’s fine,” Kyle said with a smooth calmness. “I’m here to kill that missile. I can deal with Juba when the job is done. He used to be a sharp and shrewd fighter, but now he’s just a crazy son of a bitch. Not really much of a threat.”