“We have to tow these things around frequently, so hooking them together is no problem,” he explained. Tie-off rings were installed fore and aft, and Abdel pulled down a twelve-pound coil of steel links sheathed in tough plastic, with snaps welded to the ends. It took only a moment to hook the Honda so it would trail behind the Yamaha.
A small roll of duct tape was on a worktable, and he pocketed it, then walked to the big roll-up door and hit the red button to open it. The clanking of chains retracting on the pulleys sounded like a warning siren as the door was ratcheted back, and before it was fully open, Abdel already had mounted the lead jet ski and was puttering to the fuel station at the end of the pier. The second machine slid along behind, with Kyle in the saddle, thinking how having Abdel as an ally had already saved him a lot of work.
They tied off at the gas pump. El-Din opened the lock with his keys, and the two of them filled a group of red plastic five-gallon containers and lashed them all with loops of duct tape along the sides, front, and low back of the trailing jet ski. When the cans were secure, the men released the moorings and both skis drifted free. The Yamaha started with the first twist of the key, but Swanson made no attempt to start the Honda, for he was sitting in a giant improvised explosive device, and any spark could be spectacularly fatal. The lead ski hummed slowly to take up the slack in the chain, and Abdel sidled them out into the calm waters of Naama Bay, burbling along at a minimum speed, about three hundred yards from the beach.
Around the harbor, red and green navigation lights pierced the darkness. Swanson wryly noted the absence of the usual huge sleek yachts; the monied people who could leave had already left. Farther inland, the sky was still being chewed by the bonfire at the motor pool and the unrelenting flames at the ammo dump. That reflected brightness, plus the running lights of the big ships, made it easy for Abdel to thread a familiar path out to deeper water, and he put on a little more speed.
Kyle was glad to get a bit of breeze across his face, for the cloud of gasoline fumes made breathing difficult. The skis drove farther out into the harbor at a minimum pace, sliding over small swells, with Abdel ready to rack up the pace if they were discovered or challenged. About three miles from the beach sat the target, the brightest ship in the harbor, the Iranian freighter that had brought in the original waves of troops and had since been off-loading supplies onto a barge anchored alongside. Hired laborers and soldiers moved the material into smaller boats that hauled them to shore. The ship was alight from stem to stern, but only colored warning bulbs were at the corners of the transfer platform. About a half-dozen boats were tied to it, for work had been shut down for the night.
Abdel looked back to check on Kyle, and Swanson motioned with a hand to head out even deeper, then circle back and come in from the blind side. The young Egyptian understood. They motored on unseen.
Major Shakuri answered the telephone in his office at the disgusting hour of five o’clock in the morning with an impatient response but immediately settled into a respectful tone when he heard that it was Colonel Naqdi. He sighed to himself. This had been expected.
“I have received a rather interesting call from General Khasrodad at the airport,” the colonel said. He was still on his bed in Cairo, pushing away frustration and anger. “The ammunition dump has been blown? Why didn’t you alert me immediately?” The voice betrayed only curiosity, not anger.
“The general had the responsibility of guarding those vital supplies, sir. He failed.” Shakuri was at his desk and looking at his notes. It was depressing. “It seems that about twenty are dead out there as of right now. Maybe … probably … more. Another one of the big planes was destroyed.”
“You did not think that I needed to be informed?”
Careful, Shakuri said to himself. Unstable ground here. “Of course not, sir. I did not call for several reasons. There was nothing you could do, and you need your sleep. Allah, praise be unto him, knows how much I need sleep, too, and you work harder and longer than I do. I was planning to call you after daybreak, when we will have more facts, and possibly even have captured the saboteurs.”
“I know, Major. General Khasrodad is given to panic when under stress. As you say, he had several thousand top soldiers at his disposal and should have prevented that attack. Is it still going on?”
“Yes, sir. It’s quite a show.” The grumble of explosions could still be heard downtown.
Naqdi steered the subject away from the airport. “Then you are actively hunting saboteurs?”
“Correct, sir. I have been forced to implement stern measures and requisition some soldiers from the general, who is resisting giving me any. He wants to pull his protection perimeter in tighter, while I want active patrols in the streets.”
“What was this firing squad the general told me about? Something else of which I had been unaware.” The voice had switched back to cold. “It seems you are very busy with things of which I know nothing. Are you keeping things from me, Major Shakuri? Am I going to have to come down there?”
“If you wish to come, of course, Colonel, but there is really no need. After the initial problems — again, the general’s soldiers — I had six examples, including the mayor, shot in the public square to discourage any public uprising. We must be firm with this population. As the Americans said, ‘When you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.’”
The colonel stopped himself before laughing. Shakuri was really getting a grip on leadership. “I agree, but please be careful with reprisals, Major, for killing somebody’s husband or cousin might breed enemies.”
“Absolutely, sir. Already, obviously, the one-for-one idea will no longer work. With more than twenty of our soldiers already dead tonight, we would have to execute twenty more residents of Sharm. Will the unarmed people of Sharm be willing to make such an exchange?”
“You know the path around that.” It was a declaration straight out of the occupation rules established in Tehran before the invasion. Mercy went only to a certain point; then the iron glove was needed.
“Yes, sir. We must ruthlessly kill more, enough to instill fear and suppress their opposition. After the twenty, I will increase the ratio to two of them for every one of us. Women and children will be included.”
“Very well.” There was a momentary stiff pause. “I’ll probably be down later today to see how things are going after all, but you seem to be doing the job as well as possible.”
The major felt the pleasure of the compliment override the lash of reprimand. He was doing a good job. “Thank you, sir. Your visit might be the best way to settle the nerves of our general out at the airport. Now let me give you some good news. I was saving it for the morning report, along with the other material, but you will like this. That British woman you wanted, Bialy, has been located. Should we wait until you arrive to pick her up?”
“A good point, Major. Go ahead and arrest her, so when I come down, she will be waiting for me. I will let you know my travel plan. Anything on the American, Kyle Swanson?”
“Not yet, sir, but we will get him. Can I ask what your interest is in them?”
“They are spies, major. CIA and MI6. I want to personally interrogate them both.”
Shakuri decided to push a step further. “Our intelligence people report she has been asking about someone with the code name of Pharaoh. Can you tell me what that is about, sir?”