“I have it somewhere,” he said, reaching out to shake Omar’s hand. “Good luck to both of you. Go.”
“Stay safe, Kyle,” said Omar. “I’ll buy you a beer in London.”
“Right.” He tossed his bag into the 4Runner and waited until the van pulled away. Then he drove out into the veil of bright sunshine.
Swanson had to admit that he was bone tired, edgy, and agitated. He was squeezing the steering wheel in a death grip. He had been carrying on this singular one-man crusade from the moment the first Iranian troops had set foot on the beach in front of the Blue Neptune two days earlier, never knowing from one moment to the next where it was all leading. He had caused the Tehran military machine to stumble, but the stress and nonstop action were wearing him down. He fumbled around in the seabag as he drove and found a packet of Dexedrine “go pills,” then chewed two of the amphetamines for a temporary, emergency chemical lift. He could sleep when he was dead and resting in the Boatman’s skiff. Until then, he had work to do, and a Marine gunnery sergeant was not in the business of cutting anyone slack, least of all himself. He had been trained to go beyond the limits of endurance, to take it to the absolute max.
He threaded the 4Runner through the heart of the city, then turned out into the smaller, flanking neighborhoods. The usually colorful Sharm el-Sheikh was without any joy this morning, and the few people on the traffic-starved streets were scurrying from one place to another. Many shops were closed, and the central market was almost empty instead of being jammed with customers. At the big park where the executions had taken place, the bodies had been removed, but a pair of Iranian armored personnel carriers were parked back-to-back with their ramps down and guns manned. Maybe they were showing the locals who still held the big stick, despite the crippling attacks of the previous night. Stinking smoke still rode on the breeze. Along Hotel Row, the big buildings seemed like derelicts waiting for someone to give them a dollar, although the construction crews were still at work. A few foreign tourists milled about, looking lost and worried.
He drove back into the coastal business park where the Gold Sun Water Equipment marina was located, parked beside a shed about fifty yards away from the shop, on the opposite side of the road, and shut down the engine. He slid down in the seat, tucking his pistol beneath his thigh. Just like downtown, the boatyards were yawningly vacant except for a few vehicles. No police cars nor any men in uniform were around. Abdel El-Din was outside, nailing a sheet of plywood over the window that Kyle had broken last night, and the rap-rap of his hammer sounded like little pistol shots. At least the kid wasn’t under arrest, which indicated that he had successfully run his scam with the local cops, who apparently had a lot more to worry about this morning than a dive shop burglary. Their city was falling into an abyss, and their chief was under arrest by the soldiers.
Kyle eyeballed each door and window in the yard. The sun, almost directly overhead, applied a flare of golden light on the whitewashed buildings. A motorboat chugged down the waterway, but no one stirred at the businesses. Doors were locked, all lights were out, and signs announced that the places were closed. Swanson eased from his SUV and quietly worked his way around the sheds, avoiding the gravel road and exposed spaces. At the water’s edge, the hodgepodge of stacked canoes, paddleboats, jet skis, and other apparatus provided ready-made concealment. After scaling a small wire fence, Kyle ducked through the big door that opened into the Gold Sun Water Equipment pier. He crouched behind an overturned boat just as the hammering out front stopped.
Abdel El-Din came inside, sweating and wiping his head with a cloth, and gave a loud sigh as he sat down at his desk with a bottle of water. A voice behind him said, “Hello, Abdel,” making the young Egyptian jump in surprise, his eyes darting around. “Swanson! How did you get in? I was working right by the door.”
Kyle smiled and took a seat. “Never mind that. How are you?”
El-Din shook his head. “Things are bad. I reported to the police, like you said, and they were uninterested. I am OK, but everything is falling apart. Some kids have spray-painted the word DEATH on buildings across the city.”
Kyle paused to let the Egyptian collect his thoughts, and then he said, “I’ve been through the streets today, too, and the few people that I saw look afraid. I understand that up to a point because of the attacks yesterday, but there’s more to it, isn’t there? What’s happened?”
El-Din scratched at the sweat on his chin. “More people have been culled out for another firing squad. Twenty of our leading citizens have been arrested and beaten in the streets and thrown in prison. No one is allowed to see them. The whole city is in shock. We don’t know what to do, other than hide.”
“You know what to do, Abdel. You didn’t hide last night, you fought back.”
“Which means that I am responsible for these new executions.” Tears welled in his brown eyes, and he turned away so another man would not see him cry. “I haven’t told anybody about what we did, but my heart burns with shame and guilt.”
Kyle shook his head. “That’s just normal after-action shock, and you’re feeling sorry for yourself. You went out there with me to avenge your brother, who was murdered by those same people … before you took action. You had done nothing to cause his death, and you are not the reason for this new round of executions.”
“Why are they doing this? I thought they were supposed to be our friends.”
“The Iranians must stamp out any challenge to their authority in this city in order to turn it into a permanent military base, and they will get meaner as time goes on. Take my word, kid, Sharm will soon become a militarized city, all of the businesses will die, and the worst elements of Sharia law will be ruthlessly imposed so they can create a big naval base that controls the Suez Canal and the oil shipping routes.”
“Sharia law? Why bring that up? Are you just another American who hates all Muslims?” Abdel El-Din shouted the accusation. “You don’t know anything about our culture.”
“Bullshit, Abdel. I’ve worked alongside Muslims in the Middle East and Africa for almost as many years as you have been on this earth. This is not a religious thing but a cold political move by Tehran and the extremist elements of the Muslim Brotherhood in Cairo. Those soldiers out there who are running around shooting your friends and relatives are your fellow Muslims, not American or British troops.”
El-Din was on his feet. “They came as peacekeepers to protect us during the uprisings that are sweeping the country. Look at how they put down the attacks by those fanatics on Hotel Row!”
“The Iranians came as part of a conquering army, Abdel, and I think that assault on the hotels was just another part of their plan to establish themselves. Are they acting like friends, or are they your new masters?”
“They will go back home when things settle down,” El-Din said, not believing his own words.
“This won’t stop with Sharm. They will expand across to Hurghada and capture that big air base because it is better suited to handle their fighters and bombers. Once they have supporting air power, they will have control of all of southern Egypt, and then they will never leave. But the rest of the world is not going to sit by idly and let Iran control most of the oil traffic. There will be a big invasion and all of Sharm will be crushed like a bug.”
The Egyptian had his hands on his hips and sucked in deep and nervous breaths, trying to put his thoughts in order.
Kyle continued. “Look, Abdel, I really did get caught up in this mess by accident. Eventually I will be able to leave. Sooner or later, this is going to be your fight, not mine, although I am willing to help.” Kyle stared hard at El-Din. “The only question you have to answer is whether you want to live the rest of your life beneath Iranian boots. Do you? If so, I will leave right now and you will never see me again.”