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Abdullah El Farrar was furious, and he was making no effort to conceal the fact from the men with him in Dhahran. Muhammad Atwa was in his office, a fine sheen of sweat on his face, worrying that El Farrar would take out his anger on him.
El Farrar had the radioman in front of his desk, and he was grilling him unmercifully.
“Do you mean to tell me that you cannot establish contact with either Jamal Ahmed or Haji Kuchkool?” he asked, his face a mask of anger and disbelief.
“Yes, sir,” Omar Othman, the unfortunate man in charge of communications, replied. “I was in contact with both of them last evening, and they were about to proceed with attacks on Tehran and Riyadh. They informed me they would be back in touch once they had managed to retake the cities back from the infidel soldiers.”
“And you have heard nothing since last night?”
“No, sir. The last message from each of them indicated they had control of the oil fields and were about to attack the cities. In fact, Commander Ahmed indicated his men were already in the oil fields and were in the process of mining the oil rigs with explosives.”
“What about Commander Kuchkool?”
“He said that his men had driven the infidels out of
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the oil fields, but because they’d left the fields mined with traps, he was going to take the city and then return to the oil fields at first light to remove the infidels’ mines and then replace them with his own.”
“Then why haven’t we heard from them?” El Farrar asked, slamming his hand down on his desk.
Othman shrugged. “I do not know, sir. I have been at the radio continuously since the last messages were received, and I have tried to call them both several times. I have gotten no answers to any of my calls.”
El Farrar turned his attention to Atwa. “What do you think, Muhammad?”
Atwa hesitated. He hated to tell El Farrar what he really thought, but he had to say something. “There can be several explanations for the lapse in communications, my leader,” he answered diplomatically. “The battles for the city might still be going on and the commanders could be too busy to use the radio, or their radios may have been damaged in the battle and they have no way to fix them until the battles are over and the cities are secured.”
“Do you think that is a possibility, Omar?” El Farrar asked.
Omar Othman hesitated. “I do not think so, sir. Each of the armies had several backup radios with them. It would be extremely unlikely that all would be so damaged they could not place a call.”
El Farrar waved a hand at Othman. “That is all, Omar. Stay by your radio and notify me immediately if there is any word.”
“Yes, sir,” Othman replied, and he hurriedly left the room to return to his post.
El Farrar turned to stare at Atwa. “There is one other possibility you neglected to mention, Muhammad.”
“Oh?”
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“Perhaps both of my commanders have failed in their attempts to take the cities.”
“But sir,” Atwa said, “surely that is not possible. Our information was that the infidels had very minimal forces in the regions. How could they possibly defeat over twenty thousand men armed with the latest weapons and equipment?”
“You forget, Muhammad. We are up against the devil himself, Ben Raines. I would put nothing past him, even the seemingly impossible.”
“But just for the sake of argument,” Atwa said, rubbing his beard with his right hand as he thought, “if we have lost this war and our armies have been defeated, what are we going to do?”
“One thing is for sure,” El Farrar said. “We do not dare to return to Afghanistan or even to our previous homes. The men and families who backed us in this endeavor will not be happy to see us if we have lost the war.”
“What about the United States?” Atwa asked. “Do you think President Osterman would give us sanctuary?”
El Farrar laughed bitterly. “If we lose this war, the president will pretend she has never heard of us, Muhammad.” He shook his head. “No, I think we had better think of someplace else to retire to if the news is as bad as we fear.”
“But who would take us in with the entire world searching for us?” Atwa asked.
El Farrar didn’t answer. He was already trying to figure out if the money he’d held back out of the funds his backers had provided was going to be enough to bribe some country’s leaders into giving him shelter. He looked at Atwa out of the corner of his eyes. One thing was certain.
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It was not nearly enough for two men, so Atwa was going to be left behind if he decided to make a run for it.
Ben was in the process of arranging for the wounded, including Jersey and Buddy, to be airlifted to Kuwait City in one of the C-14s when he was notified that Mike Post was on the radio wishing to speak to him.
He went into the communications room and took the microphone from Corrie.
“Ben Raines here,” he said.
“Hello, Ben,” Mike replied. “I’ve finally got some information on the whereabouts of Abdullah El Farrar and his top men for you.”
“Good,” Ben answered, anxious to find out where the leader of the terrorists was so he could finish his campaign against the terrorists.
“The last word we have on him is that he went to the port city of Dhahran in Saudi Arabia in his Lear jet a few days ago. Evidently, he wanted to personally supervise the retaking of Riyadh and Tehran.”
“Do you think he’s still there, now that his army has been so thoroughly defeated?”
“My contact in Dhahran says the Lear jet is still on the runway, but he can’t confirm just where El Farrar is staying in the city or even if he is in fact still present.”
“Thanks, Mike,” Ben said. “Maybe I’ll just take a little trip to Dhahran and find out for myself.”
Ben signed off the radio, and then asked Corrie to get him in touch with Jean-Francois Chapelle at the United Nations.
Chapelle was on the line in minutes. “Hello, Ben,” Chapelle said.
“Hello, Jean-Francois,” Ben replied. “We have good
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news for you. The terrorist armies have been defeated and the oil facilities are in safe hands once again.”
Ben could almost hear the sigh of relief from Chapelle. “That is excellent news, Ben. The world owes you a great debt of gratitude.”
“I will leave my soldiers here until they can be replaced by United Nations troops, Jean-Francois,” Ben said.
“I will make arrangements immediately to have your troops relieved, Ben.”
“That’s good, Jean-Francois,” Ben said. “I’ve still got a little mopping up to do, and then we can put this behind us.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Abdullah El Farrar is still at large, and I will need to see to it that he causes no more mischief before I’ll consider the episode finished,” Ben said.
“Good luck and good hunting, Ben,” Chapelle said before signing off.
“Corrie,” Ben said after she’d disconnected from Chapelle. “You have one more call to make. Get me Jackie Malone on the horn. I want to make a date with her to call on El Farrar as soon as possible.”
Ben gathered his team together in the ready room of his headquarters building. Everyone was present except for Buddy and Jersey, who’d had to be sedated when she was told she wouldn’t be able to accompany them on this next mission.
“Get your gear together, men and ladies,” Ben said. “We’re gonna make a call on the man who started this mess and make sure he pays for his deeds.”
“Full parachute gear, Ben?” Harley asked, his teeth bared in a savage grin.
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“Yeah. The quickest way to get to him is to make a drop outside the city of Dhahran just before dusk. I’m sure he’s got the airport guarded, so we’ll just drop in unannounced and surprise him.
“Oh, and Jackie Malone and Commander Bartholomew Wiley-Smeyth have asked to join us, so they’ll be coming in from Riyadh at the same time. We’re to rendezvous five miles west of the Dhahran Airport.”
“Sounds like a great party,” Coop said. “Too bad Jerse and Buddy won’t get to attend.”
“They’ll be with us in spirit,” Ben said, and he got to his feet and led the team from the room.
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Jackie Malone checked her GPS instrument, and saw that she was at the exact coordinates Ben had given her when they made arrangements to meet in the desert outside Dhahran.
It was just after dark, and she could see nothing in the scant starlight. Bartholomew Wiley-Smeyth, his aide, Sergeant Major Alphonse Green, and the Davidson brothers were with her.
She gave a low whistle, and was relieved when it was answered from a dozen yards away.
Soon, Ben and his team, along with Major Jackson Bean, Willie Running Bear, Samuel Clements, and Sue Waters, appeared out of the darkness.
Jackie grinned and shook hands with Ben. “Boy,” she said, looking around at the men and women in the group. “This is like old-home week.”
“Do you think we have enough men, Ben?” Bart asked.
Ben nodded. “Yeah. Our Intel says there’s no sign of a significant number of men here with El Farrar in Dhahran. My guess is he kept just his personal guards and enough men and equipment to hold the airport and protect his jet.”
“Any idea where he’s holed up?” Jackie asked.
“No, but it’s got to be near the airport,” Ben answered.
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“He wouldn’t want to get too far away from his jet in case things went bad for him.”
Ben turned and looked toward the airport lights, a few miles away. They appeared closer in the thin desert air. “Let’s spread out in a line and move toward the airport. Be careful. We don’t know where the sentries he’ll have posted are.”
Harley and Anna moved off together, as did Hammer and Beth. Coop moved next to Corrie. “Mind if I tag along with you?” he asked.
She glanced down at his leg, noticing he was still limping on it. “How’s the ankle?” she asked, adjusting the straps on the portable SOHFRAD on her back.
“The medic double-taped it for the jump, so it ought to be okay,” he replied, not mentioning the pain that stabbed up his leg with every step.
The rest of the group moved off in teams of two, and made their way toward the airport lights. Dressed all in black with black greasepaint on their faces, they were almost invisible from only a few yards away.
Since they had to move slowly and be on the lookout for sentries, it took them almost an hour to walk the three or so miles to the outskirts of the airport.
As they crouched just outside the light cast by the runway spotlights, they could see teams of men patrolling the runways, and several armed men in the control tower across the way.
Ben pointed to each of the sentries one at a time, and then to a team that he wanted to take them out. All of the Scouts’ guns were silenced, so there wouldn’t be any noise, but when the men went down, the guards in the control tower were sure to notice.
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“We hit the runway guards in five minutes from … now,” Ben said. He pointed to Harley and Anna. “You two take out the control tower thirty seconds later. Make sure you get the radio antenna so they can’t warn anyone of the attack.”
Harley Reno and Anna moved over until they were directly across from the control tower, and squatted as close to the runway as they could get without being in the light.
When the other teams began to take out the guards, Harley and Reno jumped up and sprinted as fast as they could across the two runways between them and the control tower.
Abu Sayyaf, the lieutenant in charge of the night-shift guards, was in the corner of the control tower pouring himself a cup of coffee when one of the guards in the tower yelled, “Abu, come here!”
Sayyaf cursed when the man’s yell caused him to pour hot coffee on his hand.
“What is it, Essar?” he exclaimed irritably, wiping his hand on his pants and moving to the window overlooking the airfield.
“Look there!” Essar cried, pointing at the men patrolling the runways.
The men were grabbing themselves and falling to the ground as limp as rag dolls.
“What the … ?” Sayyaf said. The men appeared to have been shot, but he heard no sounds of gunfire.
His attention was caught by two figures running across the runways toward the control tower. They were dressed all in black and looked to be carrying rifles.
“In the name of Allah, we’re being attacked!” Sayyaf yelled, turning to the radio to call and warn El Farrar.
The two running figures suddenly dropped, kneeling
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on one knee as they pointed their weapons at the control tower windows.
Though no sound came from their weapons, the tower windows shattered under the onslaught of hundreds of bullets.
Essar, standing by the window, was riddled with slugs and whirled around, his uniform covered with blood.
Sayyaf frantically keyed the microphone, but heard only static as the desk the radio was on suddenly exploded into splinters as steel-jacketed slugs tore into it.
Sayyaf threw the microphone down and reached for his Kalashnikov, standing in a corner.
He stumbled, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the back by a mule, and fell to the floor. He glanced down and saw red stains appearing on his tunic, and then the pain came, like molten lead being poured on his skin.
He had time to scream once, before blackness opened up in front of him and he dived in.
Once the airport was secure, Ben gathered his team and had a conference. “Now, we’ve got to find which of the buildings near the airport El Farrar is using as his headquarters.”
Jackie nodded. “Spread out and each of you teams take a different building. Report back on your headsets to the others if you find a building with sentries.”
Muhammad Atwa, unable to sleep, was standing on the balcony outside his bedroom, sipping a scotch whiskey and smoking a cigar. Both activities were considered sins in the Muslim religion, but Atwa didn’t care. His meeting with El Farrar earlier had left him with lots of things to
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worry about, and the smoke and the scotch helped to calm his nerves.
He almost dropped his whiskey when he happened to glance toward the control tower of the airport, a few hundred yards away, and saw the windows disintegrating and the flash of what could only be small-arms fire from the runways.
He heard no gunshots, but he knew what was happening. Their base was under attack.
He ran back into the bedroom and threw on his robes and clothes as fast as he could. He knew there was precious little time before the attackers found their headquarters building.
As soon as he was dressed, he ran down the hall and banged on El Farrar’s door.
“Abdullah, wake up!” he screamed.
The door opened and a sleepy El Farrar glared out at him. “What is it, Muhammad? Bad dreams?” El Farrar asked sarcastically as he rubbed his eyes.
“The airport! We’re under attack!” Atwa yelled, pushing past El Farrar into his bedroom. “Wake up the guards!”
El Farrar came instantly awake. He moved quickly to the phone on a desk in the middle of the room and dialed a number. Speaking rapidly, he alerted the guards of the situation and ordered them to take up defensive positions in the building at once.
He hung up the phone and moved without speaking to his closet. Instead of El Farrar putting on his uniform, Atwa noticed he dressed in civilian clothes-the robes and headdress of a typical Saudi citizen.
Once he was dressed, El Farrar took a suitcase from the back of his closet and threw it on the bed.
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“What are you doing?” Atwa asked. “We don’t have time to pack.”
El Farrar smiled grimly. “The suitcase is already packed, my friend. It has bearer bonds in it worth five million dollars.”
“But, what…” Atwa started to ask, until he saw the pistol suddenly appear in El Farrar’s hand.
“I’m sorry, Muhammad,” El Farrar said. “You’ve been a good and loyal friend, but I only have enough for one.”
Atwa whirled and dove for the door just as El Farrar fired. The bullet entered Atwa’s back just to the right of his spine and threw him facedown on the floor.
El Farrar picked up the suitcase and hurried down the hall toward a back stairway. He had no intention of staying and fighting. Much better to run away and live to fight another day, he thought to himself as he made his way down the stairs and out a side door of the building into the darkness.
Coop, who was walking toward the building when the lights came on and a shot rang out, immediately notified the other teams of the building’s location.
Within minutes, the building was surrounded and the teams were trading fire with the guards that seemed to be at every window.
A lone figure scurried from the side of the building and ran up a dark street just as the first shots began.
Coop saw the man escape, and made his way down the line of Scouts until he came to Ben.
After he quickly explained what he’d seen, Ben grinned, his teeth gleaming in the starlight. “I think the head rat is abandoning his ship,” he growled.
“Jackie,” he said to Malone, who was lying next to him firing into the second-story windows. “Take over
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here,” he ordered, and he ran off into the darkness after the fleeing figure.
It didn’t take too long for the Scouts under Jackie’s leadership to take out most of the guards in the building. Once the murderous fire of the Scouts’ automatic weapons had pinned down the guards, Willie Running Bear and Sue Waters ran to the main door.
Running Bear kicked the door in, and Sue lobbed a couple of fragmentation grenades into the first floor. When they went off, killing the guards there and filling the stairway with billowing smoke, it was only a matter of a few minutes before the guards that were left alive on the upper floors threw down their weapons and surrendered.
As the defeated men filed out of the building, Coop and Harley and Hammer Hammerick rushed up the stairs to make sure the building was cleared.
Coop entered the room that El Farrar had used as his office, and found Muhammad Atwa laying in a pool of blood. Since he was the only wounded man in the building who wasn’t in uniform, Coop called down to Jackie that she should come up.
Jackie kneeled next to the wounded man and rolled him over. Atwa coughed and spewed blood from his lips, indicating he had a lung wound.
“We need to save this one,” she said. “He might know something useful.”
Samuel Clements, who doubled as a medic, took his medical pack and began to apply field dressings to the wound in Atwa’s back, then gave him a shot of morphine to help ward off shock and some antibiotics to prevent infection.
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After a few moments, Atwa’s eyes opened and he glanced around at the Scouts standing over him.
“Am I going to live?” he asked, his voice slurring from the morphine.
Jackie glanced at Clements, who shrugged and nodded. “I think so,” she said.
“Then, perhaps a glass of scotch would be in order,” Atwa groaned. “It’s in the next room.”
Jackie laughed. The man had balls. She glanced up at Coop. “Get him his scotch,” she said. “It’s the least we can do.”
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Ben jogged down the dark street, carrying his H&P MP-10 cradled in his arms. Up ahead, he could see a man wearing the flowing white robes of a Saudi citizen walking at a fast pace and carrying a suitcase in his right hand.
Ben slowed and moved in behind the man, making sure he made no sounds as he trailed the man. Waiting until there were no other people around, Ben called softly, “Abdullah El Farrar.”
The man jerked as if he’d received an electric shock, and then he stood stock still, not looking behind him.
“I am afraid you’re mistaken,” the man said as he slowly turned around. “My name is Ahmed Ressam and I am a citizen of Saudi Arabia.”
Ben laughed out loud, letting the barrel of his MP-10 drop toward the ground. “Bullshit!” he said. “Your name is Abdullah El Farrar, and you are not only a scoundrel, you are a coward who deserted the men who’d followed him into battle.”
El Farrar’s eyes narrowed, and Ben saw his hand move toward a fold in his robes.
Ben raised the barrel of the MP-10 and clicked the safety off with a metallic sound. “If that’s a gun in your robes, you’d better not pull it or I’ll cut you to pieces.”
El Farrar slowly let his hand fall to his side. Ben moved
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in close, reached into his robes, and pulled out the automatic pistol El Farrar had hidden there.
“You must be the infamous Ben Raines,” El Farrar said scornfully.
“One and the same,” Ben replied, stepping back a few paces.
“I assume I am under arrest?” El Farrar asked, setting the suitcase down on the street.
Ben pursed his lips. “No, not tonight, El Farrar. You are much too dangerous a man to leave alive, even in captivity.”
“So, you plan to shoot me down in cold blood?” El Farrar asked, his eyes wide.
Ben shook his head. “Nope, not my style,” he replied, laying the MP-10 down on the ground.
El Farrar nodded and smiled evilly, his hand going to the curved knife on his belt that all male Saudis wore with their robes.
Ben grinned back and pulled his K-Bar assault knife from his scabbard. “I’m going to give you a chance, El Farrar,” he said. “Defeat me, and you go free.”
“You are a fool, Ben Raines,” El Farrar said, “To try and best an Arab in a knife fight is to lose your life.”
Ben crouched, holding his K-Bar in the underhanded manner of the experienced knife-fighter.
“We’ll see,” he said, and moved from side to side as he closed the space between them.
El Farrar also crouched, waving his curved stiletto back and forth, its blade gleaming in the starlight.
Suddenly he lunged forward, the knife flashing toward Ben in a sweeping arc.
Ben leaned back just enough so the knife missed him by inches, and slashed horizontally with his own blade. The K-Bar slashed through muscles and tendons of El
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Farrar’s right arm, opening a deep gash and causing him to drop his knife.
He grabbed his arm and doubled over, groaning in pain.
“Pick it up,” Ben growled. “I’m not through with you yet.”
Tucking his right arm tight against his side, El Farrar bent and retrieved his knife.
He bared his teeth in a savage grimace and lunged at Ben once again, slashing back and forth with his knife held in front of him.
Ben leaned to the side, kicked sideways with his combat boot, and caught El Farrar in the right knee, caving it in and snapping the cartilage in two.
El Farrar went down on one knee, hissing between his teeth at the searing pain in his leg. He held the knife out before him. “I give up, Raines. You are too much for me.”
Ben shook his head. “Like I said, El Farrar, a coward to the end.”
As Ben moved to take the knife, El Farrar jumped to his feet and stabbed overhand at Ben’s chest.
Ben blocked the movement with his left arm and swung upward with his right hand, burying the K-Bar to its hilt in El Farrar’s abdomen.
El Farrar grunted and sagged, all of his weight on Ben’s knife hand. With a grunt of effort, Ben jerked the knife upward, severing all of El Farrar’s abdominal muscles and slicing up to his rib cage.
El Farrar opened his mouth in a gasp of pain and fell against Ben, who whispered in his ear, “I’m going to leave your body here, El Farrar, to be buried in a pauper’s grave, unknown to your family and followers.”
El Farrar’s eyes stared up at Ben, full of hatred and fear, until the pupils finally dilated in the long stare of eternity.
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Ben decided to take the wounded Muhammad Atwa back to Kuwait City with him and his troops in hopes the man might have some useful information about El Farrar’s organization.
After his surgery to remove the bullet from his right lung, Ben visited him in the hospital ward where he was being held under tight security.
“Hello, sir,” Ben said, standing next to the bed. “My name is Ben Raines.”
“Ah,” Atwa said, “the leader of the Great Satan’s troops in person.”
Ben smiled. “And what is your name?”
“Muhammad Atwa.”
“You know why I’m here, Mr. Atwa?” Ben asked.
Atwa sighed. “I suppose you want me to give you information about Abdullah El Farrar.” He hesitated. “He is dead, is he not?”
Ben nodded.
“I thought so,” Atwa said. He glanced at a nurse standing in the corner, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t suppose you could arrange for some cigars, or a bottle of scotch whiskey, could you?”
Ben laughed. “I’m afraid the cigars are out of the ques-
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tion. You’ve just had a significant portion of your right lung removed.”
When Atwa’s face fell, Ben leaned down and also whispered, “But I think a small bottle of scotch could be arranged.”
Atwa smiled. “You are a scholar and a gentleman, sir.”
Ben looked puzzled. “Mr. Atwa, you seem to be an educated man, and since you asked for whiskey and tobacco, you aren’t exactly a Muslim fundamentalist. Why on earth did you elect to follow and work with a man such as El Farrar?”
Atwa turned his head to stare out of the window. “You probably won’t believe this, but it was to help my people.”
“Oh?”
He turned back to look into Ben’s eyes. “The people in my region in, Pakistan live in the most dreadful poverty, without even the most basic of human needs; there is little food and even less potable water. I thought that if El Farrar succeeded, perhaps some of the money and power he achieved would be used to better the lives of our people back home.”
Ben thought for a moment. “Mr. Atwa, where did El Farrar obtain the plutonium he used to blackmail the entire world by threatening its oil supply?”
“That was my doing, I’m afraid,” Atwa answered. “I traveled to the United States and asked President Osterman for it.”
Ben wasn’t all that surprised. “And what was President Osterman to get for giving you the plutonium?”
Atwa smiled. “Actually, she was to get nothing, according to El Farrar, but she thought she would get a larger supply of oil than she presently is allowed.”
“I see,” Ben said. “Mr. Atwa, did you know that El
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Farrar had in his possession a suitcase with over five million dollars in it?”
“No, but I suspected as much. El Farrar was not above lining his own pockets at the expense of his people.”
“And you were not a partner in this theft of funds meant to be used to help the Middle East’s poorer peoples?”
Atwa looked offended. “Of course not.”
“Could much good be done with five million dollars in your country?” Ben asked.
“An enormous amount of good, sir.”
“Then, I’m going to take a chance on you, Mr. Atwa. As soon as you’ve recovered from your wounds, I’m going to see to it that you are released and sent back to Pakistan, with the five million dollars in El Farrar’s suitcase.”
Atwa looked astounded.
“But,” Ben added, pointing his finger at him, “I will be checking up on you to see that you spend the money wisely, to help your people. If you don’t, you will wake up one night and I will be at your bedside, and it won’t be a happy reunion.”
Atwa’s face sobered. He stuck out his hand. “Thank you, sir, I will not disappoint you.”
Two weeks later, Ben Raines got on a long-range transport helicopter and flew north. Harley Reno, Jackie Malone, Coop, and Jersey, who had refused to be left behind, accompanied him.
President Claire Osterman finished her dinner, which she’d had served in her quarters, and looked across the
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table at her personal bodyguard, Herb Knoff. “I hope you didn’t eat too much, Herb,” she said, her eyes bright and shining.
“Oh?” he asked. “Why?”
“I’ve heard it’s not good to exert yourself too much after a heavy meal.”
He smiled. “And am I going to be exerting myself tonight?”
She stood up and began unbuttoning her blouse. “I certainly hope so.”
Two hours later, they were sound asleep, both exhausted after some vigorous post-dinner activities.
Claire blinked and opened her eyes. Something had awakened her from a deep sleep. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw a dark shape leaning over her and felt a sudden stinging in her left ear.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed, sitting up abruptly in bed. “Goddamnit, that hurt.”
“What’d you say, dear?” Herb asked sleepily from next to her in the bed.
Suddenly, the lights came on and Claire saw a group of men and women standing around her bed. They were dressed all in black and had black greasepaint on their faces.
She punched Herb in the shoulder, waking him up. As he scooted up in bed and sat up, Claire said, “I’m really getting tired of waking up and having strange people in my bedroom.”
Herb glanced at her, noticing blood was running out from between the fingers of her left hand, which was cupping her left ear.
“Claire,” he said, “You’ve been hurt!”
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She took her hand away and saw the blood on it, and then her eyes went to a female face next to her bed. She recognized Jackie Malone from their previous meeting when Jackie had cut a notch in her right ear.
“Shit! Not again?” Claire said.
Jackie nodded. “Yes, now your left ear matches your right, Madame President.”
A male voice spoke from the other side of the bed. “Good evening, Claire.”
Claire looked over at him. It was Ben Raines.
“Ben, you son of a bitch!” she almost yelled. “You’ll pay for this!”
Herb cast his eyes toward the bedside table, where he kept a 9mm automatic pistol.
Ben held out a Beretta. “Are you looking for this, son?”
Herb relaxed back against the headboard.
“What are you doing here and why did you let that crazy woman assault me?” Claire asked in her most imperious voice.
Ben smiled. “Just a reminder, Sugar Babe,” he said, using his pet nickname for Claire.
“A reminder?”
“Yes. A reminder that no matter where you are and no matter how tight your security is, I can get to you any time I want and do to you whatever I want.”
“But why are you here?” Claire asked, sitting up in bed.
When she sat up, the sheets covering her fell to her lap, exposing her breasts.
Ben looked away. “Cover yourself, Claire,” he said.
She jerked the sheets up under her neck and glared at him.
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“To answer your question, I’m a little put out with you for giving a madman fifty pounds of plutonium.”
Claire looked shocked. “I don’t know what you …”
“Come off it, Claire,” Ben said. “The man you gave it to has given us a full confession, which I’ve naturally forwarded on to the United Nations.”
“But… but…”
Ben held up a finger. “This visit is just a little warning, Claire. People who play with fire often get their fingers burned.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Jean-Francois Chapelle has assured me that the next time the Oil Allocation Committee of the U.N. meets, they will almost certainly lower the amount of oil allocated to the United States.” He grinned. “We’ll leave it up to you to explain to the people who elected you just why that happened.”
“You bastard!” she screamed, stretching out her hands toward him, her fingers curled into claws.
Jackie stepped forward, jammed a hypodermic needle into Claire’s left shoulder, and then watched as Claire’s eyes shut and she collapsed in the bed.
As Herb’s face reddened and his muscles bunched for retaliation, Ben held up a hand. “Easy, son. It’s just a tranquilizer to put her out long enough for us to get away.”
Herb relaxed back against his pillows and held out his arm, an expression of resignation on his face while Jackie gave him the same shot.
In the helicopter headed back to SUSA headquarters in Louisiana, Jackie asked Ben, “Do you think she learned her lesson this time?”
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Ben shook his head. “People like her never learn, Jackie. They just keep on making the same mistakes over and over again.”
“Then, why didn’t we just take her out permanently?”
“Because the people of the United States elected her,
and people usually get the kind of leaders they deserve.”