Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (11 page)

 
          
He
pushed her aside roughly, then took his seat once again. “Stop this foolishness
and straighten up, Major,” Kazakov ordered her. She stood before him, watching
him with half-closed eyes, her expression contrite yet inviting at the same
time. “I do not believe for one moment that you get orgasmic just by watching
me yell at a strutting simpleton like Zuwayy. He is not one-tenth the soldier
or leader you are—if he was, I would send you to Tripoli and have you
assassinate him immediately. He is a bug to be squashed as soon as he fulfills
his part, which is to force either a settlement or a war between the central
African oil cartels and us. Your job is to watch my back and collect
information, not to play with yourself in my office. If I need a whore, I’ll
call one.”

 
          
“I
am here to do whatever you wish, Pavel—”

 
          
“I
am Comrade Kazakov to you, Major,” he corrected her. “And there should be no
doubt in your mind that you are here to do whatever I wish, or else your fate
would be the same as your last boss, General Zhurbenko—thirty years at hard
labor in Siberia. But you are a highly trained soldier and a keen tactician,
not a
zblidavattsa.
If I ever get
another indication that you fancy yourself as anything else but my chief of security
and my aide-de-camp, you will find yourself digging coal in Siberia beside
Zhurbenko— or at the bottom of an Icelandic fjord ”

 
          
“Yes,
Comrade Kazakov,” Vasilyeva said. But her eyes blazed as she went on, “But now
I wish to tell you something”

 
          
“You
do so at your own peril, Major.”

 
          
“Very
well,” she said. She took a bold step forward; Kazakov’s eyes warned her away,
but he knew it would take more than a stare to make this woman back off. “You
say you chose me, Comrade. But now I tell you this: I chose
you
as well ”

 
          
“Zasrat mazgi? Oh, really?”

           
“Yes, Comrade,” Vasilyeva said
confidently, with only a , hint of a smile on her beautiful but army-hardened
face. “I chose General Zhurbenko the same way: He was a man that could get me
the things I wanted—power, prestige, money, land, and status. If I had to let
the old bastard feel me up or be his
min
’etka
every now and then, it was all part of my plan to get what I wanted.

 
          
“I
feel the same way about you, Comrade—you are a man that can get me what I want.
You have the power— you
still
have
the power, even here, in exile in Iceland. I can dedicate myself to a man such
as you.”

 
          
“Frankly,
Major, I was not too impressed with how well you protected your other mentor.”

 
          
“I
noticed your power the moment I first met you in the general’s car. I knew you
were the one for me, the man with even more power than Zhurbenko, the one who
could get me the things I want,” Vasilyeva said. “Besides, he gave me to you—it
was clear he no longer needed me. It was easy to switch loyalties. If the
general showed the same loyalty to me when your plan started to become exposed,
I would have used my powers to protect him as well—but he decided to be a good
soldier and take his punishment, protecting his wife instead of me. That will
cost him his life.” She stepped closer to him again, and this time he saw
something more sinister in her expression—not just confidence, but a warning as
well. “I have given myself to you, Comrade. I am yours. Betray me, and I will
bring you down like I brought down Zhurbenko. Remain loyal to me, and you can
do with me as you want
—anything
you
want—and I will do anything for you.”

 
          
Pavel
Kazakov had to suppress a thrill of dread that came over him again. The old
feeling had come back—the feeling of impending danger. Every time he had
listened, the feeling had saved him. Every time he ignored it, failed to break
off his plans, run, and protect himself, he went down in disaster and defeat.

 
          
But
before he could respond, she reached out to him, took his hands, and placed
them on her breasts. Her eyes were demanding, commanding, riveting—and
irresistible. She had always been irresistible. This wasn’t loyalty, and
certainly not love—this was plain old-fashioned ambition, desire, and a
willingness to do anything, and allow anything to be done to her, to get what
she wanted.

 
          
Of
course, he failed to listen to the danger signal. He was helpless to heed it
now.

           
“Well,” he said with a smile as she
reached behind her neck to unzip her sweater, “if you put it that way, Major ..

 
         
Zuwayy
slammed the phone down hard.
“Saghf tarak
khord!”
he cursed. “That bastard! How dare he order me around like a
child!” But Kazakov was right about one thing: This was a good opportunity to
lash out at someone and prove he wasn’t going to be pushed around. And he would
be fully, completely justified in doing so.

 
          
He
dialed a special secure pager number, then sat and waited. Several minutes
later, a call was put through to him: “Speak.”

 
          
“This
is Ulama al-Khan, Majesty,” Khalid al-Khan, the chief justice of the Egyptian
Supreme Court and the leader of the main opposition party, responded. “God be
with you.”

 
          
“And
to you, Ulama,” Zuwayy said. This guy had to be the biggest idiot in all of
Egypt and probably all of northern Africa, Zuwayy scoffed to himself. Khan saw
himself as an Islamic holy man, a true believer who fancied himself a spiritual
master and leader. He was so zealous in his beliefs—and so enamored of
himself—that he couldn’t see danger when it was right in front of his face. His
ambition would quite possibly drive him into the Presidential Palace—but he had
no concept of how to lead a government, except to send out his henchmen in the
Egyptian Republican Guards and assassinate a political enemy. He truly believed
that God would absolve him of all his sins, no matter how heinous his crimes.

 
          
But
most times stupidity and ambition made for a pliant coconspirator, and that’s
what Zuwayy had in Khan. The Egyptian cleric thought it was in the best
interest of all concerned for Egypt to join the Muslim Brotherhood—a loose
confederation of Libya, Sudan, and Yemen, with major support in Syria, Jordan,
Iraq, and Lebanon, and with some wealthy supporters in such pro-Western states
such as Saudi Arabia, Oman, the United Arab Emirates, and

 
          
even
Kuwait. Jadallah Zuwayy, as ruler of the most powerful military in the
alliance, was the leader of the Muslim Brotherhood. Their sworn mission: to
replace all of the secular governments in the Middle East with religious- based
governments firmly grounded in traditional Muslim beliefs. Egypt joining the
Muslim Brotherhood would be the crown jewel in strengthening the organization
and convincing other undecided nations to join—Egypt had the most powerful
military force in the entire region, almost on a par with Israel
quantitatively.

 
          
Zuwayy
found a ready and willing ideological slave in Khalid al-Khan. Obviously the
cleric never read anything but propaganda sheets—for he truly believed that
Zuwayy was descended from the Prophet Muhammad and was the savior and sword of
Islam. Zuwayy nurtured that fiction every chance he could, and Khan was
obviously enjoying and benefiting from the attention. It did not take long to
lodge al-Khan firmly under Zuwayy’s thumb.

 
          
“I
have a request of you, Ulama,” Zuwayy said.

 
          
“Ask
anything of me, Majesty,” Khan replied devoutly.

 
          
“A
sneak attack by unidentified commandos was perpetrated against Libya tonight.”

 
          
“I
have heard of this, Majesty. Are you safe?”

 
          
“Perfectly
safe, Ulama.”

 
          
“I
swear this to you, Majesty, that the terrorists that did this deed will be
hunted down like the dogs they are and punished!”

 
          
“You
would tell me if these terrorists came from Egypt, Khalid?”

 
          
“Of
course, Majesty!” Khan cried. “I would notify you the instant I found out, even
if I risked violating state secrets. You are descended from the loving
Prophet—none may seek to harm you! All true believers know this to be true!”

 
          
“Thank
you for your words of comfort, Khalid,” Zuwayy said. “But I need your help to
find the terrorists.”

 
          
“Anything,
Majesty.”

 
          
“I
believe that the terrorists crossed into
Egypt
to make their escape. I need your military
forces to provide me with radar and patrol data so that I may track them down.”

           
“It shall be delivered to you by
daybreak, Majesty.”

 
          
“And
whatever my military forces may do, Ulama, I do not want your military forces
to intervene,” Zuwayy said. “I will not attack Egyptian soil without first
notifying you—but I do not want any Egyptian forces to respond to attacks
elsewhere.”

 
          
“I
will give the orders myself, Majesty,” Khan said. “It is easily done. The
commanders of our largest military bases are friends to me and our cause.”

 
          
“Very
good, Khalid. My war ministers will be in touch with your office within the
hour. On behalf of all the faithful, I thank you.”

 
          
“It
is my honor, Majesty,” Khan said. “I am pleased to tell you, Highness, that I
shall place my name in nomination before the People’s Assembly for president of
Egypt,
insh ’allah”

 
          
“Excellent,
Ulama,” Zuwayy said. His defense ministers and generals were entering the
room—he had to shut this zealot off, quick. “You have my full support and
blessings. Anything my government or I can do to support you, it is yours.”

 
          
“Of
course, joining the Muslim Brotherhood is my main goal, Majesty,” Khan said. “I
wish to strengthen ties with all of our Muslim brothers and force all of the
foreigners out.”

 
          
“The
foreigners are draining the strength out of all the faithful. We need to
formalize our union, Ulama. When you are named president, we shall work
together to eliminate the Westerners from our land. The oil they pump from our
land is ours, not theirs. Libya took control of our oil fields, Khalid—Egypt
should do the same. I will accept any information you can give me, and God will
tell me His wishes.”

 
          
“As
you wish, Majesty,” Khan said. “It shall be sent to you without delay.”

 
          
Good
little tool, Zuwayy thought, good little tool.

ABOARD THE S.S.
CATHERINE THE GREAT
,
 
IN THE
MEDITERRANEAN
SEA
 
THAT EVENING

 
          
“I
apologize for having to do this,” Patrick McLanahan said as he entered the
briefing room. The other members of his team were already there, waiting. “I
know none of us feel much like debriefing right now. But we have a report to
file. Let’s get to it.” He looked over to his wife, Wendy. “What have you got
for us?”

 
          
Wendy
looked on her husband sadly, her eyes wet with tears. Concentrating on
recovering the commando team, with the body of her dead brother-in-law aboard,
was one of the most difficult things she ever had to do. But Patrick was all
business—never shed a tear, never sulked, never really looked at his brother
once they were brought aboard. He helped carry the litter off the CV-22 Pave
Hammer tilt- rotor aircraft until two other men took the body away, and then he
got right back to work. She could feel the pain inside him, even though his
face and features didn’t show it.

 
          
Patrick
issued a voice command, and his fibersteel exoskeleton automatically detached
itself from his body. He stepped out of it and pressed a code into a hidden keypad,
and the exoskeleton folded itself up into a package about the size of a small
suitcase. He plugged the pack into a wall outlet to recharge it, set the
exoskeleton aside, sat down at the head of the conference table, then plugged
his battle armor into another available outlet. Patrick, Wendy noticed, still
had Paul’s blood on his hands, his wrists, his arms, and his face—he hadn’t
even slowed down long enough to wash it off.