Warriors

ago.'

Bar-El stretched his arms, slumped back, and mussed his curly black hair. 'I remember. You said a relatively quiet two years or more. The Air Force staff thinks they will have to deal with these Saudi F-20s eventually.'

The colonel dropped the file on the desk. 'At least there's time to make plans. The Islamic fundamentalists still have to sort out their internal problems, consolidate their gains, and try to decide how to take us on. I believe their newfound unity has bought us a breathing space. If in fact they are consolidating their national and religious objectives to apply mass against us-'

'The correct procedure,' Bar-El interjected.

A teacherlike wave of the finger. 'You're learning. But if they are in fact consolidating and planning along those lines, it will take much effort in Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon.'

'So you think they'll continue harassing us, building their military strength, and working diplomatically as well.'

Geller said, 'Absolutely. The imams must know by now they cannot afford another major loss. But some of them are dogmatic enough to think twice about dealing with the Soviet infidels. It may take time to overcome that attitude about unbelievers, especially after Afghanistan. But eventually pragmatism will win. Next time they'll choose the proper moment and try to do it right.'

Bar-El scratched his head. His eyelids felt heavy. 'Then what can we hope for in the meantime?'

There was the faintest trace of a smile at the corners of Geller's mouth. 'I myself would prefer a miracle. A change of human nature. But lacking that, you know sometimes miracles are the product of a lot of hard work.'

Bar-El's face was expressionless. Sometimes he did not understand his chief at all.

'More bickering among Sunni and Shiite, perhaps even some shooting along the South Yemen border.' An eloquent shrug. 'We’ll just have to wait and see.'

Bar-El cocked his head to one side. The colonel thought he looked just like a curious puppy. 'Do you mean we-'

'Levi, Levi, my young friend. Surely you realize I mean nothing. And in our line of work, even nothing can be highly significant. You've heard the phrase 'negative intelligence.' ' The colonel winked, then heartily clapped Bar-El on the arm. 'Enjoy yourself in Ashqelon, and save some fish for me.'

Levi Bar-El stared at the retreating form of his section chief, pondering the myriad meanings of mere words.

Bahrain

Ed Lawrence rapped on the door at 1030 hours.

'Come in.'

The redhead opened the door and stepped into John Bennett's three-room suite. Lawrence noticed the unmade bed, baggage piled in one corner, and a Browning Hi-Power pistol disassembled on a newspaper on the floor. Bennett emerged from the bathroom, dressed in khaki shorts, a white T-shirt, and sandals. 'Hey there, Ed.'

'Welcome back, Skipper.' They shook hands. 'Two weeks passes pretty fast, doesn't it?'

'Sure does. Actually, I got back late yesterday afternoon. Went straight to bed, and I'm still catching up on my jet lag.'

'Yeah, I heard Masher and a couple of the guys saw you drag in here. Figured you'd hole up and recuperate.' Lawrence sat down in the vacant chair. 'So tell me. How's it feel to join the geriatric set?'

Bennett sprawled on the bed and rested his hands behind his head. 'Ed, I have a granddaughter. Six pounds fourteen ounces at birth, now up to about ten pounds. She's going to have gray eyes, I think.' He smiled widely and Lawrence saw the twinkle of pride in his friend's own gray eyes.

'How are Paul and his bride doing?'

'Oh, pretty good. Paul's decided to major in engineering, and I told him electronics would be a good future. So I expect he'll go for an EE. His wife's been working at a day-care center in Mesa so she has a good handle on children. I'd say they're doing all right. No gravy, but all right.'

Lawrence pointed at the disassembled pistol. 'New shootin' iron, I see. Nine millimeter, — thought you were a.45 man.'

'I am. But.45 ammo's tough to get in quantity in this part of the world. So I looked up a buddy of mine in Phoenix. He's a naturalized South African gunsmith. I told him what I needed and he worked overtime to modify this Browning.' Bennett picked up the receiver and handed it to Lawrence. 'See, he's enlarged the thumb safety and polished the feedramp. The trigger lets off at about three and a half pounds. Also, he installed high-visibility sights.'

Setting the frame back on the paper, Lawrence asked, 'Why the concern with ammo? Couldn't you bring a couple boxes of.45 for your Colt?'

Bennett lanced his exec with his best instructor's stare. 'How many rounds of twenty mike-mike did you fire in banner gunnery?'

Lawrence was perplexed. 'Hell, I don't know. Must have been thousands and thousands with all those gunnery detachments to Yuma and everywhere. I remember Hoser McAllister got frustrated on his third or fourth hop and burned out all four barrels one time, trying to saturate the banner in one pass.'

'Yeah-that's why they call him Hoser.' Both men laughed. Bennett pressed his point. 'Okay, you and I and every other F-8 driver burned up case-lots of ammo in practice. But how many rounds did you fire in combat, air- to-air?'

'Exactly two hundred eighty-three, on my second MiG. So what's the point?'

'You just answered the question, sport. Getting proficient with a handgun or rifle's no different from aerial gunnery. You shoot a lot more in practice than in combat. So instead of trying to bring a few thousand rounds of.45 ACP here, I got a gun to match the local situation. The Saudis can supply all the nine millimeter I can use.'

'You really expect a shootout?'

'Well, I'll put it this way. If I don't have a shootout, I'm paranoid and healthy. If I do have a shootout, I'm prescient and healthy. The operative word is healthy.' He grinned, knowing he had made his point. 'Besides, it'll make a good impression on the cadets to see the head honcho taking his turn on the pistol range. Now, how are things shaping up for the flight program?'

'Real good. The first class started F-20 academics yesterday.

We're sticking to the modified GE syllabus, alternating between classroom lectures and do-it-yourself study with the display consoles. We'll start giving indoctrination rides next week. Keep their interest up.”

'Good deal. Are the IPs up to speed on the schedule?'

'Affirmative. A couple guys have questioned the accelerated pace of flight training but they seem to buy the reasoning.'

Bennett had expected that. He recalled his own early instruction at Pensacola-the days lost to marginal or poor weather in the gulf climate, the remedial or make-up flights just to stay current. He and most of the Navy- trained instructors had periods when only ten or twelve flights were possible in two months. But Arabia's clear weather allowed flying almost every week of the year, provided it was scheduled early enough in the morning.

Lawrence got up to leave. 'I'll tell the guys you're back aboard. We can get together with the different class IPs for lunch, dinner, and an evening session. I'll set it up for today and tomorrow.' He walked to the door. 'Oh, by the way. Did you see your lady diplomat when you came through Riyadh?'

'No. I called but she was out at some meeting. Why?'

'No reason. Just some lecherous snooping. You going to see her regularly, do you think?'

Bennett was mildly irritated; Lawrence had a way of making one's personal matters his own. Bennett wondered if it was because the exec had so few close friends himself. 'I expect to see her again. When time allows.'

'She's quite a bit younger than you, isn't she?'

'As a matter of fact, she's about sixteen years younger. We get along together despite such a vast age difference.' His voice was tinged with irony. It also said, Proceed with caution.

Recognizing the danger signal, Lawrence flashed a brilliant white smile and a big thumbs-up. 'Outstanding.' Then the door closed behind him.

* * *