Juba gave a small nod. “International reporters are surging into Saudi Arabia in invasion-level numbers, and with the death of the king and the crown prince, the street demonstrations will grow more violent. The military will have to respond with force, and that will only create more demonstrators.” Juba handed the provincial governor several computer printouts held together at the left-hand corner by a spring clip.
“Some army units already are hesitating to perform their duties if it means killing civilians. When the cameras show children and old people being bloodied and killed, it will appear that a popular uprising is trying to overthrow a ruthless and immoral royal family.”
“Very good. However, I bring a private and important message from our mutual friend,” the governor said. “Is there somewhere we can speak that is beyond the hearing of any servants?”
“Certainly,” Juba said. This was curious. There was a hint of strain in the voice, a touch of alarm. Sukarnoputri was not the jittery sort. Not only was he the governor of the local province, he was also the brother of the powerful Mobile Brigade of the Indonesian National Police Force. Since both had political and military protection and government-protected communications security, he frequently acted as a cutout between Juba and Dieter Nesch.
They walked outside into the cool and gentle wind and along a stone path that led through a garden ablaze with flowers. A rugged rock wall, about waist high, bordered the edge of the outcropping, beyond which was a sharp slope all the way down to the sea. From this vantage point, they could see for miles.
“I am afraid that something has arisen that will require some changes in your plans, my friend,” said the governor.
Juba fixed the man with an unsettling one-eyed stare. With so much at stake, with the game successfully underway, a late operational change was wanted? Nesch knew better than that. “Go on.”
“This will sound quite unbelievable, but our mutual acquaintance has sent word that Mohammed Abu Ebara has somehow come into possession of five nuclear missiles, including their launch codes. I was instructed to tell you that Ebara demands your presence on the ground in Saudi Arabia, as quickly as possible, to handle them.”
Juba leaned on the stone wall and listened to the sea while he thought.
“I know that and so does Dieter. But Ebara is adamant. He apparently is having visions from paradise, voices that are guiding him.”
“Damn. What does the Russian want?”
“Apparently, our friend in Moscow is letting Ebara have his way.”
“So I am supposed to just close down shop, abandon months of careful planning and the spending of millions of dollars to get things ready, just to go hold the hand of Ebara?” Juba walked slowly around the area, tasting the breeze. “Without me here to control things, the overthrow of the government may not work. Everything depends on the timing of the coming attacks. This is a huge risk.”
Governor Sukarnoputri spread his palms in a helpless gesture. What can we do?
Juba’s thoughts were reeling, trying to find some way to make it all work. The coup had been his primary goal. What could be gained with nuclear weapons? They could not be used within Saudi Arabia during this uprising.
Perhaps afterward? A potential new reward began to surface in his mind. Consider them as a separate matter and not part of the current strife. With nuclear weapons in his possession, he could be recorded in history as one of the most dangerous men who had ever lived! He could destroy Israel! Europe might be within reach. England? His thoughts began to race. Would it be possible to smuggle one to the U.S.? A smile twisted on his deformed lips. A few hours of discomfort in an airplane in exchange for an eternity of notorious fame.
“It will cost more.”
The governor said that he had already taken care of the renegotiation, and Dieter Nesch was promising another million euros for Juba just to make the trip, assess the possibilities, and soothe the growing mania of Ebara. The governor and his brother would both rake off a commission.
“Go back and contact Dieter again. Tell him to make it five million euros. If they agree, I can be on my way tomorrow.” Juba considered his fledgling plan. He could force Ebara to turn the weapons over to him so that he could blackmail other governments. That would work to the benefit of Ebara, the Russian, and everyone on the money train.
The governor smiled. A bigger commission. “My brother will arrange your transport. A helicopter can ferry you from here to the airport in Jakarta. From there, a private jet will fly you to Jeddah in Saudi Arabia.”
They bowed to each other and the governor left. Juba remained in the garden and a slight shudder ran through his body. The trip would be extremely difficult. But for five nuclear weapons, he would do it. Juba thought that he might change the face of the world with those things. Yes, that would make it worthwhile.
28
AL-KHOBZ
GOLDEN-RED FLASHES OF EXPLOSIONS flickered in the night sky, painting the buildings in sharp silhouette. The rattle of small-arms fire echoed through the streets while shadows hurried past him, civilians running for their lives. The rebel attack was centered at the main gate to the foreign compound and Swanson veered away to the south. For a change, he was not looking for a fight.
He jogged steadily for about five minutes, listening to the sporadic crack of gunshots. Personal weapons were forbidden in al-Khobz, but almost every house had at least one. Even so, resistance would be isolated and ineffective unless some organization was brought to bear, and that was where the experience and better weaponry of Homer and Jamal would help. Swanson could not provide that tonight. For him, the shooting was a distraction to help him slip away.
He loped along for another six minutes, following the main road south and keeping to the dark areas as the congested urban center gave way to more open space on the right side of the broad avenue, while the waterfront and the rigs glowed like groups of holiday lanterns to his left. He jumped the drainage ditch and darted into a small alleyway partially blocked by plastic bags filled with trash.
Settling low, he could see a bright necklace of floodlights that threw white circles along the fence of the army base about two kilometers away. An alert siren was groaning. Kyle slipped his radio headset into place and keyed it. “You guys there?”
“Yeah,” Boykin replied, his voice already heavy with exertion.
“How’s it look?”
“The rebels are streaming in through the main security entrance like a bunch of cockroaches. The guard is sprawled out, apparently dead, alongside a second body. Western civilian. A pack of SUVs, pickup trucks, and cars are parked outside the gate and men are hiding behind them to fire into the compound. The shitty part? A pair of blue and white police cars are out there, too. Uniformed cops are working with those assholes.”
“Any organized resistance yet?”
“Bits and pieces. We’re working on it. I sent two guys to round up everybody they can find and Jamal and I have set up a cross-fire from a couple of buildings overlooking the main breach area. That should stop the ground assault. One surprise is that quiet Chinese dude who came in on the plane with you: He knows how to shoot.”
“Not surprised at all. I’ll let you know if I spot any rescue force rolling your way.”
“Are you sure about where you’re going?” asked Boykin.
“I can see the Saudi army base from here. It’s all lit up, and there is a lot of movement. Out.” He made a final check around his hiding place and saw two shadows doing a fast creep toward the military camp. He flipped down the Cyclops night vision goggles for a better look and found they were an ambush team carrying rocket propelled grenades. Swanson darted from his hide and swung in behind them.
FATEHI AWWAD, A FORMER Egyptian soldier and drug smuggler, hugged the ditch as he stalked toward the site he had picked for a blocking
