from someone who is insane.”
The car slowed and curved into a broad parking area before a large whitewashed building that was three stories high. Guards were at the doors.
“And he wants to meet you at the end of the world,” said Mishaal as he opened the door to the office of the commanding general.
56
TABUK
THE SMELL OF DEATH blocked them at the door, an overpowering combination of a body already decaying in a small space. The general was slouched back in his chair behind his desk and the cushion behind his head was saturated with dark blood. A torrent of blood also had swept from the large exit wound onto his uniform. A dark circular bruise the size of a gun barrel surrounded the single entry wound and specks of unburned gunpowder stippled the skin. The pistol was still gripped in his right hand.
“It looks like he considered what he was doing, maybe hesitating at the last minute,” said Kyle. “He finally just jammed the pistol hard against his temple and pulled the trigger.”
“The filthy animal had nothing to live for. He had dishonored himself and his family and got caught on the wrong side of the coup.” Mishaal’s eyes rested on the dead man. “I never liked him. Now let’s get back to work.” The prince spat on the corpse and led the group back outside. Investigators took their place.
A colonel escorted them to a fresh office in a nearby building and then briefed them on how the general had led the unauthorized raid to take the nuclear weapon. The colonel handed Mishaal a piece of paper, an official fax of authorization from the Department of the Interior in Riyadh, in proper form, on letterhead and signed by a deputy minister. “After we spoke with you this morning, I tried to contact the man who signed that authorization. He apparently is nowhere to be found.”
Mishaal passed the paper to his aide and said, “Call Riyadh and give them my orders to find him. Colonel, please speak in English for our guests.”
Kyle cleared his throat and the prince nodded that he could address the colonel. “About how many men did the general have along with him this morning when they took the device?”
“Just the driver in each truck, somebody else was with him in the command car, and four men in the Humvee escort. The general said they were to rendezvous with a special unit that was unaffiliated with the base. I thought about questioning that, since we have thousands of men on the base here, but he was my commanding officer and had the transfer document.”
“So in total, less than ten men were in the raiding party. Nine, now that the general whacked himself.”
“Yes,” said the colonel.
“Who was the other guy in the command car?”
“An American who had CIA credentials.” The colonel checked another list. “The name was Jeremy M. Osmand.”
Kyle turned to Mishaal. “Damn. Juba is a Brit. His real name is Jeremy Mark Osmand. What arrogance! He really wants to be sure that I get his message.”
Mishaal instructed the colonel to throw as many planes and helicopters in the air as possible to expand the search already underway between the base and the border, then dismissed him. Kyle, Mishaal, Henry Tsang, and Jamal were alone in the office. “You have been very quiet, Major Tsang,” the prince said.
“The situation is troubling. When we were back at the hotel, for a moment, I thought you might really have something that my country would find of great interest. Now, with the general dead and the nuclear weapon missing, I have grave doubts.” The Chinese intelligence officer spread open his palms in frustration.
“Jamal? What do you think?” asked Kyle.
“I’m also uncertain, just like the major. This revenge thing Juba has going with you is not the same for a decent terrorist as dropping a nuke on Israel. No offense, Kyle, but you’re a pretty small fish in comparison.”
Swanson rose from his chair and went to a white greaseboard hanging on a wall. “I assure all of you that this lunatic’s obsession is not returned by me. He should have learned the last time we met that there is no honor involved; I just want him dead. We literally blew apart the house in which he was hiding, and he was buried under the debris. Plus, I’m certain that I hit him with a.50 caliber bullet just before the bomb struck. Somehow he lived through it. I’ll do the same thing again, and use every weapon available to us. This is no duel. It’s just his fantasy.”
Mishaal stood and stretched. The tension was locking up his muscles. “Still, he is very dangerous. He has the weapon. We must get it back.”
“Maybe it is not quite as urgent as we first thought. Juba coming out and identifying himself actually is a help. Hell, I didn’t even know he was in the game until now. Under his terms, we have a time cushion before he even tries to set off the nuke because he wants me within range.”
“But Kyle, he can punch the button at any time,” Jamal said. “Let me play psychiatrist for a minute with this nutcase. Maybe he just wants you to be close enough to watch him do the launch, to show you that you failed to stop him. Then, once the missile is away, he can try to settle accounts between the two of you.”
Swanson picked up the black grease pen and uncapped it. “That’s where he has a real problem. I don’t think he can do it.”
“Why?” Mishaal rested against the edge of the desk. “Look at everything he has done, or caused, so far. The man is diabolical.”
Kyle wrote a big number “9” on the board. “That’s how many men he has with him. It’s not enough. Think about it, guys. This is no fire and forget weapon. Nukes are sophisticated. They need special crews for taking them from a warehouse, crane operators, crews for convoys, command and control personnel, vehicle operators, communicators and escorts. Every man involved is highly trained, and those who work with the weapon itself must be trained and certified. Codes are kept in steel boxes with combination locks. This thing is in two separate parts, in two separate APCs. I don’t think he has the manpower or the know-how to even string the cables between the missile carrier and the command track, much less actually be able to mount the warhead. Juba’s brilliant, but he doesn’t know everything and he cannot do it alone. I do not think that bird is going to fly anywhere.”
They all jerked around suddenly when there was a loud pounding on the door and Captain Omar al-Muallami charged inside and shouted, “We have found it!”
57
THE ENTIRE HIGHWAY SOUTH from Tabuk was instantly commandeered and police and troops cleared it of all civilian traffic to make way for the trucks and armored vehicles swarming out of King Abdul Aziz Military City toward the reported location of the missile, some fifty miles away. Thick clouds of sand were pulled behind the moving vehicles and fighter aircraft took over the skies. A pair of large command helicopters flew above the storm in a tight side-by-side formation. Prince Mishaal, along with his aide and a few senior officers were in the lead bird. Kyle Swanson, Henry Tsang, and Jamal were aboard the flanking chopper, which had been constructed to ferry generals around, not to wrestle its way into combat zones.
They sailed along through the copper-tinted sky, wrapped in comfort. Soft blue cushioned seats faced forward like easy chairs bolted to the metal deck. Side doors closed out the passing wind, while internal soundproofing reduced the rotor noise to a whine. Strong air-conditioning filtered out the dirt and kept the passengers cool. Kyle thought that it would have been an enjoyable flight if nuclear Armageddon wasn’t brewing at the other end of the trip.
The two command helicopters slowed and settled into a lazy circle at about a thousand feet when they neared the scene, the pilots wary of possible shoulder-launched missiles from the terrorists who were assumed to be
