breaking all over her face, making it appear as if she were wearing some sort of primitive war mask. She punched his groin, his legs, his chest, and his face, trying desperately to get him to release his grip.
Patrick was bent over in two so far by her weight that he found he was able to grab her head with his hands, tangling his fingers in her hair to help his grip. Using all his strength, he pushed with his legs. Now both of their faces were hideous contortions of pain. They both screamed in unison, loud, furious screams-until suddenly tflere was a loud snap! Ivana Vasilyeva's eyes rolled sideways, her bloated dark red tongue unreeled itself from her mouth, and her body went totally limp.
Patrick lay on the floor for what seemed like a long time before untangling himself from the dead Russian, then crawled over to his wife. He carefully removed the knife from her chest, then held her lifeless body and wept.
He didn't even notice when strong armored mechanical arms lifted him and Wendy up, carried them carefully outside, and placed them in a waiting tilt-rotor aircraft to evacuate them out of Tripoli.
'My brothers and sisters, my fellow Libyans, we have been shamelessly and cowardly attacked by the great Satan, the United States of America,' Jadallah Zuwayy intoned. He was sitting in a small, cramped communications center in an underground alternate command post thirty miles south of Tripoli. 'Tonight, while you slept peacefully in your beds, the forces of the United States, with help from their stooges the Zionists, launched a brazen sneak attack against the capital of the Kingdom of Libya, attacking the royal palace itself and killing many scores of innocent men, women, and children.'
Zuwayy raised his hands as if praying, then slowly curled them into fists. 'As Allah, may His name be praised, is my witness, today the people of the Islamic world declare war upon the infidels, the destroyers, the crusaders from across the oceans who attacked our capital,' he went on. 'May He deliver upon the faithful the strength to crush the enemies of Islam.
'Thanks to the brave efforts of the Republican Guards and the soldiers of the kingdom, I am safe. I will return to the capital and immediately plan the destruction of our enemies. Death to all who oppose us. Death to-'
There was the sound of shattering glass, then the BANG! of a door thrown open. Zuwayy half rose to his feet, looking scared and confused. Men in military dress forced him to his seat again, and two unidentified soldiers stood behind him. Gunshots were heard off-camera-Zuwayy jumped and closed his eyes at each report, expecting it to hit him next. The television viewers then saw Zuwayy's eyes widen in astonishment as a chair was slid beside Zuwayy's and a young man sat down beside the king. He took off his red-lensed goggles, unwrapped his scarf, and took off his helmet…
… and Sayyid Muhammad ibn al-Hasan as-Sanusi, the true king of Libya, smiled at the camera.
'Es salaem alekum, Captain Zuwayy,' Sanusi said. He clasped Zuwayy on the shoulder. 'Don't you think you should consult the real king of Libya before declaring war?'
'Muhammad? Prince… I mean… King Muhammad… You… you are aliveT He forced himself to smile, then reached out to Sanusi to embrace him. 'My brother… you are alive!' He hugged Sanusi, then said to him under his breath, 'Play along with me, Sanusi, or we're both dead. I'll see to it that the Republican Guards spare your life.'
Sanusi pushed him away. 'I am not a ghost, despite all your attempts to turn me into one,' Sanusi said. 'And you are not my brother. There is a nice prison cell awaiting you, Jadallah. You shall stand trial for the murder of my family, the desecration of my family tombs, for stealing millions from the treasury, and for perpetuating a fraud upon the people of Libya.' He motioned toward the door, and Zuwayy was dragged out of sight.
Sanusi turned to the camera and folded his hands before him. 'My brothers and sisters, I am sorry for the pain and lies Jadallah Zuwayy has burdened you with for all these years. But even more, I am sorry for the pain and isolation the world has burdened you with since the revolution. Libya has endured much-not only because of the actions of its leaders, but because of the people's search for the truth: the truth of our past, and of our future.
'I am not here to steal your future, like Colonel Qadhafi and Captain Zuwayy have done,' Sanusi went on. 'I am here because I wanted to expose the fraud, present my evidence of Zuwayy's embezzlement, try to stop the fighting, and so I could return home once more.
'But I only return as a fellow Libyan, not as your monarch, unless that is what you wish,' Sanusi said. 'I have only a handful of fighters and not much money. Zuwayy commands the Republican Guard, and their loyalty lies with him. I may not live long after I sign off with you tonight. But before I leave, I want to give you some promises. Under the eyes of God and guided by the spirits of my beloved family, I tell you this is the truth:
'The Americans did attack Tripoli tonight, but to liberate it, not to destroy it. Jadallah Zuwayy had planned to destroy the Salimah oil fields, where many thousands of Libyans and fellow Arabs live and work-this after he attacked and killed many thousands of Egyptians with neutron weapons sold to him by Russian black-market arms dealers. Jadallah Zuwayy conspired with Ulama Khalid alKhan of Egypt to assassinate Kamal Ismail Salaam so that the Muslim Brotherhood could set up a theocracy in Egypt; but then Zuwayy killed Khan and many other innocent Egyptians at Mersa Matruh so that he could disrupt the Egyptian government enough to take control of Salimah. I swear by the blood of my father and the memory of my mother that this is true.
'I will never again raise a hand against a fellow Libyan,' Sanusi went on. 'My men and I have attacked and harassed Zuwayy's troops in the desert long enough. I only want peace. I shall head toward the Great Mosque in Tripoli and pray at the former final resting place of my mother, before Qadhafi removed her body from there and discarded it in the desert. I will order my men not to fight. If you want me to return to Tripoli, if you want me to live, you must take back the streets of the capital from the Republican Guard. Help me to return to our capital, and I promise you, I will help restore our country to its former greatness. If you wish me to do so, I will help bring peace to Libya. Otherwise, I wish to live in Libya as a teacher and engineer and help Libya rebuild. The choice, and the decision, is up to you, my brothers and sisters. Misae el kher. Ma'as salaema.'
When Sanusi rose from his seat, every man and woman in the room bowed-not only his men, but the Republican Guards captured there as well. He exited the communications facility and stepped outside into the growing dawn.
Sidi Salih, on the foothills of the Tarhuna Mountains of northwest Libya, was on a slight rise, so Muhammad asSanusi could see north past the wide expanse of desert all the way into Tripoli. The Tripoli International Airport, closed during the conflict, was slightly to the west; but the city itself, and even the Mediterranean Sea, could clearly be seen. It was a beautiful, awe-inspiring sight. He was about to put on his helmet, but he changed his mind, unwrapped the turban from the helmet, then wrapped it around his head. He had had enough of fighting.
But there was a sight even more beautiful than the sunrise over Al-Khums to the east or the view of the ancient city of Tripoli on the Mediterranean-the sight of thousands of cars, trucks, bicycles, and buses roaring south down the highway toward Sidi Salih. At first he thought it might be the Republican Guards; but before long he noticed that none of the flags he saw were the Socialist Arab Republic flags or Zuwayy's bastardized imperial flag, but the old imperial flags with his family crest on them. Those flags had been outlawed since the revolution.
Muhammad Sanusi climbed into his desert vehicle and took his place in the gunner's seat in the back-but then he unbolted the big twenty-three-millimeter machine gun from its pedestal and threw it to the ground. His driver then took him to meet his people so they could welcome him back to his capital, his country-and his true home.'
EPILOGUE
Even young Bradley realized right away that it wasn't just another boat ride with his 'uncles' Hal, Chris, and Dave. They had no fishing poles, no scuba gear-just the strange aluminum urn.
'Mommy is really dead, Daddy?' Bradley asked.
'Yes, son,' Patrick replied.
He touched the urn. 'Is she in there?' A lump formed in Patrick's throat-he couldn't answer. 'Those are Mommy's ashes, aren't they?' Patrick looked at the deck of the boathow in hell do you answer something like that?
