'That seems like a very large crew for a salvage vessel. What else? Has the crew been interrogated? Who are they?' Susan looked at the retired general and saw that his mouth had dropped open in surprise. 'General? What is it?'
'Our frigate was captured.'
'Captured? By the rescued crewT
'This is extraordinary,' Baris exclaimed as he read. 'The rescued crew members are apparently commandos, led by three men in unusual and unidentifiable battle dress uniforms, carrying powerful but unusual weapons.'
'What is the crew complement of the frigate?'
'About two hundred sailors.'
'Sixty men captured two hundred sailors on board one of our own warships?' Susan asked incredulously. Surprise, however, quickly turned to wonderment. 'How do we know all this, General? Is someone on the crew sending secret messages? Did someone escape?'
'No, Susan-the leader of the commando unit is allowing the captain, Commander Farouk, to send these messages,' Baris replied with astonishment in his eyes and tone. 'The leader, who calls himself Castor, says that no one on the ship will be harmed and the ship will be allowed to return to Mersa Matruh as long as we promise not to attack the ship as they approach and do not attempt to capture them.'
'Who are they? Israelis? Americans?'
'Commander Farouk believes they are Americans, but they are wearing masks and are hiding their identities well. It is apparently impossible to tell the nationality of the leaders-their voices are electronically altered.'
'Electronically altered?' Susan thought hard for a moment. Who were these soldiers? They were powerful enough to commandeer an Egyptian warship, one of the most powerful in northern Africa, but yet they couldn't hold their base of operations, a small salvage vessel. If they were terrorists or mercenaries sent to attack an Egyptian target, they were sloppy indeed. They surely would not have let the ship's captain make a call back to base.
The leader decided to trust the Egyptians not to harm them-but just to be sure, they commandeered a guided missile frigate. An interesting blend of strength and restraint, power and caution. Who was this leader? Obviously a man concerned for the safety of his men, but not afraid to use the power at his command. Obviously highly trained and skillful, but not berserkers either.
The leader's nom de guerre was 'Castor'-one of a set of twins from Roman mythology. The twin gods, the Dioscuri, were the 'cosmic stabilizers,' representing darkness and light. One was a man of peace, a horse tamer; the other was a boxer, a warrior. They also protected mortals. When Pollux, the warrior, was killed during the Odyssey, Castor the man of peace made a deal with the gods-when his fellow voyagers needed a fighter, he would die so his brother could live. Susan wondered the obvious-who and where was the Pollux?
Or perhaps was there no Pollux now, and Castor the man of peace was the leader. Perhaps that's why these men didn't slash their way on board the frigate, kill the crew, and simply steal the ship. Could this Castor be convinced to transform himself into Pollux the warrior to protect mortals… or perhaps one mortal in particular?
'I will return to Cairo for the funeral, General,' Susan said. 'But first we will go to Mersa Matruh to meet these commandos. Make no attempt to retake the ship, but do not allow it to leave, either.'
'You want to keep one of our own captured warships sitting off our own shore with a terrorist commando team aboard, and not do anything about it?'
'They captured it, they deserve to stay on it,' Susan said. 'Give them food, medical attention, women- anything they want or need. Just don't let them leave.' She thought for a moment, then said, 'Rather, ask them to stay, until I arrive.'
'Why do you want to meet with them, Sekhmet?' Baris asked. 'They could be dangerous men.'
Susan shook her head. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'In fact, they could be just what we need to take back what Khan and Zuwayy have taken from us.'
It was one of the hardest things she ever had to do in her young life: leave her husband's side to protect her own life. Now, several minutes from landing at the huge sprawling joint forces military base at Mersa Matruh in northwestern Egypt, Susan Bailey Salaam finally had time to sort out all the horrifying events that had happened over the past several hours:
Susan had been taken away from the mosque by an army ambulance, one of several in the area. They tried to make their way back to Abdin Palace, but the streets were now blocked by protesters and rioters who had heard that Susan had been killed in the blast on the Nile, and they sped off. She was transferred to several different vehicles, and at one point dressed in a flak vest and wore a helmet as a disguise when it appeared protesters were getting too close to their vehicle. She was finally taken to Zahir Air Base in northeastern Cairo and flown out of the city in an army helicopter. The pilot broadcast that his destination was the Egyptian Naval Academy in Alexandria, but once over the Mediterranean, the helicopter dipped low to the water, out of sight of anyone on shore, then proceeded west.
No doubt about it, she thought ruefully as they began their approach for landing-it was an evacuation, out of Cairo, out of the government, out of the people's lives, fleeing for her own life. She hated the idea of being forced to run from her own home, her own people. She preferred facing her attackers, confronting them head-on, battling for her honor and legacy and that of her husband. But now she was gone. She had to disguise herself to get out of the area-they could not even trust the citizens of Cairo to protect her long enough, even in her grief, to get her safely away from such a disastrous, monstrous, unconscionable event. Even the Presidential Palace was unsafe.
What was she doing out here, hundreds of kilometers from civilization, running from her people like a thief in the night? If there were strange commandos here in Egypt, why didn't she have them brought to her in Alexandria? Something was drawing her out here. She didn't know who these men were, but something told her she had to go look for herself out here. Not for safety. Perhaps it was the desert, the idea of hegira, and the cleansing fotces of the desert. Perhaps, like Moses and Jesus and Muhammad and thousands of others throughout history, she needed to draw spiritual strength from the wastelands.
It was about an hour before dusk when the helicopter made its approach to the huge military base. Mersa Matruh looked more like a large industrial complex and commercial shipyard than a military base. Sprawling almost two hundred square kilometers, it was home to nearly a fifth of all of Egypt's active-duty forces. Its main assignment-not well publicized, for fear of angering its Arab neighborswas to repel a possible invasion from Libya, as well as to secure Egypt's northern and western flanks and protect its right to freely navigate the Mediterranean Sea. Most of the base had been built by Nazi Germany and Italy during World War II, then occupied by the British until the 1952 revolution. Susan noticed the large earth stations, part of Egypt's telecommunications network, as well as the earlywarning radar installation that scanned the Mediterranean and the skies to the north and west, watching and waiting for danger.
'God must have something else in store for me rather than to die in the streets of Cairo,' Susan said to General Baris as they exited the helicopter. She looked at the men arrayed before her. 'These guards..?'
'Handpicked by me for your protection,' Baris said. 'On my payroll, and as loyal to me as my own brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, you have some enemies, even out here on the frontier.' He motioned to the man, obviously a high-ranking officer, who stepped over to them. 'Madame, this is Vice Marshal Sayed Ouda, commander of the western military district headquartered here.'
Ouda made a slight bow, then returned his hands casually to behind his back. He was tall, good-looking in a rough-hewn way, with a stylish mustache, carrying-of all things-a riding crop, his cap rakishly tilted to one side. 'My condolences to you,' he said simply.
'Thank you, Vice Marshal,' Susan Salaam said. She regarded him coolly for a moment, then said, 'You do not approve of me being here, do you, Vice Marshal?'
'My duty is to protect my nation and obey orders,' he said in a low monotone. He eyed General Baris suspiciously. 'I do what I must to obey the legitimate authorities.' Obviously he was beginning to doubt whether Baris represented any legitimate authority at all anymore in Egypt.
'I do not mean to cause you any trouble, Vice Marshal,' Susan said.
'The president is dead, Madame,' Ouda said icily, 'and his aide de camp and widow are hiding themselves on my base, far from the capital. That is not the mark of any legitimate authority I know.'
'Nonetheless, you will obey his orders as you would have obeyed President Salaam,' Susan said, 'or you may discover your value as a commander in the Egyptian armed forces to be greatly diminished.'
Ouda looked Susan up and down with a faint smile. His unspoken words were crystal clear: My value is considerably greater than yours right now. He gave her another appraising look. Susan was very familiar with that
