The refrigerated truck was driven to a separate area of the warehouse, closed off from the main section. Six autopsy tables had been set up, with forensic pathologists and medical examiners waiting to begin their work. One by one, light gray body bags were carried out of the truck. Each body bag had a plastic bag with various records inside. A clerk took the paperwork, then escorted the body to an examination table, where video cameras were rolling, recording everything. While dictating into an overhead microphone, the medical examiner unzipped the bag and began his work.
It was not the examiners' job to ascertain cause of death-their main task was gathering enough information to assist in identification. But most times the cause of death was plainly-and painfully-obvious. Most of the fortynine corpses had died of blast trauma or fire from exploding ordnance or systems on board their vessel when the Libyan air force attacked. Severed body parts were sometimes simply thrown into a body bag, often without any real attempt to try to match the parts by gender or race. Many suffered no injuries from blast trauma or fire-they obviously died from wounds inflicted by gunshots at very close range, blunt-force trauma, knife wounds, crushed throats, slashed arteries, mutilated genitalia, or burn marks all over the bodies.
It was obvious they had been tortured to death by their captors after being rescued from the sea.
In all, eight female corpses were examined. They were not exempt from the torture the others endured.
A few hours after the examinations began, a helicopter landed at a helipad outside the warehouse facility, and a group of government officials, surrounded by bodyguards, were quickly taken directly from the helicopter to a waiting limousine and then directly to the warehouse. On his orders, a special corridor had been erected from cubicle dividers with one-way mirrors installed that allowed anyone walking inside the corridor to look out but no one to look in.
Ulama Khalid al-Khan, wearing a military garrison cap and sunglasses to hide his identity even though he was safe from any outside scrutiny, could not believe what he was looking at. The stench was horrific-he wanted to put a cloth up to his nose to block the smell of these tortured, bloody, unwashed bodies, but he dared not show any weakness in front of the soldiers escorting him. The corridor took him and his aide, Major Amr Abu Gheit, into the makeshift morgue, where he was able to view several of the corpses, and he had to struggle to keep his stomach from turning inside out. Finally, he was escorted out of the warehouse complex and into a separate office.
'What… what in hell was that?' Khan gasped.
'One hundred and twenty-nine persons recovered by the Libyans from the Mediterranean Sea after their ships were attacked, sir,' Major Gheit responded. It was obvious that even the veteran warrior could barely stomach the sight himself. He handed Khan a list of the survivors. 'Fortynine fatalities, including nine women. Fifty-six others severely injured, some critically. They are almost done with the identification process.'
'Were… were some of those men tortured?'
'Obviously the Libyan military wanted information out of them,' Gheit said. 'The king of Libya explained that the attacks were in retaliation for the commando attack on their missile base.'
'Damned brutal animals,' Khan muttered, taking a sip of water to try to settle his stomach. 'I've never seen men mutilated like that.'
'There are only nine Egyptians in the group, and they were working as crew members on someone else's ship, not an Egyptian flagged vessel,' Gheit said. 'Why would Zuwayy want to turn them over to you?'
'He dumped those men and women on our doorstep, leaving us to clean up his mess,' Khan said disgustedly. 'He's either trying to implicate me in this unholy mess, or he's trying to embarrass me. Either one won't work.'
'This doesn't make sense,' Gheit said. 'He must know those prisoners are going to talk about the treatment they received in Libya. Zuwayy will be vilified all over the world.'
'Well, I'm not going to play whatever game fee's playing,' Khan said resolutely. 'This is insanity.' Khan waved at the door. 'Let's get out of here,' he said. 'The stench is too much for me to bear.' Gheit ordered Khan's car pulled up beside the door. When it was in place, Khan stepped outside.
Just as Khan was about to step into the car, his attention was drawn to an impossibly bright flash of light-he was surprised he noticed it in daytime, but it was that bright somewhere very close, followed by a tremendous BOOM! like the loudest thunderclap ever heard. Moments later there was another flash of light, bright enough to erase shadows on the ground, followed by a second explosion. A thunderstorm in an almost cloudless sky?
Could it be some sort of attack? But there was no sign of anything wrong on the ground except a great stirring of dust and sand, like the gust front ahead of an approaching thunderstorm or sandstorm-but again, there were no clouds in the sky. He could hear screams somewhere off in the distance, but still there seemed to be nothing amiss.
'Let's get out of here,' Khan said. 'This place feels like death all of a sudden.'
Patrick, wearing full battle armor and exoskeleton, was watching TV coverage of the busloads of ex-Libyan prisoners being taken into the warehouses through his helmet-mounted visor. He stared carefully at the screen, trying to pick out even one familiar face, but the cameras were too far away and the prisoners were not in the open long enough for Patrick to recognize anyone.
The commentator made several mentions of the refrigerated trucks being driven to an adjacent warehouse Patrick didn't want to think about what was in those vehicles. He just hoped and prayed that Wendy and his men were all right.
But another movement caught his attention: the movement of men and vehicles outside the compound. Shit, he thought, here they come. 'Hey, Texas,' he radioed.
'We see them, Muck,' David Luger responded. Patrick's electronic visor in his battle armor automatically datalinked the view to all the others wearing the Tin Man armor. 'Still think they're just going to take you into custody?'
Patrick ignored the question. 'Are you guys secure?' he asked.
'Almost,' Luger replied. The Night Stalkers had to move to a third recovery area, a set of abandoned oil rigs almost thirty miles to the southwest-most of the Egyptian army was on the move west of the base and along the coast to seal off the Libyan border. They had stolen two tracked vehicles to help their getaway across the desert. 'The closest units are about three miles behind us. We're waiting for the choppers to come after us any minute. If they do, we'll ask Headbanger Two to take them out.'
'Headbanger Two is standing by,' the aircraft commander aboard a second EB-52 Megafortress flying battleship reported. The second Megafortress had been able to refuel from the Sky Masters Inc.'s DC-10 tanker, but had to break off and run into southern Libya shortly thereafter because U.S. Navy fighters from a carrier in the Mediterranean had pursued it. The DC-10 landed in Iraklion, Greece, where American and NATO authorities were questioning its crew as to why it had to make the unscheduled landing and exactly what its mission was. It had been a close call. 'We can stay on station for only about an hour before we have to head on home.'
'Copy,' Patrick said. 'What a lousy time for the feds to be on our ass.'
'Patrick, I think it's time for you to get the hell out of there,' Hal Briggs said. 'Start moving out the emergency escape. We'll vector in the Megafortress to cover you.'
'I'm going to give Ouda one more try,' Patrick said.
'He's not answering you. Better get out before they start moving in.'
'Stand by,' Patrick responded. It was his only chance to get out without a firefight-a very slim chance. 'Vice Marshal Ouda, this is Castor. Can you hear me?' Patrick called on the liaison radio channel. Outside the half- underground bunker, several of the tanks were on the move. Covering smoke began to belch from exhausts, obscuring them from sight. Patrick switched to his imaging infrared visor so he could see them. 'Several of your tanks are moving toward the fence outside our compound. It appears as if you are attacking my position. State your intentions. Can you hear me?' There was no reply-nor did he really expect one.
But that moment an alarm went off in his battle armor a radiation alarm. Patrick quickly scanned the datalink images around him-nothing. A few moments later, another radiation alarm sounded.
'Marshal Ouda, this is Castor. Respond immediately. We are detecting radiation in the area. Levels are rising quickly-they are approaching lethal levels. Do you copy?' No answer-and now the Egyptian tanks were on the move. 'Dave, I'm outta here,' Patrick said on his command channel, and he raced for the emergency exit, careful to disarm, then rearm the booby trap at the rear entrance.
He was about to jet-jump away when the first Egyptian tank crashed through the twelve-foot-high fence surrounding the bunker. The tank was followed by several dozen Egyptian infantrymen, some carrying rocket- propelled grenades and bazookas. Patrick saw several of the tanks wheel hi his direction-they had spotted him. He raised his electromagnetic rail gun, charged it, and aimed for the closest tank…
