'You think I am really that innocent, Kamal?' Susan asked playfully.
Salaam basked in the unearthly glow of her sly smile. 'I would never accuse you of being 'innocent,' my love,' he said. 'But even scholars and ulamas like Khan have no compunction about going outside the law to get what they want. There is too much at stake for them, both in this world and in the next. They are fanatical-they believe they are on a mission, their actions fully justified and sanctioned by God. The nation, the land, even their homes, means nothing to them compared to what they perceive as the will of Allah. That vision obscures everything.' His eyes narrowed, and his grip on his wife's hand tightened. 'Always be watchful for the enemy. Trust no one. Question everything.'
'All I have to do to learn about the real world is watch you, Kamal,' Susan said. 'The one thing I trust is your love for your country and your people.'
'And my love for you, Sekhmet,' Salaam said, using the ancient Egyptian nickname he had given her, which meant 'huntress.' 'My love comes before the people, the country, even before God. Never forget that.'
'And my love for you is greater than all of our enemies and evil anywhere in the world,' Susan said. 'When you think all are against you, I will always be by your side.'
'Unfortunately, your place now needs to be behind me,' Salaam said, giving his wife a smile when he noticed her exasperated expression. 'You may be loved by everyone in Egypt, but you are still expected to walk behind your husband, not beside him, at least on this holy day.'
'Of course, my husband,' she replied. Susan gave her husband another soft kiss on the side of his lips, then stepped back the required two paces behind and to her husband's left, her hands folded before her, her eyes averted. She knew her place well: Dwelling in a nation torn between the past, the present, and the future, it was best to not give traditionalists like Zuwayy, al-Khan, and their followers any reason to question the loyalty or morals of their country's leaders. A few moments later, the Republican Guard security forces opened the doors of the great hall, indicating that the procession was about to begin.
Past the Gates of Sultan Qayt Bay, a large courtyard with several ornate minarets and qibla prayer walls separated the Madrasa from the main sanctuary, where the speeches and prayer services for President Salaam's guests would take place. The path through the courtyard from the tomb to the sanctuary was lined with soldiers, with clergy and other invited guests pressing against the soldiers to watch the procession.
It was Susan, not Kamal, who noticed two unusual things as they proceeded across the courtyard: First, the soldiers lining the procession route were not Presidential Guards, assigned to the protection of the president, but paramilitary soldiers from a unit she did not recognize; and second, they were facing the procession, their backs to the crowd instead of facing them. She turned to look for the Presidential Guard captain who had been stationed at the door to the Madrasa, but he was nowhere to be seen.
As she looked, her eyes caught those of Jadallah Zuwayy, walking several steps behind her. He nodded reassuringly to her, then glanced at Khalid al-Khan and nodded. Susan turned and looked at al-Khan, noticing the silent signal between the two. What was going on here? Why were they-?
Bedlam suddenly erupted. A soldier shouted something from the Madrasa-someone had been killed? Is that what he shouted? It was hard to tell-his voice was strained with pain or fear. There was purposeful movement in the crowd of onlookers, not a random milling about but a determined surge forward. The soldiers guardingjhe procession line, their backs to the crowd, noticed nothing-even when two men in traditional thawb, sirwal, rida, and turbans burst past them.
'Kamal!' Susan shouted. 'Look out!' But suddenly she was grabbed from behind. It was al-Khan. He held her tightly by the arms, pressed her toward him, leered hungrily at her, then shoved her forcefully back toward Zuwayy. The Libyan pretender-king grasped her, then said something in a low, soft voice. 'What are you doing, Majesty? What is going on?'
'I said, do not worry, my child,' Zuwayy said. 'Allah the almighty shall protect all true believers and servants of God.'
Susan spun around until she was facing Kamal, still in Zuwayy's grasp but being pulled backward, away from her husband. Up ahead of her, one of the strangers who had crashed unchecked through the security line grabbed President Salaam from behind, while another grasped him from in front. Once the man in front had a firm grip on Salaam, the man behind turned, raised his hands, and shouted, 'Death to all kuffarl Death to all enemies of God! The Muslim Brotherhood is Allah's sword of justice this day!'
The man in front of Kamal opened his cloak-and revealed several sticks of explosives and a detonator strapped to his abdomen.
'La!' Susan screamed in Arabic. 'Imshi! Get away! Kamal!' She twisted easily away from Zuwayy. One of the paramilitary soldiers beside Zuwayy tried to grab her. She clawed her way free and took a running step toward her shocked husband.. just as a brilliant flash of light, an impossibly loud explosion of sound, and an incredible blast of heat erupted right in front of her. She had a momentary image of Kamal Ismail Salaam's body and that of his attacker being blown apart like firecrackers, before a giant invisible force threw her backward and darkness closed over her….
CHAPTER 1
The dark-clad figure turned, slowly, smoothly, menacingly. The blank, staring eyes were expressionless, robotic. The figure lifted a weapon from the floor, an immense Ml68 six-barreled Vulcan cannon, and pointed it right at Patrick McLanahan. From less than thirty meters away, he could not miss. The cannon, normally mounted on a large vehicle like an armored personnel carrier, could fire hot-dog-sized shells at up to three thousand rounds a minute-there would be nothing left of his body, even after only a onesecond burst, to clean up with a sponge.
Patrick heard a clink of metal-the Galling gun ammunition feed mechanism as the figure adjusted his grip. He couldn't see a trigger-the Vulcan cannon was normally electrically operated-so he could not even guess when the gun would start firing. It wouldn't matter anyway-at this range, he'd probably be dead before he heard the sound.
'Feels good,' the figure said, his voice electronically distorted. In rapid succession, he elevated the cannon straight up into the air, side to side, and around in all directions. The movements were smooth, mechanical, effortless, as if the one-thousand-pound cannon were little more than a wooden stick. He set the big gun down on the floor, then unfastened some latches, removed his helmet, and handed it to a technician standing nearby to help him. 'I feel like a damned clown miming on the street, but it works pretty well.'
Patrick looked at Hal Briggs but said nothing. Hal was wearing the new and improved Tin Man battle armor, and he looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying it.
The first version of the electronic armor was designed to protect the wearer from bullets or bombs-fast- moving blunt trauma or shock-but did nothing to enhance strength. The new suit added a fibersteel exoskeleton structure with microhydraulically operated joints at the shoulders, elbows, hips, knees, and ankles, with stress supports on the hands, fingers, and feet. The suit's onboard computers read and analyzed all of the body's normal muscle movements and amplified them through the exoskeleton, giving the wearer unbelievable physical strength, speed, and enhanced agility.
'Now, let's see if it fits in its convenient carrying case.' Hal entered a code into a small panel on his left gauntlet, which powered down the exoskeleton and released the bindings. The exoskeleton remained standing like some sort of metal sculpture or futuristic scarecrow. He entered another code into a small control panel inside the frame on the spine, and the exoskeleton started to fold itself. In less than thirty seconds, it had collapsed down to the size and weight of a small suitcase. Hal placed the folded exoskeleton into a padded duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder-because of its composite construction, it was light and easy to carry, although the fibersteel components were many times stronger than steel. 'Very cool. Every kid should have one.'
Hal stepped over to Patrick, the duffel bag slung on his back, and clasped his longtime friend on the shoulder. 'You okay, Muck?' he asked.
Patrick shrugged. 'It just feels like one of those days when you know something's not going to go right.'
'Well, Wendy did a good job getting this thing tuned up,' Hal said, motioning to the bag on his shoulder. 'It's very cool. I want to start putting it through its paces right away, before Masters decides to invest production money
