Jackson said. 'You just remember your buddies who give you their tee times and let you fly your plane from their airstrips, the next time you talk to the President about the next chief of naval operations, okay?'
'Don't hold your breath, Captain,' Patrick said with a laugh-his first laugh in many, many days.
'How's the missus?' Jackson asked.
Patrick tried not to let his smile completely wash away. 'Still away. She should be back in town next weekend.'
'Good. Can't wait to see her again. You still owe my wife and me a rematch of our last golf match.'
'You're on, Fred.'
Jackson could tell something was wrong, but he decided not to pursue it further. He nodded toward the televisions. 'So what do you think we'll do over in Egypt? Anything?'
Patrick shrugged as he readjusted the ice pack on his shoulder. 'Move up the Kennedy battle group to the Red Sea to defend the Suez Canal, keep the two carrier groups on station in the Med, and try to keep the conflict from spreading to the Persian Gulf or Israel,' Patrick said. 'Purely defensive moves-I don't think the President wants to send in any military forces. If Libya stays on the move, destroys Salimah, takes the Suez Canal, and crosses over the Red Sea into Israel, then I think the President might make a move. But I think he's really hoping Susan Salaam will pull the Arab countries together to fight off Libya.' He looked at Jackson. 'So what do you think we'll do?'
'What I think we'll do? Same as you-nodal' Jackson replied. 'What I think we should do? We should go pay President Zuwayy of Libya a little visit, blow up a few of his palaces just to get his attention, and then deprive him of his bombers, fighters, airstrips, and rockets-and that's all for starters. My guys can do all that in one night. Two at the most.' Jackson was definitely not above a little hubris when it came to sending Navy SEALs into action. He looked carefully at Patrick. 'Of course, scuttlebutt says someone or some group of someones might have been already mixing it up with the king. Wouldn't know anything about that, would you, sir?'
'Not a thing. But if they did, they should have their heads examined.'
'Maybe they can show our commander-in-chief how it's done,' Jackson said.
'President Salaam needs to fight for her country too. She's got a military-she needs to use it to defend her people.'
'If anyone can do it, she can. Not bad for an Air Force puke, I guess.'
'No Air Force cracks-unless you want to lose those four stars I had planned for you.'
'Oops-sorry, sorry, sir, sorry,' Jackson said with a smile-he was one of the few Navy SEALs Patrick had ever met that actually seemed to like to smile. He shook Patrick's hand warmly. 'If there's anything you need, sir, please don't hesitate to ask. And I hope you don't mind I have my spies out keeping an eye on you. You're the biggest celebrity we've had hanging around the area since Dennis Conner. We'll be sorry to see you and Wendy head back to Washington.' Before Patrick could protest again, Jackson added, 'I know, I know, you're not in the running. I'll remember you said that when I see you at your confirmation party in Washington. You sure you don't need a doctor to look at your shoulder?'
'I'm fine, Captain. And you can let your spies go home too.'
'Yes, sir. Take care of that shoulder-I want to beat you fair and square on the golf course.' Patrick noticed Jackson motion to a young sailor who had been standing near the entrance to the workout room with a cell phone, who departed with Jackson. The base commander was a good guy, Patrick decided, but there was no doubt that he played the political battles as well as he undoubtedly played the real-world military battles-and making friends with potentially influential persons was one way to get ahead in the Navy.
Too bad he was sucking up to the wrong guy.
Patrick toweled off, tossed the bag of ice, then experimentally flexed his left shoulder. It felt pretty good, so he decided to forgo the steam room and instead take his son Bradley to the pool. He checked Bradley out of the daycare center and took him back to the locker room.
He didn't notice a janitor set a bucket of smelly water and a mop in front of the door to the locker room after Patrick entered, put up a sign that said, 'DO NOT ENTER' on the door, and then lock the door after he entered.
Patrick put Bradley in a pair of swim trunks he kept in his gym bag for just this purpose, changed himself, and led his son to the pool. He found the door to the pool locked. He turned to ask someone why the door was locked when he noticed that the locker room was very quiet-unusually quiet. No one else was in there. The place usually had at least a dozen men in there all hours of the day, but it was empty now..
… except for an Arab-looking man who stepped out from behind a row of lockers-carrying an automatic pistol in one hand.
Patrick immediately grabbed Bradley and dodged behind a row of lockers. The man didn't follow-that meant there were others in the room, waiting for him.
'Dad? Aren't we going swimming?' Bradley asked. He was obviously more concerned about not going to the pool than he was about being carried protectively by his father like a slippery football through onrushing linebackers.
'Shh,' Patrick whispered. He crouched as low as he could, almost duckwalking through the locker room.
He saw the second guy's knees before he saw the rest of him, and he prayed it wasn't an innocent sailor- because Patrick lashed out with his right foot, snapping out in a driving thrust against the stranger's left knee. The knee buckled outward at an unnatural angle.
'Dad? Why did you kick that guy?' Bradley asked amid the stranger's animal-like howling. 'Is he a bad guy?'
Patrick wasn't sure how to answer-until another automatic pistol clattered to the tiled floor. 'Yes, he's a bad guy,' Patrick replied as he picked up the gun. 'We're getting out of here.'
'Good job,' Bradley said.
Patrick decided not to go to the front door but try for the equipment manager's office, which had an exit into the gymnasium. He heard footsteps sliding around the tile floor behind him. He kicked a chair over toward the front door to try to make it sound as if he was headed in that direction, then ran as hard as he could to the equipment manager's office. Good-no one around. He tried the door-even better, it was unlocked. Patrick dashed in…
… and immediately a fist rapped him on the side of his head. He went sprawling. Bradley screamed. Patrick raised the gun, but he couldn't make his eyes focus, and he didn't dare try to aim at any shape he saw in front of him, fearful it would be his son. 'Get the hell away from me!' he shouted over Bradley's screaming. 'Get away or I'll shoot!' But at that instant a large blur raced across his eyes, and the gun was knocked from his hand. 'Bradley!' he shouted. He curled himself over his son, pressing him into a corner up against a file cabinet, shielding him as best he could. 'Stay down!'
'It's all right, General, it's all right,' he heard a familiar voice say. 'Tell your son to calm down. You are in no danger.'
'Who… who is it?'
'Just relax, my friend. Relax.' His vision did clear a few moments later…
… and when it did, he saw the smiling, boyish face of
King Idris the Second of Libya, Muhammad as-Sanusi, hovering over him. 'You… Your Majesty, what in hell are you doing here?' Patrick said. He got Bradley up and calmed him down.
'Whatever I'm doing, I don't think I'm doing it very gracefully,' Sanusi said. He gave commands in Arabic, and his two men disappeared. 'I need to speak with you immediately, General McLanahan. It is most urgent. Where can we meet?'
'For Pete's sake, Your Majesty, a phone call would've been better,' Patrick said. He couldn't help but smile at Sanusi's wry grin.
'I apologize, my friend,' Sanusi said, 'but my men went about their task too enthusiastically, and you reacted most unexpectedly. But I need to speak with you. It is very important.'
'How did you get on base?' Patrick asked. 'The security on this base has never been tighter. How…?'
'It is about your wife, Wendy McLanahan,' Sanusi said.
Patrick's mouth dropped open in surprise. Bradley stopped whimpering and broke out in a wide, teary-eyed smile. 'Mommy…?'
'Fifteen minutes. Silver Strand State Park, east side, near the boat rental shop.'
'I know where it is.'
'Then be there in ten minutes,' Patrick said. Sanusi disappeared-Patrick had no idea how he expected to get out of the gym after the commotion they started, but somehow he knew he would. 'Let's go, Bradley.'
