“What are you? A fortune-teller?”
“You’re just like my ex-husband. Easy to read. When he was trying to tell me he wanted a divorce, I’d already had the papers drawn up.”
“Ouch.”
“For him, not for me.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I’m sorry you haven’t asked about it. That’s your problem, Captain. You need to be more nosy. You need to know us better. Pry. I mean, you haven’t even hit on me.”
“Are you crazy? I respect your privacy.”
“We don’t want it respected. Ask about our personal lives. There isn’t a hell of a lot there anyway. This is pretty much all we got. But ask.”
Brent shrugged. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re right. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”
“And like I said, we’ll help. You were good back on the island. I’m proud to serve with you. We just need to get her in London.”
Brent took in a long breath. “Yes, we do.”
She was about to get up, but he stopped her. “Thanks. I can’t do it without you. . or them. I know that.”
She winked. “Tell them.”
By the time Lakota made it back to her seat, their pilot was on the intercom, his voice tense. “Sorry, guys, but we’ve just been diverted to RAF Lakenheath.”
“Why’s that?” asked Brent.
“It doesn’t sound good,” answered the pilot.
“What’s happening?” Brent demanded.
“The Russians have some heavy troop transports en route.”
“They’re coming here? They’re crazy.”
“I thought the same thing. I don’t know if it’s an occupying force or what, and they’ve got fighters in the air. The Brits are worried about shooting them down because of collateral damage. Hold on a second. We’ve been locked! We’ve been locked!”
Suddenly, the Sphinx banked hard right, and Brent felt his stomach slam into his ribs.
“Oh my God,” gasped the pilot. “Brace for impact!”
NINE
Warda had told Chopra that according to her father’s wishes, Hussein would be given lessons in all the major subjects by officers from the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, commonly known as Sandhurst. These officers would tutor the boy at a small, nondescript home on the outskirts of the town, where he would reside for nine months out of the year. The tutoring had begun last year, when Hussein had turned fifteen. Prior to that he’d been moved every few months and instructed by a select few teachers who traveled with him. The boy’s father had wanted him to be formally trained and educated, and he’d always had great respect and admiration for the British education system and for its military officers; thus, he’d left specific instructions for Hussein’s preparations to become a well-rounded individual.
The e-mails and videos from her father were difficult to read and watch, and Warda had spent many days crying over them. It seemed that in the months prior to the nuclear exchange, tensions had grown so high that her father had actually been planning for his own death and preparing as much as he could for the survival of his country. However, most of his wishes had been thrown by the wayside when, for the most part, the people who would have enacted them had also been killed during that fateful and horrible day.
With Westerdale’s help, Chopra had obtained excellent documentation and two things to alter his appearance: He’d bought a much thicker pair of plastic frames instead of his usual ultralight titanium glasses, and he had shaven his head completely bald. He typically wore a short, conservative haircut, his salt-and-pepper locks parted to one side and held in place with a squirt of hair spray. Now he was bald with thicker glasses and resembled an overage punk rocker or insecure artist type. Looking in the mirror proved unsettling.
Westerdale had also reported that Warda was now in the hands of the Americans, which was, for the most part, not a bad stroke of luck. He doubted they would hold her against her wishes and suggested that Chopra share this news with Hussein or Hussein’s people so that they might attempt to locate her.
Chopra arrived at London Heathrow Airport and caught a black cab out to Shepperton, where he changed cabs again, then headed down to Windlesham and did likewise once more, all in an effort to thwart anyone trying to tail him. He instructed the last driver to pull up outside the Premier Inn, where at such time a nondescript sedan was waiting for him. He paid the driver and climbed into the other car.
Ironically, he recognized the sedan’s driver, a white-haired man named John Southland, an American who had been working for the Al Maktoum family for decades as a professional mechanic and driver.
“Mr. Chopra, it’s been a long time,” said Southland.
“Much too long,” answered Chopra, growing a bit misty-eyed. “I thought you’d been killed.”
“They sent me away early with the children. I urged them to come, but they insisted on staying. He thought if he evacuated he would be deemed a coward by the people. And he paid for that with his life. But we are still here and have been with the children ever since.”
“And how many others?”
“Just four of us. And two more with the sisters. They have an apartment nearby.”
“You’ve done an excellent job of protecting them.”
“We didn’t do it alone. And I’ve heard that everything could change now. We are understandably concerned.”
Chopra took a long breath. “I have what is rightfully his. And he, under the guidance of a regent, can now assume leadership of the country.”
“The Americans are calling Dubai the Wild West. No rule, with refugees moving in and out, and radiation still a problem. You are handing him a garbage heap.”
“No. Dubai will rise again. This needs to happen.”
“The Russians will not be happy.”
“That’s why we must protect him.”
“I’m confused, Manoj. It’s not even your country.”
“You’re wrong. I wouldn’t have a life if it weren’t for them. I’m a man of two countries. Hussein will rebuild his nation, our nation.”
Southland chuckled under his breath. “You’ll have fun convincing him of that.”
“Oh, really?”
“You’ll see. He’s not the boy you remember.”
They fell silent as Southland took them to the Owls-moor section of Sandhurst and turned down Horsham Road to park beside a four-bedroom detached house similar to an American townhome. These were modest quarters for the young sheikh, but that was part of remaining subtle and keeping a lower profile here in Europe. Time spent away in places like the Seychelles was obviously another matter.
As he climbed out of the car, Chopra frowned over the deep thrumming that emanated from the house, and as he followed Southland toward the side-entrance door, the thrumming became a distinctly deep and steady pulse.
“He likes to listen to his music in the morning,” said Southland.
“What about headphones?” asked Chopra.
Southland rolled his eyes. “Oh, we’ve tried…”
Once inside, Chopra winced at the booming and shouting coming from an upstairs bedroom. He wasn’t sure if they called it rap or hip-hop or had invented some new term, but the sounds were headache-producing, the language unabashed.
