Time to Kill: A Sniper Novel

10

One hundred and forty-six people boarded EgyptAir flight MS780 at Heathrow Airport in England for the long southeastern flight to Hurghada International Airport in Egypt. Kyle Swanson was the last passenger to cross the threshold, delaying in order to study the others. After boarding, he told a flight attendant that he needed a moment to go through the coach section and say hello to an old friend at the rear of the aircraft before taking his own seat in the first-class cabin. The attendant asked him to please hurry, for the crew would soon be closing the door and preparing for takeoff.

The stretch wide-body Airbus was carrying only about half of its capacity, and the cavernous coach area loomed like an empty frame on a wall, a testament to the reluctance of people to travel to the troubled country. Passengers were spreading out, staking claims to vacant seats, as Kyle went down one aisle all the way to the rear, circled through the galley, and came up the other side without seeing anyone suspicious.

An attendant arrived to take his suit jacket and hang it up, and Swanson settled into the comfortable wide seat next to that of Dr. Tianha Bialy, who gave him a strange look. “Why did you wait so long to get on?”

“I had to go to the bathroom.” Kyle buckled his seat belt.

“They now have bathrooms aboard the planes.”

“Really? I’ll try to remember that.”

“Are you planning to be rude for this entire trip?” she asked.

Swanson turned a bit, the hardness of his face slightly easing. “No, not at all. In fact, the better we get along, the better we can work together. I just wish we would have had more time to get to know each other before heading out as partners. That’s certainly not your fault. Happens all the time on missions.”

The twin engines below the wings growled to life. “I agree. Then let us make the best of a strange situation. Shall we shake hands on it?”

“Sure,” replied Kyle. “Three days in Sharm, three days in Cairo, maybe a side trip to Alexandria or Port Said, and then back to London. A straight-up business trip for all intents and purposes. We should be able to get through that without gashing each other too much.”

She laughed at that. “You must call me Tianha, and I probably should not refer to you as a gunnery sergeant when we are in public.”

“Kyle.” He noticed she had a charming smile when she was relaxed. Just like that, the tension had seemed to drain away from her. “Are you worried, Tianha?”

“Of course.” The airplane began its long crawl to get in line for the taxiway. “This could be very dangerous. For a woman, even someone like me, it would be impossible to do on my own. How about you, Kyle? Aren’t you worried?”

“No. I’ve had a lot of experience in volatile situations. I try to keep nasty surprises to a minimum.” The plane shuddered and stopped on the tarmac before moving slowly forward again, and the engine noise grew a notch. An announcement came from the intercom that they were next for takeoff, and the attendants should take their seats.

“Well, you look very nice in your company’s vice presidential suit and tie instead of a camouflaged battle dress uniform.”

He laughed as the Airbus began its roll. “Tianha, the suit is my camouflage.”

By the time the plane was airborne, each knew the other was lying. Nothing had been settled between them.

The flight coasted uneventfully across France and down the length of Italy, Greece, and then the broad Mediterranean, with Turkey to the east. After entering Egyptian airspace, they followed the deep crack of the Suez Canal all the way to the Red Sea. As the pilots began to shave off altitude, Swanson examined the approaching coast, where the pale desert sand met blue-green waters. “Not much to this place, is there?”

“No,” Tianha said. “Hurghada is just another fishing village that has grown up to be a medium-sized city. I’ve been through here a few times before while doing research projects around Aswan and Luxor. Being on the proper side of the canal, it has always been a jumping-off spot to some of the more historic places down south, but mostly they are promoting the diving and fishing opportunities on the nearby islands. The tourism crisis must be pretty severe down here.”

The Airbus circled lower and sped in for a smooth, one-bounce landing on one of the two long runways. As they coasted to a stop, Kyle noticed that only two other commercial planes were parked before the long terminal area, which was topped by spiky tentlike coverings. Far away, though, were plenty of military aircraft: several varieties of helicopters, a squadron of American-made F-16s, and what looked like old Soviet-era MiGs. Hurghada lived on tourism, but it was also the home of a major Egyptian Air Force base beside the Red Sea. Why had she not mentioned that?

When the door opened, there was no gate extending into the building, which meant that even on the hottest days when temperatures soared well above 100 degrees, the passengers would deplane on the scalding tarmac and hurry indoors to the air-conditioning. He was glad it was January.

“Your people have someone meeting us, right?” Kyle asked as they went through customs. “Look at that mob of taxi drivers. The natives seem restless.”

“They are hurting for fares. Usually, it’s pretty orderly in the taxi ranks.”

The first passengers to pick up their bags were besieged by drivers offering deals in various languages. To one side, beside a row of yellow molded plastic chairs, stood a middle-aged man wearing white trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt and a skinny dark tie that was slightly askew. He held a simple sign that bore the name of BIALY, and she beckoned to him rather imperiously. He hurried over, bowed politely, and retrieved their bags, then led them outside to a clean hire car waiting beside a decorative garden.

After securing the suitcases, he removed a package from the trunk, got behind the wheel, and drove away. “Tianha, it’s good to see you again.” The subservient demeanor fell away, replaced by a calm and confident ease.

“And you, Omar. This is Kyle Swanson. Kyle, meet Omar Eissa, formerly a flight sergeant of the Royal Air Force, and our local contact.”

After retiring from the RAF, Omar Eissa had drifted back to Egypt, the homeland of his family until his grandfather had moved to England as a student many years before, and his father had fought against the Nazis in World War II. The reward for the exemplary military service to the crown was British citizenship for the entire Eissa family. In trade, the country had received three generations of strong boys in uniform. Omar had become bored after his retirement from active duty, but he had noticed something in his travels throughout Egypt, something that might be interesting in his less active years.

Tourists and professionals and businesspeople always preferred spotless private vehicles with air-conditioning and a competent, knowledgeable driver who spoke English and other languages to the clattering taxis with open windows and mulish men who smoked vile cigarettes as they drove. The Flighty reached out to old friends and was guided into MI6, which offered financial help to establish a string of hire car agencies throughout Egypt. As a driver himself, he could poke around for intelligence without drawing the attention of the authorities. The more he did it, the more he became just an ordinary piece of the local scenery.

“Ah. The American. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Swanson.” The driver exited the airport and turned toward the city.

“Just call me Kyle. Did you bring a pistol for me?” Kyle saw no point in dancing around the main issue. He wanted to gun up as soon as possible.

Eissa handed the box over his shoulder, and Kyle opened it: a .45 Colt for him and a 9 mm Beretta for Bialy, with spare magazines and a soft shoulder holster for Swanson.

“Terrific,” Kyle said, working the slide and checking the weapon. “Where are we staying tonight?”

“You are in adjoining suites at the Marriott down at the beach. It’s the best hotel around, and they were glad to get the business. To stay in character, you will go directly there now to freshen up, like a couple of normal, exhausted travelers.”

“No argument from me,” said Tianha.

“Right. At six o’clock, you tell the concierge to call my car agency because you have made dinner plans. Then we will do a full ride around town after dark.”

From the backseat, Kyle looked in the mirror at the driver’s dark eyes. “You have something special in mind?”

Eissa grimaced and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Things have been pretty calm around here because the people were making decent livings, and jobs are the best reason there is for not overturning the economy. Also, we are far away from the population centers and the rioting. This morning, however, I came across something rather unusual, and I need your opinion before reporting it to London.”

“What is it?” Swanson asked.

“You’ll have to wait a couple of hours,” Omar replied. “I don’t want to influence your thinking.”

“Come on, pal. Don’t fool around if it’s important.”

“This is my territory, Kyle. I’ll know when to go. I have already driven past it twice, and I don’t want to attract attention.” There was no hesitation in the agent’s voice now. “As for importance, well, let’s just say it could change the entire cricket match.”

Omar pulled beneath the canopy of the Marriott as the sky was purpling just before sundown. A chubby doorman moved forward with a friendly smile, his hands clasped behind his back. He knew Omar, and he knew there would be a five-dollar U.S. tip for him to allow the preferred parking spot.

“Well, what is it tonight, my friend?” The doorman held up his hand. “No, let me guess. You brought that couple in this afternoon, so it’s time for an authentic camel steak and some belly dancing, followed by a romantic stroll on the beach.”

“If we all don’t get murdered in the process,” Omar said, pressing the folded bill into the doorman’s palm. The instability of the country had sent the foreign exchange rate rocketing for the U.S. dollar.

“The fucking revolutionaries are murdering our entire country, Omar. I have heard of no problems around here tonight. Do you require protection? I could get a trustworthy man to ride along, or follow in another car.”

“No, my friend, but thank you. I have an AK-47 on the front floorboard, and my pistol. Anything beyond that, well, we would be dead enough to be no longer concerned. Here come my people now.”

Tianha and Swanson appeared at the door. Before the doorman drifted away back to his post by a small platform, he whispered. “They are booked into separate suites, but I think they are probably sleeping together. There is a connecting door. I will let you know.”

The English woman and the American man were both in cool, casual attire, ready for a night on the town. She wore long sleeves, a traditional black shawl covered her head, and her skirt was modest. Her matching expensive purse carried, out of sight, a pistol and a camera.

“Hello again, Dr. Bialy. Did you have a good rest?” Omar Eissa asked with a slight, polite bow.

“It was excellent, Omar,” she said as she slid into the rear seat of the car. “Just what I needed after that long flight.” Kyle walked around and got in the other side, surveying the scene as he moved. No serious watchers.

As soon as Eissa pulled away from the entrance canopy, they put aside the acting. “Hurghada, as you know, is near the choke point for the Red Sea and the Suez Canal,” he said. “Ship traffic moves freely through the area all the time, which gives it strategic importance. Not to give you a geography lesson, but just to put what you are about to see into proper perspective. Tianha, get your camera ready. We will be there in just a minute.”

They looped south through streets of small, white-walled homes where people lived who could never afford a single night in a luxury hotel. “Omar, Hurghada is just a dot on the map. Sharm would be the defensive bulwark around here because it controls more of the vital waterways,” Bialy said. “I’m as curious as Kyle. What are you talking about?”

The quiet sedan turned onto Al-Farouk, the main coastal highway. “You are absolutely correct. Sharm would be the prize for any real battle, so what do you make of this? Over there at the ten o’clock position.”

A large olive green truck with the markings of the Egyptian Air Force was parked in a turnaround off the highway, its nose facing the sea. It had a stubby little cab, but the broad rear deck and heavy load required three sets of double wheels on the back. Flat on the deck was a rack of four missiles.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Swanson. “Are those Harpoons?”

“Yes. My sources say that the air force bought that particular mobile missile battery system several years ago from the Royal Danish Navy. It is served by a two-man crew, and both of them are over there with it.”

Kyle noticed the truck was not protected by a large guard detail, nor even a stack of sandbags, giving the impression that it had just pulled in there to park temporarily, as if in the middle of a long trip. He heard Tianha’s camera clicking images into the memory chip. “Back in the day, Harpoons were the shit,” he commented. “Over-the-horizon capability and a range of about seventy miles, with a big boom on some ship at the end. Consider that to be a significant threat, boys and girls, and go ahead and report it.”

Tianha put the camera aside. “A threat to what?”

“Four Harpoons could cause some major damage out there, although I can’t imagine why Egypt would want to sink an oil tanker.” Eissa turned back inland. “I don’t want to pass them again so quickly.”

“Yeah. The good news is that the tubes were flat on the platform, and they have to be raised for a launch, so nothing immediate is happening. We can give it a final check in the morning before we leave.” He briefly considered going after the missile battery tonight and monkeying around with the hydraulic lifting system. That would probably require killing the two crewmen, which would compromise the overall mission. He decided to leave it be and let the allied intel services, which would have Tianha’s photos and report, keep an eye on the installation from a satellite. If the launcher went to an offensive posture, someone else could make the decision on whether, and how, to take it out.

“I would love to know if it has a specific purpose, or if it is just there as a precautionary defense measure during the troubles,” Tianha wondered.

“Oh, it has a target,” said Kyle. “Bet on it. Otherwise it would be parked at the base rather than be out here on its own. Now let’s go get some dinner.”