Wings of Fire

CHAPTER 3

"My brothers and sisters, the danger all around us is great, and we must be strong and united," Ulama Khalid al-Khan said in a deep, resonant voice. He was speaking before a special session of the People's Assembly, the 454-member legislative body of the Egyptian government. As ever, Khan wore traditional Arab garments, the white jubba, quba, sirwal, and qalansuwa, even though most of the rest of the members of the People's Assembly wore Westernstyle business suits. But it was not only his clothing but his long, angular features, his carefully trimmed beard, haunting voice, and hypnotic eyes that commanded attention from all, even those who thought of holy men such as Khan as threats to freedom in Egypt.

"Our nation, our way of life, our very souls are under attack," Khan went on, his voice growing louder and more strident by the moment. "The horrible murder of our beloved President Salaam, may he stand at the right hand of God, is vivid proof that we are not safe and secure even within our holiest shrines and most precious places of worship. The danger is everywhere, my friends. It is time for bold leadership and unity for Misr." Khan preferred using the traditional name for his country, rather than the foreign-derived name, Egypt.

"I know many of you do not stand with me," Khan went on. His eyes drifted toward where he knew a large congregation of his political opponents sat. "Although our laws are based on Shari'a, the holy book, you do not feel those laws should be strictly interpreted and applied, as I and my fellow high priests do. I am not here to debate your attitudes about how to serve God. I am here to offer to you my vision for our country.

"My goal is to stop the anarchy, stop the violence, stop the corruption of our laws, our families, our companies, and our beliefs. I believe those dangers emanate from two places: the Zionists and the Americans." Several dozen legislators shook their heads and voiced their displeasure in carefully muted tones. "Yes, you know it as well as I. Our nation has slipped into crushing recession and inflation ever since the traitor Sadat signed the so-called peace treaty with Israel. We have barely been able to hold on to the very fabric of our country. And who has come to our aid to help? The Americans, with their spies, their fat bloodsucking industrialists, their weapons of hatred and class warfare, and their corrupting cash. It is all tied together, my brothers-the Zionists weaken us, and their masters the Americans suck us deeper into their lustful, depraved ways." More voices, some disagreeing but more of them agreeing with Khan, easily drowning out the dissenters.

"Well, I say, no more. No more! Allow me to place my name on the ballot in the next elections, and I promise to root out the evil in our government and our society. I promise to return Misr to the people and to God. You know the people are behind me. You cannot risk our future and alienating the will of the people by not allowing my name on the ballot. It is vital that our country begin the process of healing. With God's wisdom, strength, and strong guiding hand, I pledge to you that I will carry the banner of unity and honor for our country."

There was a round of light, polite applause throughout the People's Assembly-most of the members knew enough to at least appear enthusiastic. There was little doubt that the Assembly would vote to approve al-Khan's candidacy; the question was, would the people of Egypt vote for him? Khan was a very shadowy character, powerful in the Egyptian mosques and in smaller, more religious communities, but not very well known or trusted in the cities. He represented a step backward for many folks in Egypt, and that did not make him very popular.

Al-Khan bowed and stepped off the dais. The Egyptian prime minister extended his hand to shake Khan's, but alKhan simply bowed and kept his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. The prime minister awkwardly lowered his hand, ignored the gestures and whispers of disapproval from the Assembly, then stepped up to the dais as he was being introduced, "Thank you, Ulama al-Khan. Ladies and gentlemen of the Assembly, we will now hear from the National Democratic Party candidate, Prime Minister Dr. Ahmed Kalir."

Khalid al-Khan took his place in the front row center of the Assembly, reserved for special guests, and sat quietly while the next presenter was ushered to the dais with a round of enthusiastic applause. Dr. Ahmed Kalir represented the greatest challenge to Khan's candidacy. He was an experienced politician, a wealthy and internationally recognized cardiologist and surgeon, and well respected in the cities and among the business community. Kalir had transformed the post of prime minister, allowing the common people greater access to government. Although certainly not a charismatic personality, he was well known in the capital and well respected everywhere. Kalir was definitely the man to beat.

"I am pleased to be here," Kalir began. "On behalf of the National Democratic Party, I thank you for this opportunity to speak." He paused, an uncomfortably long silence, then went on: "And on behalf of the National Democratic Party and myself, I wish to announce to the National Assembly and the people of Egypt that I am withdrawing my name as candidate for president."

The entire National Assembly exploded into bedlamall except Khalid al-Khan. He could not have been more pleased, although he fought hard not to show it. With the death of Kamal Salaam, Ahmed Kalir was by far the most powerful secular politician in Egypt-he was as influential and respected as al-Khan was feared. With him withdrawing his name from nomination, the road was clear for alKhan to be elected the next president of Egypt.

And at that, Kalir looked directly at al-Khan and nodded. What was going on?

"I wish to place my support and prayers for my choice as candidate for president, the one person in all of Egypt who has the moral strength, intelligence, and vision to lead our nation forward out of this crisis and toward the peace and security we all seek," Kalir said. Was Kalir actually endorsing him for president? al-Khan thought. This was too good to be true! "With the blessings of Allah and the hopes and prayers of a nation, I place into nomination today the next president of Egypt… our first lady of Egypt, Madame Susan Bailey Salaam."

Khan was already placing his hands on his left breast, feigning surprise at this unexpected endorsement, when he gasped in total shock. Susan Salaam was alive?

And then he noticed Kalir looking directly at al-Khan, the accusation obvious in his face. Al-Khan had to fight to erase his surprised expression. It was a test, a stupid trick, nothing more.

And then, to al-Khan's complete surprise, Susan Salaam walked out on stage, and then there was no doubt. The entire People's Assembly fairly leapt to their feet and applauded, some even cheering and stamping their feet.

Susan Salaam walked gingerly, as if still in pain, but she did so without using crutches or a walker, just a simple wooden cane with a large, wide crook supporting her left leg. She wore an eye patch on her left eye, and the hairline on the left side of her head was higher than on the right, indicating she had lost some hair or sustained a head injury.

Her hands were marred with cuts and burns; her arms and torso were covered by simple, unadorned clothing, but the burns definitely appeared to extend down her arms.

But her natural beauty was still striking, still breathtaking. Susan made no attempt to hide any of her wounds with makeup, which enhanced her beauty, her sense of pride-and her pain-even more. She embraced Ahmed Kalir and then stepped to the podium, waving to the assembly. Yes, even al-Khan had to admit, she was still beautiful, achingly so.

It took several long minutes for the cheering and applause to die down, and then she began: "Members of the People's Assembly and fellow Egyptians, with great pride and with your support and prayers, I gladly accept the National Democratic Party's nomination for president, and on behalf of my husband, our late President Salaam, I announce that I am a candidate to be your president."

The applause was back, even louder than before. Khalid al-Khan was stupefied. In just a few brief moments, he had gone from a close second in the election race, to the uncontested winner, to just another also-ran.

He could stand it no longer. He stood up, raised his hands, and said in a loud voice, "Hold! Hold!" The assemblymen weren't responding, so Khan quickly stepped up on stage. "A point of order!"

The Speaker of the People's Assembly hurried back to the dais. "Order!" he shouted. "Order!" Susan Salaam had stepped back away from the dais to allow al-Khan to speak. "Please let Ulama al-Khan speak!"

After the assembly had quieted down, mostly in rapt attention to the looming confrontation on stage, he said, "I am most grateful to God that Madame Salaam is alive and well. And I know that it warms our hearts and strengthens our souls for Madame Salaam to seek the same office as her dear husband, who certainly now sits at the right hand of Allah." More applause, not for al-Khan or for Susan, but for Kamal Ismail Salaam, their slain president. How can he possibly fight a dead man? Only with the law-that's all he had left.

"But if I am not mistaken, a candidate for president of Egypt must hold a seat either in the Supreme Judicial Council or the People's Assembly," al-Khan went on. "As much as we honor the memory of President Salaam, as much as it would gladden our hearts to see Madame Salaam once more in the presidential palace, she cannot run for president because she does not hold a national elective office." He turned and bowed graciously to her. "I am sorry, my child, but it is the law."

Finally, what appeared to be leaders of the various groups were getting together. More talking, more gesturing. Finally, several from the group of leaders began filtering up toward the speaker's seat.

This didn't look good at all. Al-Khan turned. His angry gaze caught the attention of the Speaker of the People's Assembly, Representative Jamal Gazali, a member of the National Democratic Party coalition but also the leader of the Society of God, a smaller party representing the religious conservatives in Egypt. Gazali motioned al-Khan quickly to the podium. "What is happening here, Gazali?"

"It is of no consequence, Ulama," Gazali replied. "The matter will be dealt with, and all will be taken care of."

"I asked you what is happening, Gazali."

Gazali looked nervous. "There apparently is a statute still in the law that allows the wife of a legislator or other public official to take her husband's office if he dies while in office," Gazali said. "The law was put into effect after the War of Retribution so the government could continue functioning even if lawmakers serving in the armed forces were killed in battle-"

"Are you saying that Salaam may still become a presidential candidate even though she is not even Egyptian!" al-Khan thundered.

"It is of no consequence, Minister," Gazali said quickly. "Salaam may have been the wife of a public official, but in peacetime the statute is symbolic, nothing more." Gazali made some pretense of being needed on the other side of the podium and scurried away after giving the eleric another nervous bow.

— But al-Khan could quickly see for himself that this was much more than symbolism-it was about to happen. A few moments later Gazali stood to address the Assembly:

"The Assembly will come to order," the speaker ordered. When the chamber assumed some semblance of quiet, the speaker continued, "A motion has been brought before us by the honorable senior delegate from Alexandria that any wife of a public official who dies while in office may assume her husband's office for the remainder of his term. There is considerable debate by the members on whether or not this applies to the high office of president."

Gazali paused, then glanced at al-Khan. The deadly warning stare he received in return decided his course for him-Khalid al-Khan was too powerful a force in Egypt to be crossed.

"We note with pride and affection the love many in our country have for Madame Salaam," Gazali went on. "We note that Madame Salaam served Egypt well as an officer in the American air force, advising and supplying our armed forces with vital information, advice, and counsel during the conflict between Iraq and Kuwait. She has been a faithful and loving wife to our beloved president and a friend to us all. We also recognize her countless contributions to the betterment of Egyptian society, especially her patronage and support for universal education, the restoration of our ancient libraries in Alexandria, and the rescue and rehabilitation of orphaned and outcast children in our cities.

"However, we question the efficacy of this award as it applies to peacetime Egypt," Gazali said, slowly and deliberately. "The law was put in place to be sure our legislatures and bureaucracies continued their work even if its members were killed in battle. Although this honor has been recently applied many times, we see this as merely symbolic, an honorific, which is used as a convenience and token of honor until new elections are held. Further, this custom has never been applied to the office of president, and well it should not, for fear of eroding the importance of that high office. Another consideration, of course, is the fact that Madame Salaam was not born in Egypt, and has not yet qualified to become a naturalized citizen. Therefore, we do not consider Madame Salaam as meeting the strict standards of the law, and therefore-"

The Assembly chamber erupted into sheer bedlam. It seemed every representative was screaming and shaking their fists at Gazali. Several lawmakers even got out of their seats and attempted to rush the podium, but were turned away by uniformed security officers that appeared as if out of nowhere. No one had ever seen such an uprising in the Assembly chambers before-and certainly, Khan had never seen such a loud outpouring of emotion.

Through this chaos, Ulama al-Khan made his way off the dais and to a side hallway toward the back exits. He knew he had lost. The memory of Kamal Ismail Salaam was too powerful and Susan Salaam was almost as popular in Egypt as her husband-perhaps even more so, because of her bewitching beauty.

Several Assembly members siding with Kalir shook their fists, shouted, and even tried to grab at al-Khan as he made his way off the dais. Supreme Judiciary security officers, led by the chief of security of the Supreme Judiciary Council, Major Amr Abu Gheit, who was assigned as alKhan's personal bodyguard, roughly pushed the protesters out of the way, even clubbing one across the head with a pistol butt.

What fools, al-Khan thought. They would actually consider physical intimidation to try to turn him aside? Several more assemblymen rushed to their colleagues' aide, but Gheit and the rest of al-Khan's bodyguards had no trouble subduing them as the presidential candidate made his way out of the chamber.

As he emerged from the chamber into the back hallway, he turned to Gheit: "Take down the name and political party of any representative who even dared look angrily in my direction," he ordered.

"Why? So you can have your henchmen kill them as well?"

Khan turned. There, standing before him, w s Susan Salaam. Her husband's aide and national security adviser, Ahmad Baris, was standing with her. A few Assembly aides and staffers were milling about, fascinated by a confrontation between these two political rivals.

"Madame, it is good to see you alive," Khan said evenly. Aware of the growing crowd gathering to watch them, he stepped forward to Susan as if reaching out to shake her hand, lowered his voice, and said, "But you should not have returned to Cairo. Your life here in Egypt is finished. Go back to the United States and start a new life."

"General Baris warned me not to return to the capital, to go into hiding until just before the funeral and to go back into hiding immediately afterward," Salaam said, her voice loud enough for all to hear. "But all I could think about was what happened to us at the celebration, and I knew I had to confront you directly, to see your face as I accused you directly-"

"Accuse me? Of what?"

"I have been able to piece together what happened that morning at the mosque. You substituted your own handpicked Judiciary guardsmen for the presidential guards that normally would have been on duty during the procession, and you gave them strict orders to always face the procession, not scan the crowd for any sign of danger. By the time the assassins were in place, it was too late for them to react to save my husband."

"Are you suggesting that I had something to do with that terrible attack, Madame?" al-Khan said. "That is purely ridiculous! Why, I was no more than five steps behind you and your husband-I could have been blown to bits as well! Why would I put myself in such harm? I even helped pull you clear of danger once I realized what was happening! You seemed prepared to throw your body in front of that bomb in a vain attempt to save your husband from his destiny. I gave you the chance to live."

"Maybe the rumors that you wore a Kevlar bulletproof shroud under your robes are true-because bystanders farther away than you were severely injured, while you and that rat-snake Zuwayy walked away unscathed-"

"Unscathed? They told me one of my lungs had to be re-

inflated, and His Highness King Idris the Second of Libya suffered flashblindness and loss of hearing that still lingers! We were lucky to escape with our lives! You actually think we would have engineered such a sloppy and dangerous assassination attempt in such close quarters?"

"I think you put yourself in just enough harm so no attention would be drawn to you directly," Salaam argued.

"You are delusional," al-Khan said, dismissing her with an angry wave of his hand. "I am glad to see you are alive, Madame, and I pray for you and your late husband. But I warn you, do not spread false rumors or try to discredit my good name. There are laws against such activities."

"There are laws against subversion, conspiracy, and treason too, Khan," Salaam said bitterly. "But since when have you ever been concerned with the law, except when it most benefits you? You hide behind your robes and the holy Quran like a desert scorpion, hopping out into the sunlight just long enough to strike, then hide in the shadows once again and wait for your victim to die before devouring him."

'Take great care, woman," al-Khan warned. "You try my patience."

But Susan hobbled over to block his path. "I will get you for what you did, Khan," she hissed. "If it takes my very last breath, I will avenge my husband's killer-you and your puppet master, Zuwayy."

"Get out of my way, woman," Khan ordered. His bodyguards were ready the instant he made eye contact. They had been staying back, visible but not intrusive, threatening but not imminently so, but when al-Khan motioned for them, they moved like coiled snakes. One of them grabbed for Salaam's cane, the other for her right arm.

But as fast as they moved, Susan was faster. She let the man grabbing her cane pull her toward him, then merely redirected her momentum slightly, driving the crook of the cane up into his throat. The hall echoed with the crack of his larynx, and he collapsed to the floor, clutching his shattered windpipe. Then she immediately swung the cane with her left hand and cracked it hard against her second attacker's right kneecap. Even though she heard more bone crack, the big, burly bodyguard did not go down, but twisted Susan's right wrist around and down, trying to force her to the floor.

Susan didn't resist, but simply twisted faster. The bodyguard lost his grip with a howl of pain when he tried to put weight on his right leg, sinking down to his left knee, and Susan was free. She watched and waited. The second bodyguard did exactly as she thought he would: He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his side arm, a fearsome-looking Spanish-made Star Z-84 mini-submachine gun. Susan simply swung the cane as if she were making a two-wood tee shot, aiming not for the gun but the bodyguard's head. The snap! they heard was the left side of his jaw, and he went down hard.

A stunned Khalid al-Khan stared in amazement at the writhing men at his feet. The entire fight had lasted only seconds, but both highly trained bodyguards looked as if they might be in critical condition. "Obviously you have done a lot more than just be the supportive wife of a president, Madame."

Susan hefted the cane. It was just an oaken cane, but now al-Khan could see that the crook was larger, its tip was menacingly pointed, and the shaft had decorative inlays in it that obviously served to help grip the cane in defensive situations. "A skill taught by some friends from Nevada. Weapons-and fighters-are all around you, Khan."

"Are you insane, woman?" he breathed. "Are you gloating? Look at what you have done! You're a madwoman! Or are you trying to live up to your ridiculous nickname, Sekhmet the Goddess of the Hunt?"

"I want you to know that you and I are enemies, Khan," Susan said, her voice low but hard as the oak in her cane. "I know you set up the assassination of my husband, and I know you are using your terror network to force any opposition into hiding or into silence. I know you are being funded by Zuwayy of Libya, and I know if you gain the presidency, that you will move to join the Muslim Brotherhood and force Egypt to join an alliance of terror that will cut off all Western aid and strangle our country. I will do everything in my power to stop you." Several security officers ran up to the growing crowd just then. Both General Baris and al-Khan barked orders at them, but the chief justice of the Supreme Judiciary's voice, authority, status, and perceived threat were far more powerful than Baris's, and Salaam and Baris were roughly led away.

They were met outside by dozens of reporters and cameras, and the security guards slinked away as Susan and Ahmad approached them. "That was not very wise, Susan," Baris said under his breath. "Khan needs only the slightest excuse to have you arrested, deported-or killed."

"I wanted to let him know that we're not done fighting," Susan said resolutely. "Beating up his bodyguards will be nothing compared to what I'm going to do to him on election day." She stepped over to the reporters and bank of microphones and started answering questions:

"Yes, I attended my husband's memorial service," Susan responded to the first question. "Upon the advice of my husband's national security adviser, General Ahmad Baris, I attended in secret. I was also present at his interment in the family cemetery at Giza. It is a credit to General Baris and his staff that you did not know I was there. After the mourners left, I was able to perform the burial ritual." She held up her left hand, showing a large man's ring on her middle finger as well as her engagement ring on her ring finger. "I have Kamal's wedding ring, and he now has mine. I also placed topazes on his eyes, so he will not be blinded by the suns of heaven when he crosses over.

"Yes, I spoke with Ulama al-Khan just now. We greeted each other with warmth and relief that neither was very seriously injured from the attack. He explained his objection in the National Assembly to me very well, which I fully accept. His concern was that new elections not be clouded with any constitutional challenges during our nation's most critical time. I assured him that I will do what's best for Egypt and myself.

"Yes, of course, my husband's murderers should be hunted down, but only to be brought to justice, not retribu-

tion. This should be a time of healing, not revenge. I'm sure that's what my husband would have wanted, and I know that's what Dr. Kalir and Ulama al-Khan want too.

"Yes, with the help and support of my friends in the National Democratic Party and the people of Egypt, I am a candidate for president of Egypt. Of course, my doctors will have to give their blessing as well-I am strong and determined, but I'm not foolish enough to think I know more than my doctors.

"I suffered some damage in my left eye and some burns, but I'm feeling all right, kwaysa ilhamdu lillah, shukran. Thank you.

"Yes, I believe I can work with Ulama al-Khan in a National Democratic Party-led government. The Ulama and I share many of the same beliefs: that Egypt can and must be the spiritual, moral, and philosophical leader of the Arab world and show by example the power and courage of the Arab people. My husband believed strongly in this, and I shall continue to work to make this idea a reality.

"No, I have absolutely no intentions of leaving Egypt except for brief visits abroad or in some capacity with the government.

"Yes, I still hold dual nationalities-I can't change my place of birth. But out of respect for my husband and to his countrymen, and reflecting the love I have for all Egyptians, I'm staying. I have no plans to reside in the United States or anywhere else but Misr, insha'allah. Sabah el kher. Shukran. Thank you all."

General Baris and Captain Shafik escorted Susan out of the National Assembly building into a waiting car. "I think it went pretty well, don't you, Ahmad?" she asked.

"The interview was fine," Baris replied. "But this is a dangerous game you're playing, Sekhmet. Men like Khan do little all day but dream up ways to defeat, humiliate, or eliminate their political opponents. Unless you want to reduce yourself to their scum-sucking level, stay away from political intrigue."

"I have no illusions of this-Khan wants to see me dead," Susan said. "Khan failed to do the job before, so he will ensure it's done now."

"And you somehow believe these American commandos will help you?" Baris asked. "I must tell you, Sekhmet, I think it is dangerous to have those men in Egypt. We know nothing about them. The American government obviously knew nothing about them except to tell us that they are not part of the American government whatsoever. They are privateers, former military men who now work for whoever pays them."

"Then they can work for us," Susan said. "We have no military behind us now. These men are skilled enough to take one of our warships-they can do a lot of harm to alKhan's men, possibly even to the Libyans as well."

"To what end? Do you expect them to kill al-Khan or invade Libya for you?" Baris asked. "That's a fantasy, Sekhmet. They have obviously been paid by a very wealthy individual, company, or conglomerate to perform a task. If they don't do the assigned task, they won't get paid. As soon as they've rested and gathered some intelligence information, they'll be gone-leaving you with whatever chaos they've created. I don't think you want that."

"What I want, General, is for Egypt to be free from murdering scum like al-Khan or terrorists like Zuwayy," Susan said bitterly. "I sense something in McLanahan. He is in great pain, yes-losing both his brother and his wife in so short a time must be devastating for him. If he has a child, it must make the pain even greater. But there is something else about him. I sense another conflict within him."

"He is certainly not like the others," Baris agreed. "I would guess he is a trained soldier, but not necessarily a commando. And he knew of your background-specifically, he mentioned your Air Force background, with definite pride in his voice. If I had to guess, I would say he is a former American air force officer, perhaps even a highranking officer."

"So if he is not a commando, perhaps he's out of his element," Susan surmised. "Maybe he doesn't waat to be where he is, fighting for money instead of for his country." Susan turned to Amina Shafik. "Any information on McLanahan's background, Amina?"

"No, Madame," Shafik responded. "It's very unusual. My contact in the American Air Attache's office at the American embassy in Cairo has no record of a Patrick McLanahan in the American military. Their records go back about five years."

"Can we search any farther back?"

"Not from the Air Attache's office," Shafik replied. "For that, we would need help from the Mukharbarat el-Aama."

"The General Intelligence Staff is still loyal to me-I can get that information," General Baris said. "But it may take some time. Should we trust this McLanahan and his men until we find out who and what they are?"

"Should we? No-I should trust no one," Susan said. "But will we trust them? Yes-for now. Be sure they have all the information they need-every map, every photograph, every piece of data. Make sure they have access to any base, every unit, and every weapon system."

Baris shook his head, then half-turned in his seat to look directly into Susan's eyes. "Listen to me, Sekhmet: Your life is in incredible danger here," he said. "I know you want to carry on your husband's work and avenge his death, but is running for president worth risking your life?"

"What do you suggest I do, General? Run?"

"In the United States, we have a chance to rebuild our power. We can wait for al-Khan's government to implode. The people will welcome you as a conquering hero then. You would be proclaimed president."

"But what about the people that I would be leaving behind?" Susan asked. "They'd be at the mercy of al-Khan and through him, Jadallah Zuwayy. I won't abandon the people of Egypt to save myself."

"The people of Egypt will survive-we have for thousands of years," Baris said. "I can trace my own ancestry back seventeen hundred years, Sekhmet. A dozen different empires, dictators, and religious oligarchies have occupied our nation. We Egyptians have an annoying way of surviving men like al-Khan."

"That doesn't mean the innocent should suffer because the next despot or conqueror feels it's time to move in," Susan said.

"The Egyptian people won't be entirely innocent," Baris said. "Khan will be voted in by an overwhelming majority, even if Prime Minister Kalir decides to run again. Should not the people be allowed to choose their own government, their own fate?"

"No one should be permitted to rule by force, intimidation, fear-or murder," Susan said bitterly.

"Even if al-Khan is a murderer, the people of Egypt will still choose by whom they will be ruled. Whether Khan is the president or not, people will follow him because they choose to do so." Baris lowered his head sadly. "You may hate me for saying so, Sekhmet, but the reason al-Khan survives-and your husband, my friend, did not-is because the people want a man like him as president."

"Wha… what did you say, General?"

"I said, the people get the leaders they want, my friend," Baris said. "Your husband was a great man, a great statesman, a hero to Egypt. He helped put this nation back in touch with the rest of the world and ended the isolation and ostracism we have been facing for fifty years. But men like al-Khan survive, and many say he has more power, much more power, than Kamal Ismail Salaam ever had. Khan preaches power, Sekhmet, not cooperation. He preaches leadership. Kamal wanted Egypt to join the community of nations, especially the Western nations. Khan survives, and will become president, because people like what he says."

"Even if he gets his power by murder, death, and betrayal?"

"Betrayal to you is another man's patriotism, Sekhmet," Baris said. "Murder and death to you is justice, vengeance, action, and destiny to another. Which is right? Which is wrong? I suppose it depends on your point of view."

"I can't believe you're saying this, Ahmad," Susan retorted, her eyes wide in surprise. "Killing my husband, the president of Egypt, was not justice. Conspiring to align Egypt with a bunch of murderous anarchists like Zuwayy and the Muslim Brotherhood is not patriotism."

"Not to you, it isn't," Baris said. "Not to me. But to twenty million Egyptians, fifteen million Libyans, five million Sudanese-yes. To over half the Egyptian military forces, al-Khan is a hero for killing your husband. To half of the Saudi royal family, to three-quarters of the Lebanese, to most of the Syrians, Zuwayy is a liberator, the sword of Allah."

"How is that possible?" Susan asked incredulously. "How can that be true? Don't all those people realize how dangerous he is? Can't they see Zuwayy's crazy? He thinks he's descended from an ancient Libyan king. He's nothing but a goofball-a murdering, thieving goofball!"

"You're not listening, Sekhmet!" Baris said with a smile, like a patient teacher who is watching realization dawning on a promising student. "You're not paying attention. It doesn't matter what you think or what you knowit's what the people believe. Look back through your own country's history, Susan. Everyone believed John Kennedy was the so-called prince of Camelot, and then were disillusioned because you later found out he was a womanizing adolescent privileged politician who knew little except what his brother Robert and his 'Kitchen Cabinet' told him. You know much of Egyptian and Middle East history-do you truly believe the western European kings organized the Crusades to liberate the Holy Land from the infidels? Do you believe Alexander the Great sought to unify the kingdoms of eastern Europe?"

"So it's all propaganda? It's all illusion?"

"Of course it's all illusion," Baris said. "The only thing that is real is the law-but there are many, many things more powerful that the law. Image. Perception. Emotion. Fear. Anger. Hate. Love. Control these things, and you control all."

Susan shook her head in confusion. "Why are you telling me this, General?" she asked in a low, strained voice. "Why? Are you telling me that my husband died for nothing more than a dream, an illusion?"

"Because I'm trying to explain men like Zuwayy and alKhan to you, Sekhmet," Baris said. "Your husband died because he was strong in his heart, but perhaps not strong enough in his mind. He believed in something he could never, ever have. Now it's time for you to choose what you want, Sekhmet. Choose."

"Yes, I said Susan Salaam. She's alive!" Khalid al-Khan hissed in the cellular phone. "I thought I was seeing a ghost when she walked out on stage! And she's crazy! She actually attacked and seriously wounded some of my men-nearly killed them with a walking cane"

"A walking cane, eh?" Jadallah Zuwayy of Libya chuckled. He was relaxing in his office, flipping through reports and paperwork with several of his advisers. "I think you need to hire better bodyguards, my friend."

"She's accusing me of trying to kill her!"

"Calm yourself, Ulama. Let her rant and beat up on your bodyguards-it makes her look all the more unstable."

"Unstable? She's running for president of Egypt, Highness!"

Zuwayy froze, then sat bolt upright in his chair. "Running for president? How is that possible, Khalid? She's not an Egyptian! She's not even a naturalized Egyptian citizen!"

"The law allows it," Khan said. "The law actually says that she assumes the office of her husband if he dies in office-the law was amended in this case to allow her to run for the office."

"How in the world can you allow that to happen? What kind of lawmakers do you have out there?"

"'She is immensely popular here, Highness," Khan said. "Even after being hit by that explosion, she is still beautiful."

"You Egyptians sound like the Italians sometimesbeauty is enough to become a great politician, eh?"

"This is not a joke, Highness," Khan said. "The polls already show Salaam twenty points ahead, and she has not raised one penny or made one speech yet!"

"All right, all right," Zuwayy responded. "Listen to me, Khalid. Most of this fight is yours-Libya cannot become involved in Egyptian elections. You command considerable power in Egypt, especially in the outlying areas and with conservatives. Use that power. Rally your supporters. You also hold a high position, both in government and in your citizen's personal and spiritual lives-use that power as well. Don't just beat Salaam-destroy her. You can do it, Khalid. If necessary, get some secular advisers and help them design a campaign for you-don't rely on a bunch of clerics to fight a battle in an arena they know nothing about." Zuwayy paused for a few moments; then: "I may be able to help stir some things up in other areas, Khalid. But it is your fight. Fight to win."

Zuwayy cut off the call by angrily throwing the receiver back on its hook. He shook his head, deep in thought. "Khan is such a weakling, it's amazing he's even strong enough to venture outside his own bedroom by himself, let alone run for public office," he said to no one in particular. "Whining and bleating like a lost sheep because the wife of his political adversary is still breathing-deplorable." But he ordered his aide to dismiss his other advisers and staffers with a wave of his hand.

When his office was cleared, he looked at his military chief of staff, General Tahir Fazani, and his Secretary of Arab Unity, Juma Mahmud Hijazi. "What if the lovely Mrs. Salaam does win the election?" he asked.

"Khan will retain his post as chief justice of the Supreme Judiciary," Hijazi said. "He's almost as powerful as the president. Little will change."

"Salaam will certainly want to form even closer relations with the West than her husband," Fazani said. "That means more foreign military presence, more military ties, more foreign investment. Libya will be squeezed out of any development deals." He glanced at Hijazi, then added, "So will our secret benefactor."

"I am still opposed to making any more deals with Kazakov, Jadallah," Hijazi said. The two men in Zuwayy's office were fellow officers in the Libyan military who helped Zuwayy overthrow Qadhafi to take over the government-they were two of the few in all of Libya who could call Zuwayy by his real name, and still only in private. "The man's in protective custody by the World Court, for God's sake. This could all be an elaborate ruse to implicate us. Remember, he's ratted out half the organized-crime leaders in Europe in just the past year. Maybe we're next."

"I still say, let's take all the weapons Kazakov can put into our hands," Fazani said, "and blast the Egyptian military to hell right now. They may have American weapons, but they don't have any more power or support than they ever had. We have historic claims to the Salimah oil fields-let's just move in, wipe out the Western and ignorant Turkish roustabouts, and take over the entire Libyan Desert region of Egypt. We can lay claim to everything west of thirty east longitude and everything south of twenty-five degrees latitude, and I think we can hold it easily. Our forces in Sudan already have the region surrounded-it would be easy. We can pump oil and send it to Libya for six months, maybe a year, before the West starts to threaten retaliation. Then we keep the proceeds, destroy the wells, and get out."

"It won't work, Tahir," Zuwayy said. "What if we do occupy those fields? No one will buy one drop of oil we pump after we invade Egypt."

"There is always a market for crude, Jadallah," Fazani said. "If nothing else, we threaten to dump it on the world market if no one buys it at market price. Dozens of nations, including the West, will buy it at cut-rate prices just for the chance to store it and resell it at higher prices later? and the OPEC countries will buy it just to prop up oil prices. Once we make peace with Egypt, pay some measly reparations, and maybe even take our cut of the profits and move to South America or Southeast Asia, the West will be happy to deal with us again-they'll make a deal with Satan himself to get at all the oil we'll pump from Salimah."

"You tired of running the Libyan military, Tahir?" Zuwayy asked with a smile.

"Jadallah, I give you all the credit in the world for engineering this scam," Fazani said. "It was a stroke of pure genius, coming up with the whole Sanusi thing. Most of the folks in Libya and a good portion of the world bought it. But we're not in it to rule the damned country-we're in it for the money, remember? Libya pumps five billion dollars' worth of oil out of the desert a year. If we can siphon off even ten percent for ourselves, we'll be set up for the rest of our lives. Why do we want to stick around after that?"

"Because if we can take the Salimah oil fields, we can take twice as much," Zuwayy said.

"I'm all for that, Jadallah," Fazani said, "but I'd be just as happy splitting a five-hundred-million-dollar take. I can't water-ski behind more than one megayacht anyway. Besides, how much of those billion dollars do we need to split with Kazakov? He's got a reputation for killing off all his partners. I'd rather get out while we're still alive to enjoy the money."

"Don't worry about it," Zuwayy said. "We've got our escape plan ready to go-that's the mistake Qadhafi made, believing he really was some big-shot Arab desert chieftain. If we need to implement the escape plan, we won't hesitate. Until then, we press on with our plans."

"'Defeat her'-easy for you to say," Ulama Khalid alKhan murmured. He hung up the phone and held his head in his hands. "How do you defeat a ghost? Scare her away?"

"Sir?" Major Amr Abu Gheit, Khan's bodyguard and chief of the Supreme Judiciary security forces, asked. He waited for a few moments, then asked, "Can I get something for you, sir?"

"Nothing," Khan responded. "Nothing-except perhaps Salaam's head."

"I can get that for you, sir," Gheit said with an evil smile. "Just give me immunity from prosecution, and I'll do it tonight."

"Tempting, but not quite yet," Khan said. "What are the pretty Mrs. Salaam's whereabouts, anyway?"

"Last report had Mrs. Salaam and General Baris in National Democratic Party headquarters, meeting with district political chairmen and major supporters to organize her election campaign," Gheit reported, reading from a notebook. "We have a list of those supporters. Wiretaps, surveillance, and financial investigations can begin on all of them as soon as you wish."

"Very well. Get them moving," Khan said. "And if you can't find the information you need, invent it."

"Yes, sir," Gheit said. He continued glancing at the report. "This is interesting, sir: It is reported from interviews with the flight crew that Mrs. Salaam had flown in to the People's Assembly meeting from Mersa Matruh military base in the west."

"Mersa Matruh? What was she doing there?"

"It is apparently where she evacuated to after the assassination, sir," Gheit said. He read on, shaking his head as he did so. "There is no mention of it in here."

"Mention of what? What are you muttering about, Major?"

"There was some sort of emergency at Mersa Matruh days ago-the base commander, Vice Marshal Ouda, reported that there was some sort of incident, a mutiny or some other violent action, aboard one of his ships," Gheit replied.

"Major, that does not concern me," Khan said.

"If I may, sir, I will contact Vice Marshal Ouda and see if he has anything to report on Salaam or Baris's presence there," Gheit said. Khan dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and he departed, leaving Khan wringing his hands and shaking his head at his desk. But Gheit excitedly returned several minutes later. "Holiness..!"

"What is it now, Major?"

"I have Vice Marshal Ouda on the line," Gheit said. "He has something incredible to report. Salaam and Baris were indeed there-and so were some unidentified foreign commandos. Salaam and Baris spoke to them, after which they offered the use of base facilities and other assistance."

"What?" Khan exclaimed. "What commandos? Who were they?"

"It is not known, sir-but Ouda thinks they are Americans."

"American commandos are on one of our bases?" Khan exploded. "Who authorized this? Why wasn't I notified? Why wasn't anyone in Cairo notified?"

"General Baris ordered Ouda not to report it," Gheit replied. "Baris is still national security adviser and Ouda's superior officer."

"Not for long," Khan said angrily. "Issue an order to the Ministry of Defense, stating that the Supreme Judiciary dismisses Baris from his post immediately in the interest of national security. He is suspected of masterminding the assassination of President Salaam and inciting a military coup. Have him arrested and Mrs. Salaam arrested as well…." Then he thought better of the political ramifications of that and said, "Better yet, have her taken into protective custody. Do it right now." Khan picked up the telephone. "This is Ulama al-Khan, chief justice of the Supreme Judiciary. Is this Vice Marshal Ouda?"

"Yes, Holiness."

"You will tell me everything you know about what has gone on out there, Vice Marshal, and you will do it quickly" Khan ordered.

He did-and Khan couldn't believe what he heard. "They are still here, Holiness," Ouda concluded. "They have virtual free run of my base, thanks to General Baris. He has ordered my intelligence directorate to turn over the latest intelligence information on hundreds of military sites in Libya. They fly aircraft in and out of here almost hourly, everything from light jets to medium transports. These are the same men who commandeered one of my warships! How dare Salaam and Baris give them all that material and then harbor them on my base without even consulting me?"

"Baris and Salaam gave them classified information?" Khan couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, Holiness. The latest information we have. Mountains of it! Most of the data dealt with Libyan defenses and installations-"

"Anything on Egyptian installations?"

"Some, Holiness. Overhead photos of some of our bases, easily obtainable commercially."

"But are they classified photos?"

"We classify all photos we obtain for three months, sir."

"Then Salaam and Baris gave the Americans classified information?"

"Well, technically, the photos are not-"

"Yes or no, Ouda?"

"Yes, Holiness. We classified the photos 'Confidential,' but only because-"

"It doesn't matter," Khan said. "General Baris violated the law by turning over classified information to foreign nationals. You will do everything you can to stop those men, Vice Marshal. They are a threat to Egypt and to our peace and security. Use every man and woman on your base, or get more men-I don't care if you take every soldier in your district, but you will not allow those men to leave. And if Salaam or Baris returns to your base, you will place them both into custody. Do you understand?"

Khan didn't wait for Ouda to respond, but hung up the phone. "Major! Get in here!" he shouted. When-Gheit returned, he said, "Get the king of Libya on the phone immediately-and have Salaam and Baris found and arrested immediately!"

The security checks and identification procedures took unusually longer than normal for one simple reason: None of the security officers or their U.S. Air Force supervisors had ever processed a security clearance on a nine-year-old before. But Kelsey Duffield kept her amused, sincere smile and bubbly personality despite all the probes, pat-downs, questions, and the double and triple takes as they proceeded past the several layers of security.

Helping occupy Kelsey's attention was one of the female security guards, who identified herself only as Sandy, a small but very beautiful woman appropriately dressed in sand-colored battle dress uniform, web harness, desertweight boots, desert hat and aviator sunglasses, and carrying an Uzi submachine gun. Accompanying Sandy was her partner, one of the largest Doberman pinschers Kelsey had ever seen. It was lean, muscular, angular, and lithe in every movement it made. Its face never changed expression, but it was soon evident that the dog's demeanor could be judged by the position of its long, regal, pointed, cropped ears: When the ears were pointed straight up and motionless it was locked onto its prey; when they swiveled around like radar dishes it was hunting, searching; and when the ears were down, it was sorry for not paying attention.

Kelsey saw the big dog and instantly fell in love. When she tried to go over to it, the big dog's ears drooped, and its little stubby docked tail actually seemed to wag, but Sandy motioned her away. "Stay away, little girl," she said sternly.

"But why?" Kelsey asked.

"We call her the Alpha Bitch," Jon offered. Sandy made a scolding expression toward him, and he smiled back. "Not Sandy; the dog, Sasha. She was trained by the best military working dog schools in the world-right here at Tonopah. She is the most protective dog I've ever seen-I think she'd kill anyone who tried to lay on hand on Sandy. I've seen her in training: She can climb a two-story-tall vertical ladder, drag a two-hundred-pound man, and open doors with her jaws. I've also seen that dog eat-she devours two cans of dog food in two bites." He smiled at Sandy again and quipped, "Still can't find a date yet, eh, Sandy?" The guard said nothing, only smiled evilly. Kelsey waved good-bye to Sasha as they proceeded on, and Sasha seemed to be disappointed she was leaving.

With Kelsey was her mother, Cheryl, being escorted by Jon and Helen Masters. Although Cheryl was patient throughout the several-hours-long process, at the end of it all her patience was definitely wearing thin. "Is all this security absolutely necessary?" she asked as they finally cleared the last checkpoint and walked inside the facility toward one of the large steel hangars.

"You should know better than to ask, Cheryl," Helen responded.

"But we have Top Secret clearances…"

"That's just for you" Helen explained. "These procedures are for this area-it's different. There is another set of security procedures once we actually get to the specific project-they won't be as difficult as those were, but you will have to submit to them as well, each and every time. The procedures change depending on which area we're going to and which projects are active, so they might be easier or harder next time-"

"Harder?"

"This isn't even the worst of it," Jon added. "Hangar Seven-Alpha's classification is only Secret. If you want to go to the Top Secret areas, it'll be an extra hour. Heck, we've gone through three hours of in-processing just to pick up a can of soda because the ice chest was in the wrong lab."

"How do you get any work done?"

"You get used to it," Helen said. "You just budget your time accordingly. You learn not to come out here unless you've lined up an entire day or more of work, and you stay until the work gets done. We sleep out here all the time. You ask why we invest in the best computers, why we buy two or three systems when we only need one, and don't use leased equipment-this is part of the reason. Getting a service tech to come out here would be impossible, and it takes even longer to get clearance for a piece of electronic equipment to come in here than it does a person-every diode, microchip, and printed circuit board has to be checked for bugs before it comes in here."

"This is insane," Cheryl muttered. "We've been involved with many classified projects before, and I've never seen security procedures this tight."

"Getting a briefing or giving a talk on a classified program is one thing," Jon said. "Actually building a weapon system that won't officially exist for another five years is another."

"This is like going to Disneyland," Kelsey exclaimed happily.

"I love your attitude, kiddo," Jon said. Her excitement and glee, Jon had to admit, was infectious.

The partnership deal between Jon, Helen, the shareholders of Sky Masters Inc., and Sierra Vistas Partners went through quickly and without any major glitches, once Jon was convinced it was the best for all-thanks to Kelsey. Jon and Helen Masters instantly became multimillionaires, not just on paper but in reality. The price for that newfound liquidity was twofold-having a lot of strange people working around the administration areas, and dealing with a whole new attitude from the board of directors, who overnight went from having virtually no power in the company to having the critical swing vote in every decision in the entire company. They didn't ask for information anymore-they demanded it. Memos flew, phone calls followed, and the staff was kept hopping keeping up with requests for updates from directors and their attorneys and accountants.

Most of Jon's day was filled with bringing Kelsey up to date on all of Sky Masters Inc.'s projects and programs, a chore that Jon actually found beneficial. Since very few engineers at the company could match Jon's intelligence and innovation, Jon rarely talked to others about his projectswhen he needed input or help, he usually had to spend more time explaining what he was trying to do. Not so with Kelsey. She listened intently, rarely took notes, could speedread a page of engineering data in just a few seconds, and always asked intelligent, relevant questions-not just on the basic science, but on future applications or future directions to push the research. Jon found that explaining a project to Kelsey actually helped him rethink the problems and discover a new approach to solving a dilemma or impasse.

Today was the most exciting day for Kelsey-actually going out to the flight line to see some aircraft. Cheryl's only reason for going along, other than the fact she wanted to be with her daughter as much as possible, was that she had spent so long getting her special Top Secret security clearance that she thought she'd better use it. Now she was regretting that decision. They had flown the company jet from Arkansas to Tonopah Municipal Airport, and then loaded up into a company Suburban for the drive out to the Tonopah Test Range, sixty miles to the southeast along narrow, winding, cracked roads.

"I thought we were going out to Groom Lake," Cheryl said perturbedly.

"Not likely," Jon said. "Heck, it took me a year to go out there-and I designed a lot of the stuff they were testing out there! Helen is one of the senior engineers at the company and has been for years, and she's still never been there! As rough as you might think the security is here, it's nothing compared to… well, out there." It was obvious Jon was uncomfortable even saying the words "Groom Lake." "Security is not just a procedure out there, or part of the cost of doing business-it's a way of life."

"So how did that Soviet spy make it in there?" Cheryl asked. "How did-?"

Jon suddenly turned, stepped right in front of Cheryl until he was just inches from her, and held up a finger right in front of her face. "Cheryl," he began, his voice quiet but deadly serious. His eyes were affixed directly on hers, and it'shocked and surprised her. "You have got to learn something right here and right now: We don't talk about stuff like that. No one does. Not here, not at the company, not anywhere, not anytime, to no one. No one."

"It's no secret, Jon-"

"Cheryl, listen… "

"Jon, I heard all about it at a bar in Nashville, Tennessee, during a space technology conference," Cheryl Duffield said with a nervous smile. "Why, I even heard-"

"Cheryl!" Jon interjected-it was the most emotion he had ever displayed in front of anyone before. "Listen, Cheryl, you have got to learn something-security is not something to be taken lightly around here or most anywhere in the company. To call these guys 'sticklers' for security would be a gross understatement. A company that gets a reputation for lax security gets aced out of every single contract competition-ask Northrop, ask British Aerospace, ask any of a dozen excellent companies that had one little breach. It doesn't matter how good your product isthey'll blackball you in a heartbeat."

He pointed to a tiny white box on the side of a hangar several dozen yards away. "This place is totally wired for sound-I should know, because I designed most of the systems they use here. We are constantly being scanned for bugs, weapons, recording devices, explosives, stolen components, tracers, communications equipment, chemicals, microwaves-you name it.

"Every word you or I say is recorded and electronically transcribed and analyzed, and any keywords found in the transcript sends a security flag all the way up to FBI, CIA, DIA, and a dozen other government and military security and intelligence agencies in Washington for follow-up," he went on. "You say the word 'Soviet,' 'bar,' and 'Nashville' in a sentence, and in two days the FBI will have launched an entire investigation of you, all your acquaintances, all the circumstances surrounding your presence at that bar in Nashville, and any other permutation of those words they can think of-and believe me, you'll be shocked at the shit they'll come up with."

"Jon, don't you think you're exaggerating just a little?" Cheryl asked with an exasperated smile. "I've been involved with some of the most sensitive and intensive security systems out there too, and I've never heard of any of that stuff. And why would they be scanning employees out here in the open for things they just got through checking us for at the entrance? And besides.." Just then, Jon put his head down and muttered something under his breath. "What did you say, Jon?"

Moments later they heard, "Hands in the air, all of you!" Cheryl turned and saw a soldier in strange pixilated black, silver, and gray fatigues and helmet aiming an M-16 assault rifle at them from the corner of a building. The strange outfit made him blend in extraordinarily well with the buildings and the shadows at the same time.

"What in the world are you doing? How dare you!"

"I said, hands in the air!" the soldier shouted again.

Jon and Helen raised their hands high. Cheryl grabbed Kelsey as another soldier appeared and aimed his weapon as well. Kelsey giggled and raised her arms too. "Cheryl, I strongly advise you to do as they say, right now" Helen said. She turned to her husband, wilted inside when she saw his "I-told-you-so" smile, and asked perturbedly, "Jon, what did you say?"

"I said, 'Cheryl, are those bombs under your bra there?'"

"Oh, my God," Helen moaned. "This is not going to be pretty."

It wasn't. Three hours later, including over one hour being individually interrogated and debriefed by security personnel and another two hours going through the original searches, ID checks, and scans all over again-including more of the same astounded expressions and whispered comments about the nine-year-old, as if it was the first time they had ever seen her-the four were right back to where they were before, walking toward the large sand-colored Hangar 7A.

"I don't think that was very funny, Dr. Masters," Cheryl finally said.

"It wasn't meant to be funny, Cheryl," Jon said. "But it's hard to impress upon anyone how strict security is around here unless they experience it for themselves. Besides, I'll bet you've never been strip-searched before-it'll make you really watch your p's and q's from now on, not just in here but everywhere."

"Jon, this is not funny. Those security people stripsearched and X-rayed my daughter."

"It's not over, Cheryl-in fact, it's only begun," Jon said, his voice turning serious again. "Your life will not be your own until what you're about to see, and every piece of technology associated with it in any way, has been declassified for at least five years. And we're only going into the Secret area-if you go into the Top Secret or higher areas, you, your entire family, and all your known associates will be under constant scrutiny until you all die-plus five years. It's the way it is from now on."

They entered the big hangar, submitted-more humbly this time-to yet another battery of checks and searches, and then proceeded inside. Two dark gray military aircraft filled the hangar; several smaller aircraft and air-launched weapons were on the hangar floor, all closely guarded by Air Force and company security guards, watching not only the hardware and the visitors but one another as well.

"Here they are, ladies-Sky Masters Inc.'s latest air combat projects, in advanced R and D or initial deployment," Jon said proudly. "The little ones first." He stepped over to the first weapon. 'This is the FlightHawk, our multi-purpose unmanned combat air vehicle. He can do anything a combat aircraft can do-dogfighting, bombing, reconnaissance, minelaying, anything-and do it completely autonomously.

"This is Wolverine, smaller, faster, and much more maneuverable than FlightHawk, primarily designed for standoff attack missions against multiple heavily defended targets-it can outmaneuver even a Patriot missile. It has three weapon sections where it can carry a variety of pay-

loads, including thermium nitrate explosive, developed by us, which have ten times the explosive power of TNT by weight. It also uses imaging infrared seeker and millimeterwave radar for terminal guidance and reattacks. This is Anaconda, our hypersonic long-range air-to-air missile.

"Over there, with all the extra guards around it, is Lancelot, our air-launched near-space weapon," Jon went on. "It has a three-stage throttleable solid-rocket motor that gives it a range of over three hundred miles in a ballistic flight path or over one hundred miles in altitude in an antisatellite attack profile. They have extra guards because of Lancelot's warhead: It carries the plasma-yield warhead. It's most effective above thirty thousand feet, which makes it a perfect antiballistic missile and antisatellite weapon, but we can get a one-quarter- to one-half-kiloton-equivalent yield even at sea level. At higher altitudes, the plasma field created by the explosion is electronically selectable in both yield and size-at maximum yield it can destroy a target twice the size of the International Space Station, and at maximum size it can disrupt the flight path of incoming nuclear warheads spread out over four hundred thousand cubic miles of space. The plasma field does not just destroy a target: It converts it into a state of matter that exists in nature for only billionths of a second-or in the center of a sun.

"All of these weapons are designed to be carried by our combat aircraft, but they can be fitted to be carried by just about any combat-coded aircraft-even transport planes. You probably saw our DC-10 test aircraft outside-we can carry up to three FlightHawks or six Wolverines on board, and we can refit just about any cargo-category aircraft to launch them. The Lancelot, of course, has been deployed in the Air Reserve Forces and is fielded by the OneEleventh Bombardment Wing, which is based here for now but will soon be based up in Battle Mountain Air Force Base here in Nevada."

He then moved over to the first warplane. "This is one of our EB-1C Vampire battleships. As you know, it's a highly modified B-1B Lancer strategic bomber. It can still carry all of the Air Force's strategic and tactical air weapons, along with all of our new weapons. It's faster, stealthier, and has longer range and greater warload than the activeduty or Reserve Forces models. It uses laser radar arrays for targeting and terrain-following-it is fully air-to-air capable and can even attack satellites in low-Earth orbit with Anacondas or Lancelots. We have six modified right now out of a planned twelve-plane force, all coming from the B-1B fleet once assigned to the Air Reserve forces."

Kelsey Duffield had already stepped over to the second plane-she was gently touching it, running the very tips of her fingers across its smooth ebony surface as if it were a skittish young colt. Watching her carefully, she noticed, was the security guard Sandy, with Sasha the red Doberman right beside her. "This must be Dragon," she said. "It's very pretty."

"Right, Kelsey," Jon said proudly. "Our newest and best project-the AL-52 Dragon airborne laser anti-ballistic missile weapon system. We modified a B-52 H-model Stratofortress bomber to carry a zero-point-seven-fivemegawatt diode-pumped solid-state laser, along with laser radar arrays for detection and tracking. I call it our newest system, but it's actually been in the works for eight years. We were part of the original competition for the Air Force's Airborne Laser."

"You just lost out to Boeing, TRW, and their 747 variant," Cheryl reminded him.

"We didn't 'lose out'-Boeing just had a more aggressive marketing strategy," Jon said defensively. "We spent a tenth of what they did on marketing and almost won it."

The new bomb doors of the AL-52 Dragon extended halfway up the side of the fuselage, exposing the entire bomb bay and midfuselage space, and Kelsey looked up inside the open doors. There were four large curved devices, the laser generator's, on each side of the fuselage. Forward of the generators was a large stainless-steel container, the laser oscillator, with a large steel tube coming from the chamber forward along the inside center of the fuselage. Behind the laser generators were the capacitors that stored enough power to "flash" the diodes to produce a pulse of laser light. "Beautiful," she said in a tiny voice. "Just beautiful. You did such a good job with those laser generators, Jon. They're so small, but you can get about fifty thousand kilowatts out of each one, right?"

"That's right. We can push it probably to two hundred each, but we don't have enough generating power on board."

"It looks like we can fit a few more laser modules in there if we make smaller capacitors."

Jon liked it when Kelsey said "we"-it was that exciting to work with her. He almost hated to say anything negative around her for fear of discouraging or distracting her-it sometimes seemed as if she was talented enough to cure a rainy day. "Doesn't really matter-we just don't have enough power on board to make a bigger laser."

"Can't we put more generators on board?"

"We've got as many as we can hold," Jon said. "We're maxed out on capacitor size too-it just generates too much heat to increase the size any more."

She continued to examine the intricate SSL components, carefully but with sheer, unabashed awe in her eyes. She paused again at the laser oscillator unit, forward of the laser generators. "This is what you use to combine and channel the laser light?" she asked.

"The Faraday oscillator," Jon said. He stepped over to the young girl, studying her eyes as she looked at the device. It was as big as the eight laser generators combined, taking up a huge amount of space inside the fuselage.

Jon had not been with Kelsey Duffield that much since her dad's company became one-third partners in Sky Masters Inc. But Jon had quickly learned one very interesting thing: Kelsey's eyes were truly windows into her extraordinary brain. He could look at her eyes and see the calculations, the engineering, the mechanics, and the physics coming alive, almost as clear as a computer printout. He tried to guess what she was looking at, figure out what she was studying so intently, and then try to outguess her. It was not an easy task-but it was a constant challenge for him, trying to at least match her lightning-quick rftind, and he loved the mental exercise.

That's why he was so disappointed when she moved on. He thought she figured something out about the oscillator. It was easily the clunkiest and most low-tech component of the SSL-basically just a big airless can with mirrors in it and a big lens in front. The laser light coming from the generators was directed into the collimator and bounced back and forth and rotated around between liquid-cooled mirrors in the oscillator. When the light was at the precise wavelength and all of the light waves were in perfect alignment, the lens allowed the light to escape out the front to the argon-filled waveguide, which channeled the laser energy to the deformable mirror in the nose turret.

"What are you thinking about, Kelsey?" Jon asked.

"Energy," the girl replied.

"What about it?"

"How much we need, how much we have?"

"Relatively speaking, not very much," Jon replied. "We added just one alternator and one generator to the basic B-52 electrical system to power the laser. Four three-hundredamp engine-driven alternators, each one supplying power in a separate circuit to four essential AC buses and two emergency AC buses. Four twenty-kilowatt engine-driven generators supplying power to two DC essential buses and one emergency DC bus. Backup power is four engine-driven hydraulically powered alternators and generators, which power only the essential A and emergency A buses."

"Generators and alternators, huh?" Kelsey asked.

"This is an airplane, Kelsey, not a spaceship. What do you want on board-fuel cells? A nuclear reactor?" She looked at him with a silent "Why not?" expression. "You want to put a nuclear reactor on board a B-52?"

"You have one, don't you?"

"A nuclear reactor? Are you craz-?" But then he stopped-he was doing that a lot, as if the ideas that flooded his brain used so much energy that he was unable to budget enough brainpower to move his lips. "We… we can't do that!" He didn't sound too convincing, even to himself.

"Sure you can. We've had megawatt-power generators smaller than my mommy's car for years."

"Sure-fission reactors."

"Right."

"Well, you can't put a nuclear reactor aboard an aircraft!"

"Why not?"

"Why not? It's… it's…" Jon couldn't think of a reason why right away. "Because… because no one wants a plane with a nuclear reactor flying over their homes, that's why."

"I guess," Kelsey said. "We've had ships with nuclear reactors sailing past our homes for a long time-but an airplane is different, I guess." She continued to study the inner plumbing of the fuselage. "But the LADAR is a diode-pumped solid-state laser, right?"

"Sure. But it's only one-tenth the power of the SSLnot enough to destroy a ballistic missile at the ranges we want to engage at."

"But if we had more power?"

"The smallest diode-pumped laser in the one-megawatt range that I know of is the size of a living room, and it has its own transformer farm to power it."

Kelsey looked up at the B-52 bomber. "This plane is a lot bigger than a living room, Jon," she said with a grin.

"We can't do that kind of engineering with…" But he stopped-again-as his mind began to race. "I wonder… if we used a different pumping system…?"

Kelsey turned around and pointed to the Lancelot missile. "We can take your plasma-yield warhead," Kelsey said, "and use it to pump the laser."

"Pump a laser with… with plasma!" Jon gasped. "I… I've never heard of that before."

"You thought of it years ago, Jon," Kelsey said. "I read about it in one of the magazine articles you wrote. You were going to use lasers to create a plasma fieldLawrence Livermore built their inertial confinement plasma generator based on your ideas-and then you talked about the feasibility of using a plasma discharge to pump a laser. The system would have generated-tts own power and its own fuel-a virtually unlimited power supply. Why don't we do it? Take similar SSL arrays you use for the laser radar. You have four arrays on the Dragon. How many laser emitters in each array?"

"Three hundred and forty."

"Oh, boy," Kelsey cooed happily. "We shoot the lasers into an inertial confinement chamber loaded up with deuterium and tritium fuel pellets and then channel the plasma field into the laser generator. What was the power level of the one they built at Lawrence Livermore?"

"Fifty trillion watts for a billionth of a second," Jon said breathlessly. "That's fifty thousand watts per second. We need at least seven hundred and fifty thousand." His eyes darted aimlessly as he started to fill in details in his mind. "But that's using only one ion generator…"

"And a solid-state ion generator is much smaller than your diode laser pumps," Kelsey said. "How many can we fit in the Dragon?"

"Hundreds," Jon said. "No… thousands. One generator of neodymium disks could have over a thousand in it alone. We could fit… we could fit over a dozen generators in a B-52. Over ten thousand ion generators, pumped by a plasma field… my God, Kelsey, we're talking about a ten-million-watt laserl"

"That's two million watts per second," Kelsey said proudly. "Almost double the size of the Air Force's chemical laser."

"My God," Jon muttered. "A plasma-pumped solid-state laser-on board an aircraft. Incredible! Why didn't I think of that?"

"You did, remember?" Kelsey giggled.

"The plasma-yield warhead… can we confine the fusion reaction to the laser chamber?" Jon started mumbling to himself, the others forgotten. "How much power will we need for that?" It was several moments later before he realized that Kelsey was holding a school notebook up to himwith preliminary figures already calculated. "Kelsey!"

"I don't know all the details on your plasma-yield warhead, Jon," she said, "and I need to look at the schematics of the oscillator and laser generators. But a plasma field of this approximate size and of this density will need only this much laser power for the inertial confinement process in the fusion chamber, and then will require approximately this much power in the magnetic field to channel the plasma to the laser generator. I think we can do it."

"You think you can do it? Kelsey, you 've just done it! This is it!" Jon exclaimed breathlessly, looking at the formulas with ever-widening eyes. "This is the answer! I can take this to the engineering department and have them start building the fusion chambers right away! We've got so much work to do-reconfiguring test article number two, getting the engineering going…" To Jon's great surprise, Kelsey started heading for the door. "Kelsey? Anything wrong? Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom," she replied matter-of-factly. "I can help with the engineering after I get done."

"Well," Helen remarked with a smile, "that's certainly something you don't hear every day from a world-class engineer."

At that moment, Jon's secure cell phone beeped. He looked at the caller's ID number, smiled broadly, then punched in a descrambling code. "Patrick!" he said happily. "Is that you?"

"Hi, Jon," Patrick McLanahan said. Kelsey and Cheryl Duffield looked on with great interest as they heard the name of the man they most wanted to meet at Sky Masters.

"How are you? Any news about Wendy?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Patrick replied. "Are you secure?"

"I'm here with our new partners," Jon said.

"Then buzz me once you're by yourself."

"I can't do that, Patrick," Jon said. "They're our full partners now-they've got to be told about what we're doing. They have the proper clearances. I have no choice."

Patrick paused for a long moment; then: "All right, Jon. We're going to turn up the heat a little. I need some gadgets to fly a mission."

"You got it," Jon replied. "Just tell me where, when, and how much." +

"What about your new partners?"

"'I said I have to tell them-I didn't say they had a vote," Jon said. "Don't worry about it. Whatever you want, you get, as long as it helps bring back Wendy."

"It will either help bring her home-or punish the ones that took her," Patrick said. "I'll transmit the order of battle to you in a few minutes. They'll need to launch within the next sixteen hours."

"I've had the crews standing by ever since this went down," Jon said. "Everything will be ready. If your… benefactor can keep the feds off our back while we generate, it'll be much better for us."

"Getting a lot of heat out there?"

"Ever since the new partnership deal, we've been getting shit on… " Jon looked sheepishly at the Duffields and shrugged an apology. Cheryl Duffield looked mad enough to scold him for the rest of the day; Kelsey just giggled. "Yes, we've been getting a lot of attention-from everyone."

"Our benefactor should be heading off most of the heat," Patrick said. "Hang in there."

"We'll do whatever we need to do to get Wendy back. You just watch yourself. We're praying for you."

"Thanks, Jon."

"Good luck, Patrick," Jon said. "We'll be ready. Count on it." He closed up the phone.

"Was that General McLanahan?" Cheryl Duffield asked. Jon nodded as he opened the phone again and dialed a number. "Where is he? What's going on?"

"I'll explain everything on the way back to Blytheville," Jon replied. On the cell phone, Jon said, "Paul? Listen, we're expecting- You got it already? Good. Any problems…? Excellent. We're heading back now. We should be there in four hours." He hung up the phone, then made another call to the flight crew of the corporate jet, then to the driver of their car waiting to take them back to Tonopah Municipal.

"Kelsey? Where is Kelsey?" Cheryl asked. The sound sent chills through everyone-especially through Sandy, the security guard….. because it wasn't until just then that she noticed that

Sasha wasn't right beside her. "Sasha!" she shouted. "Aspetta! Fermi! "

They found the two of them moments later-sitting in front of each other, with Kelsey leaning up against one of the AL-52 Dragon's huge main landing gear tires. "Kelsey!" Cheryl Duffield shouted. "Get away from that dog!"

"But she's nice, Mom…."

"Don't move, little girl," Sandy said. "Sasha, basta! Adesso!" Despite her commands, however, the dog stayed right with Kelsey. "I don't understand this…."

"I think the dog likes Kelsey-and not as a snack, either," Jon said with a smile. "Don't take it personallyyour dog didn't rip a stranger to shreds." Kelsey gave Sasha a big hug and a tickle on its head between its flattened, contented-looking ears before she was slowly, carefully taken away by her mother, and Sasha was led away with a string of sharp admonitions in Italian from Sandy.

Once they were back in the Suburban on the ninetyminute ride back to the airport, Cheryl Duffield finally asked in between a flurry of cell phone calls, "Okay, what's going on, Jon? Who's going to launch what?"

He looked at her, then at Kelsey, with a little apprehension. He then shrugged. "I promised I'd tell you everything at the appropriate time-I guess this is it," he said. And he started explaining. The explanation continued well past the ride to the airport-in fact, it continued well after takeoff. Kelsey listened to each and every word, sitting impassively, her little hands folded on her lap as usual.

Cheryl Duffield, however, was not as patient. "Do you mean to tell me, Dr. Masters," she finally stormed after Jon had finished his explanation, "that Sky Masters Inc. has been involving itself with unsanctioned, illegal military missions all over the world? You have been investigated and are currently under surveillance by the FBI because of these activities? And-let me get this perfectly straightyour vice president in charge of research, General Patrick McLanahan, is right now planning an operation ia Libya, and you are going to help him-by sending an aircraft loaded up with experimental cruise missiles and launching them against Libya?"

"Cheryl, that's not the half of it" Jon said in response.

"This is outrageous! This is… this is unacceptable she thundered. "You didn't reveal one bit of this in days of contract negotiations! This is fraud! This is criminal! This is a major breach of contract! We will not be a part of it!"

"Cheryl, I warned you each and every day of our negotiations that we are involved in things that you might not want to be part of," Jon said earnestly. "You looked at our books. You interviewed our personnel…."

"All except the McLanahans-they were the ones we wanted to talk with! Now we see why-they were busy blowing up missile bases in Libya!"

"We couldn't tell you anything until your security clearances came through, and by then it was too late-the operation was already under way," Helen said.

"We will not stand by and watch our company be destroyed by this… this lunacy!" Cheryl shouted angrily. "You didn't answer to a board of directors when you started this wild escapade-but you have one now, and they have the power to oust you, the McLanahans, and everyone else involved in this crazy scheme right out of the company. And that's exactly what I want to see done!"

Jon was still busy on the telephone, coordinating launch activities with his Blytheville headquarters. He ignored Cheryl Duffield until there was a lengthy pause on the other end; then: "Cheryl, I don't really care what you're going to do-go cry to the shareholders, sue us, close us down. I don't care. But I'm going to do everything in my power to support the McLanahans and the team out there in Egypt. I'll do as much as I can for as long as I can. In less than ten hours, our planes will be airborne. In twelve hours, it'll all be over-either we'll be successful, or folks will die. Either way, it won't matter what you say or do. You can't stop it."

"Oh, I will stop you, Dr. Masters," Cheryl retorted. "Maybe not this time, but after this day, you won't be able to order a pizza, let alone an air strike. I guarantee it." And she got up and disgustedly walked off to the front of the aircraft. As she moved forward she half-turned, waiting for Kelsey to join her. Their two gazes met. Cheryl saw something in her daughter's eyes, a request or a plea: Whatever it was, Cheryl recognized it. She obviously didn't like it, but she accepted it. She shook her head, her lips taut, and continued forward.

"Mommy's pretty mad," Kelsey said.

"I'm sorry about all this, Dr. Duffield," Helen said. "We had no choice but to keep this information from you. Too many lives are at stake."

"The McLanahans-are they in danger?" Kelsey asked.

Helen looked at Jon. He looked at Kelsey, wondering whether or not to answer. Most times, it was so difficult to remember that Kelsey Duffield was still a nine-year-old and not just a world-class, superintelligent, fully adult thinker. He always wanted to treat her as an adult, a peer-but most times he usually ended up treating her like a smart little sister. That time, Jon realized, was just about past.

He told his caller that he would get back to them, hung up the phone, and then looked seriously at Kelsey. "Yes, Kelsey-the McLanahans are in terrible danger," he said. "In fact, Wendy McLanahan is missing, and General McLanahan's brother Paul is dead." Kelsey's eyes widened in fear, becoming shiny with tears, but she said nothing. "General McL-Patrick, is trying to force the Libyans to turn Wendy over to him."

"What will he do?" Kelsey asked.

"He is going to attack some key military targets inside Libya, places that are vital to Libya's defenses," Jon replied. "All he has to help him are two men, Hal Briggs and Chris Wohl, with Tin Man battle armor; some soldiers, one or two aircraft… and us. The Libyans have over one hundred thousand troops, a very big air force, and nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons."

"What will you do?"

"Patrick wants me to launch several Wolverine and FlightHawk missiles against targets in Libya," Jon replied. "Once the targets are destroyed, he'll be able to fly» in and attack more vital targets from the ground. He plans on attacking more and more targets in Libya until the president of Libya turns over Wendy and the others. We'll launch two attack planes, twelve hours apart."

"What if Wendy is dead?" Kelsey asked, her face drawn with fear.

"I don't know," Jon replied. "I hope Patrick will come home. He has a little boy, you know-his name is Bradley. He hasn't seen Bradley in a long time."

To Jon's complete surprise, Kelsey Duffield started to cry. It was the first time he had ever seen her display any emotions at all, let alone such utter sadness. But then another completely unexpected thing happened: Jon Masters reached over and hugged the little girl. For several long moments, the two stayed in each other's arms. Her weeping got more intense, deeper, and for a moment Jon didn't know if he could maintain his composure-before he realized that tears were running down his cheeks too. Helen put her arms around her husband, and they shared that terrible moment together-the first time in their short but close relationship that they shared anything more than business together.

After a while, the little girl's weeping subsided but they stayed in their siblinglike embrace. Finally, Jon asked, "Are you going to be okay, Kelsey?"

"I think so," Kelsey replied, sniffing. She was silent for a moment; then: "Jon?"

"Yes?"

She sniffed away a tear again, still holding Jon Masters tightly, and asked, "What warheads are you going to put on the cruise missiles?"

"W… what?"

"What are you going to arm those Wolverines and FlightHawks with?" the sad little girl asked. Slowly but surely, Jon could hear the familiar business-like steel returning to her voice as she added, "I have some ideas that might help…."