Part 5 (2/2)
”Yes, sir.” Rapier hurried outside.
”Switchblade,” the senior man said to his bodyguard. ”A moment alone, please.”
With a deferential nod, the young AsianAmerican Marine left the room.
Alone now in the living room of West's farmhouse, the senior man pulled out his own sat phone and dialed a number: ”Sir. It's Wolf. They have the Firestone, and they're running.”
AS ALL THIS was going on in Australia, other things were happening around the world: In Dubai, a middleaged American cargo pilot staying overnight in the Gulf city was being brutally strangled in his hotel room.
He struggled against his three attackers, gasping and thras.h.i.+ng, but to no avail.
When he was dead, one of his attackers keyed a cell phone. ”The pilot is prepared.”
A voice responded:”West is en route. We'll keep watching him, and tell you when to proceed.”
The dead pilot's name was Earl McShane, from Fort Worth, Texas, a cargo hauler for the TransAtlantic Air Freight company. He was not a particularly noteworthy individual: perhaps the biggest thing he'd done in his life was after 9/11, when he had written to his local newspaper denouncing ”the dirty Muslims that done this” and demanding revenge.
At the same time, in rural Ireland-County Kerry, to be exact-a crack force of twelve men in black were advancing stealthily on an isolated farmhouse.
Within seven minutes it was all over.
They had achieved their goal.
All six of the guards at the farmhouse had been liquidated, and in the attackers' midst as they left the darkened farmhouse was a small boy named Alexander, aged eleven.
As for theHalicarna.s.sus, it shot across the Indian Ocean, heading for the Persian Gulf.
But it didn't fly there directly. It took a circuitous route that included an overnight stop at a deserted airfield in Sri Lanka, just in case the Chinese had antic.i.p.ated their escape route.
It meant that they approached Dubai in darkness, late in the evening of December 2.
Inside the Halicarna.s.sus, all was quiet and still. Only a few lights were on. The two kids were asleep in the bunkroom of the plane, Zoe had nodded off on a couch in the main cabin, and Sky Monster was up in the c.o.c.kpit, staring out at the stars, his face illuminated by the instrument dials.
In a study at the rear of the plane, however, one light was on.
The light in Jack West's office.
Ever since they had taken off from Sri Lanka-the first time he had truly felt out of reach-Jack had been reading intently from the black folder he had grabbed just before leaving his farm: an old leather binder crammed with notes, clippings, diagrams, and photocopies.
This was Wizard's ”black book,” the one Wizard had instructed Jack to take.
And as he read it, Jack's eyes grew wide with wonder. ”Oh my G.o.d, Wizard. Why didn't you tell me? Oh. My. G.o.d...”
BURJ AL ARAB TOWER.
DUBAI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES.
DECEMBER 2, 2007, 2330 HOURS.
THE BURJ AL ARABis one of the most spectacular buildings in the world.
Shaped like a gigantic spinnaker, it is stunning in almost every respect. Eightyone stories tall, it houses the world's only sevenstar hotel. On its eightieth floor, jutting out from beneath a revolving restaurant, is a huge helipad practically designed for photo opportunities: Tiger Woods once hit golf b.a.l.l.s from it Andre Aga.s.si and Roger Federer once played tennis on it.
It is the most recognized structure of the most modern Arab nation on Earth, the United Arab Emirates.
A great tower, some would say.
The great tower, Wizard would say.
Soon after their arrival in Dubai-theHali had landed at a military air base-West and his group were flown by helicopter to the Burj al Arab, where they were accommodated in no less than the Presidential Suite, a vast and plush expanse of bedrooms, sitting rooms, and lounge rooms that took up the entire seventyninth floor.
This royal treatment was not unwarranted. The Emirates had been a partner in West's initial adventure with the Golden Capstone, an adventure that had seen a coalition of small nations take on-and prevail against-the might of the United States and Europe.
One of the most heroic members of West's team on that mission had been the second son of one of the Emirates' most senior sheiks, Sheik Anzar al Abbas.
West, Zoe, Sky Monster, and most of all, Lily, were always welcome in Dubai.
Alby, needless to say, was impressed. ”Whoa...” he said, gazing out the windows at the stunning view.
Lily just shrugged. She'd stayed here before. ”I get dibs on the double bed!” she yelled, racing into a bedroom.
The doorbell rang, despite the fact it was almost midnight.
West opened the door to reveal- -Sheik Anzar al Abbas and his entourage.
With his great beard, round belly, deeply etched olive skin, and dressed in a traditional desert robe and headscarf, the regal old sheik could have stepped straight out ofLawrence of Arabia.
”The hour is late and Captain Jack West Jr. arrives in haste,” Abbas said in his deep voice.
”I sense trouble.”
West nodded grimly. ”Thank you once again for your hospitality, Lord Sheik. Please, come inside.”
Abbas entered, his robe flowing, followed by his six attendants. ”My son, Zahir, sends his regards. He is currently working as a senior instructor at our special forces training facility in the desert, teaching our best fighters many of the strategies you taught him. He begged me to inform you that he is on his way at all possible speed.”
West walked with the sheik. ”I fear the circ.u.mstances are grave, far graver than ever before. Where once we banded together to fight against the desires of selfish men, now, if Wizard's research is correct, we face a far more sinister threat. Wizard hasn't arrived here yet, but I imagine he'll enlighten us further when he gets here.”
Abbas's eyes flickered. ”You do not know?”
”Know what?”
”What has happened to Max Epper, the Wizard.”
Jack froze. ”What's happened?”
”We picked it up from Chinese satellite radio chatter last night. Wizard was arrested twentyfour hours ago by Chinese forces not far from the Three Gorges Dam. I fear he won't be coming here anytime soon.”
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