Armageddon

The imam gave him a tired smile and touched his shoulder. “Sahurah, my young friend, you have done well.”

Sahurah felt himself blush. “The Americans have formed an alliance with the Malaysians,” said the Saudi, speaking in Arabic. “It was not unexpected. But now will come the test”

Sahurah turned to him. This was the first time that the older man had addressed him directly. His voice seemed thin, almost frail, and yet his eyes were steely. Their gaze held Sahurah, and for a moment his pain retreated.

“We will triumph because Allah is on our side,” said Sahurah. “It is a holy war, and our cause is just.”

The Saudi said nothing. He did not smile, and his eyes did not blink.

This is what faith looks like, Sahurah thought. These are Allah’s eyes, shining through his holy servant. If only I were worthy of such a gaze.

The imam tapped his shoulder gently. “Prepare then, son,” he said. “Prepare well.”

Sahurah bowed, and for a moment everything else in the world receded. When he put his head back up, the imam and the Saudi, along with their entourage, had gone.

Southeastern Brunei

Exact location and time unknown

One thing he had to say for captivity: it sure made him hungry. Mack had eaten all of the slop they’d given him for breakfast—or lunch or di

He could tell from the window that it was daytime outside, but he’d fallen asleep earlier and couldn’t be sure how long he’d slept. The window had been nailed shut from the outside; now that there was light he could see one of the nails at the very top where it had come through the casing. The glass panes and wood between them would undoubtedly give way if he hit them hard enough. But the sound would undoubtedly alert the guard near his door, and there was no telling how many others were posted around on the outside. He couldn’t see anything out the window except for vegetation.

Paper covered the walls, which were constructed of wooden boards nailed up against studs. The paper had buckled near the mat that served as his bed. The bubble ran along one of the boards, as if the air had squeezed in from the outside. Mack glanced at it several times as he walked back and forth, trying to come up with a plan to escape. Finally he went to the wall and poked at it with his finger. The material, though thick with paint, was pretty brittle, and he was able to punch a slight hole by jabbing with his thumb. He started tearing the paper, and exposed a jagged strip about six inches wide and two feet long, where two of the boards were joined together. A bit of sunlight poked through at the corner.

If he had a crowbar, or something he could use for one, he thought he’d be able to dismantle the panels easily. Mack stepped back from the wall, reexamining the room for something he could use as a tool, though he’d been over every inch earlier. He flipped the mat and ran his hands over the material, thinking there might be a spring inside.

Just as he concluded there were none, the door opened. Mack looked up from his knees at the large man who came in. The man, dressed in loose-fitting white pants and a long white tunic, seemed perplexed; Mack, on his knees, realized that the militant thought he had found him praying.

“What?” Mack snapped.

The man said something he couldn’t understand, then glanced around the room. He finally spied what he was looking for: the piss bucket. He walked to the corner and took it.

Mack got up, walking slowly to the doorway. A guard stood just outside; he had an AK47 in his hand. Unlike the man who had come for the can, he was short, and in Mack’s opinion easily overpowered. As Mack stared at him the idea of rushing the man began to percolate in his brain. His adrenaline began screaming at him, blood and hormones rushing together.

Then he heard more footsteps. The man who had taken the can returned with it, empty. He glanced at him but said nothing.

My chance, thought Mack. Rush the kid and grab for the gun.

But by the time the idea formed in his head the man was closing the door.

Aboard “Indy,” approaching Malaysian Air Base

1100

Brea

“Pretty country,” said Major Alou.

“Yeah. It’s paradise down there, I’ll tell you,” she said. “If you ignore the madmen with the guns.”

She hit the last waypoint and turned, spotting the airport in her windscreen. The other EB-52 and the C-17 that had brought the tech people sat at the far end of the strip. The airfield was narrow and the camouflage a bit disorienting, but Brea

“Hey, stranger,” said her husband when she came down the ladder ten minutes later.

“Hey;” she said. She leaned over and grabbed him, felt his strong arms clutching her back.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you, too.”

She felt tears coming to her eyes, then ru

“Boring flight.”

“Good,” he told her. “So I hear you’re first officer now.”

“Don’t rub it in, Zen.”

“Want to see our digs?”

“Nice?”

“Sure,” said her husband, wheeling himself away from the plane. “If you like concrete and spit.”

THE MALAYSIAN COMMANDER ASSURED DOG THAT HIS twelve men were more than enough to secure the base. The terrorists in the area had fled a month before.

“You think he’s right about the terrorists?” Dog asked the Special Forces soldiers when they left the Malaysian commander’s post.

“I doubt it,” said one of the soldiers. “The Malaysians were always underestimating them.”

“You guys better look over the defenses and see what you need to beef them up,” said Dog. He paused, watching as a Hummer descended from the MC-17 with the Dreamland trailer in tow. The MC-17 was to take off as soon as it was unloaded, flying back to the Philippines for supplies. And Dog had plans for the Hummer.

“That trailer will be our headquarters,” Dog told the SF men. “Make a list of what you need and we’ll try to get it.”

“Battalion of troops wouldn’t be bad,” said one of the sergeants, Tommy Lang.

“If you can find one, let me know,” said Dog.

He walked over to Zen, who was overseeing the deployment of the command trailer. “How we looking?”

“Should be up and ru

“Bree okay?”

“She went to look for a shower,” said Zen. “I tried to warn her.”

Dog smirked. “I have to go down to the village south of here and meet the lieutenant governor for the area. He’s expecting me sometime today and I’d like to get that over with. The Malaysian commander said we need to truck more water in no later than tomorrow. Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Zen, swiveling his wheelchair around momentarily. Dog realized he’d gotten so used to Zen being in the wheelchair that he now simply took it for granted, not even considering whether it might be a factor in his doing his job.

“You’re not going by yourself, are you?” Lang asked him.

Dog shrugged. “I don’t think I need a translator.”

“Two of us ought to go for security,” said another of the SF sergeants.

“Fine with me, as long as one of you stays and figures out what we need for security here,” said Dog, heading for the Hummer.