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some sort of foul-up with your antiair missiles and you missed a MiG you were aiming at; one of my specialists believed it had to do with the radar link to the guidance system.

Maybe I can get some of my radar people—”

“Just get your aircraft working with my intelligence officers by 2000 hours, Bastian. I’m in charge. Not you.”

The line went dead.

Khamis Mushait

1621

BANDAR’S TOUR OF KHAMIS MUSHAIT STARTED WITH WHAT

seemed to be an old fort, but according to the Saudi pilot was just an old building at the edge of the original city.

Khamis Mushait had once been a popular trading and rest spot for desert caravans. It still had an impressive market, as Starship saw when he and his guide walked through an open-air bazaar that appeared to stretch for acres and acres.

Among the displays were elaborately decorated china and furniture. Bandar found a vendor and bought some fruit juice for them, refusing to let Starship pay. Then he pointed in the distance at the large white castle, relating a ghost story about Bedouins who had roamed the desert a thousand years ago. One of the band had been killed out of jealousy and his body left to rot; as punishment, the men were turned into eternal ghosts and forced to wander until the man’s body was given its rightful honors. Since this could never happen—it had been devoured by beasts and birds of prey—they wandered to this very day. Bandar finished the story by claiming that he had heard their camels thundering across the plains several times.

Starship laughed and asked if Bandar truly believed in ghosts.

“You don’t?” The Saudi laughed.

“Nah.”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Nothing you can’t see?”

“Something like that.”

The tour led back toward the mosque. Starship suddenly felt curious about the interior and asked if he might look inside. Bandar started to make a face, clearly uncomfortable.

“It’s OK,” said Starship. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”

Before Bandar could answer, someone nearby began yelling at them in Arabic. Bandar spun around, and then began answering the man as he continued to yell.

“It’s all right. Don’t worry about it,” said Starship. He took a step backward. Two or three other men who’d been nearby walked closer.

“No, he’s wrong,” said Bandar. “You are a guest in our country.”

“It’s all right. I don’t want any trouble or anything,” said Starship. “I have to get back anyway.”

Bandar turned and said something to the other man, who unleashed another tirade. A few more people came up. Starship touched his guide’s arm, trying to get him to come, but Bandar waved his hand dismissively.

“I’m sorry,” said Starship.

“Go home,” said one of the other men in English. “Go away. We don’t want you.”

“I didn’t mean any offense,” said Starship. “Really, I’m leaving.”

“Go away,” said another.

By the time Bandar stopped arguing, a thick crowd had gathered. They trailed Starship and the Saudi pilot back to the car. Most of the people simply looked curious, but they made it hard for Bandar to go without hitting them. Something or someone hit the back of the car as they cleared the crowd. Starship turned around; the road was cluttered with angry people, fists raised in the air.

“I really didn’t mean any trouble,” said Starship.

“People forget their ma

“It’s all right.”

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149

As they drove back toward the airport, Starship tried to think of something to say. “It’s a really nice city,” he said finally. Bandar grunted something, and Starship thought it best to keep his mouth shut.

A large crowd had gathered near the gate of the airport.

Surprised, Starship at first didn’t realize that they were protesters, and it wasn’t until a group began ru

“Troublemakers,” said Bandar.

Starship slid down in the seat, eyes pasted ahead as people surged against the side of the car. Saudi police ran toward them. Bandar managed to get inside the gate without hitting anyone.

“Wow,” said Starship.

“Troublemakers,” repeated Bandar. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“Ignorant troublemakers.”

V

Invaders

Gulf of Aden,

north of Xiis

1810

THE WIND BIT AT ALI’S FACE, SNAPPING AT HIS EYES AND

nose as they sped toward the looming shadow of the tanker three miles away. Ali welcomed the bite; it took his mind off his son.

The Saudi had been as good as his word: Offers of help were pouring in from brothers throughout the Middle East.

Two ships had joined him tonight: a large, Al Bushra–class patrol boat from Oman, liberated from unrighteous rulers by true believers, and a patrol boat from Eritrea roughly similar to the patrol craft he was already using. An additional thirty men had volunteered beyond the two dozen needed to crew both vessels; most were raw youths, but seemed willing to follow his orders without question.

Though classified as a patrol boat, the Al Bushra dwarfed his other ships, measuring nearly 180 feet. A pair of Exocet missile launchers had been installed on the deck behind the superstructure, giving the ship considerable firepower.

Surface-to-air missiles had replaced the 76mm ca

She was ru

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

bristled at being put under another man, and Ali knew he would have to alter the arrangement eventually, but tonight he had no time to devote to personalities, and needed someone who knew his ways without needing to question them.

God had brought him additional volunteers for a purpose.

He had two difficult tasks to achieve tonight. Not only was he to meet the submarine at midnight, but his best chance for capturing a vessel that could fuel his fleet would occur a few hours before, as an old oiler now used as a fuel transport sailed through the gulf. Unfortunately, the oiler was more than 250 miles from the rendezvous point with the submarine. According to the spies, it had come down past Saudi Arabia already and would be passing near this spot sometime within the next few hours.

Ali had decided capturing the oiler was more critical, and thus decided to lead that mission personally. He had sent one of his patrol boats with a pilot to meet the submarine. If the takeover went well, he would head east and link up with the submarine.

Perhaps Allah intended that he accomplish both—a gray shadow appeared on the horizon ahead: their target.

“Signal the others,” Ali told Bari, his second-in-command for the operation.

The flotilla of pirates spread out on the water, a pack of wolves stalking their prey. Ali set a course for his vessel that brought her toward the stern of the slow-moving target. He stood in the open wheelhouse of his patrol boat, staring at the shadow as it grew. The wind sucked the heat from his face, turning it to a mask of cold bones.

A light blinked at the oiler’s fantail.

Ali turned to Bari. “Our people aboard have secured the radio. Pass the signal—begin the attack.”

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155

Khamis Mushait Air Base

1810

DOG BENT DOWN TO LOOK AT THE VIDEO DISPLAY. FOUR OR

five hundred Saudis were gathered on the main road to the airport, fists raised, chanting in Arabic that the invaders must go home.