Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 by Wings of Fire (v1.1) Page A

down.”
                “It shall be delivered to you by
daybreak, Majesty.”
                 “And
whatever my military forces may do, Ulama, I do not want your military forces
to intervene,” Zuwayy said. “I will not attack Egyptian soil without first
notifying you—but I do not want any Egyptian forces to respond to attacks
elsewhere.”
                 “I
will give the orders myself, Majesty,” Khan said. “It is easily done. The
commanders of our largest military bases are friends to me and our cause.”
                 “Very
good, Khalid. My war ministers will be in touch with your office within the
hour. On behalf of all the faithful, I thank you.”
                 “It
is my honor, Majesty,” Khan said. “I am pleased to tell you, Highness, that I
shall place my name in nomination before the People’s Assembly for president of
Egypt, insh ’allah”
                 “Excellent,
Ulama,” Zuwayy said. His defense ministers and generals were entering the
room—he had to shut this zealot off, quick. “You have my full support and
blessings. Anything my government or I can do to support you, it is yours.”
                 “Of
course, joining the Muslim Brotherhood is my main goal, Majesty,” Khan said. “I
wish to strengthen ties with all of our Muslim brothers and force all of the
foreigners out.”
                 “The
foreigners are draining the strength out of all the faithful. We need to
formalize our union, Ulama. When you are named president, we shall work
together to eliminate the Westerners from our land. The oil they pump from our
land is ours, not theirs. Libya took control of our oil fields, Khalid—Egypt
should do the same. I will accept any information you can give me, and God will
tell me His wishes.”
                 “As
you wish, Majesty,” Khan said. “It shall be sent to you without delay.”
                 Good
little tool, Zuwayy thought, good little tool.
     
    ABOARD THE S.S. CATHERINE THE GREAT ,
  IN THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA   THAT EVENING
     
                 “I
apologize for having to do this,” Patrick McLanahan said as he entered the
briefing room. The other members of his team were already there, waiting. “I
know none of us feel much like debriefing right now. But we have a report to
file. Let’s get to it.” He looked over to his wife, Wendy. “What have you got
for us?”
                 Wendy
looked on her husband sadly, her eyes wet with tears. Concentrating on
recovering the commando team, with the body of her dead brother-in-law aboard,
was one of the most difficult things she ever had to do. But Patrick was all
business—never shed a tear, never sulked, never really looked at his brother
once they were brought aboard. He helped carry the litter off the CV-22 Pave
Hammer tilt- rotor aircraft until two other men took the body away, and then he
got right back to work. She could feel the pain inside him, even though his
face and features didn’t show it.
                 Patrick
issued a voice command, and his fibersteel exoskeleton automatically detached
itself from his body. He stepped out of it and pressed a code into a hidden keypad,
and the exoskeleton folded itself up into a package about the size of a small
suitcase. He plugged the pack into a wall outlet to recharge it, set the
exoskeleton aside, sat down at the head of the conference table, then plugged
his battle armor into another available outlet. Patrick, Wendy noticed, still
had Paul’s blood on his hands, his wrists, his arms, and his face—he hadn’t
even slowed down long enough to wash it off.
                 “We
launched a FlightHawk recon aircraft while you were on your way back, Patrick,”
Wendy began in a low monotone voice. “We did detect radioactive elements in the
atmosphere over Samah consistent with a number of nuclear warheads, so some