Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 Page 15

  “Sounds like a plan of action to me.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Susan said. She looked deeply into his eyes. “Before you go—can you tell me your real name?”

  He hesitated once again, the old security regime automatically kicking in again, but it dissolved just as quickly. It was time to start trusting someone again, he told himself. “Patrick. Patrick McLanahan.”

  “Chief petty officer? Colonel? Special agent... ?”

  Still trying to gather intelligence, Patrick noted. She needed careful watching. “Just Patrick.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Just Patrick McLanahan,” Susan said with a mind-blowing smile. She reached up to kiss him on the cheek, holding her lips there long enough for him to feel a jolt of electricity course down his spine. “Welcome to Egypt.”

  About an hour later, Salaam, Baris, and Shafik disembarked from the supply vessel. They were met on the pier by Vice Marshal Ouda, the military district commander, who looked mad enough to chew nails. “How dare you overrule my orders and approach my ship without my permission?” he shouted. “Who do you think you are?”

  “No one is undermining your authority, Vice Marshal Ouda,” Susan said. “I thought it would help to resolve the issue if I met with the terrorists themselves.”

  “And were you successful?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then they are surrendering?”

  “On the contrary—I offered them the use of the facilities here on the base for as long as they need them.”

  “Ana mish faehem! Are you insane?” Ouda exclaimed. “Those men are terrorists! They have taken an Egyptian warship and are threatening to kill everyone on board!”

  “But they have not killed anyone, and I believe they are telling the truth when they say they will not harm our men,” Susan said. “I do not want them harmed.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They are commandos, mercenaries, on a mission against the Libyan government,” Susan replied. “They destroyed several Libyan rockets that carried chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons aimed for Egypt.”

  Ouda looked surprised. “Or so they say.”

  “I believe them,” Susan said. “I repeat, Vice Marshal, I do not want them harmed when they come ashore.”

  “I must report this incident and your contact with the terrorists.”

  Susan turned to General Baris and said, “There is your superior officer. You may give your report to him.” But Susan saw the skepticism, perhaps even the outright hatred, in Ouda’s eyes, and quickly concluded that Ouda would indeed report the incident—perhaps directly to Ulama Khalid al-Khan himself. “Have quarters near the airfield prepared for them—I’m sure they will wait until nightfall to make the move. Give them anything they require.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Ouda growled. “Giving aid and comfort to terrorists!”

  “They may have saved your base from complete annihilation, Vice Marshal,” Susan said. “You should not only be welcoming them—you should be on your knees thanking them. Now get to it.” She turned away, leaving a still very angry general officer fuming behind her.

  “That was most unwise, Sekhmet,” Baris said. “You should have played that calmly, perhaps even deferentially—included him in on what the terrorists did and who they are.”

  “Men like Ouda need to be talked to, Ahmad, not with.”

  “Ouda is a vice marshal and one of the highest-ranking and most highly decorated officers in the armed forces, Sekhmet,” Baris reminded her. “I’m sure he does not approve of civilians telling him what to do on his base, especially a woman. Learn to be more diplomatic, especially when on his installation, in front of his men. He can make very, very serious trouble for us, if he chooses to do so.”

  “He will be a bigger fool than even I assume he is if he tries to use this incident against us,” Susan said resolutely.

  “Do not underestimate him,” Baris warned. “And I suggest you meet with him later today and explain to him exactly what you hope to accomplish by helping those men. He may be a strutting peacock, but he is a military man—if you explain the tactical situation to him, he will be more likely to play along.” He paused, looked at his friend, and said with a wry smile, “Perhaps you can explain it to me as well.”

  “Those men have weapons, and power, and abilities that I think we do not fully comprehend,” Susan Bailey Salaam said. “As you said, soon we will have no power at all. Perhaps there is a way we can use their power to help restore a legitimate government to Egypt—or, at the very least, help us to survive.”

  CHAPTER 3

  PEOPLE'S ASSEMBLY BUILDING, CAIRO, EGYPT

  SEVERAL DAYS LATER

  “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 Western- style 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 s
maller, 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 al- Khan 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 bedlam— all 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 al- Khan 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 cleric 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 bom 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—”