Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 Page 36

  “Excuse me, Minister,” Zuwayy’s private secretary said, interrupting his thoughts. “There is an urgent phone call for His Highness.”

  “Take a message.”

  “Sir, the caller is Madame Susan Bailey Salaam of Egypt.”

  “Salaam?” What was she calling for? “Send the call to my office immediately. I’ll take it there.” He thought quickly, then added, “And if the king or General Fazani want to know where I am, tell them I’m dealing with the Egyptians—don’t tell them who called.”

  “Yes, Minister.”

  Hijazi fairly ran down the hallway of the presidential palace to his office, then closed the door behind him. He took a shot of whiskey first to calm himself, then lifted the receiver. “This is the Minister of Arab Unity,” he said in his most officious tone. “To whom am I speaking, please?”

  “This is Susan Bailey Salaam, Mr. Hijazi,” Susan Bailey replied. “Do you need more proof of my identity?”

  “That depends on what you have to say to me, Madame,” Hijazi said. “What do you want?”

  “I wish to end this war between us,” Salaam said. “I wish for the violence and destruction to end. We have both suffered greatly in the past few days. It is time to make peace.”

  “What are you talking about, Madame?”

  “I’m talking about the attack on Jaghbub last night, Minister.”

  Hijazi’s mouth dropped open, and he had to struggle to maintain his composure. “What do you know of this, Salaam?”

  “I know everything. I know about the attacks on Zillah and Al-Jawf tonight, too.”

  “Hold,” Hijazi said. He frantically punched the call from Salaam on hold, then hit the button to the outer office. “Put in a call to the commander of Zillah Air Base, and I want him on the line now.”

  Hijazi was on hold for over three minutes. Then: “This is Colonel Harb speaking.”

  “This is Minister of Arab Unity Hijazi, Colonel, speaking from His Majesty’s residence. I have been informed of an attack tonight on your base. What is happening?” There was a long, maddening pause. “Colonel!”

  “The attack ended only minutes ago, Minister—”

  “What attack?”

  “We... we don’t know any details, sir,” Harb stammered. “We were hit by antiradar missiles first, and then our runway was bombed. We’ve lost several fighters and two bombers.”

  “Who did this?”

  “We don’t know, sir.... Can you please hold, sir? I have casualty reports coming in, please—”

  Hijazi hung up. It was true... God, it was true. He didn’t need to call Al-Jawf to know that it was hit too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what the damage was; enemy aircraft had invaded Libya only minutes ago, and Susan Bailey Salaam had told him about it—before his own military did!

  Hijazi’s head was tingling with confusion as he punched the line button on the phone: “I thought you weren’t coming back, Minister.”

  “How ... how in hell did you know about this, Salaam? Did you order these attacks? Did you?”

  “No, I did not—but I know that more attacks are forthcoming, unless Zuwayy or Idris or whatever he calls himself negotiates with me.”

  “Is Egypt involved in the attack on our bases, Madame?”

  “No. But I control the ones that are. If you wish the attacks to stop, you must deal with me right away. I know you have only a few hours left before the deadline.”

  “I’m listening, Madame.”

  “The attacks are a retaliation for prisoners your naval forces captured in the Mediterranean Sea, meant to force Zuwayy to surrender them. ”

  “Then tell me where the terrorists and bombers are, Madame Salaam. Turn them over to the king for justice, and we will withdraw our forces.”

  “I suggest you withdraw those forces today, Minister, or they’ll be destroyed. And once we have destroyed your invasion force in both Libya and Sudan, we’ll destroy your palaces and headquarters in Tripoli. In time, we’ll level every government and military structure in your entire nation.”

  “With what air force? I don’t know who has done these attacks, but they are not Egyptian military forces. Who did you have sex with to get access to such weapons, Mrs. Salaam? It couldn’t have been the American president, Thomas Thom—everyone knows he has no balls. What new American comrades have you been sleeping with lately?”

  “We’ll see how glib you are after they’re done bombing Tripoli, Minister.”

  This was going nowhere, Hijazi thought—better see what she has in mind quickly, before she hangs up. “So what do you propose, Madame Salaam?” Hijazi asked.

  “You will announce a cease-fire agreement has been reached in secret negotiations between the king and myself, acting as a representative of the Egyptian government.”

  “You are not the Egyptian government.”

  “For your sake, you had better hope I will be,” Susan Salaam said. “You will not be able to negotiate a thing with Prime Minister Kalir or anyone else in our government after you have attacked us with nuclear weapons. Again, I am your only hope.”

  “You have to do better than that, Mrs. Salaam,” Hijazi said sternly. “You are asking for everything, and are not giving anything in return.”

  “You have nothing that belongs to you, and you have everything to lose,” Salaam said. “How many more bases do you think we need to bomb before the people start losing confidence in their so-called king? Or perhaps all it will take is one raid on Tripoli?”

  “Libya wants part of the Salimah oil production rights,” Hijazi said. “Libya has nearly one hundred thousand workers fully qualified and ready to work, but they will not be hired by your Western cartel.”

  “Libya’s past record in dealing with its neighbors in coproduction deals has not been very encouraging,” Salaam said. “Usually such coproduction deals end up being invasions. Besides, your government insists Libyan oil workers get higher-than-average wages; and in the past Qadhafi has insisted on sending troops to ‘protect’ the workers. Egypt will not allow that.”

  “What do you give the Central African Petroleum Partners to take your oil? Twenty percent? Thirty? Forty? More? Much more than Libyan workers ask for, I’m sure.”

  “So I see—this is all about the oil, is it, Minister?” Susan asked. “Not about the Muslim Brotherhood, or religion, or faith, or Arab unity—it’s about the damned oil.”

  “Your country, and mine, would be nothing without the ‘damned oil,’ ” Hijazi said. “Don’t pretend that you don’t realize this. Turn the tables the other way, Salaam—what if it was Libya who had the largest oil reserves in Africa sitting beneath your feet, and you have sixty percent unemployment, but your neighbor hires Europeans and Asians and even Anglos to work the fields? I think you and your husband would be spouting a lot more about Arab unity and Arab cooperation, instead of back-stabbing and fucking their neighbors just for more money.”

  “And don’t try to pretend that you give a rat’s ass about those sixty percent unemployed souls in Libya or Egypt or anywhere else—all you care about is yourselves, you and Zuwayy and Fazani,” Susan shot back. “You want the oil revenues. You’ve been stealing money hand over fist from the Libyan treasury since the moment you marched into the presidential palace in Tripoli. But you’re taking as much as you possibly can from your own oil fields, so now you want a piece of Salimah. You found some wealthy partner to finance you. He gives you money to buy weapons. But Zuwayy is too stupid to hold on to those weapons, and now he’s completely fucked everything up for you. Now you’re in danger of losing everything—your cushy little ministry, your private bank accounts, and your fat expense accounts.”

  “You think you’re so smart, Salaam? As smart as your husband?” Hijazi asked derisively. “Tell me what your husband’s legacy will be. He sells the largest oil fields in Africa to a bunch of nonbelievers. Do you think Egyptians will praise him for that a hundred years from now?

  “Your husband was a traitor to his people, a
nd you know it. Ask your pal General Baris. Ask any Egyptian who fought over a lifetime to try to repel the outsiders, the Jews and the British and the Americans. The Arabs in north Africa have been struggling for three generations to benefit from the natural wealth of their own homelands, like the Persian Gulf Arabs have done, and your husband negates it all with one stroke of a pen. He made a deal with Qadhafi and then Zuwayy to coproduce those oil fields, and then he backed out and signed with a fat cat Western oil cartel. He spat on his fellow Arabs. He should have gone through with the deal—”

  “Why? So you could have marched your troops in to try to take over?”

  “So he could have led a new generation of Arabs, a new generation that is hungering for a leader,” Hijazi said. “Instead, he did what all the other scum-sucking Western-loving traitors do—he sold out, sold out his own people. He’ll be hated for a century. Your husband created clowns like Zuwayy, Salaam.”

  “What in hell are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Hijazi retorted. “Kamal Ismail Salaam was hailed for years as the new Nasser, the new leader of the pan-Arab world. But he did what Sadat and Mubarak did—they sold out to the Jews and the Westerners for cash. The Arab world was begging for a leader, and Salaam abdicated. When Zuwayy became Idris the Second, everyone knew he wasn’t a king—but they accepted him anyway. Why the hell do you think that is, Madame?” No response.

  “Do you think Libyans are stupid? Do you think we’re that gullible?” Hijazi went on. “We’re not stupid, and we’re not gullible—not any more than the Germans were before the rise of Adolf Hitler. Libyans were searching for a leader. We would have gladly accepted Kamal Salaam—yes, even an Egyptian, just as many of us accepted Gamal Abdel Nasser. Instead, Salaam turned his back on us. We embraced the first figure that showed any sort of leadership, who showed any amount of sympathy to the plight of the Arabs—Jadallah Zuwayy. He may be a psychopath, but he’s also smart—he did his homework. He knew that Libya was thirsting for a leader, even a monarch, after the mess Muammar Qadhafi left. He adopted the whole Sanusi king thing because he knew Libya needed a king, a leader. He could have called himself Jesus Christ, and Libya would’ve followed him.

  “So you want to hide behind the Americans and their high-tech toys?” Hijazi went on. “I’ve got a prediction for you, Madame President—you’ll end up with a suicide bomber in your face too, just like your husband. And you know what’s even more ironic? The most moronic, the most comical, the stupidest one of us all, Jadallah Zuwayy, will still be in power, calling himself a king. We’ll be dead, and he’ll still be sodomizing his country—and the people will gladly bend over and let him do it, because he chose to be an Arab. You know it, and I know it.”

  There was silence on the phone. Hijazi was going to ask if Salaam had hung up, when she said, “If you try to touch Salimah with your army or with any of your Nubian goons, I’ll blow you and your pretender king into the Red Sea.”

  “Tough words—from an Arab hiding behind American bombs and missiles.”

  “You will withdraw those forces from the border areas immediately,” Salaam demanded, “and you will deactivate all remaining rockets, artillery, and aircraft stationed within two hundred kilometers of the border. Otherwise, I will destroy them all.”

  “You dare to try to negotiate with a gun pointed to my head, woman? Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I will be the new president of Egypt, sir, thanks to Zuwayy’s lunacy,” Susan Bailey Salaam said. “I also will be the instrument of your destruction if you do not comply— and then I will still become president, and I will crush whatever is left of your so-called king and his corrupt, morally bankrupt partners. Think carefully, Minister—but not too long. My warriors have itchy trigger fingers.”

  This time, Hijazi hesitated. This was an opportunity to get out of this whole mess intact—and perhaps come out a little ahead, if Salaam was willing to discuss the Salimah coproduction deal again.

  “I will speak with His Highness about this, Madame,” Hijazi replied. “But I need some assurance to take to him. You will agree not to stage any more attacks on our bases, and you will agree to open negotiations with the Central African Petroleum Partners to hire more Libyan workers. Otherwise, Madame, we are still at war—and we will use the last of our military might to destroy Salimah and render it useless to anyone for fifty years. It is you who have forced us into this desperate situation, Madame—but you can end it too.”

  “We will not fly any more missions over Libya unless we are attacked,” Salaam said, “if you promise, in writing, to withdraw all your artillery, rockets, and aircraft beyond two hundred kilometers from the border.”

  “While your forces stand ready right at the border? Unacceptable.”

  “We will pull our forces back as well.”

  “And the Americans?” Hijazi had no idea that it was the Americans actually performing the bombing raids on Samah, Jaghbub, and now Zillah and Al-Jawf, but it was a logical guess.

  “All bombers will be pulled out,” Salaam responded.

  It wasn’t what she said, but how she said it—it was the Americans, all right. Hijazi was positive of it. “And of Salimah?”

  Salaam paused for several long moments; then: “I will agree to immediately propose legislation that will create a worker’s visa program to allow Libyan and Sudanese laborers to enter the country so that they may apply for work in Salimah. Then I will—”

  “Not good enough. The Western cartel must increase hiring of qualified laborers from Libya and decrease hiring of Asian, European, and Western laborers. And Libya must be able to become a partner in the consortium.”

  “That is up to the partnership.”

  “Egypt is a partner—or is it?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “We do not seek a majority—only a rightful share of African natural resources. We shall pay for the right of admission, of course—say, for a one-third share.”

  “Egypt will retain majority ownership in the partnership,” Salaam said after another long pause. “But Egypt will grant one-third of its share in the partnership to Libya, but only under the condition that Libya buys twenty-five percent of the cartel’s shares. Then Egypt’s share of the partnership will be forty percent, and Libya and the cartel’s share will each be thirty.”

  “Agreed. And as far as Libyan laborers at Salimah ... ?”

  “Arab laborers must exceed the number of other nationalities in Salimah,” Salaam said. “I will not give preferential treatment to any nationality. It’s about time we are all referred to as ‘Arabs.’ ”

  “A wise judgment, Madame. This includes supervisory and management positions.”

  “Including management and supervisors.”

  “Equal pay, equal housing, equal benefits—no forced segregation, no discrimination in jobs or locations. Full access to all government entitlements.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And the Muslim Brotherhood.”

  “Minister...”

  “His Highness will ask. I must tell him something.”

  Another pause; then: “I will not oppose or block legislation or debate on the subject of membership into the Muslim Brotherhood in the People’s Assembly, and I will allow Brotherhood officials to obtain temporary visas so that they may enter the country to meet with our lawmakers and government officials to discuss membership. But I promise, I will slam the door shut again if I learn that the Brotherhood tries to organize antigovemment movements within Egypt, or they try to funnel weapons or money to any antigovemment organizations within Egypt.”

  “This I cannot guarantee.”

  “Then our negotiations are ended. I will allow open, free debate on the subject of Brotherhood membership, Minister, but I will not tolerate sedition or conspiracy. We’ll let the people decide, without bribes or payoffs.”

  Hijazi paused. They were certainly not going to negotiate every last detail—the important point here was
that Susan Bailey Salaam was talking, negotiating, not threatening. Hijazi at first thought that perhaps she didn’t have those American forces under her command anymore, that maybe all this was a bluff—but now was not the time to think about that either. A turning point was happening. He could either seize it, or let it slip out of his fingers.

  “Very well, Madame. All this is subject to further negotiation, a written agreement, and His Highness’s concurrence,” Hijazi reminded her.

  “Our deal will also have to be ratified by our People’s Assembly,” Salaam said. “And it of course presupposes that I will be given authority to negotiate anything with Libya.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “I have a demand, Minister,” Salaam said.

  “I thought you said we have nothing to offer you, Madame.”

  “This you will do, or all our negotiations cease immediately and we go back to war.”

  “Another ultimatum? How unskilled you are at negotiations, Madame. But please, proceed anyway.”

  “Zuwayy, you, General Fazani, and the entire Libyan government will endorse and support me as the next president of Egypt,” Susan Bailey Salaam said.

  “What? We . . . endorse you?”

  “Not only you personally and as representatives of your government, but the king as leader of the Muslim Brotherhood,” Salaam went on. “A full and public endorsement, without any reservation. I require an endorsement from all the other leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood as well.”

  “If you want their endorsement, Madame, ask them yourself.”

  “If Zuwayy is indeed the leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, then his word should be all that’s required to give me what I want,” Salaam said. “If the Brotherhood is nothing more than a paper tiger, then this is a good opportunity for me to find out before I give any further support for it.”