“Electric 7.62-mm Gatling guns. They can fire a hundred rounds a second.”

“Ya Allah,” Youssef breathed. “But we don’t have such a machine. What are we to do?”

“Oh, we’ll just have to be creative,” the Scorpion said, a boyish grin creasing his face in a way that made Youssef smile despite his apprehension.

“You say that as if there were little to fear,” Youssef remarked. He tied the tail of his headcloth across his nose to help screen out the dust.

“In war there is always much to fear, my brother. But they think they will surprise us, so the surprise will be on them. In battle, this is very useful,” the Scorpion said.

“I wish I knew more about war,” Youssef said glumly.

“In the twentieth century that is an easy wish to fulfill,” the Scorpion replied.

When they were about ten kilometers from Wadi Haradh, the Scorpion motioned the others to follow him as he pulled off the road. After the last truck had pulled up and all were assembled, he went over his plan. Then the weapons were passed around, for the Mutayr were never without weapons. Mostly M-16s, although some still preferred the M-1S and Enfields of older wars. There was no shortage as more arms had been air-dropped in with the American radio technician.

They were now a war party, cartridge belts across their chests. The Scorpion showed them the flare pistol and they spoke with few words, as was appropriate before a raid. Then they unloaded Bashusa from his truck to another.

“God be with you,” Sheikh Zaid wheezed, shading his eyes as if from the sun, as Youssef and the Scorpion climbed back into the cab. But it was not the fierce sun that caused him to hold his hands over his eyes, the Scorpion knew.

“And with you,” the Scorpion said.

As Youssef drove off in a cloud of yellow dust, the Scorpion broke out his XM-203; a double-barreled weapon with an M-16 rifle mounted above an M-79 grenade launcher.

Just holding it brought it all back for a moment. The dripping jungle, the red dust, the sounds of motor scooters and helicopters, the sharp scents of nuoc mam and cordite. Nam.

He shook his head to clear away the memory. At least Macready had been able to supply him, he thought. It was something a control was supposed to do, but still, it couldn’t have been easy to coordinate the drop on an undefined desert location on such short notice, he admitted to himself. At least the old wreck was trying; God knows it was going to be murderous at best.

He couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. There was something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. The entry into Abdul Sa’ad’s plot had been too straightforward. There was a nasty surprise waiting somewhere. But where?