“There are only nine Egyptians in the group, and they were working as crew members on someone else’s ship, not an Egyptian flagged vessel,” Gheit said. “Why would Zuwayy want to turn them over to you?”

“He dumped those men and women on our doorstep, leaving us to clean up his mess,” Khan said disgustedly. “He’s either trying to implicate me in this unholy mess, or he’s trying to embarrass me. Either one won’t work.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Gheit said. “He must know those prisoners are going to talk about the treatment they received in Libya. Zuwayy will be vilified all over the world.”

“Well, I’m not going to play whatever game he’s playing,” Khan said resolutely. “This is insanity.” Khan waved at the door. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “The stench is too much for me to bear.” Gheit ordered Khan’s car pulled up beside the door. When it was in place, Khan stepped outside.

Just as Khan was about to step into the car, his attention was drawn to an impossibly bright flash of light—he was surprised he noticed it in daytime, but it was that bright— somewhere very close, followed by a tremendous BOOM! like the loudest thunderclap ever heard. Moments later there was another flash of light, bright enough to erase shadows on the ground, followed by a second explosion. A thunderstorm in an almost cloudless sky?

Could it be some sort of attack? But there was no sign of anything wrong on the ground except a great stirring of dust and sand, like the gust front ahead of an approaching thunderstorm or sandstorm—but again, there were no clouds in the sky. He could hear screams somewhere off in the distance, but still there seemed to be nothing amiss.

“Let’s get out of here,” Khan said. “This place feels like death all of a sudden.”

Patrick, wearing full battle armor and exoskeleton, was watching TV coverage of the busloads of ex-Libyan prisoners being taken into the warehouses through his helmet-mounted visor. He stared carefully at the screen, trying to pick out even one familiar face, but the cameras were too far away and the prisoners were not in the open long enough for Patrick to recognize anyone.

The commentator made several mentions of the refrigerated trucks being driven to an adjacent warehouse— Patrick didn’t want to think about what was in those vehicles. He just hoped and prayed that Wendy and his men were all right.

But another movement caught his attention: the movement of men and vehicles outside the compound. Shit, he thought, here they come. “Hey, Texas,” he radioed.

“We see them, Muck,” David Luger responded. Patrick’s electronic visor in his battle armor automatically datalinked the view to all the others wearing the Tin Man armor. “Still think they’re just going to take you into custody?”

Patrick ignored the question. “Are you guys secure?” he asked.