“Almost,” Luger replied. The Night Stalkers had to move to a third recovery area, a set of abandoned oil rigs almost thirty miles to the southwest—most of the Egyptian army was on the move west of the base and along the coast to seal off the Libyan border. They had stolen two tracked vehicles to help their getaway across the desert. “The closest units are about three miles behind us. We’re waiting for the choppers to come after us any minute. If they do, we’ll ask Headbanger Two to take them out.”

“Headbanger Two is standing by,” the aircraft commander aboard a second EB-52 Megafortress flying battleship reported. The second Megafortress had been able to refuel from the Sky Masters Inc.’s DC-10 tanker, but had to break off and run into southern Libya shortly thereafter because U.S. Navy fighters from a carrier in the Mediterranean had pursued it. The DC-10 landed in Iraklion, Greece, where American and NATO authorities were questioning its crew as to why it had to make the unscheduled landing and exactly what its mission was. It had been a close call. “We can stay on station for only about an hour before we have to head on home.”

“Copy,” Patrick said. “What a lousy time for the feds to be on our ass.”

“Patrick, I think it’s time for you to get the hell out of there,” Hal Briggs said. “Start moving out the emergency escape. We’ll vector in the Megafortress to cover you.”

“I’m going to give Ouda one more try,” Patrick said.

“He’s not answering you. Better get out before they start moving in.”

“Stand by,” Patrick responded. It was his only chance to get out without a firelight—a very slim chance. “Vice Marshal Ouda, this is Castor. Can you hear me?” Patrick called on the liaison radio channel. Outside the half-underground bunker, several of the tanks were on the move. Covering smoke began to belch from exhausts, obscuring them from sight. Patrick switched to his imaging infrared visor so he could see them. “Several of your tanks are moving toward the fence outside our compound. It appears as if you are attacking my position. State your intentions. Can you hear me?” There was no reply—nor did he really expect one.

But that moment an alarm went off in his battle armor— a radiation alarm. Patrick quickly scanned the datalink images around him—nothing. A few moments later, another radiation alarm sounded.

“Marshal Ouda, this is Castor. Respond immediately. We are detecting radiation in the area. Levels are rising quickly—they are approaching lethal levels. Do you copy?” No answer—and now the Egyptian tanks were on the move. “Dave, I’m outta here,” Patrick said on his command channel, and he raced for the emergency exit, careful to disarm, then rearm the booby trap at the rear entrance.