King Idris the Second of Libya, Muhammad as-Sanusi, was nowhere to be seen until dawn, out on patrol all night with his “Sandstorm” desert warriors. The effects of the electromagnetic pulse had subsided, so Sanusi could maintain radio contact with his men while taking a closer look at Mersa Matruh. “The destruction is total, my friend,” he told Patrick after he returned, putting a hand on Patrick’s sweat-bathed shoulder. “The dead are everywhere—it is the most horrible sight I’ve ever seen. I know you told me it would be safe to go there, that the radiation dissipates almost immediately, but my men refused to go near the place, and I chose not to force them. I am truly sorry, McLanahan. Very sorry.” Patrick nodded—he was beyond feeling sorrow or despair. Once the Megafortress touched down on Jaghbub’s runway, he was all business again. “Very cool bird you have here, Mr. McLanahan,” he said. “Unreal.”

“Thanks.”

“So you will be departing soon?”

“I assume that the Libyans will start getting curious about Jaghbub and send a force down from Tobruk or Benghazi to investigate,” Patrick said. “I’ll bet scouts are already on the way. The bomber needs to be gone by then. We can have a special-operations aircraft meet us here tonight to get us out of the country.”

“Well, we’re as ready as we can be,” Sanusi said. “My men picked up some shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles from their underground arsenal, and we’ve taken them out so we might have a chance of tagging an attack helicopter or two before it gets close enough to lob a missile in on us.”

Patrick didn’t like hearing that. “What will you do, Your Highness?”

“I need enough time to cart the weapons away, that’s all,” Sanusi said. “I’ve called for all the men I can muster, but they won’t start filtering in for several hours. Once they get here, I’ll load up as many weapons and as much fuel as I can carry, then head off to our desert bases. But we know Zuwayy’s scouts will be back here before long—like you said, they could be here tomorrow morning, or even tonight.” He paused, then nodded at the EB-52 Megafortress. “We sure could use your little toy there to help us hold off the heavies.”

It was risky—too risky. The EB-52 had enough fuel to make it to Scotland, where a Sky Masters Inc. DC-10 launch/tanker aircraft could meet them to refuel and take them back to the States. Jon Masters used to have secret deals with the British government to use their facilities in emergencies—perhaps that still held true. Bottom line: They had a pretty good chance of making it out of here if they got out tonight.