“Of course, joining the Muslim Brotherhood is my main goal, Majesty,” Khan said. “I wish to strengthen ties with all of our Muslim brothers and force all of the foreigners out.”

“The foreigners are draining the strength out of all the faithful. We need to formalize our union, Ulama. When you are named president, we shall work together to eliminate the Westerners from our land. The oil they pump from our land is ours, not theirs. Libya took control of our oil fields, Khalid—Egypt should do the same. I will accept any information you can give me, and God will tell me His wishes.”

“As you wish, Majesty,” Khan said. “It shall be sent to you without delay.”

Good little tool, Zuwayy thought, good little tool.

ABOARD THE S.S. CATHERINE THE GREAT,
 IN THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA
 THAT EVENING

“I apologize for having to do this,” Patrick McLanahan said as he entered the briefing room. The other members of his team were already there, waiting. “I know none of us feel much like debriefing right now. But we have a report to file. Let’s get to it.” He looked over to his wife, Wendy. “What have you got for us?”

Wendy looked on her husband sadly, her eyes wet with tears. Concentrating on recovering the commando team, with the body of her dead brother-in-law aboard, was one of the most difficult things she ever had to do. But Patrick was all business—never shed a tear, never sulked, never really looked at his brother once they were brought aboard. He helped carry the litter off the CV-22 Pave Hammer tilt- rotor aircraft until two other men took the body away, and then he got right back to work. She could feel the pain inside him, even though his face and features didn’t show it.

Patrick issued a voice command, and his fibersteel exoskeleton automatically detached itself from his body. He stepped out of it and pressed a code into a hidden keypad, and the exoskeleton folded itself up into a package about the size of a small suitcase. He plugged the pack into a wall outlet to recharge it, set the exoskeleton aside, sat down at the head of the conference table, then plugged his battle armor into another available outlet. Patrick, Wendy noticed, still had Paul’s blood on his hands, his wrists, his arms, and his face—he hadn’t even slowed down long enough to wash it off.

“We launched a FlightHawk recon aircraft while you were on your way back, Patrick,” Wendy began in a low monotone voice. “We did detect radioactive elements in the atmosphere over Samah consistent with a number of nuclear warheads, so some of the rockets you destroyed were nuclear. The bad news is, we also detected VX nerve agents, also consistent with a number of warheads, maybe as many as a half-dozen.”

“Holy shit,” Hal Briggs breathed. “With an SS-12 they could hit Rome, Athens, Istanbul, Tel Aviv .. .”