What was she doing out here, hundreds of kilometers from civilization, running from her people like a thief in the night? If there were strange commandos here in Egypt, why didn’t she have them brought to her in Alexandria? Something was drawing her out here. She didn’t know who these men were, but something told her she had to go look for herself out here. Not for safety. Perhaps it was the desert, the idea of hegira, and the cleansing forces of the desert. Perhaps, like Moses and Jesus and Muhammad and thousands of others throughout history, she needed to draw spiritual strength from the wastelands.

It was about an hour before dusk when the helicopter made its approach to the huge military base. Mersa Matruh looked more like a large industrial complex and commercial shipyard than a military base. Sprawling almost two hundred square kilometers, it was home to nearly a fifth of all of Egypt’s active-duty forces. Its main assignment—not well publicized, for fear of angering its Arab neighbors— was to repel a possible invasion from Libya, as well as to secure Egypt’s northern and western flanks and protect its right to freely navigate the Mediterranean Sea. Most of the base had been built by Nazi Germany and Italy during World War H, then occupied by the British until the 1952 revolution. Susan noticed the large earth stations, part of Egypt’s telecommunications network, as well as the early- warning radar installation that scanned the Mediterranean and the skies to the north and west, watching and waiting for danger.

“God must have something else in store for me rather than to die in the streets of Cairo,” Susan said to General Baris as they exited the helicopter. She looked at the men arrayed before her. “These guards . .. ?”

“Handpicked by me for your protection,” Baris said. “On my payroll, and as loyal to me as my own brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, you have some enemies, even out here on the frontier.” He motioned to the man, obviously a high-ranking officer, who stepped over to them. “Madame, this is Vice Marshal Sayed Ouda, commander of the western military district headquartered here.”

Ouda made a slight bow, then returned his hands casually to behind his back. He was tall, good-looking in a rough-hewn way, with a stylish mustache, carrying—of all things—a riding crop, his cap rakishly tilted to one side. “My condolences to you,” he said simply.

“Thank you, Vice Marshal,” Susan Salaam said. She regarded him coolly for a moment, then said, “You do not approve of me being here, do you, Vice Marshal?”

“My duty is to protect my nation and obey orders,” he said in a low monotone. He eyed General Baris suspiciously. “I do what I must to obey the legitimate authorities.” Obviously he was beginning to doubt whether Baris represented any legitimate authority at all anymore in Egypt.

“I do not mean to cause you any trouble, Vice Marshal,” Susan said.