The Chosen One

“What do you think?” Morrow, his concern obvious, asked.

“I think we’re about to be flanked, sir,” Terry answered. “Looks like our plan to keep the enemy out of Cairo has failed.”

“Epstein,” Morrow said to the team’s senior communication sergeant, “get on the radio and tell group headquarters significant Pan-Arab forces are landing along the eastern bank. Thousands more are on boats sailing up the river toward the center of the city.”

The communication specialist was soon relaying the message. In less than a minute, the 6th Special Forces Group commander would receive the shocking news.

“What’ll we do now, sir?” Terry asked. “It won’t be long before they enter the little inlet on the other side of the island and get around behind us.”

“What we do is get the hell out of here. If not, we’ll be dead long before sundown. Pass the word, we’re leaving. And we’re doing it now. Gather up the weapons and gear.”

“Yes, sir!”

There was nothing they could do. If they stayed where they were, the detachment would be cut off in less than an hour. Their demise would soon follow.

The time had come to abandon Rhoda Island. In minutes, loaded down by their equipment, the Green Berets were making their way across the isle’s battered landscape. They were heading toward the southern part of the infinite city. Six blocks away waited the small bridge that would take them into the most ancient section of Cairo. From this point on, Old Cairo, with its dark streets and veiled bazaars, would be their home for as long as they survived.

Porter and Abernathy led the way. Both had years of experience at traversing myriad terrains. For the moment, the route appeared open. Yet each understood that looks are often deceiving. In the next doorway, or around the coming corner, death might be lurking. Neither could let his guard down for the briefest of moments. If a trap was waiting, the highly proficient soldiers wouldn’t miss it. If an ambush was out there, the odds were great the pair would circle it and slice the enemies’ throats before they knew what hit them.

By necessity, their halting actions were precise and caution-filled. Even so, they beat Mourad’s forces to the inlet with time to spare. In ones and twos, the Green Berets made their way across the narrow waters.

When the team was safely on the far side, Morrow turned to Sanders. “Might as well not make it any easier than we have to. Once we’re clear, blow this thing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sergeant Porter will wait for you in the row of buildings across the street.”

Morrow motioned for the detachment to blend into the shadows and move deeper into the sinister surroundings. While the Green Berets disappeared into the restrictive half-light, Sanders located the palm tree where Donovan had hidden the detonator. He knew that even though he appeared to be alone, Porter would be somewhere nearby, alert and ready. Sanders stripped the ends off the primer cord. The wires were soon attached. Everything was ready. There wasn’t a moment to waste if he wished to hold a beautiful woman in his arms again. He pushed back the panic rising deep within him. They were in a tough spot. Now, however, wasn’t the time for a mistake. He hit the detonator, obliterating the shorter bridge. The last route off the vanquished island disappeared.

After a quick check to ensure unfriendly eyes weren’t watching, Sanders turned and ran toward the ever-deepening twilight. He disappeared into Old Cairo’s dark world. Porter stepped out from nowhere to join him. The watchful duo inched their way through the maze of fearful streets and menacing alleyways. Every few steps, they stopped to listen for anyone foolhardy enough to follow. The going was slow, their movements calculated.

It would take the A Team an hour to cover the twelve blocks to the rendezvous point. But the careful group of ten all arrived. While the Green Berets scrambled to prepare defensive positions, Sanders said the words each was thinking.

“Someone better get us some help here real soon.”

17

7:02 A.M. (EASTERN STANDARD TIME), OCTOBER 18

THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The secretary of defense, secretary of Homeland Security, director of the CIA, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff settled into their seats for the early morning meeting. The president got down to business. There’d be no pleasantries or small talk on this morning.

“Let’s start with Saudi Arabia and Kuwait,” the president said while looking at the secretary of defense. “Mr. Secretary, what’s the latest from the battlefront?”

“Our forces in Kuwait are holding their own. The Kuwaiti capital is safe for the moment. Wish I felt as comfortable about Saudi Arabia. A battalion from the 1st Cavalry stopped the enemy once again near the city of Sakakah late last night. Iranian infantry made another suicide attack this morning. When that was repelled, Iraqi tanks raced in to duel our Bradley Fighting Vehicles. We suffered heavy losses. But our forces didn’t surrender an inch. I’ve been told there are Iraqi and Iranian dead everywhere.”

“Sounds encouraging,” the president said.

“Thank God the 1st Cavalry won,” the secretary of defense said. “For the moment there’s no one behind them. We’re trying to rectify that. But should the enemy break through, there’s little to stop them from racing across the desert to destroy the Saudi oil fields.”

“I still can’t believe the Iraqis and Iranians are fighting side by side.” The president turned to the director of the CIA. “You’re certain, Chet, this was their plan the entire time? When they massed all those troops on their border and threatened war with each other, they sure had me fooled.”

“They fooled everyone, Mr. President. But at this point, there’s no doubt it was all an elaborate ruse. When you put the pieces together it’s obvious Mourad set the whole thing up. The Iraqis and Iranians never intended to do anything but turn and attack Saudi Arabia and Kuwait.”

“So you’re telling me two countries who’ve been enemies for thousands of years are fighting together like the best of friends?”

“I don’t know if they’re the best of friends, Mr. President,” General Greer, chai

rman of the Joint Chiefs, said. “But they’re definitely fighting as one on the battlefield. So far, we’ve found no chink in their armor in that regard. Whatever distrust they have for each other hasn’t affected their ability to coordinate their actions.”

“You’ve got to remember,” the director of the CIA added, “that while they loathe each other, they despise the West a thousand times more. Their hatred for the Great Satan and for Israel consumes them. Don’t forget the old Middle East proverb—an enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“All right,” the president said. “Not much we can do about it now other than hold them off long enough to get reinforcements in and save the oil fields. I want all of you to continue working on coming up with an angle to get the Iraqis and Iranians to turn on each other.”

“I still think the answer’s right in front of us, Mr. President,” the secretary of defense replied. “Ask my former wife. Nothing rips a shaky marriage apart like a setback. If we can lay a big defeat on them, I wouldn’t be surprised to see their alliance crumble. I’ve got the best minds at the Pentagon working on a plan to hurt them and hurt them bad. Then we’ll see how solid their friendship is.”

“You may be right,” the president said. “It may take nothing more than a good, old-fashioned butt kicking to get the job done. That’s why I’ve gone along with your recommendation that we concentrate our efforts on Saudi Arabia. Which brings us to our second item of business. General, how are our mobilization efforts proceeding? Are we getting any closer to creating a level playing field? Give me the specifics first, and we’ll move to the bigger picture from there.”