TRUE REST WAS HARD to come by; sleep, virtually impossible. Three of the nuclear missiles had been scooped up. Kyle Swanson felt an unreasoning pressure to finish the task and get the remaining two. It was as if an unseen clock was ticking and he did not want to lose the impetus he had going. Keep pushing over the dominoes. Keep stirring the pot.
The end of the fighting at Ash Mutayr came with a whimper, and a sight that was peculiarly tribal. To a Western military observer such as Swanson, it was incomprehensible. He had seen the phenomena before and still didn’t understand it.
While the smoke from the air strike was still rising, the remaining rebels began to surrender, walking away from their positions, with their hands up. Some still held weapons, but were smiling. Prince Maashal’s main task turned from fighting to orchestrating the surrender of hundreds of rebel soldiers who only minutes earlier had been trying to slaughter those loyal to the crown. Instead of acting like prisoners of a defeated army, they acted like they were attending some weird high school reunion. They immediately started mingling with their captors, who were content for now just to round everybody up and take away the weapons. The hair-raising violence and threats evaporated like a mirage. Friends again. Comrades once more. Muslims together. Return to the barracks and the mess halls and pray and get ready for tomorrow’s big cleanup, as if nothing ever happened. It would take some time to sort out appropriate punishment.
He had caught an hour’s worth of relaxation in an air-conditioned office while the prince’s troops went to the hangars at the far end of the airstrip and hauled out the nuclear warhead and the missile launch system, both of which were still intact because Swanson had made sure the U.S. bombers and fighters had not torn up any air facilities except for the control tower. Some helicopters were also safe inside and he had Mishaal appropriate one for his use and have it checked out and fueled.
“I want to get up to Jeddah right away and prepare to pick up the next nuke at al-Taif,” Kyle said.
The prince was at a desk, alternating his attention between maps and radio and telephone handsets. “I cannot leave yet, Gunny. A new commander for this base will arrive from Riyadh early tomorrow. We are temporarily assigning the job to a major general, who will bring along his own staff and some fresh troops so we don’t have to go through this loyalty issue again. At least not here.”
“So how about if I start the arrangements and we can finish off the transfer when you come in tomorrow?”
The prince nodded agreement. “Do you want one of my staff members to go with you?”
Kyle shook his head negatively. “No. There’s not much to do and I have the authorization to set up my part of the deal. By the time I get up there and contact my people to set up the next flight, I will be ready for some sack time.”
“You’ve earned it, Gunny.”
“So have you.”
Swanson walked alone to the waiting helicopter. In minutes, he was in the air and gone. He closed his eyes and was immediately asleep. He awoke when the blades changed their sound and the helicopter headed into Jeddah. He saw the friendly face of Jamal smiling at him from a waiting automobile and they went straight to the CIA safe house to get to work.
It was after midnight before Swanson took a shower and went to bed. The red digital readout of a bedside clock again reminded him that time was rolling away.