Eagle of Darkness

  "Of course it is. I'm hoping to get another flying job soon. But this isn't what we agreed."

  Panya sighed. "Just stop moaning, Sam. It's exactly what we agreed. I promised I'd find a jet, and that's what I've done. I didn't say anything about getting a pilot."

  Chapter 59

  Cairo, Egypt

  COLONEL BEN ABADI of the Egyptian Army noticed with relief that the wind was coming off the sea, from the north east. The longer it stayed in that direction, the less chance there was of Cairo receiving airborne radioactive fallout from Beni Mazar. The scientists in the government had been assuring everyone that it only needed a day or two more before the worst of it was dispersed. What the Libyans would think about it was a different matter, but at least Lower Egypt would be safe.

  Abadi knew that this, of course, was nonsense. Radioactive water was now slowly and inexorably making its way down the Nile. The experts assured the citizens it would take several days to reach Cairo, and was unlikely to present any great threat if people kept clear of the river. Abadi's driver clearly didn't trust the experts. In his anxiety to be in and out of the area quickly, he had arrived here early; a feat previously only dreamt of by senior officers in Commando Command. Ben Abadi went into his temporary office inside the perimeter fence at Cairo International Airport. The private jet from Malta should be here in a little over two hours.

  A dusty copy of yesterday's al-Jomhuriya lay on the table. He shook it and studied the headlines again. America seemed to be saying one thing but meaning another. Questions in Congress, and evasive answers by the defense chiefs. Could the West be relied on if Israel launched an invasion, as it had in '67?

  Abadi threw the paper down. No one knew who had detonated a nuclear warhead two hundred kilometers south of Cairo. The Western papers regurgitated rumors of supposed nuclear factories in Egypt, but he would know if they really existed. The Egyptian government couldn't keep such an outrageous conspiracy from the armed forces. The Arab papers blamed Israel, and that seemed a more likely hypothesis.

  He looked out of the window of the single story building, using the back of his sleeve to wipe the dust and fly-blows from the glass. He was neither renowned for his smartness of dress nor for his good manners. But he was efficient. Some said ruthless. He stared across the vast expanse of empty concrete shimmering under the sun.

  Yes, he could he ruthless. It was the only way to succeed. He picked up the phone. Time to make preparations to receive the Vatican jet.

  Chapter 60

  Malta

  "YOU STILL don't look like an airline pilot." said Panya from the copilot's seat.

  "You think I look too young?"

  "Now you've said it, yes. I thought airline pilots were much older."

  "What do you want, someone who's senile and doddery at the controls?"

  "I was hoping you'd at least dress the part for me." Suddenly Panya caught hold of his arm. "We are going slide out of the sky," she gasped.

  "It's called banking," Sam explained patiently. "You never see it like this if you're a passenger."

  "But we are at such an angle. We will slide sideways."

  He shook his head. "It's like riding a bike. You have to lean for the corners."

  "So we will not slide into the ground?"

  "Haven't you seen just the sky out of one window, and only the ground out of the opposite one? It's the only way to turn a plane. Trust me -- and please don't touch anything."

  He waited until the small fields and red church domes of Malta disappeared below the cockpit, then allowed the Dornier jet to level itself as they came clear of the island. The controls felt light and responsive, and the cockpit still smelt new. A luxury jet like this could almost fly itself. "And you don't look much like an air hostess," he retorted. "But you can pour me a coffee from the flask back there as soon as we've left Maltese airspace."

  "You'll have to wait until I've got my air legs, or whatever aircrew need."

  He steadied the plane as they hit a pocket of warm air rising from the sea. "It will get smoother when we've finished climbing."

  "Are we going straight to Egypt?"

  "More or less. I'm making for Crete, then turning south to Cairo. I had to file a flight plan, but I'm uneasy about it. Too many people know where we're heading."

  "Vatican Five, this is Malta Control. Climb to flight level twenty and report level."

  Sam flicked on his mike. "Understood, Malta Control."

  "What was that about?" asked Panya, leaning forward as far as her seat harness would allow. Ooh, look down there. I can see the Dingli Cliffs."

  "I have to climb to twenty thousand feet and let them know when I'm there." He turned to look down at the massive rock face rising vertically out of the deep blue Mediterranean, a small line of white marking where large waves broke against the base. "I've never managed to get here on a routine flight. You know Malta well?"

  "I've been here a couple of times for work." Panya laughed. "Being stuck at the Institute has made rather a depressing change from world travel."

  "I keep telling you, Panya, I never know when you're joking with me"

  She smiled. "I have the same trouble with you."

  He cut back on the throttles and leveled out at five thousand feet. Climbing to twenty-thousand wasn't such a good idea. He spoke again into the microphone on his headset. "Malta Radar, this is Vatican Five. Am descending to low level."

  "Vatican Five, this is Malta Radar. Be advised we are unable to give radar cover below two thousand feet"

  "Understood, Malta Radar. Permission to proceed."

  "Proceed, Vatican Five. Be advised you are entering an area of intense military activity. Numerous contacts in that area, height and type unknown. "

  Sam consulted his navigation aids and pushed the yolk forward. The Dornier jet went into a steep dive.

  "What are you doing?" asked Panya in a panic.

  Sam watched the altimeter drop rapidly until it read one thousand feet. He leveled out at one hundred, then pushed the yolk forward again until he could no longer trust the altimeter. He judged his height now to be less than thirty feet. The crew of a small, brightly colored fishing boat stared up, hands shielding their eyes from the sun.

  "Any lower and we'll be caught in their nets," shouted Panya. "Why are we skimming the waves?"

  Sam checked the instruments before replying. "It's a security measure."

  "There's a problem?"

  "I'm like the regular pilot of this plane. I don't fancy being shot down."

  "Cardinal Fitz knows we're coming."

  "Cardinal Fitz isn't the man sitting behind a missile launcher."

  "No one's going to shoot at us." Panya sounded only slightly worried. "They're expecting us."

  Sam nodded. "You're right. I've had to clear this flight through the military, so they know we're coming. Not even a bluebottle can get into Egypt without permission."

  "Then why are we flying so low?"

  "I'll tell you why. The Americans have an aircraft carrier on her way into the Med. The USS Constellation, and she's loaded with Tomcats and Hornets. They track us, the AWACs track us, and for all I know that fishing boat is tracking us. Our transponder is transmitting a signal that we're a civilian aircraft, but I'd rather he lost to radar signals by flying among the waves."

  "Is it safer?" asked Panya, and this time there was definite anxiety in the question.

  Sam shrugged. "This wouldn't be the first civilian plane to be on the receiving end of an unfortunate mistake. I like being close to the water. I don't suppose it's safer, but it's less distance to fall."

  He glanced at Panya. She was half smiling, probably unsure if he was teasing her. She seemed to relax. He wished he felt as cool as she looked. For the rest of the journey he'd be staring out of the cockpit, watching for a bright spot of light getting rapidly closer. Rocket exhaust should be easy to see, even at a low level. Not that he could do much about it. The Dornier wasn't built for violent evasive action.


  "I need to report on our position with Egyptian ground control." He checked the radio, then added, "As if they don't know exactly where we are anyway."

  Chapter 61

  Cairo, Egypt

  BEN ABADI picked up the phone again. The voice said, "Vatican jet from Malta arriving in ten minutes, Colonel."

  He moved to the clean patch of window as though the plane might be in sight, stretching the telephone cord to its limit. "Get me some transport. I'm picking them up at the aircraft steps. And I want two armed guards to accompany me. Is the airport security in place?"

  "Everything you asked for, Colonel. The arrival lounge is already sealed. A Jeep is on its way to you."

  Force 777 could have filled the airport with troops by now, but it was essential the top brass remained ignorant of this arrival. So here he was, a Commando Command colonel with two armed guards facing an unknown threat. He had to be ready for the two visitors from England. Ben Abadi brushed his uniform down, wishing he'd sent it to the cleaners yesterday.

  "Your Jeep, Colonel."

  Two soldiers, their Egyptian AKMs at their sides, formed an armed escort. They saluted smartly, but these trained men were not here for decoration.

  "Area Twenty-six," Ben Abadi told the driver, as the soldiers slipped into the back seat of the Jeep. He felt for his handgun. It would be easy to reach this 9mm Beretta in an emergency.

  "Just keep close to me," he ordered the soldiers. "Are those AKMs loaded?"

  The men showed him full magazines.

  The driver turned. "Plane from Malta taxiing this way, sir. You want me to drive onto the apron to meet them?"

  Abadi looked around. This was a damn conspicuous place for what he had in mind. Long range lenses at the terminal building would give a good picture. So would binoculars. Or a telescopic sight. "Get me the control tower, driver. I want the plane to park behind the freight terminal."

  "VATICAN FIVE, this is Cairo Control. Follow the marshal's truck to the rear apron, then follow the marshal's instructions. "

  Sam turned to Panya, surprised by the lack of planes at the massive international airport. "We've been ordered away from the passenger terminal. I don't like it."

  "You worry too much," she said. "Cardinal Fitz is the sort of man who leaves nothing to chance."

  Sam was not totally convinced. "Then let's hope he's waiting at the bottom of the aircraft steps."

  "Vatican Five, you are to stay on board your aircraft until the arrival of a military vehicle. Colonel Abadi wishes to ensure your safety."

  Sam acknowledged the instructions from the control tower as he followed the small truck, swinging through a sharp right angle. Quickly he applied the brakes as a Jeep in military camouflage stopped in front of the Dornier. The plane lurched to a halt, the nose dipping for a moment. He killed the engines and turned to Panya. "I assume this is the military vehicle that we nearly ran over. Let's get out and see what happens."

  He pushed the exit door outwards and down, to be met with a blast of warm air from the tarmac.

  "Mr. Bolt? Mrs. Pulaski?" At the bottom of the steps stood a tall Egyptian in fawn military uniform. By his side two soldiers held their ARMs in a position of readiness.

  This was not a guard of honor; these men were prepared for action. Sam put a hand on Panya's shoulder. "I think we're in trouble."

  Chapter 62

  Cheltenham, England

  "OLSEN'S CYLINDER worked a miracle, Admiral." Stephan sounded pleased with his performance at the Institute Lodge. He finished his late lunch back in Cheltenham, pushing his plate away to make room for some newspapers. "You were right. When I told them Hitler had been given that cylinder in the war, it sealed the prophecy. All that crap about sending Rommel into North Africa. Those hard-nosed reporters were putty."

  Spaxley sat in an easy chair close to the fire. The controls for the gas made the room either too hot or too cold. Mostly too cold. It took him back to the first night here, with Endermann, Ahmed, Stephan and Withington at the table. But Ahmed wasn't around any more. His blood was soaking into a large pile of Islamic masonry in Cairo.

  "You did fine, Stephan. It's a pity Dr. Wynne got away. Everyone's asking to see him, but it seems he's disappeared. Probably a good thing. He's too confused to be allowed near the reporters."

  "Where's Withington?"

  Spaxley looked around the room. "He had a call from GCHQ up the road. Something about being needed to sort out some paperwork. I thought he'd be back by now. These young people can't take the pressure."

  Stephan smiled. "Remember the Six-Day War? The world held its breath then."

  Spaxley took out a cigar and prepared to light it. "We both had good jobs once. On opposite sides, sure, but we were respected for what we did."

  "So what happens now?" asked Stephan.

  "My guess is the U.S. President will be forced to make a statement as soon as the Eagle's flight has ended.

  "Accusing Israel?"

  "I know his military advisers. They're not all doves. There's going to be one hell of a mess out there in the Middle East. The response from the Arab countries will be immediate."

  "With the Fifth Fleet on full steam for the North African coast."

  Spaxley grinned as he lit his cigar with a match. "One hell of a load of firepower. I here's a lot of panic around. God, I enjoy the challenge. Especially when I'm in the driving seat."

  "I thought Endermann…"

  "Endermann's out in Egypt, making sure the Eagle gets airborne in time for the lunar eclipse tonight."

  Stephan joined him by the fire, taking out a pack of cheap Russian cigarettes. "I could do with a coffee."

  "They'll be here soon to clear the table. This English weather needs something to keep the rain out of a man's body. I'll have brandy in mine. Ah, here's the waiter now."

  The tall man in a white jacket walked slowly and deliberately to the fireplace.

  Spaxley hardly looked up. "Two coffees, waiter. And a small brandy."

  The man bowed before slowly removing the white napkin from his arm. Under it he held a slim Smith and Wesson with a heavy caliber barrel. "I'm afraid it will not be possible for Mr. Withington to join us to make the party complete. He is currently on his way to the morgue. He met with an extremely nasty accident on the road outside GCHQ. This way please, gentlemen."

  Chapter 63

  Cairo, Egypt

  "THE TWO OF YOU had better be telling this nice man from the Egyptian army all you know." Cardinal Fitz winked at Panya. "Hasn't it already cost the Holy Father an arm and a leg in aviation fuel to get you both here so quickly from Malta, not to mention the wear and tear on that marvelous aeroplane of his?"

  Sam eyed the man in the clerical black suit, checking him from head to toe for just one hint of Irish green. This over-sized leprechaun was Panya's Cardinal, as high as it was possible to go in the Catholic Church without becoming pope. "It was my Visa card that got us on the charter flight from Gatwick to Malta," he pointed out.

  "And to be sure it was," said the Cardinal. "Well now, somebody had to pay the airline in England. Are you thinking the Holy Father is made of money?"

  "You'll get it back," whispered Panya.

  "He'll be getting his reward in heaven," said the Cardinal, "and not a minute before. Now, what's this about a plot to blow us all to kingdom come?"

  Sam noticed the Colonel showing signs of impatience. He felt his sympathies leaning towards the military man. This was no time for pleasantries. "The Unity group mustn't meet in the church tonight," Sam said. "There's a bomb under it."

  "Nonsense!" Colonel Ben Abadi snorted and shook his head. "Since the destruction of the al-Sûfiya mosque we've searched the foundations and sewers of every religious building in Cairo. We even searched the synagogue."

  "Sam overheard them discussing explosives," Panya insisted. "I tried to phone Cardinal Fitz last night to warn him, but I think someone was listening on the line and cut us off. That's why we've come over."

  Sam w
asn't going to be left out. "The latest prophecy says the establishment will tremble from the sky to the abyss. That sounds like Aten-speak for another religious building being blown up."

  "Perhaps." said Colonel Abaci, not sounding convinced.

  "They blew the mosque," Sam reminded him. "They're experts."

  "And we are experts too, Mr. Bolt."

  Sam noticed the danger signs in the Egyptian's eyes.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, before this gets too heated, why don't we all have a nice cup of tea? And I can pass on some excellent news." Cardinal Fitz smiled encouragingly. "I always think a cup of tea in the afternoon is a splendid way to calm frayed nerves."

  "Sounds like a good idea," agreed Panya.

  Sam looked at her. Panya was probably more interested in getting people into church than in sorting out the trouble threatening the Middle East. Here he was standing by the side of the military authority, while Panya had positioned herself, perhaps unconsciously, by the side of the religious leader. And that really summed up the present as well as the past. Panya had been a good companion, perhaps even a friend, but they were poles apart.

  "The good news is for you, Mr. Bolt," said Cardinal Fitz. "Your partner has turned up safe and well, and maybe you'll soon be getting your two little children back."

  Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. "Are you serious?"

  "Now, would I be telling lies?" Cardinal Fitz sounded offended. Then he winked. "It's as true as I'm standing here. But that woman of yours, she says she's not wanting to see you again. She's with her fancy man. A financial advisor from the lottery, so I believe."

  "I don't care about Sally," said Sam. "But you're serious about getting Karen and Tom back?" He still wondered whether to believe the Cardinal, although the bit about the financial advisor seemed possible. Maybe it was a trick to ensure more help.

  "It's true enough, Mr. Bolt, and I think I can assist you in sorting everything out with the authorities. When you get back to England."

  Sam felt surprised by this gratuitous help. "I don't understand."

  "Don't understand what, Mr. Bolt?"

  "Why you're doing this."

  The Cardinal raised a finger. "There are youngsters who run away from home, leaving their parents to go mad with the worry. All it takes is a quick phone call. But some of them don't do it. They want their parents to suffer." He put a large hand on Sam's shoulder. "Your partner wanted you to suffer, Mr. Bolt. She knew you were under suspicion of murder, and could so easily have made her well-being known to the authorities. The woman is vindictive. I think she will now fight to stop you getting your little children back, even though she doesn't want them and has kept them in care."