Warriors by Barrett Tillman (5 page)

       These converts always seemed full of new buzzwords which, like a bumper sticker, tried to pass for philosophy. John Bennett and Dave Edmonds had been fighter pilots for twenty years; served together in two squadrons. Both men enjoyed reputations as out-standing aviators; they had written the Navy's first tactical manual for supersonic fighters. When pilots talked about the "super sticks," Bennett and Edmonds always were mentioned-like Lewis and Clark or ham and eggs.

       Today the questions always were about aircraft design, whether it should be complex and capable of several missions or a single-purpose, specialized plane. Because the political supporters of complexity had prevailed, the results were extremely expensive fighter planes. But Bennett and Edmonds had grown up in the least expensive and oldest fighter in the Navy inventory, and the Vietnam War had proven the validity of their arguments for simplicity. Their Vought F 8Bs had outperformed every other fighter in the U. S. stable in that long war, winning the highest kill-loss ratio.

      
But that was the shooting war,
Bennett reminded himself. He thought of his farewell speech to his squadron when he retired. "The United States Navy, gentlemen, is an eighteenth-century institution reluctantly being dragged into the nineteenth century." That had caught the press's attention. So, with one foot in the grave, he jumped in with both feet. He had told his junior officers that their value as aviators would only become apparent to the U. S. government during the next war.

       The reporters had lined up to pursue the retiring aviator's thoughts on the subject. They sensed a controversial quote, or at least a colorful one. "Tell us, Commander Bennett, does that mean you think there will be another war?"

       The junior officers had braced themselves, knowing the skipper's reply. "Well, if we don't think there'll be another war, all of us are wasting a hell of a lot of the taxpayers' money." The base's public affairs officer had his hands full explaining that one!

       It was a February evening in La Jolla, but the air was balmy with a gentle breeze off the Pacific. Bennett loved this small enclave carved into the California coast. He had raised a son and lost his wife here. The memory pained him again. The drunk driver had served barely a year in prison.

       Inside his coat pocket, Bennett felt the engraved invitation to Dave's change of command ceremony. His friend would become captain of the carrier
Saratoga
on the east coast in a few weeks. Dave had specifically taken time to get together, despite a hectic visit to San Diego. Damn it, he was a good man. Old Dave had chased that MiG-19 right over Hainan into Chinese airspace and ran the bastard out of fuel. No manager or chairbound warrior would have done that, risking his career in the process. But the nagging doubt returned-what had Dave done to ingratiate himself to the power brokers in Washington? Maybe he had changed.

      
Or maybe,
Bennett mused,
I've stayed stagnant while everybody else has progressed.

      
Bennett loved the landscaped entrance to his apartment. It was a jungle of bent pines and well-tended flowers. He took in the simple beauty of the place, paying no notice to the figure closing on him from behind. A cultured Middle Eastern voice broke the silence. "I beg your pardon, Commander Bennett?"

       John turned to face a man in gray trousers and expensive light-blue worsted jacket. The stranger carried himself with an air of dignity; of one accustomed to authority. His swarthy complexion was punctuated by a well-trimmed goatee. Bennett thought the Rolex on his left wrist must have cost $5,000. The gray-and-red tie was elegantly knotted and snugged to the perfectly starched collar of his dress shirt. This man had what soldiers called command presence.

       The gentleman extended his hand and Bennett appreciated the firm grasp. This was a very self-composed individual, and Bennett's four-inch height advantage seemed to dwindle.

       "My name is Safad Fatah. I am a Saudi Arabian diplomat. Could I please speak with you a few minutes?" The accent carried a trace of British influence--probably the result of an expensive education in England.

       "What do you want to talk about?"

       "Is it perhaps possible we could talk in your apartment?"

       Bennett started to hedge but the Arab gentleman interrupted.

       "Please, Commander, it will only take a moment. I think you might find it most interesting."

       Bennett unlocked his door, stepped back, and swept his hand inward, inviting the guest to enter. Fatah took in the apartment in a single glance.

       "Please sit down. By the way, how did you know my name?"

       Fatah rested his hands on his plump belly. "I have been in your country for the past five years. I am presently with the Saudi Embassy in Washington, and we obtained your address from some friends in that area."

       Bennett's curiosity intensified.

       "Can I get you something cool to drink? A beer perhaps?"

       Immediately Bennett realized his error.
Muslims don't drink alcohol,
he thought.

       "No thank you, sir." If Fatah took offense he covered it admirably. "If you have a Pepsi that would be nice."

       Bennett rummaged through his cluttered refrigerator. One of the women he occasionally dated was fond of Pepsi, and there were two cans left.

       As he poured the soda into a glass, Bennett searched his memory. Whom did he know in D.C. who traveled in diplomatic circles? Feeling the warrior's suspicion of diplomats, Bennett kept his distance. He acknowledged the supremacy of civilian leadership over the armed forces, but he drew the line at meddling.

       Bennett sat down across from Fatah and both men sized up one another. Bennett had removed his own jacket but the Arab sat impeccably clad with his coat still buttoned.

       Barely sipping his drink, the Saudi leaned forward and his dark eyes fixed on Bennett's. "Commander, my government would like to discuss with you ·the possibility of a venture in my nation which would make use of your expertise. If it's agreeable to you, we would be pleased to have you as our guest in Arabia. If your schedule permits, we can set the meeting in Riyadh six days hence. I must leave this evening but I shall meet you upon arrival. We will, of course, pay all your expenses and we think you might enjoy a few days as our guest."

       Bennett masked the confusion he felt. His face belied any uncertainty but his mind raced. "And what would you want me--"

       Again Fatah smoothly interrupted. "Please, Commander, I cannot say more than I have. Everything would be made clear to you, but for the present would you please consider that I am not at liberty to divulge more information? My sovereign will explain everything to you in due course."

       The Saudi's initial contact with Bennett was the result of a two-year effort Riyadh had invested in selecting the retired aviator. There was nothing about John Bennett the Saudis did not know; he even looked the part, as if cast for a motion picture. There were the clear gray eyes which could display disarming charm or icy rage. Women especially would see and be moved by those eyes, and Arabs knew women as perhaps no other men on earth. The Prophet had given that knowledge to his people. Of that, Fatah was certain.

       Bennett's cheeks were tanned and there were small lines at the comers of both eyes-testament to 5,000 hours aloft, many of them squinting into the sun in search of adversaries. The carefully groomed hair had a touch of gray now, but the overall impression was one of energy and vigor.

       Following orders from his government, Fatah had selected the fifty-four-year-old retired naval officer after extensive screening.

       Bennett's combat record, his writings on aerial combat, his reputation among his contemporaries and-most important-among his former students, were well known to Fatah. He knew of the man's marriage, the death of his wife, the fact that Bennett's son was enrolled at Arizona State University.

       There had been difficulty obtaining a copy of the thesis Bennett had written at the Naval War College. It had been classified as secret, but the Saudis had obtained Bennett's document, plus several written by other prospective agents. Bennett's opus,
Airpower-Key to the Middle East,
had confirmed he was the man the Saudis wanted.

       John Bennett at first said nothing as he considered the strange proposal.

       The silence was broken when Bennett rose and stood with his hands behind his back. "Mr. Fatah, can you tell me if your government wishes to utilize my services in any way that could be detrimental to my country, or jeopardize my position as a U. S. citizen and a retired military officer?"

       Fatah rose and looked Bennett square in the face. "Sir, I can assure you that is not the case."

       There was a pause and Bennett strode to the window, staring at the blue Pacific. He said, "Mr. Fatah, I would be honored to be a guest of your king. I have made deployments to the Mediterranean and I would enjoy seeing the Middle East again. How long should I plan on staying?"

       "Oh, I believe three days would be ample time for us to explain our proposal to you. I will have a car pick you up here at noon Thursday. Incidentally, Commander, is your passport current?" Fatah already knew the answer.

       "Yes it is. What will the weather be like this time of year?"

       "It is suitable for a lightweight suit and sports clothes." Fatah extended his hand and said, "Then I shall see you in Riyadh next week, Commander."

       After the man left, Bennett opened a Coors and sat with his feet propped on the coffee table. His curiosity was aroused, and he felt sympathy for the cultured Saudi. The kingdom's days were numbered, he thought. The whole region was a caldron now, on a scale not seen in the past millenium. Iran's interminable war of attrition with Iraq finally had reached an. uneasy settlement. Extensive blood-letting without significant gain by either side, severe economic disruption in the Persian Gulf with repeated attacks on third-party ships and ports-all these factors had forced a tenuous cease-fire. But the late Ayatollah and his successors had gained a victory of sorts. Despite the bitter religious discord between both nations, the cold-eyed Muslim priests in Tehran had reached an understanding with the Arab Socialist Baath party in Baghdad. Islam was slowly, reluctantly, uniting.

       The year before, Lebanon's convulsions ended when the Syrian leadership was replaced by the spreading church-state doctrine of the mullahs. Press reports were ominous, for after the moderate Egyptian president and four ministers died in a mysterious plane crash, another bloody civil war was barely averted. The Libyans gleefully played a central role in fomenting turmoil in Cairo, and were suspected of sabotaging the presidential aircraft. It had taken decades, but the entire Islamic world seemed to be rallying under the green flag with star and crescent.

       Nobody was naive enough to believe the Arab states would sublimate their individual differences for long; religious antagonism alone between Sunni and Shiite would guarantee lasting discord. But for the moment, the pressure was on the moderate Muslim nations.

       John Bennett was aware of these facts. But he needed more information, a broader perspective. He set down his beer, grabbed the keys to his Mercedes, and headed for the library. In his methodical way he spent the evening building a background file, then he checked out a copy of the Koran.

       The more he studied recent Middle East history, the more Bennett understood the rarity and importance of Saudi Arabia's relatively stable government. No other Arab nation of significant size had possessed a lasting hierarchy since World War II. There had been important efforts at pan-Arabism, most notably the short-lived Egyptian-Syrian alliance under Gamal Abdel Nasser. But the United Arab Republic, founded in 1958, fell apart within three years when the Syrian army broke with Cairo in resentment over Egyptian influence in Damascus.

       Bennett read about the greater strife that followed. Anwar Sadat, perhaps the only genuine statesman in the region, was assassinated by radical army elements resentful of his accord with Israel. Iraq: plagued by coups and internal rebellion even before the war with Iran. Syria: successive governments toppled, then irretrievably mired in Lebanon. Jordan: perennial difficulty with the Palestinian population, open conflict with the PLO, and the festering matter of Israeli occupation of the West Bank. The list seemed endless.

       But in Islam's holy book Bennett saw glimpses of what hardly could be missed by feuding Muslims themselves. The prophet Muhammad laid out a philosophy of life with strong appeal. Generosity and hospitality were extolled, as were attention to family and devotion to God. The Koran idealized strong, quiet men of action and commitment. If those qualities could be harnessed and directed under a unified leadership, the world would resound with their deeds:

      
Arabia

      
Barely twelve hours after takeoff from San Diego, the Saudi Air 747 was lined up with the runway lights at Al-'Aqabah, and the Boeing's tires scarred the runway with black rubber upon landing. Bennett was met by an elegantly robed Safad Fatah with a chauffeured limousine and driven to the palace. There the former naval officer was hospitably but quickly shown his elegant quarters and left to sleep off his jet lag.

       Late the next morning Bennett awoke refreshed if not wholly recovered, still in awe of his surroundings. The room was more than sumptuous; it bordered on the decadent, he thought. He considered himself sophisticated and well traveled, but never had he stayed in such a room. Few Muslims would choose such surroundings; the opulence therefore must reflect their view of what infidels desire.
The shower and faucet handles must be solid gold. I don't know what these guys want,
he mused,
but they have the money to buy whatever it is.