Final Flight by Stephen Coonts Read Free Book Online Page B

the
lights disappeared.
    “Sweet Jesus,” Toad whispered. “They
went in.”
    “Strike, Red Ace Two Oh Seven just went
into the drink. Mark my position and get the angel out
here buster.” The “angel” was the rescue
helicopter. “Buster” meant to hurry, bust your
ass.
    “Red Ace, did the crew get out?”
    “I doubt it,” Jake Grafton said, and
removed his oxygen mask to wipe his face.
    “How heavy are the weapons?” El Hakim
asked. “About two hundred kilos,” Colonel
Qazi replied. El Hakim stood in the
apartment window and let the warm, dry wind play with the
folds in his robe. Already the great summer heat had
begun. Here in this retreat deep in the desert he
did not wear the military uniform that he was obliged
to wear in the capital before the Western diplomatic
corps and press. He hated the uniform, but it
gave him an air of authority that he felt
essential.
    Soon, very soon, he would burn the uniform. He
closed his eyes and faced the rising sun. He could
feel it through his eyelids. The power of the sun would
soon be his. Praise Allah, he would make the
unbelievers kneel.
    “So no matter how many weapons are there,
we can only take a few.”
    “Correct, Excellency. Our goal shall be
to obtain six. Even half that many will make us a
formidable political force to be reckoned with.”
    El Hakim left the window reluctantly and
returned to his seat on the carpet. “If you
destroy the ship, the Americans will not know for sure
how many we have.”
    “True, but they will be able to estimate the number with
accuracy.
    Destruction of the ship will merely ensure our
escape. The Americans will undoubtedly leap to the
proper conclusion without evidence.”
    “No doubt.” The dictator snorted. “They have
demonstrated their capacity for that aerial feat
numerous times in the past.”
    “So when the mission is complete, we must inform the
world promptly in order to forestall any rash action
on the part of the Americans. They are very sensitive
to public opinion, even when goaded beyond endurance.”
    El Hakim tilted his head back and narrowed his
eyes. “The political and military exploitation
of your mission is my concern, Colonel, not yours.
    “Of course. Qazi lowered his gaze
respectfully. “But still, Excellency, our
mission will be for naught unless the Americans are
sufficiently delayed to give us time to escape and
alter the weapons.
    “Time? How much time?”
    “The Americans have built numerous safety
devices into each weapon.
    That information was part of the interrogation of the American
sailor you did not hear. It was extremely
technical. The only real danger from an unaltered
weapon is that fire or an accident will split the
skin of the weapon and cause nuclear material to be
spilled. If one were handled carelessly enough, a
conventional explosion of low magnitude could occur.
But there can be no nuclear explosion unless and until
a variety of sophisticated devices within the
weapon have all had their parameters satisfied. For
example, the devices must be initially stimulated
by precisely the right amount of electrical current
for precisely the proper length of time for the triggering
process to begin.
    And that is only the first safeguard. But these
safeguards must all be overcome or bypassed.”
    “How will you do that?”
    “We’ll need the cooperation of an American
expert, one who helped design and construct
the safeguards. Fortunately we are well on our
way to obtaining the cooperation of just such an
individual right now. We have identified him with the
help of Henry Sakol.”
    The left corner of El Hakim’s mouth rose
slightly in a sneer. He knew Henry Sakol
far too well. A former CIA agent, Sakol
supplied weapons which El Hakim could obtain
nowhere else, thanks to the American government,
Mr. Sakol’s former employer. Sakol was a
ruthless and greedy man, a godless man without
scruple or loyalty. “When we have the nuclear
weapons, we will have no further need of