The First Hostage: A J. B. Collins Novel by Joel C. Rosenberg Read Free Book Online

to make it.”
    “Why not?”
    “Ari said the PM sustained three bullet wounds, two to the back and one to the leg. He lost an enormous amount of blood. They nearly lost him twice on the chopper flight across the river. Apparently it was that Mossad agent, the woman, who saved his life.”
    “Yael?” I asked. “Yael Katzir?”
    “Yes, her,” the prince said. “She set up a blood transfusion midflight and performed CPR on him   —twice. Still might not have been enough, but . . .”
    Feisal didn’t finish the sentence. What more was there to say?
    The room was silent. I was in shock. I don’t know why. I’d known Lavi and Mansour were both in bad shape. When they’d first been shot, we’d all thought they were dead right then. It was the king who’d realized they were still breathing, still had a pulse. But somehow once they were put on the choppers and evacuated back over the Jordan River, I guess I’d just assumed everything would be okay. I couldn’t bear the thought that they both might soon be gone   —especially after nearly consummating a peace deal they’d worked on so hard for so long.
    Suddenly one of the phones in front of Feisal rang. The prince answered it immediately, then handed the receiver to the king.
    “Yes,” he said without expression. “Yes, I understand. Very well. Good-bye.”
    I feared the worst and was absolutely stunned by what the king said next. “That was Jack at CIA. We may have found the president.”
    Everyone instinctively stood. Finally there was some desperately needed good news. Thank God for Jack Vaughn, I thought. The director of the Central Intelligence Agency and I had clashed pretty hard in recent days. But I was suddenly thrilled to hear his name mentioned. He and his team were on the case. Maybe things were going to take a turn for the better.
    “An American spy satellite has just picked up the signal of the emergency beacon coming from the Secret Service vehicle the president was riding in,” the king said. “Jack said it wasn’t automatically activated, meaning the vehicle hasn’t crashed. It was set off manually. Which is a good sign. Someone is with the vehicle   —someone who knows what he’s doing, knows that the beacon is in the car and how to trigger it.”
    “But?” I asked.
    “But if it’s the agents protecting the president, why aren’t they on a secure satphone back to Washington, calling for help and providing a clearer sense of what’s happening?”
    “Where is the signal coming from?” General Jum’a asked. “I’ve got extraction teams on standby, ready to go.”
    “Where would they be deployed from?”
    “Here, Your Majesty. They’re on the tarmac right now.”
    “Good,” the king said. “Can you redirect ground forces to the site as well?”
    “I can, but there are risks.”
    “We still don’t know whom we can trust?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “Do you trust these extraction forces?”
    “Implicitly, Your Majesty. These are my best men. Bedouins, all. Most are sons of men you trained and served with yourself.”
    “Can you put them on a secure channel so I can talk with them directly and no other unit can listen in?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Good, then put them in the air   —but don’t tell any other unit.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “But, Your Majesty, doesn’t Jack want to send in U.S. forces to rescue the president?” I asked, taking a risk by interrupting but trying to understand what was about to play out.
    “Of course,” the king said. “The Pentagon is deploying a SEAL team off one of the carriers in the Med. But we’re closer, and Jack’s afraid if ISIS forces have the president pinned down . . .”
    He didn’t have to finish. The thought was too terrible to contemplate.
    “The signal location?” General al-Mufti prompted.
    “Near the airport. Get your men in the air. You and I can give them precise coordinates in a few moments.”
    “Of course, sir.”
    “Your Majesty, can I go with