The Icarus Agenda by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online

English, please.”
    “Sorry, I forgot. Whoever you are you’re not what’s logged. It means all military aircraft in Sicily and Jiddah are under observation, as well as every field we land on. Those Arab bastardsexpect something and they’ve got their filthy psychos in place, ready to relay
anything
or
anyone
unusual.”
    “Not all Arabs are bastards or filthy or psychos, General.”
    “They are in my book.”
    “Then it’s unprintable.”
    “What is?”
    “Your book. The rest of the message, please.”
    The pilot made an obscene gesture with his right arm, the perforated paper in his hand. “Read it yourself, Arab lover. But it doesn’t leave this deck.”
    Kendrick took the paper, angled it toward the navigator’s light, and read the message.
Switch necessary. Jiddah out. All M.A. where permitted under eyes. Transfer to civilian subsidiary on south island. Routed through Cyprus, Riyadh, to target. Arrangements cleared. ETA is close to Second Pillar el Maghreb best timing possible. Sorry. S
. Evan reached out, holding the message over the brigadier general’s shoulder and dropped it. “I assume that ‘south island’ is Sardinia.”
    “You got it.”
    “Then, I gather, I’m to spend roughly ten more hours on a plane, or planes, through Cyprus, Saudi Arabia and finally to Masqat.”
    “I’ll tell you one thing, Arab lover,” continued the pilot. “I’m glad it’s you flying on those Minnie Mouse aircraft and not me. A word of advice: Grab a seat near an emergency exit, and if you can buy a chute, spend the money. Also a gas mask. I’m told those planes stink.”
    “I’ll try to remember your generous advice.”
    “Now you tell
me
something,” said the general. “What the hell is that ‘Second Pillar’ Arab stuff?”
    “Do you go to church?” asked Evan.
    “You’re damned right I do. When I’m home I make the whole damn family go—no welching on that, by Christ. At least once a month, it’s a rule.”
    “So do the Arabs, but not once a month. Five times a day. They believe as strongly as you do, at
least
as strongly, wouldn’t you say? The Second Pillar of el Maghreb refers to the Islamic prayers at sundown. Hell of an inconvenience, isn’t it? They work their Arab asses off all day long, mostly for nothing, and then it’s sundown. No cocktails, just prayers to their God. Maybe it’s all they’ve got. Like the old plantation spirituals.”
    The pilot turned slowly in his seat. His face in the shadowsof the flight deck startled Kendrick. The brigadier general was black. “You set me up,” said the pilot flatly.
    “I’m sorry. I mean that; I didn’t realize. On the other hand, you said it. You called me an Arab lover.”
    Sundown. Masqat, Oman. The ancient turbojet bounced onto the runway with such force that some of the passengers screamed, their desert instincts alert to the possibility of their fiery oblivion. Then with the realization that they had arrived, that they were safe, and that there were jobs for the having, they began chanting excitedly. Thanks be to Allah for His benevolence! They had been promised rials for servitude the Omanis would not accept. So be it. It was far better than what they had left behind.
    The suited businessmen in the front of the aircraft, handkerchiefs held to their noses, rushed to the exit door, gripping their briefcases, all too anxious to swallow the air of Oman. Kendrick stood in the aisle, the last in line, wondering what the State Department’s Swann had in mind when he said in his message that “arrangements” had been cleared.
    “Come with me!” cried a berobed Arab from the crowd forming outside the terminal for immigration. “We have another exit, Dr. Axelrod.”
    “My passport doesn’t say anything about
Axelrod
.”
    “Precisely. That is why you are coming with me.”
    “What about immigration?”
    “Keep your papers in your pocket. No one wants to
see
them.
I
do not want to see them!”
    “Then