Strike Force

“We’re planning on sending in the Battle Force to hunt for Iranian missiles — this would be a good reason to go in and probe Iran’s northeastern frontier,” Patrick said. “If there is an Iranian princess, and she has followers, they can help our guys get into the country.”

“I don’t think we need help getting into the country, Muck,” Dave said. But his mind was beginning to churn now as well. “We can certainly use all the local support we can get. But we’re not fighting Turkmenistan. If we drop a squad in there, aren’t we stirring up more trouble rather than trying to contain trouble? We should try to get some kind of cooperation from the Turkmenis — if that’s even possible.”

Patrick thought for another moment; then: “Then why not ask the guy in charge?” he remarked. He picked up the phone and spoke, “Duty Officer, call President Jalaluddin Turabi in Ashkhabad, Turkmenistan. Private line.”

“Yes, General McLanahan,” the computerized ever-present voice of Dreamland’s virtual information and access service responded. “Please stand by.” Patrick hung up the phone.

“Assuming he knows anything,” Dave said. “He may be the president, but the Russians still have their boots on his neck pretty well.”

“We’ll find out.” A few minutes later the phone rang, and Patrick picked it up. “General McLanahan.”

“This is Rejep Aydogdijev, assistant deputy chief of staff to President Turabi of Turkmenistan,” a heavily accented voice said in halting English. “All communications with the president from overseas must originate from our embassy in Washington. Good night.” And the call was abruptly terminated.

“Ever get tired of being hung up on, Muck?” Dave deadpanned.

“Yes — but hopefully this won’t be one of them,” Patrick said calmly. He surfed a bit around the Internet, mostly on sites regarding the Qagev dynasty of Iran and its surviving members. “Where’s Hal?”

Dave summoned Hal Briggs to the command center via the “Duty Officer. What do you have in mind, Muck?” he asked after Hal acknowledged the order.

“It depends on what Jalaluddin says.”

“You going to call the State Department and ask…?”

Just then the phone beeped. Patrick smiled, shook his head, held up a finger, and spoke: “McLanahan here.” He noted the line was secure — he must have been working late in the office.

“My old friend the troublemaker,” Jalaluddin Turabi greeted him. “I hope you and your son are well.”

“We are very well, Jala,” Patrick replied. “How is your new wife?”

“She drinks like a Russian, spends money like a Saudi — but fortunately makes love like a Californian. She has already honored me with two healthy sons.”

“Congratulations.”

“Why do you call, my friend?”

“I want to ask about a certain incident in the Tolkuchka Bazaar yesterday. I’ll ask plainly — did the Iranians capture an Iranian princess and her family?”

Patrick heard a loud commotion in the background — it was Turabi, obviously chastising someone, loudly trying to chase them out of earshot. A few moments later: “So. Are your eyes on the ground or still in the sky?”

“In the sky — for now.”

“We see your big space station over us almost every night now, and I tell my men, the Americans will be critiquing everyone’s lovemaking skills, so be diligent,” Turabi said with a laugh. “Well, my friend, all of your eyes are very good — as I well know. Yes, it is true: the Shahdokht Azar Assiyeh Qagev, the youngest daughter of the surviving heir to the Qagev royal dynasty, was captured in the bazaar shortly after she arrived from a flight from Canada via Istanbul.”

“I thought all the king’s children were murdered by the Iranian Revolutionary Guards.”

“Apparently not, my friend.”

“The Iranians have her?”

“One of my military police battalion commanders, more loyal to the Iranians than to their own people — or paid off better — assisted the deputy chief of mission Fattah to place several pro-monarchy loyalists under surveillance and capture them once they were found,” Turabi said. “But it was only the daughter, Azar, not the mother and father. The daughter was accompanied by two bodyguards. I believe they were taken to the federal jail here in the capital.”

“I would rather not assault your jail, Jala,” Patrick said, “so if it’s possible to sneak her out, I can snatch her. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Turabi said. “I can advise you when we have her, and then you can, as you put it, ‘snatch’ her.”

“Thank you, Jala. You can loudly and publicly protest any actions that may take place in your country in the next few days,” Patrick said.

“That I can do very easily, my friend — you can be assured of that,” Turabi said. “We have spoken long enough, and I do not want to hear any more anyway. Peace be with you, my friend.” And the connection was broken.

Hal Briggs and Chris Wohl returned to the command center when Patrick hung up, and Hal had someone with him that Patrick did not recognize. “Sir, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Charlie Turlock,” Hal said.