"Who is this?" Kareem asked harshly, intending to give the caller a rebuke for his insolent manner of speaking.

"It's somebody your boss will want to talk to," the voice said, evidently unfazed by Kareem's tone. "So, unless you want him to have your b.a.l.l.s for breakfast, let me speak to him."

Kareem was stunned. No one had dared speak to him in such a manner for years. He held the phone out and glared at it for a moment, trying to decide what to do.

Farrar looked up from the map and saw the expression on Kareem's face.

"What is it, Mustafa?" he asked, wondering which of his team leaders was on his private line.

"I don't know, excellency," Kareem said. "The caller refuses to give his name and is speaking in a very insolent manner."

Farrar held out his hand. "We will see about that," Farrar said, his expression darkening. He was not used to anyone treating him withanything less than the most abject respect and fear.

He took the phone and put it to his ear. "This is Abdullah El Farrar.

Who is this?" he asked in a very harsh tone.

"Abdul, you old son of a b.i.t.c.h. How're you doin'?" the voice asked cheerfully.

Farrar's face flushed with anger. "How dare you address me so!" he exclaimed, his anger turning to rage at the insolence of the caller. He would have him executed for this.

"This is Ben Raines, Abdul. Just thought I'd call and have a chat with you."

Farrar's entire body jerked at the name. How in Allah's 262.

name did the infidel Raines get a coded phone and the codes to use it, not to mention having Farrar's secret phone number?

He forced himself to calm down. He would get the answers soon enough.

Now he must exercise extreme caution. Ben Raines had a reputation as a devil when it came to war strategy, and Farrar knew he would have to be careful how he handled him.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Raines," Farrar said, struggling to keep bis voice calm, even as the men in the room looked up at him with surprised expressions at the mention of Raines's name.

"How are you enjoying your visit to the United States?" Farrar asked. "I hear that you are a.s.sisting President Oster-man in her efforts to retain control of her country."

"Oh, the visit has been fine so far," Ben replied, his voice still cheery, as if he were having a casual conversation with an old friend.

"In fact, I might even say it has been very interesting."

"I am glad to hear it," Farrar said. "As for me, the country is entirely too cold for my liking, and the food is simply abominable."

"Yeah," Ben said, "I don't imagine you can find too many five-star restaurants in the States that serve goats' heads and dates, can you?"

Farrar's face flushed anew at the insult. Raines must know that only peasants and extremely poor people in Arab countries dined on goats' heads.

"Might I ask how you came into possession of one of our phones and my private number?" Farrar said, ignoring the insult for the moment.

"Oh," Ben said, "I almost forgot. Achmed Sharif says to tell you h.e.l.lo and to give you his regards."

The mention of Sharif's name and the fact that Raines evidently had him as a prisoner came as a shock to Farrar. His team leaders had been told that under no circ.u.mstances were they to be taken alive.

263.

263"Uh ..." Farrar said, trying to stall for time while he formulated a response. "How is Achmed?" he asked. "Well, I hope."

"He's just fine," Ben replied. "I didn't realize your commanders were such talkative fellows, but I swear we're having a hard time shutting old Achmed up. Talk, talk, talk, that's all the man wants to do," Ben said, twisting the knife a little in Farrar's guts.

"I hope what he says is not boring you," Farrar said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, not at all, Abdul," Ben said, calling Farrar again by the diminutive of his name, a terrible insult. "In fact, what he's been telling us has been most illuminating."

"I do hope you are treating Achmed with the respect a prisoner of war deserves," Farrar said, while actually wishing the man to die a thousand deaths.

"Prisoner of war?" Ben asked. "Now that's a strange term to use for a terrorist caught in our country without uniform or insignia of rank.

That sounds more like a spy to me, and spies certainly don't rate prisoner-of-war status."

"Nevertheless . . ." Farrar began, but Ben cut him off.

"Nevertheless, nothing!" Ben said sharply. "None of you qualify as soldiers, Farrar, so you'd better inform your men they will be treated as terrorists if captured and will be executed on the spot, as will the FFA men working with you."

Farrar bit his lip, trying to decide how to answer this, as Ben continued.

"But, I must say, what Sharif had to say was not nearly as interesting as this little gadget he gave us to play with," Ben said, a taunt in his voice.

"Gadget?" Farrar asked, not understanding the term.

"This cell phone," Ben answered. "My technicians say it's quite a nice little toy. After they took it apart and learned all its secrets, they tell me it'll be no problem to program its codes into our satellites so we will be able to talk to you any time we want to in the future. In fact," Ben continued after 264.

a slight pause to let what he was saying sink in, "they tell me all you have to do is talk on any of your phones and we'll be able to hear you."

"That's impossible!" Farrar blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Not really," Ben said mildly. "As a matter of fact, my technicians tell me it was easy as pie once Sharif told us all of the phone numbers and codes of your men."

Farrar cast his eyes heavenward, silently cursing the day Achmed Sharif had been born.

When Farrar didn't answer, Ben continued. "Old Achmed also told us quitea bit about your home territory, Abdul. In fact, he told us that the home your family lives in is quite exquisite and is just full of beautiful antiques and furniture, not to mention most of your blood relatives."

"My home?" Farrar asked, trying to understand what Raines was talking about.

"You know, Abdul," Ben said in a musing tone of voice, "if I had more money than I could ever spend, a nice family with lots of brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, a beautiful home fall of precious artifacts, and a steady income from an oil refinery, I don't think I'd risk all that just to try and take over a half-broke country that's long past its prime."

Farrar almost choked on the words that came from his mouth, his heart hammering in his chest. "What are you saying?"

"Just that what goes around comes around, as we say in America," Ben answered.

"Are you threatening my family?" Farrar asked, his voice fall of rage.

"Not me, old stick," Ben said. "I personally don't believe in that sort of thing. But some people are kinda funny about having their country attacked for no reason at all and lots of fellow citizens murdered in the streets. In fact, I've heard talk that a man who does something like that deserves anything that happens to him ... or to his family."

I.

265.

265.

"How dare you threaten my family!" Farrar almost screamed into the phone.

"I wouldn't do that, Abdul," Ben said, his voice very calm and reasonable. "But we do have a saying over here that about covers it."

"What's that?" Farrar spat into the phone.

"A man who sticks his hand in a beehive to steal some honey shouldn't be surprised if he gets a few stings for his efforts, and he certainly shouldn't bother to complain about it to the bees."

"I will see you dead for this, Ben Raines!" Farrar hollered into the mouthpiece.

"Better men than you have said that, old son," Ben said, a chuckle in his voice, "and you know what? They're all food for the worms and I'm still here."

When Farrar had no answer for this, Ben continued. "Well, gotta go, Abdul. We'll be listening for you to make some calls, so if you need to talk to me again, just use that phone in your hand. Bye-bye."

266.

Just as Farrar slammed the cover of the flip-phone shut, cutting off the connection to Ben Raines, the phone in John Waters's pocket buzzed.He glanced at Farrar and shrugged as he pulled it out of his pocket and answered it.

"h.e.l.lo, this is John," he said.

"John, this is Sam Jenkens," a voice said.

Sam Jenkens was a friend of Waters and one of his closest cohorts in the Freedom Fighters of America.

"Hi, Sam. What can I do for you?" Waters asked, wondering why Jenkens was bothering him when he knew he was in a strategy meeting with the Arabs.

"Are you watching TV?" Jenkens asked.

Waters sighed. "No, Sam. I'm really very busy right now. I don't have time for . . ."

"Make time for this," Jenkens insisted. "They've got one of Farrar's head men on the tube and he's spilling his guts."

"Oh, s.h.i.t," Waters said, hanging up the phone without bothering to say good-bye.

He walked to a television set in the corner of the room and flipped it on.

"John, is something wrong?" Farrar asked.

"That was one of my men. He says they've got one of your men on the TV and he's talking."

267.

267.

Farrar, Osama bin Araman, and Mustafa Kareem joined Waters in front of the television set.

As the picture flickered and then cleared, a picture of Ach-med Sharif appeared. It was a close-up, showing only his face and upper chest, but he.looked strange. He was talking in a weird monotone and his eyes were half-shut, as if he were talking in his sleep.

"What's wrong with him?" Waters asked.

Farrar's heart sank. He'd seen this sort of reaction many times. In fact, he'd caused it himself when questioning dissidents in his home country.

"He is being drugged," Farrar said, as if to himself. "They are using chemical means to make him talk."

"Who is it?" Waters asked, looking at the three Arabs.

"That is Achmed Sharif, the commander of my western forces," Farrar answered, his eyes staying glued to the screen as an off-screen voice could be heard asking questions, which Sharif was answering.

"And, so you say your leader, Abdullah El Farrar, has enlisted the aidof American traitors in his takeover bid for the United States?" the voice asked.

"Yes," Sharif answered. "They call themselves Freedom Fighters of America."

"s.h.i.t!" Waters exclaimed. This was not good. He didn't want his organization's name plastered all over the television for everyone to hear.

"And why would Americans agree to help you foreigners take over their own country?" the voice asked.

"El Farrar has promised their leaders a voice in the new government. He told them they would be allowed to share the leadership of the country if they helped him overthrow President Osterman and her regime."

"So, these FFA traitors will be allowed to govern the country they betrayed?"

Sharif moved his head slowly from side to side. "No. El Farrar is lying to them to get their help. He has plans to 268.

dispose of them once he has control of the country. El Farrar will share command with no one."

"That means the FFA turncoats are not only traitors, they are stupid p.a.w.ns of El Farrar in his invasion?"

"Yes," Sharif said.

"And they are to be disposed of, you say?"

"Killed," Sharif answered. "Just as soon as Osterman and her forces have been defeated."

The image cleared and a picture of Claire Osterman sitting behind her desk came on the screen.

She smiled and spread her hands. "There you have it, my fellow Americans, from the terrorist's own mouth. I have an offer to make to these so-called FFA men, traitors though they are. If you lay down your arms immediately and quit helping the terrorists, you will be forgiven for your treason by your government. Once the terrorist invaders are killed or driven from our sh.o.r.es, there will be nothing further said about your involvement with them."

Waters turned to glare at Farrar and his men even as Claire continued.

"However, if you persist in your misguided efforts, once the Arabs are defeated, and defeated they will surely be, you will all be hanged as traitors, along with any of your friends and family members who knew of your treachery and didn't inform on you."

She leaned closer into the camera until only her face was visible, her eyes as hard as flint.