"A C-17's about two hours behind me. I'm going to use that."

"So all you want to do is fly to Jiddah?"

"And back here."

Again, the slim man thought over what he had heard.

"Is that somehow disturbing to you?" McNab asked.

"Why was the airplane stolen? Do you know, can you tell me?"

"I can tell you that we think it was stolen by a Somalian group who call themselves the 'Holy Legion of Muhammad.' "

"Never heard of them," the slender man said. " Somalian?"

"Neither had we, Your Royal Highness," McNab said. "There are two possible scenarios, neither with much to support them. The first is that they intend to crash it into the ka'ba in Mecca:"

"That's absurd!"

"It sounds absurd, Your Royal Highness, but, on the other hand, the airplane-if it is in Abeche-is within range of Mecca."

"The Holy Legion of Muhammad?" the slim man repeated and then raised his voice and called, "Satu!"

The bearded colonel walked quickly to them.

"Your Highness?"

"One moment," the slim man said. "And the other scenario, General?"

"That they intend to crash it into the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia," McNab said.

"I don't know what that means."

"In Philadelphia, where our Founding Fathers signed our Declaration of Independence, is Constitution Hall:"

"I know about Constitution Hall," the slim man said. "I've actually been there, as a matter of fact. But what's that got to do with a bell?"

"Immediately adjacent to it, Your Royal Highness, is the Liberty Bell. It has a certain emotional, historical significance to Americans. Much like Constitution Hall itself."

"I wonder why the Holy Legion of Muhammad would be interested," the slim man said. "For that matter, I wonder how they even heard of it. What do we know about these people, Satu?"

"What people, Your Highness?"

"The Holy Legion of Muhammad," the slim man said, impatiently. "They're Somalis."

"I never heard of them, Your Highness."

"To answer your question, General," the slim man said, "yes, I find this disturbing. I will have to ask a certain member of my family how to proceed. But in the meantime, I think you should ask Tommy to begin the chameleon process."

"Thank you, sir."

"You and I will go to the officers' mess for breakfast," the slim man said. "Colonel Ben-Satu will stay here long enough to ensure that Tommy has whatever he needs. Then he finds out what he can about the Holy Legion of Muhammad and brings that information to the mess."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Tommy!" the slim man raised his voice.

"Coming, sir!" Lieutenant Colonel Thomas said as he started at a trot toward them.

"Yes, sir?"

"How many men do you have with you?"

"Counting the Air Force, Your Highness:"

"Yes, by all means, let's count the Air Force," the slim man said.

"Fifteen, sir. That includes the general and me."

"Good. Let's count you two as well," the slim man said. "I will have the mess send breakfast for thirteen here. When you believe your chameleon operation is sufficiently under way, you might wish to join General McNab and me at the mess. I'll leave a car for you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Tommy, please make sure that none of your men leave the hangar for any purpose."

"Yes, sir."

"Colonel Ben-Satu will ensure that you have whatever you need."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"Shall we go, Scotty?" the slim man said.

There were three identical black Mercedes 320L sedans outside the hangar. One of them took the slim man and McNab to the officers' mess, a long, sand-colored building near the flight line.

The twenty-odd officers in the dining room rose as one man when someone spotted the slim man, who immediately waved them back into their chairs.

He led McNab to a table in the corner of the room.

"Order fried eggs, potatoes, toast, and coffee for me, please," the slim man said. "I have a couple of calls to make."

Then he walked out of the room.

Ten minutes later, he came back into the dining room. All of the officers-now including McNab and Thomas-rose to their feet and were immediately waved back into them by the slim man.

"That was quick, Tommy," the slim man said as he sat down.

"They don't need me to help with the plane, sir," Thomas said. "I'm just in the way."

A waiter delivered three plates of fried eggs, potatoes, and toast.

"That fellow we were talking about earlier, Scotty?" the slim man said.

"Yes, sir?"

"He doesn't believe either of your scenarios, either, but he thinks that looking into it is a very good idea."

"Thank you, Your Royal Highness."

"And, of course, he is pleased to be of some small service to an old friend," the slim man said. "He asked me tell you that."

"I'm honored that he thinks of me as an old friend," McNab said.

"I'm sure he does, but I believe he was talking of our countries," the slim man said. "Did you know, Tommy, that Morocco was the first nation to recognize the U.S.? Even before it was the U.S. In 1777?"

"No, Your Highness. I didn't know that," Lieutenant Colonel Thomas confessed.

"My own history is a little fuzzy. But I think your seat of government was then in Philadelphia."

"I believe it was," McNab said.

"And was this bell-the 'Liberty Bell,' you said? Was that in Philadelphia at the time? And, if so, what is the connection?"

"Your Highness, I am more than a little ashamed to say I have no idea," General McNab confessed. "It probably was but I just don't know."

The slim man waved a finger at General McNab.

"That is terrible," he said.

[THREE]

Royal Air Force Base

Menara, Morocco

1220 9 June 2005

A red-and-yellow tug pulled what three hours earlier had been U.S. Air Force C-22 tail number 6404 from the hangar.

What the slim man had called "the chameleon process" had been completed twenty minutes before.

Plastic decalcomania had been applied to the fuselage with just enough adhesive to hold them in place for a short time. There were now green and red stripes running from the nose to the tail down both sides of the 727's fuselage. The words ROYAL AIR MAROC now appeared from just aft of the flight compartment windows rearward. There was now a red shooting star on both sides of the vertical stabilizer. Beneath it, in the largest letters of all, were the initials RAM in red.

Once everything had been stuck in place, the decalcomania had been sprayed with a very expensive clear, quick-drying paint. It was by no means permanent, but tests had shown it would stand up to fifty hours of high-speed flight at altitude, thirty-six hours in the sun at 120 degrees Fahrenheit, and forty-eight hours at-20 degrees Fahrenheit.

It was not believed the paint was going to have to last anywhere near that long. Within thirty-six hours, at the most, it was hoped that Royal Air Maroc 905, now named Rabat, would be back in the hangar at Menara, where it would be sprayed with a solvent even more expensive than the paint. The solvent would in a matter of minutes chemically attack the paint and permit both the paint and the decalcomania to be removed in a very short time.

The engines were started and Rabat taxied to the threshold of the runway, and-having been cleared to do so-turned onto the runway without stopping and lifted off.

The Royal Air Force controller in the tower informed Casablanca Area Control that RAM 905 was off the ground at two-five past the hour, destination Jiddah, Saudi Arabia.

At that precise moment, Major Carlos G. Castillo pushed his way through the circular door of the Warwick Hotel in Philadelphia and took the few steps down to Locust Street.

[FOUR]

The Warwick Hotel