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edly they had taken off on missions several times in the past week, but if so, Ali hadn’t seen the proof.

“I don’t need airplanes,” he said.

“Not even against the American ship?”

“They shouldn’t even attempt that. It could easily shoot them down. However—” Ali pitched his body forward. “The American Navy sometimes uses unarmed radar and electronics aircraft called Orions. Those would be easy targets for a fighter. There must be one operating somewhere in the Gulf of Aden, perhaps disguised as a civilian. If that were shot down, that would help me.”

The Saudi nodded thoughtfully.

“I can tell them the sort of radar signals to look for,” said Ali. “I will have a message delivered to the embassy.”

“Deliver it to Yemen as well.”

The air force in his native land was staffed entirely by cowards who would never act, but Ali told the Saudi he would do so before his first meal.

“Other ships will join you within a few days. Large, powerful ships that you can use. A vessel from Oman,” added the Saudi.

“Oman? From the corrupted government?”

“Brothers there are active. Details will be provided in the usual way.”

“A missile boat would be very useful.” Ali ran his hand over his chin. He needed fuel, food—those were the problems of a commander, more difficult to solve than the tactics of warfare.

“If you had everything you wished for,” said the Saudi,

“what would you do?”

“I would sink the enemy’s ships.”

“The one that killed your son?”

“Yes.”

“Is that the limit of your ambition?”

“I would sink every ship that I could find,” said Ali. “I would continue to obtain the tribute that is God’s so we SATAN’S TAIL

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could fight the only war. I would show the West that they are not the rulers of the world.”

The Saudi stared at him. His eyes were the eyes of a viper, black diamonds that missed nothing.

“What would you do with a submarine?” said Osama.

“A submarine?” Had anyone else made this suggestion, Ali would have thought it a joke—but the Saudi did not joke.

“A submarine would be very useful.”

“Friends in Libya who agree with our aim have volunteered to join you. The vessel has been sailing for many days. It had to go around Africa. We have been trying to get word to you in a way that the Americans and Jews could not intercept. Finally, I decided I must come myself.”

The Saudi told Ali that the submarine would arrive at a point ten miles due north of Boosaaso and surface at ten minutes past midnight on the morning of November 8. If no contact was made, he would surface the next night, and the next.

“They will surface every night to look for you. They will do so until they run out of fuel and food. If you do not come, they will destroy the first American warship they see. And then the next, and so on, until they have no more weapons to fire. Then they will crash their ship into the enemy, and commit their souls to Allah.”

“We will meet him,” said Ali. He was somewhat skeptical at the mention of Libya. The Libyan Navy had several submarines, all Russian vessels that the Italian navy had tracked when they came out of port. These were Project 641 and 641B ships, members of the Foxtrot and Tango class, large, oceangoing submarines. Not quite as quiet as the Kilo class of diesel-powered export submarines, they were still potent ships—but only if properly maintained and manned. In his experience, the Libyan vessels were neither.

“There is one other matter of interest,” said the Saudi.

Ali understood that this was meant to be the condition for the largesse Osama had brought. He listened without emotion as the Saudi told him that God’s plans were immense, 70

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and the war against Satan immeasurable from a human perspective. Personal feelings could have no place in it. Only after this lengthy preface did he get to the heart of the matter:

“Friends of ours have learned that a British aircraft carrier named the Ark Royal is due to sail through the Suez Canal at the beginning of next week. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course. It’s the pride of their fleet.”

“If the ship were to be sunk, it would be a major blow to the West. The British could not afford to replace her. Others would see what happens to those who work closely with the devil. The blow would be much mightier than any attack on a smaller ship, however great the lesser strike would be.”

“There will be many protections in place,” said Ali. It was clear that the Saudi knew nothing about sea matters; suggesting an attack on an aircraft carrier was foolhardy, even by a submarine. “Aircraft carriers sail with several other vessels and are watched constantly.”

“According to our Egyptian friends, the carrier is on a journey to India. Perhaps they will not be on their guard the entire distance.”

“Perhaps,” said Ali.

“The Egyptians will make much information available.

Some I do not entirely understand, I confess. They speak of three escorts, and an air arm at half strength.”

Three escorts would be standard—two optimized for air defense, one for submarine warfare. They were good ships, though certainly not unbeatable. The air arm probably referred to the carrier’s complement of Harrier jump jets; half strength might mean as few as four planes were aboard the carrier. Ali would have to find out; such a low number would limit patrols severely. The ship would also have helicopters for radar and antisubmarine work—potentially more of a problem than the Harriers.

Was he thinking of attacking? Against such strong odds?

It would be suicidal.

He did not care for his own life now. Death would be welcome. And wouldn’t God see to it that he succeeded?

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The answer was obvious. This was an order from God; the Saudi was only a messenger.

During his time with the Italian destroyer Audace, one of their regular exercises had called for an attack on the flagship of the Italian fleet, the Giuseppe Garibaldi. The Garibaldi was somewhat smaller than the Ark Royal, displacing only about half the tonnage. In some ways it was much more capable, however—unlike the Ark Royal, it carried potent surface-to-surface missiles and torpedo launchers; even during the exercises when it was stripped of its escorts it held off Ali’s ship. In fact, it usually did better without escorts: There were never enough to properly screen against a surface attack if it was launched properly, but the carrier crews saw the other ships and believed they were well-protected. They were less than vigilant.

The attack would have to be orchestrated very carefully.

The surprising thing he had seen during the exercises was the ineptness of the flight crews when locating attacking ships. They trained almost exclusively to bombard land targets or combat submarines. The captain of Ali’s ship had dodged one patrol merely by identifying the ship as one of the carrier’s screening vessels. The vessel had been permitted to get close enough to launch its surface-to-surface missiles unscathed.

The commander had been reprimanded for his trickery; Ali thought he should have been commended. It was the pilot’s fault, after all; truly he should have been able to tell the difference.

If he could sink it—if he did sink it—wouldn’t that send a message that anyone who was friends with the Americans could be targeted? Wouldn’t the nations of the Middle East—the small ones especially, like Djibouti and Bahrain, but also the bigger ones, Egypt, Saudi Arabia—realize they weren’t safe?

Ali looked over at his visitor and found him smiling.

“You understand how truly majestic it would be,” said Osama. “I can see it in your face.”