Chapter 27

Lowe's counterpart, the Philippine National Security Advisor, was apologetic when he caught up to them at the former Clark Air Force Base. “We hadn't had any trouble with the Moros since the Change started. Unfortunately, it seems that they were only waiting for a larger opportunity.”

The wolf nodded. “Or perhaps they wished to sort out their own changelings first, General Garcia. The Muslims have not taken these events well, for the most part. I suppose it was too much to hope for that their more extreme elements would self-destruct.”

Garcia shrugged. “Still, for this to happen now, of all times? We are most grateful that you lent us your Storm Queen to help break up Typhoon Haiyan. The storm surge all by itself caused significant damage and without her aid, thousands might have died.”

Lowe shook her head. “That was nothing, sir. Our nations have ties of friendship and blood going back over a century. Of course we will help when we can.” She grinned, her ears perking forward as she did. “Besides, it isn't like we could have stopped Katlynn once she decided to do something about it.”

Garcia smiled. “She is a rather... forceful personality, true.” He turned more serious. “Now, thanks to your pilot's ability to tell us where the missiles came from, and the sixth team's foolishness in holding on to that last unfired Stinger when they ran, we were able to capture three of them. One of them is relatively uninjured.” He snorted. “By which I mean he is actually conscious. He does not seem eager to talk, but I am hopeful that we can change that soon enough. There is one odd thing, though. He said he was sent on the mission by 'the Holy One'. This is apparently something new.”

Lowe frowned. “That confirms things we've been hearing. Since the Event, the jihadists have been focusing closer to home, but there have been some new power centers developing among them. I wonder...”

The retired general did not miss the nuance. “You have a suspicion, Director?”

“Haroun Al-Ghul. Haroun the Demon. A rather unpleasant sorcerer from the last cycle of magic, based in central Africa. If he's managed to co-opt the al-Qaeda organization, it would explain a few things we've picked up in the last month. And he'd pretty much have to make at least a show of converting to Islam to do that. Might explain who this 'Holy One' is. I'll have my people go over the data and see what we can send to you, General. It might be very useful to pool our information on this issue.”

Garcia nodded. “Indeed it might.” He sighed. “The terrorists hate all of your kind, you know. And I have a grand-daughter who was changed like your pilot. I will not rest until she is safe from these lunatics.”

Lowe nodded. “As good a reason for cooperation as any, General. Will your government accept Japanese help in this matter?”

Garcia's face twisted in disgust. “If necessary. Why do you ask?”

The wolf chuckled. “Oh, I know. We were involved in that dust-up back in the forties as well. But their imperial family was not responsible for that, and it turns out...” She paused. “General, are you aware of the Immortals?”

Garcua shrugged, not committing himself to an answer. “We are aware of your public claims, of course, and some of the additional rumors. Why do you ask?”

“Some regions, some nations, have patron Immortals. Of those, some - like Haroun of Chad and Quetzalcoatl of Mexico - are dangerous to those they imagine to be threats. Others - Wei Lung of China comes to mind - are willing to accept that they do not need to be all-powerful. We Americans have Coyote, and Pele in Hawai'i, and the Eldest seems to have taken a liking to us as well. Japan...”

He nodded at what she didn't say. “Japan has such a patron, then?”

“They do. I have met with her. She has a peculiar sense of humor, but she is one of the friendlier of the Immortals. If you ask for Imperial assistance, you will get some very useful analysis. I suspect that she knows Haroun quite well from the last cycle. ”

He nodded. “Very well. For a good cause, we will do so.”

* * * *

Lowe watched the interrogation through one-way glass, her electronic familiar providing a running translation as she reached out with her empathic sense to monitor the terrorist's truthfulness. “So much hate and fear in this one, it is painful even to watch.”

Garcia eyed her, still uncomfortable with the revelation of her ability. “I am surprised they did not make you a diplomat, Director. One would think that your talent would be most effective there.”

She chuckled. “That would require that diplomats actually have emotions, General. The best ones control themselves too well to read easily, even for me. It is useful at times, but the President prefers to make use of my analytical abilities.” Her ears twitched forward. “Ah-hah. Now that was a lie...” She leaned forward to murmur into the pickup that the interrogator was listening to. “He does know where the safe house is, Captain. Press him on that.”

The prisoner clammed up when the interrogator asked again. Lowe chuckled into the microphone. “Fair enough, we can do it by twenty questions. Start by asking him if it's in Manila.” She waited for the question to be asked, then grinned at the flare of worry from the terrorist. “Now go through the districts. I'll let you know when we hit the right one, and then we'll go down a list of street names...” Five minutes later, they had the address. Lowe's smile was feral. “And now, General, you can send your people in. They'll probably be gone, but if they aren't, try to take prisoners.”

* * * *

“They were long gone, sir. But they did leave things behind. Our American friends are running down serial numbers on the weapons that we found.”

Garcia nodded, and passed on the information to Lowe. “As we expected. They may be fanatics, but aside from that, they are not stupid.”

“Not the ones who survive, at least.” Lowe was focused on her data-link, watching as it accessed the information being uploaded by the investigation and correlating it with other databases. “Ah, here we are. As I suspected. The weapons are listed as having been transferred to Egypt before Mubarak was ... persuaded to leave office. Inconclusive, I'm afraid. They could have been diverted to al Qaeda during the Muslim Brotherhood regime, or directly to Haroun since the Event. But either way - I think it is time that our embassies in the former central African countries opened discussions with him.”

* * * *

Chad - 12 DEC 2013

Ambassador James Knight watched the terrain with some interest as the small procession headed north out of N'Djamena. He had not had the opportunity to travel much in his new posting before the Event had disrupted things, the Muslim parts of the world even more than others in some ways. Some of the permanent staff had, though, and they had passed on their experience to him. One of them, Frank Cabell, rode with him now.

“Things have changed quite a bit in the last year, Ambassador. All the riverbeds north of Ngouri used to be dry. Now...?” He nodded to the green outside the window of the vehicle. “It's no wonder that General Deby barely controls the capitol these days. This Haroun fellow is taking credit for the water, and the people flock to him.”

Knight glanced over at Cabell. “Do you think he's really responsible for the rain?”

Cabell shrugged. “A year ago, I'd have laughed at the idea. Now...? It's possible. You've seen the stuff from DC - they think he's up there in the same league as the two we've nuked already.'

Knight shivered. “Let's hope this Haroun fellow is not as difficult.”

“First things first, sir. Let's see if he'll accept your credentials.”

* * * *

The roads were more or less open until they reached Nedely. The village was crowded with far more people than formerly lived there, and at the road north stood a barricade manned by a mixed group of former soldiers of the Army of Chad, paramilitary types who might have been affiliated with one of the terrorist groups at some point, and Bedouin who glared at the Americans with the suspicion of the paranoid. French turned out to be the nearest thing they all had to a common language, though there were pauses as the proceedings were translated for the Bedouin.

After the traditional pleasantries had been exchanged, the officer in charge of the checkpoint came to the point. “Why have you come here? Prince Haroun has not sent for any Americans.”

“We are here to seek an audience with him and, we hope, to establish an embassy. Haroun now leads the people of the desert, and so deserves the respect of the other great nations of the world. I certainly understand if you do not have the authority to pass us through - I was a soldier once myself - but we would appreciate it if you would pass on our request. We can wait here for a few days.”

The officer nodded. “That we can allow. Find a place, and we will send the message.”

* * * *

Haroun finished reading the message, and passed it to his major-domo. “What do you make of it, Mahmoud?”

Mahmoud read it quickly, and smiled. “It is as you foretold, my Prince. The Americans have come to you. They fear your power and seek to placate you.”

“I am not so sure of that, Mahmoud. They are a strange people. This message...” He flicked the paper that his aide was still holding. “It uses language that suggests fear, but they did not hesitate to destroy the Snake when he attacked them, and all my scrying tells me that they succeeded in killing the Kraken, which not even Poseidon could do.”

Mahmoud shook his head. “But why else would they humbly ask for audience and offer goods to you?”

“The latter, because they expect things in return. They do not think of this offer of aid as tribute, and from what I have learned of the time before my return, they are correct not to do so. It is not tribute – it is the bait in a trap. They have discovered a way to keep their vassals in check not by demanding tribute and keeping them weak, but by making them addicts to things that only they can supply. And they have a peculiar form of arrogance in their power, Mahmoud. They feel secure in their own power, and flatter those they consider lesser rulers by addressing them as equals or even superiors. Do not trust them, and do not be fooled by their words. Our people will no longer be their vassals, Mahmoud, and we will certainly not be fools who believe they are the masters when they are only puppets.”

“Then what will you do, my Prince? Will you send them away?”

“No. They may plot to entrap me, but they will not succeed in that. Instead, we will play along for now. I shall let them establish their embassy – as they say, we are now a power in the world, that much of their entreaty is honest, I believe – and learn more by keeping them close by. The time is not yet ripe to deal with them.”

* * * *

The vehicles became more and more temperamental as Ambassador Knight and his retinue traveled north, until the lead Escalade finally quit twenty miles from their destination. “I don't understand it, sir. Nothing appears to be wrong, but... the cylinders won't fire.”

Cabell nodded. “The same thing happened near Quetzalcoatl's lair, I understand. Too close, and machines stop working. I suspect that we're seeing the same sort of thing. And this one... all kinds of electronics under the hood, am I right?”

The driver nodded. “Right you are, Mr. Cabell.” He pointed at the elderly truck following at the end of the column. “That old diesel hasn't even hiccuped. But the only bit of electronics she has
is the radio.”

Knight sighed. “No point in going any further, then. If the truck fails, we won't even be able to tow the others back. We'll wait until nightfall and then walk the rest of the way, I guess. I wonder if this was something intentional...”

* * * *

Haroun smiled. “So the Change has different effects on some machines than others, Mahmoud. Do you know what these 'electronics' are that they speak of?”

The major-domo shook his head. “Not surely. The term refers to many things, from radios and televisions to computers. Apparently they cannot bear the Change.” He smiled. “And so the Great Satan will be brought down when their machines die. It is fitting.”

Haroun frowned. “Do not be so sure of this. They are clever with the mechanic arts, and they are making an effort to build machines which will work with the Change. Underestimating one's enemies is a good way to lose a battle, Mahmoud.”

“But surely they will be hurt by this?”

Haroun nodded. “Hurt, yes. But fatally so? No. Already they learn. Bare weeks after the Change, they were able to keep me from spying on their leaders.” He turned back to the mirror which showed the image of the Americans. “They have proven they know the desert well enough. Send them an escort, with horses enough for them to ride. We shall see how they fare without their tools.”