Free Cloudburst by Ryne Pearson Page A

came to Al-‘Adiyat to become proficient at their craft. To help them, there was a teacher.
    Did they not receive my warning? Did they not believe me?
    Captain Muhadesh Algar felt the warmth fading from his back as he pondered what had happened. He swiveled his chair around to face the open window. There was a glow on the horizon from the sun, and to the north the lights of Benghazi would soon start to overcome the approaching desert night. Very far away something was happening in America. He wondered what. He had tried to warn them.
    “Captain Algar.”
    Muhadesh swung around. It was Indar. “Lieutenant.”
    “I knocked, sir, but you did not answer.”
    The wormlike lieutenant may have knocked, Muhadesh thought, but probably not. A father on the Revolutionary Council could get you any job, and protect you from losing it, even if you were a tactless incompetent. “What is it, Indar?”
    “Sir, the new group scheduled to arrive tomorrow has been canceled.”
    “On whose authority?”
    “Colonel Hajin,” Indar answered, swallowing hard. His job was safe, but Captain Algar’s wrath was legendary, especially of late he was told.
    Muhadesh pulled himself up to the desk. The lieutenant stood at perfect attention before his commander, his hands folded left over right behind his back, just as prescribed in the regulations. In appearance he was a fine officer. Every crease in his green uniform was straight and crisp, his hair was trimmed in the fashion of a recruit, close to the skull, and his face was shaved as close as close could be. He was attentive to detail, as expected, and followed every order exactly. But the orders are not always mine, Indar. You listen too well to others.
    “I see,” Muhadesh replied calmly. He opened the top center drawer of his metal desk and removed his writing paper.
    “Sir?” Indar was at a loss. His commander was accepting this too easily.
    “Do not worry, Lieutenant,” Muhadesh said, looking up at his young assistant. Twenty-five and a lieutenant in the Training Battalion. My battalion! “Colonel Hajin must have his reasons. Good reasons. You show too much concern for an executive lieutenant, Indar. Others better equipped than we to understand situations make these decisions, and we obey. Of course I am not happy with the loss of a group, but it has happened before. Maybe the Americans are in an excited state after the death of their president and are thinking, once again, of taking vengeance upon us. Colonel Hajin would surely not want a group of our revolutionary brothers caught in a raid by the devil Americans. We are a target, after all.” Indar began to smile with understanding. That was the one nice thing about the lieutenant: He bought the revolutionary hogwash without question. “So go about your duties. I will deal with the developments.”
    “Yes, sir!” Indar saluted enthusiastically, a smile spreading across his narrow face. The commander would surely let Colonel Hajin know what he thought about the cancellation of this month’s class. Captain Algar was a master of the venomous pen. Indar could only imagine what his commander would write in his message to the high-and-mighty Hajin in Tripoli.
    He did imagine, but he was wrong. Hajin, Colonel Muhammar Qaddafi’s personal aide and a man of considerable power, would receive no letter from Muhadesh—he would receive a visit. The written message was going elsewhere.
    Benina Airport, Benghazi
    The last of the daylight had touched the ceiling of the hangar through the slightly parted sliding doors a few minutes before. The three men who were in the hangar did not notice this, as the powerful overhead lights created their own sense of day and night as they were turned on or off. They were all ready and waiting to begin what they had prepared for. There had been many months of training in a place near where all three had grown up, though it was not their home. It could not be. Only one place could be their home. One day it