Desert Falcons

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Mustapha glanced at his own watch and then to the blank screen on his smartphone. It was almost dawn…time for morning prayers. Mustapha set down the king’s Rolex and completed the washing ritual. He then unrolled his prayer rug and placed it on the floor, facing Mecca. The Learjet had been in flight for more than nineteen hours. Barring any complications, they should be landing soon at their destination, half a world away. He would ask God for strength and guidance. He needed to hear from Mahfuj before sleep would come. Then, and only then, would he allow himself some rest.

He had just knelt to begin the prayer when the screen of his smartphone chimed with an incoming message.

God forgive me, he thought as he rose from the prayer rug and quickly checked the message. It was from Mahfuj.

Father, we have landed safely. I will meet Masoud later. All is well.

“Thanks be to God,” Mustapha murmured.

All is well, he thought. As time continues to march onward toward victory.

* * *

McCarran Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada

BOLAN AND GRIMALDI stood just inside the doorway of the private hangar and watched as suitcase after suitcase was unloaded from the cargo bay of the Learjet. In all, Bolan counted twenty-seven pieces of luggage. He wondered how many were in the prince’s entourage, and how many pieces of the luggage belonged to them.

“Looks like this dude doesn’t know the definition of traveling light,” Grimaldi said.

“Looks like,” Bolan replied. He was watching a tall man in a dark suit approaching them, talking into his left wrist as he walked.