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"No word yet. Hala was heavily sedated when she was carried from the hospital at Thule. But she'll go along when she learns of our operation to safeguard her arrival at the U.N.
headquarters to address the opening session of the General Assembly. A reliable source close to her says she plans on making a scathing indictment of Yazid, exposing him as a religious charlatan and offering proof of his underground terrorist activities."
"I've read a report from the same source," Schiller admitted.
"Five days until the opening session," said Nichols. "Yazid will pull out all stops to blow her away."
"She's got to be kept on ice until she steps to the podium," Schiller said, deadly serious.
"She's safe," said Nichols. "any word from the Egyptian government on your end?"
"President Hasan is giving us his full cooperation regarding Kantil.
He's scratching every hour he can buy or steal to launch his new economic reforms and replace military leaders with men he can trust.
Hala Kantil is the only thread preventing Yazid from attempting a quick grab for the Egyptian government. If Yazid's assassins stop her before her speech goes out over world news satellite channels, there is a real danger of Egypt becoming another Iran before the monday is out."
"Relax, Yazid won't get wise to the scam until it's too late," said Nichols confidentially.
"I assume she is under heavy guard?"
"By a top team of Secret Service agents. The President is personally keeping a tight grip on the operation."
Schiller's wife knocked on the door and spoke loudly from the other side. "Steaks are ready, Julius."
"In a minute," he answered.
Nichols picked up on the exchange. "That's all I have for now. I'll let you get back to your steaks."
"I'd feel better if the FBI was lending a hand," said Schiller.
"The White House security staff has considered every contingency. The President thought it best to keep all intelligence within a tight circle."
Schiller paused pensively for a moment. Then he said, "Don't screw it up, Dale."
"Not to worry. I promise, Hala Kamil will arrive at the U.N. building in New York in pristine condition and full of fire."
"She'd better."
"Does the sun set in the west?"
Schiller set down the phone. He had an uneasy feeling. He hoped to God the White House knew what it was doing.
Across the street three men sat in the back of a Ford van with "Capitol Plumbing, 24-hour emergency service" painted on the panels. The cramped interior was crowded with electronic eavesdropping equipment.
Tedium had set in five hours ago. Surveillance is perhaps the most boring job since watching rails rust. One man smoked and the other two didn't and couldn't stand the stale air. All were stiff and cold.
Former counterespionage agents, they had resigned to become independent contractors.
Most retired agents occasionally take on an outside job for the government, but these three were among the very few who respected money more than patriotic duty, and they sold what ever classified information they could ferret out to the highest bidder. '
One of them, a blond, scarecrow type, peered through binoculars out a tinted window at Schiller's house. "He's leaving the study."
The fat man hunched over a recording machine with earphones nodded in agreement. "All talk has ceased."
The , man had a great waxed handlebar mustache, operated a laser parabolic, a sensitive microphone that received voice sounds inside a room from the vibrations on a windowPane, and then magnified them through fiber optics onto a sound channel.
"Anything interesting?" asked the skinny blond.
