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“I don’t know what that means.”
“In Philadelphia, where our Founding Fathers signed our Declaration of Independence, is Constitution Hall . . .”
“I know about Constitution Hall,” the slim man said. “I’ve actually been there, as a matter of fact. But what’s that got to do with a bell?”
“Immediately adjacent to it, Your Royal Highness, is the Liberty Bell. It has a certain emotional, historical significance to Americans. Much like Constitution Hall itself.”
“I wonder why the Holy Legion of Muhammad would be interested,” the slim man said. “For that matter, I wonder how they even heard of it. What do we know about these people, Satu?”
“What people, Your Highness?”
“The Holy Legion of Muhammad,” the slim man said, impatiently. “They’re Somalis.”
“I never heard of them, Your Highness.”
“To answer your question, General,” the slim man said, “yes, I find this disturbing. I will have to ask a certain member of my family how to proceed. But in the meantime, I think you should ask Tommy to begin the chameleon process. ”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You and I will go to the officers’ mess for breakfast,” the slim man said. “Colonel Ben-Satu will stay here long enough to ensure that Tommy has whatever he needs. Then he finds out what he can about the Holy Legion of Muhammad and brings that information to the mess.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Tommy!” the slim man raised his voice.
“Coming, sir!” Lieutenant Colonel Thomas said as he started at a trot toward them.
“Yes, sir?”
“How many men do you have with you?”
“Counting the Air Force, Your Highness . . .”
“Yes, by all means, let’s count the Air Force,” the slim man said.
“Fifteen, sir. That includes the general and me.”
“Good. Let’s count you two as well,” the slim man said. “I will have the mess send breakfast for thirteen here. When you believe your chameleon operation is sufficiently under way, you might wish to join General McNab and me at the mess. I’ll leave a car for you.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Tommy, please make sure that none of your men leave the hangar for any purpose.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Colonel Ben-Satu will ensure that you have whatever you need.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Shall we go, Scotty?” the slim man said.
There were three identical black Mercedes 320L sedans outside the hangar. One of them took the slim man and McNab to the officers’ mess, a long, sand-colored building near the flight line.
The twenty-odd officers in the dining room rose as one man when someone spotted the slim man, who immediately waved them back into their chairs.
He led McNab to a table in the corner of the room.
“Order fried eggs, potatoes, toast, and coffee for me, please,” the slim man said. “I have a couple of calls to make.”
