Wiggins watched two missiles rise up on his radar screen, and he hoped these Soviet-made pieces of junk really couldn't track them at their speed and altitude. A few seconds later, Wiggins visually spotted the two missiles off their starboard side streaking upward into the night sky with their fiery tails burning red and orange.

Satherwaite commented dryly, "A waste of expensive rocket fuel."

It was Wiggins' turn not to reply. He was, in fact, finally speechless. In total contrast, Satherwaite was now chatty and was going on about the shape of the coastline and the city of Tripoli and other inconsequential matters. Wiggins wanted to tell him to shut up and fly.

They crossed over the coast and below them lay Tripoli. Satherwaite noted that despite the air raid in progress, the streetlights were still on. "Idiots." He caught a glimpse of the Arch of Marcus Aurelius and said to Wiggins, "There's your arch. Nine o'clock."

But Wiggins had lost interest in history and concentrated on the moment. "Turn."

Satherwaite peeled out of the formation and began his run-in toward Al Azziziyah. "How do you say that word?"

"What?"

"Where we're going."

Wiggins felt sweat forming around his neck as he divided his attention between the instruments, the radar, and the visuals outside his windscreen. "Holy shit! Triple-A!"

"Are you sure? I thought it was Al-something."

Wiggins didn't like or appreciate Satherwaite's sudden cockpit humor. He snapped back, "Al Azziziyah. What fucking difference does it make?"

"Right," Satherwaite replied. "Tomorrow they'll call it rubble." He laughed.

Wiggins laughed, too, despite the fact that he was scared out of his mind. Arcs of anti-aircraft tracers cut through the black night much too close to their aircraft. He couldn't believe he was actually being shot at. This really sucked. But it was also a rush.

Satherwaite said, "Al Azziziyah, dead-on. Ready."

"Rubble," replied Wiggins. "Rubble, rubble, toil and trouble. Ready to release. Fuck you, Moammar."

CHAPTER 16

Asad Khalil's heart almost stopped. "Yes… yes, over here." He asked quietly, "Are you alone?"

"Of course." Bahira walked toward his voice, then saw him kneeling on the prayer rug.

"Stay low," he whispered hoarsely.

She crouched below the parapet as she moved toward him, then knelt on the prayer rug in front of him. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. But you are late."

"I had to avoid the guards. The Great Leader-"

"Yes, I know." Asad Khalil looked at Bahira in the moonlight. She was wearing the flowing white robe that was a young woman's customary garment in the evenings, and she also wore her veil and scarf. She was three years older than he and had reached an age when most women in Libya were married or betrothed. But her father had turned down many suitors, and the most ardent of them had been exiled from Tripoli. Asad Khalil knew that if his own father were alive, the families would certainly have agreed to a marriage between Asad and Bahira. But though his father was a hero and a martyr, the fact was that he was dead and the Khalil family had little status except as favored pensioners of the Great Leader. Of course, there was a connection between the Great Leader and Asad's mother, but that was a hidden sin and of no help.

They knelt facing each other and neither spoke. Bahira's eyes went to the Koran lying at the corner of the rug, then she seemed to notice the rug itself. She stared at Asad, whose look seemed to say, "If we are to commit the sin of fornication, what difference does it make if we also commit a blasphemy?"

Bahira nodded in agreement to the silent understanding.

Bahira Nadir took the initiative and pulled aside the veil that covered her face. She smiled, but Khalil thought it was more a smile of embarrassment at being without her veil, less than a meter away from a man.

She slid the scarf off her head and unfastened her hair, which fell in long curly strands over her shoulders.

Asad Khalil took a deep breath and stared into Bahira's eyes. She was beautiful, he thought, though he had little with which to compare. He cleared his throat and said to her, "You are very beautiful."

She smiled, reached out and took his hands in hers.

Khalil had never held the hands of a woman and was surprised at how small and soft Bahira's hands were. Her skin was warm, warmer than his, probably the result of her exertions in traveling the three hundred meters between her home and this place. He also noticed that her hands were dry, while his were moist. He moved closer to her on his knees and smelled now a flowered scent coming from her. He discovered as he moved that he was fully aroused.

Neither of them seemed to know what to do next. Finally, Bahira let go of his hands and began caressing his face. He did the same to her face. She moved closer to him and their bodies touched, then they embraced and he could feel her breasts beneath her robe. Asad Khalil was wild with desire, but a part of his brain was elsewhere-a primitive instinct was telling him to be alert.

Before he knew what was happening, Bahira had moved back and was unfastening her robe.

Khalil watched her and listened for signs of danger. If they were discovered now, they were dead. He heard her saying, "Asad. What are you waiting for?"

He looked at her kneeling before him. She was completely naked now and he stared at her breasts, then her pubic hair, then her thighs, and finally back at her face.

"Asad."

He pulled his short tunic over his head, then slipped his pants and undershorts down to his ankles and kicked them off.

She stared at his face, her eyes avoiding his erect penis, but then her eyes glanced downward at him.

Asad didn't know what to do next. He thought he would know-he understood the position they would assume, but he was not sure how to arrive at it.

Bahira again took the initiative and lay down on her back on the prayer mat, her garments beneath her head.

Asad nearly lunged forward and found himself on top of her and felt her firm breasts and warm skin beneath his own. He felt her legs parting and sensed the tip of his penis touching warm, wet flesh. In an instant, he was half inside her. She cried out softly in pain. He thrust further, past the resistance, and entered her fully. Before he could move, he felt her hips rise and fall, rise and fall, and between two heartbeats he released himself inside of her.

He lay motionless, catching his breath, but she continued the rising and falling of her hips, though Asad didn't know why she continued after he was satisfied. She started to moan and breathe heavily, then began saying his name, "Asad, Asad, Asad…"

He rolled off her and lay on his back looking at the night sky. The half-moon was setting in the west, the stars seemed dull over the lighted compound, a poor, pale imitation of the brilliant stars over the open desert.

"Asad."

He did not answer. His mind could not yet comprehend what he had just done.

She moved closer to him so that their shoulders and legs were touching, but the desire was gone in him.

She said, "Are you angry?"

"No." He sat up. "We should get dressed."

She sat up also and put her head on his shoulder.

He wanted to move away from her, but he didn't. Unhappy thoughts began to creep into his mind. What if she became pregnant? What if she wanted to do this again? The next time they would be caught for sure, or she would become pregnant. In either case, one or both of them might die. The law was not clear on some things, and it was usually the families that decided how the disgrace was to be dealt with. Knowing her father, he could imagine no mercy for either of them. For some reason that he couldn't comprehend, he blurted out, "My mother has been with the Great Leader."