Sahara (57 page)

The desert became a caldron of noise and flame as both aircraft exploded into simultaneous eruptions of fire. The jet fighter, now a bright orange ball, continued its descending attack angle in a straight line as if pulled by a string until it plunged into the ground, throwing fiery pieces of debris in a great fan across the uncaring desert. The airbus was no longer a plane, just a great mass of flame that licked toward an oily smoke cloud that rose in a huge column into the sky, effectively shutting out the stars.

Mesmerized, Pitt watched what only seconds ago were two solid, intact aircraft. Now he saw only fire and destruction. He and Levant climbed out of the assault vehicle and were riveted where they stood. In the blazing glow of the fiery devastation, Pitt saw the bitter expression of defeat in Levant’s face.

“Dammit!” Levant cursed. “This was exactly what I was afraid would happen. Now we’re trapped without a chance of rescue.”

“Kazim will soon suspect a foreign force has reinvaded his territory,” Pitt added severely. “He’ll order his entire air force to Tebezza. Then your backup helicopters will be shot to pieces before they can rendezvous.”

“There’s no alternative but to make a run for the border,” Levant conceded.

“We’d never see it. Even if Kazim’s planes failed to use us for target practice or his security forces missed dropping across our path and attacking us every step of the way, your vehicles will run out of gas long before we reach a relief force. A few of your toughest commandos might get through, but those poor souls you rescued from death in the mines will surely die in the desert. I know, I’ve been that route.”

“You were forced to go east toward the Trans-Saharan Track,” Levant reminded Pitt. “That was close to 400 kilometers. If we head due north, we only have to travel 240 kilometers before crossing into Algeria and meeting up with a relief force from Algiers. Our fuel is ample for the distance.”

“You’re forgetting Kazim and Massarde have high stakes in the Tebezza mines,” said Pitt, looking directly at Levant. “They’ll do whatever is necessary to keep the secret of their atrocities from discovery.”

“You think they would strike us in Algeria—”

“Your rescue operation has forced them to become desperate men,” Pitt interrupted. “A little thing like a national border won’t stop them from ordering air strikes into a desolate section of Algeria. Once your force is softened up and the rescue craft is destroyed or driven away, they’ll follow up by dropping in their elite security forces to ensure our total annihilation. They can’t afford even one survivor to escape and unveil their inhuman activities.”

Levant turned from the destruction, his face glowing orange from the fire, and stared at Pitt. “You don’t sanction my contingency plans?”

“I have an aversion to pursuing the expected.”

“Are you being cryptic, Mr. Pitt, or merely modest?”

“Practical,” Pitt answered briefly. “I have every reason to believe Kazim won’t pull back at the border.”

“What do you propose?” Levant asked patiently.

“Head south until we intersect with the railroad out of Fort Foureau,” Pitt answered briefly. “Then hijack a train to Mauritania. If we play our cards right, Kazim won’t catch on until we reach Port Etienne and the sea.”

“Into the lion’s den,” Levant muttered skeptically. “You make it sound absurdly simple.”

“The ground between here and the Fort Foureau hazardous waste project is mostly flat desert with occasional sand dunes. If we maintain an average speed of 50 kilometers an hour, we can reach the railroad before sunup with fuel to spare.”

“Then what? We’d be exposed from every side.”

“We hide out in an old Foreign Legion fort until dark before stopping and hiding everyone on an outward-bound train.”

“The original Fort Foureau. It was abandoned just after World War II. I visited it once.”

“The same.”

“We’d be tempting suicide without a guide to lead us through the dunes,” Levant argued.

“One of the rescued captives is a professional tourist guide. He knows the Malian desert like a nomad.”

Levant turned his attention back on the burning airbus for several moments, his mind considering the pros and cons of Pitt’s proposal. If he could trade places with General Kazim, he would expect his quarry to run north for the nearest border crossing too. And he would also commit all his mobile fighting forces in an attempt to block them off. Pitt was right, he concluded. There was absolutely no hope of escaping north into Algeria. Kazim would never call off the pursuit until they were all dead. Striking out in the opposite direction just might fool the General and Massarde into a wild goose chase long enough for the tactical team to steal into the clear.

“I didn’t tell you, did I, Mr. Pitt? I spent eight years in the desert when I was a member of the Foreign Legion.”

“No, Colonel, you didn’t.”

“The nomads have a fable about a lion with a hunter’s spear in his side that walked north from the jungle and swam across the Niger River so he could die in the warm sand of the desert.”

“Is there a lesson in it somewhere?” asked Pitt vaguely.

“Not really.”

“So what’s the meaning?”

Levant turned as the personnel vehicles approached and stopped beside the dune buggy. Then he looked back at Pitt and slowly smiled. “What it means is that I’m going to trust your judgment and push south to the railroad.”

48

Kazim entered Massarde’s office at eleven o’clock in the evening. He helped himself to a gin on the rocks and sat down in a chair before Massarde bothered to look up and acknowledge the General’s presence.

“I was informed of your unexpected arrival, Zateb,” said Massarde. “What brings you to Fort Foureau this time of night?”

Kazim studied his drink as he swirled the ice cubes. “I thought it best I tell you in person.”

“Tell me what?” Massarde inquired impatiently.

“Tebezza has been raided.”

Massarde frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“About nine o’clock, my communications section received an emergency alert from the mine’s security system,” explained Kazim. “A few minutes later, the Tebezza radio operator announced an all-clear, saying the alarm went off due to a faulty electrical circuit.”

“Sounds innocent enough.”

“Only on the surface. I do not trust seemingly innocent situations. I ordered one of my air force fighters to make a reconnaissance flight over the area. The pilot radioed that an unidentified jet transport plane was sitting on Tebezza’s airstrip. The same type of French airbus, I might add, that snatched the American from the Gao airport.”

Massarde’s face turned sober with sudden concern. “Your pilot was positive of this?”

Kazim nodded. “Since no aircraft can land at Tebezza without my authority, I ordered my pilot to destroy it. He acknowledged and launched his attack. He reported a hit on the target in almost the same instant his radio went dead.”

“Good God, man, it could have been a commercial airliner that simply made an emergency landing.”

“Commercial airliners do not fly the skies without markings.”

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“Then explain why my pilot did not return to his base.”

“Mechanical malfunction?” Massarde shrugged. “He could have suffered any number of problems.”

“I prefer to believe he was shot down by the force that raided the mines.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Nonetheless, I’ve ordered a fighter squadron over the area and sent in an elite security force by helicopter to check out the situation.”

“What of O’Bannion?” asked Massarde. “Hasn’t he contacted you?”

“No response, nothing. Forty minutes after they denied an emergency, all communication with Tebezza went silent.”

Massarde mulled over Kazim’s report, but was lost for answers. “Why raid the mines?” he asked finally. “For what purpose?”

“Most likely the gold,” Kazim replied.

“Stupid to steal ore. We remove all pure gold to our South Pacific depository as soon as it’s processed. The last shipment was two days ago. A band of thieves with half a brain between them would attempt to hijack it during transport.”

“For the moment, I have no theories,” Kazim confessed. He held up his watch. “My forces should be landing on the plateau above the mines about now. We’ll have answers within the hour.”

“If what you say is true, something strange is happening,” Massarde murmured.

“We have to consider the possibility that the same United Nations commando team that struck my air force base in Gao is responsible for the raid on Tebezza.”

“Gao was a different operation. Why return and strike Tebezza? Under whose orders?”

Kazim finished off his gin and poured another. “Hala Kamil? Perhaps word leaked out about the abduction of Dr. Hopper and his party. So she sent in her tactical team to rescue them.”

“Impossible,” said Massarde, shaking his head. “Unless your men talked.”

“My men know they would die if they betrayed my trust,” Kazim said coldly. “If there was a leak, it came from your end.”

Massarde gave Kazim a benign stare. “Stupid of us to argue. We can’t alter the past, but we
can
control the future.”

“In what way?”

“You said your pilot claimed a hit on the airliner.”

“His final words.”

“Then we can assume the raiding party’s only means of escape from Mali has been eliminated.”

“Providing damage to their aircraft was severe enough.”

Massarde rose and turned to face a large plaster contour map of the Sahara that stretched on the wall behind his desk. “If you were in command of the raiders and your plane was destroyed, how would you see your situation?”

“All but hopeless.”

“What are your options?”

Kazim came over and tapped his glass against the plaster map. “There are no options but one. Cut and run for the Algerian border.”

“Can they make it?” asked Massarde.

“Assuming their vehicles are intact and fueled, they should be able to cross over into Algeria sometime around dawn.”

Massarde looked at him. “Can you catch and destroy them before they reach the border?”

“Our night fighting systems are limited. I might shave them down a bit, but to wipe them out I would need daylight.”

“Then you will be too late.”

Kazim took a cigar from a ceramic humidor, lit it, and sipped from his gin. “Let us be practical. We’re looking at the Tanezrouft, the most desolate and remote part of the Sahara. The Algerian military rarely sends a patrol into the uninhabited region along the border. And why should they. They have no quarrel with Mali, and we have none with them. My security forces can easily strike 100 miles inside our northern neighbor without detection.”

Massarde looked sharply at Kazim. “Should it turn out to be a rescue mission by the UN forces, none of Hopper’s people or my engineers and their families can be allowed to escape. If only one gets through to expose Fort Foureau or Tebezza, you and I are finished as business partners.”

The beginnings of a smile widened across the General’s face. “Not to worry yourself, Yves my friend. We have too good a thing going to allow a few prying samaritans to pull the rug from under us. I promise you that by tomorrow at noon they will all be carrion for the vultures, every last one of them.”

After Kazim had left, Massarde spoke briefly into his intercom. A few seconds later Ismail Yerli entered the room.

“You heard and observed on the monitor?” asked Massarde.

Yerli nodded. “Amazing the man can be so cunning and yet so stupid at the same time.”

“You read Kazim quite accurately. You can see you won’t have an easy time keeping a leash on him.”

“When does he expect me to join his entourage?”

“I’ll introduce you this evening at a dinner party I’m hosting in honor of President Tahir.”

“With the situation at Tebezza in a critical stage, isn’t Kazim too occupied to show?”

Massarde smiled. “The great lion of Mali is never too busy to attend an elegant dinner put on by a Frenchman.”

Sitting in his small command center office in the UN building in New York, General Bock read the report relayed by a United Nations communications satellite by Colonel Levant. There was a grave expression on his aging face as he picked up a secure phone and called Admiral Sandecker’s private number. The Admiral’s answering machine beeped and Bock left a terse message. Sandecker was back to him within eight minutes.

“I’ve just received an unpleasant report from Colonel Levant,” Bock announced.

“What’s the situation?” Sandecker asked flatly.

“Aircraft of the Malian air force destroyed their transport plane on the ground. They are cut off and trapped.”

“What of the rescue operation at the mine?”

“It went off as planned. All foreign nationals still alive were placed under medical care and evacuated. Levant reported his casualties as light.”

“Are they currently under attack?”

“Not as yet. But it is only a matter of hours before forces of General Kazim close in.”

“Do they have an optional escape route?”

“The Colonel was quite clear in stating their only hope lay in reaching the Algerian border before daylight.”

“Not much of a choice,” Sandecker said grimly.

“I suspect it was a red herring.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He sent his report over an open frequency. Kazim’s communications operators were sure to pick it up.”

Sandecker paused to take notes. “You think Colonel Levant is heading on a different tack than he advertised?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” said Bock.

“Clairvoyance is not one of my strong points.”

“There was a message to you in Levant’s report from your man, Pitt.”

“Dirk.” There was sudden warmth in Sandecker’s voice, and a touch of reverence. Leave it to Pitt to come up with an unthinkable scheme. “What is the message?”

“It reads, ‘Tell the Admiral that when I return to Washington, I’ll take him to see Harvey’s girlfriend Judy sing at the AT&S saloon.’ Is this a crude joke, or what?”

“Dirk is not known for crude jokes,” Sandecker said definitely. “He’s trying to tell us something with some sort of riddle.”