Damya slit the tires on the Land Cruiser all over again. It had been stupid to forget the spares—and the Tuareg was angry with himself. Once the meteorite was secured Palmer grabbed his rifle and ran for the Volvo while the others piled into the Mog.
Two-minutes later both vehicles were gone as the rest of Naravas’ men arrived on foot. There was consternation as the bandits went from body-to-body followed by a common sense of disbelief. They were supposed to be predators not prey.
Having lost Naravas, leadership of the band devolved to a man named Amar, who knew how to use the dead chieftain’s satellite phone. The only type of communications device that one could rely upon in the vast Sahara. The ensuing conversation was both short and unpleasant. So Amar was glad when it was over. Still it was good to have instructions. Amar was in over his head and knew it. Orders were shouted—and work began.
***
The helicopter arrived shortly after first light. It circled the area twice, so Police Chief Jann could examine the spot where his half-brother had been killed, before putting down next to the encampment. A row of graves had been dug. Jann regretted the fact that Naravas and his son would be buried without the customary religious services, but the bodies would ripen quickly in the desert heat, and there was no way to transport them elsewhere.
Not to mention the fact that Jann had other issues to worry about. Not the Mog, which had never been of more than passing interest to the police chief, but what was on it.
Namely a load of weapons that had been promised to a Sudanese war lord. A man who would be very angry if the shipment went astray. So angry he might send his thugs north to punish Jann and his family as well. Which was why it was so important to find Guiscard, the American, and their Tuareg tracker
before
the threesome could sell the arms, dump them into a ravine, or Allah forbid, turn them into the government. The very entity from which they had been stolen in the first place.
So moments after the chopper touched down Jann was on the ground giving orders. “Get the tires out of the back! We could only bring four so that will have to do. Put them on the most roadworthy vehicle and depart immediately. We will find the motherless scum and hold them for you. So come quickly!”
Amar, who had every reason to both fear and respect the police chief, nodded obediently. “Yes,
effendi,
it shall be as you say.”
***
When the police helicopter located the two vehicle convoy it was on the
piste
, heading for the city of N’Djamena, where Guiscard planned to hand over the weapons to the authorities, while Palmer made arrangements to ship the Mongo Iron to the United States. But that plan was out the window as the EC-135 passed over the vehicles, executed a wide turn, and came straight at them.
Palmer, who was driving the Volvo, was thankful for his Ray-Bans as the Volvo’s windscreen exploded. The 7.62 X 39mm rounds missed him by inches as the aircraft passed over the Mog and subjected that vehicle to the same treatment.
“There’s a bridge ahead!” Guiscard announced, via the walkie-talkie laying on the seat next to Palmer. “Go
under
it. They can’t follow us there.”
The American stared out through the big hole in the windscreen, felt the blast of hot desert air, and spotted the bridge in the distance. Guiscard had grown up in the area. So if he said it was possible to take refuge under the structure then Palmer believed him. Beads of safety glass cascaded off his arms as Palmer made a grab for the radio. “Roger that,” he said, as the chopper took a run at them from behind.
***
Even though Jann had corrupted some of his men, including the helicopter’s pilot, many were boringly honest. That meant he couldn’t call on the police for help, as he positioned himself in the open door, and waited for the chopper to pull up next to the Volvo. Jann didn’t want to shoot at the Mog any more than he had
Two-minutes later both vehicles were gone as the rest of Naravas’ men arrived on foot. There was consternation as the bandits went from body-to-body followed by a common sense of disbelief. They were supposed to be predators not prey.
Having lost Naravas, leadership of the band devolved to a man named Amar, who knew how to use the dead chieftain’s satellite phone. The only type of communications device that one could rely upon in the vast Sahara. The ensuing conversation was both short and unpleasant. So Amar was glad when it was over. Still it was good to have instructions. Amar was in over his head and knew it. Orders were shouted—and work began.
***
The helicopter arrived shortly after first light. It circled the area twice, so Police Chief Jann could examine the spot where his half-brother had been killed, before putting down next to the encampment. A row of graves had been dug. Jann regretted the fact that Naravas and his son would be buried without the customary religious services, but the bodies would ripen quickly in the desert heat, and there was no way to transport them elsewhere.
Not to mention the fact that Jann had other issues to worry about. Not the Mog, which had never been of more than passing interest to the police chief, but what was on it.
Namely a load of weapons that had been promised to a Sudanese war lord. A man who would be very angry if the shipment went astray. So angry he might send his thugs north to punish Jann and his family as well. Which was why it was so important to find Guiscard, the American, and their Tuareg tracker
before
the threesome could sell the arms, dump them into a ravine, or Allah forbid, turn them into the government. The very entity from which they had been stolen in the first place.
So moments after the chopper touched down Jann was on the ground giving orders. “Get the tires out of the back! We could only bring four so that will have to do. Put them on the most roadworthy vehicle and depart immediately. We will find the motherless scum and hold them for you. So come quickly!”
Amar, who had every reason to both fear and respect the police chief, nodded obediently. “Yes,
effendi,
it shall be as you say.”
***
When the police helicopter located the two vehicle convoy it was on the
piste
, heading for the city of N’Djamena, where Guiscard planned to hand over the weapons to the authorities, while Palmer made arrangements to ship the Mongo Iron to the United States. But that plan was out the window as the EC-135 passed over the vehicles, executed a wide turn, and came straight at them.
Palmer, who was driving the Volvo, was thankful for his Ray-Bans as the Volvo’s windscreen exploded. The 7.62 X 39mm rounds missed him by inches as the aircraft passed over the Mog and subjected that vehicle to the same treatment.
“There’s a bridge ahead!” Guiscard announced, via the walkie-talkie laying on the seat next to Palmer. “Go
under
it. They can’t follow us there.”
The American stared out through the big hole in the windscreen, felt the blast of hot desert air, and spotted the bridge in the distance. Guiscard had grown up in the area. So if he said it was possible to take refuge under the structure then Palmer believed him. Beads of safety glass cascaded off his arms as Palmer made a grab for the radio. “Roger that,” he said, as the chopper took a run at them from behind.
***
Even though Jann had corrupted some of his men, including the helicopter’s pilot, many were boringly honest. That meant he couldn’t call on the police for help, as he positioned himself in the open door, and waited for the chopper to pull up next to the Volvo. Jann didn’t want to shoot at the Mog any more than he had
Similar Books
