not to ignore. The guy in the short-sleeved white shirt standing close to the tower's shaded windows was to be expected; any controller worth his salt would want to know more about a man who could fly like Grimaldi. It took Bolan longer to pick up on the second watcher.
One glinting flash from the binoculars marked the thin man in the leisure suit, who was lounging against a car parked beyond the chain link fence at the perimeter of the airfield.
The arrival of Delta-One-Niner must have been the most interesting thing to have happened in Khurabi all day.
The first customs officer was still fingering his mustache.
"What is in this crate? Open it, please."
Bolan moved a lot more slowly this time.
Inside that wooden box was the one item he could not coolly explain away — a machine gun looks just like a machine gun and nothing else.
7
Bolan reached for the crowbar again.
The nosy official suddenly stepped back smartly and snapped to attention. The other two promptly followed suit.
It was the government's welcoming committee. And not a moment too soon. The long blue Lincoln, pennants fluttering, purred to a stop. The uniformed driver skipped back and held open the rear door.
Salim Zakir stepped out and with a delicate flick of his wrist neatly rearranged his robe. A second imperious wave was all that was needed to dismiss the customs officers. They climbed back into the Jeep and retreated to their office in the terminal at top speed.
"Danica, how good it is to see you again."
The formalities of introduction were quickly dispensed with; he accepted Bolan as one of Danny's colleagues from Westfield. His attention was focused wholly on the young woman.
"Many sincere apologies for not being here to greet you when the plane landed... but, well, pressing matters of state must take preference."
Bolan stood dutifully to one side as the minister offered more profuse apologies to his glamorous American friend. His elaborate greetings barely concealed an air of distraction. Bolan had originally guessed the Minister of Cultural Affairs was little more than a PR function given to one of the ruler's favored relatives; now he began to wonder if he should revise his opinion.
Zakir looked strained, as if beneath all that flowery language it was taking a real effort of will to suppress his true concerns. Perhaps every minor Arab sheikh had cause to be worried.
The smaller states like Khurabi were running out of oil almost faster than the troubled network of OPEC could hold up the prices. But whatever secret business within Harun Zayoud's court troubled him, Salim Zakir was determined to play the gracious host — at least as far as Danica Jones was concerned.
"How long will you be staying with us?"
Danny glanced across at her partner before replying, "Two or three weeks at the most."
"So short a visit!" It seemed their sudden decision to return to the Haufari dig conflicted with Zakir's busy schedule. "These are difficult times... but let us talk of happier things... there is much for you to see. The British team made many exciting finds at Salibra recently. The new items are all in the museum's storerooms. Come, let us go there now!"
Bolan noted Danny's genuine curiosity at the mention of the Salibra dig. But then she obviously remembered the real reason for her being there. She sneaked a second quick check with Bolan. They were working on a tight schedule.
Bolan nodded his encouragement. Grimaldi had the trailer already hitched to the Hog. "It's okay. I'll follow Abdel to the site. You must accept the sheikh's kind invitation. We can meet later at the International Hotel."
"Very well." She seemed a little annoyed to be handed off to Zakir.
"I should be back in town by about six," said Bolan. He opened his briefcase and extracted the wrapped package of videotape.
"If you should be granted an audience with Sheikh Zayoud, you can give him this, or perhaps Mr. Zakir will be kind enough to pass on our small gift with the
One glinting flash from the binoculars marked the thin man in the leisure suit, who was lounging against a car parked beyond the chain link fence at the perimeter of the airfield.
The arrival of Delta-One-Niner must have been the most interesting thing to have happened in Khurabi all day.
The first customs officer was still fingering his mustache.
"What is in this crate? Open it, please."
Bolan moved a lot more slowly this time.
Inside that wooden box was the one item he could not coolly explain away — a machine gun looks just like a machine gun and nothing else.
7
Bolan reached for the crowbar again.
The nosy official suddenly stepped back smartly and snapped to attention. The other two promptly followed suit.
It was the government's welcoming committee. And not a moment too soon. The long blue Lincoln, pennants fluttering, purred to a stop. The uniformed driver skipped back and held open the rear door.
Salim Zakir stepped out and with a delicate flick of his wrist neatly rearranged his robe. A second imperious wave was all that was needed to dismiss the customs officers. They climbed back into the Jeep and retreated to their office in the terminal at top speed.
"Danica, how good it is to see you again."
The formalities of introduction were quickly dispensed with; he accepted Bolan as one of Danny's colleagues from Westfield. His attention was focused wholly on the young woman.
"Many sincere apologies for not being here to greet you when the plane landed... but, well, pressing matters of state must take preference."
Bolan stood dutifully to one side as the minister offered more profuse apologies to his glamorous American friend. His elaborate greetings barely concealed an air of distraction. Bolan had originally guessed the Minister of Cultural Affairs was little more than a PR function given to one of the ruler's favored relatives; now he began to wonder if he should revise his opinion.
Zakir looked strained, as if beneath all that flowery language it was taking a real effort of will to suppress his true concerns. Perhaps every minor Arab sheikh had cause to be worried.
The smaller states like Khurabi were running out of oil almost faster than the troubled network of OPEC could hold up the prices. But whatever secret business within Harun Zayoud's court troubled him, Salim Zakir was determined to play the gracious host — at least as far as Danica Jones was concerned.
"How long will you be staying with us?"
Danny glanced across at her partner before replying, "Two or three weeks at the most."
"So short a visit!" It seemed their sudden decision to return to the Haufari dig conflicted with Zakir's busy schedule. "These are difficult times... but let us talk of happier things... there is much for you to see. The British team made many exciting finds at Salibra recently. The new items are all in the museum's storerooms. Come, let us go there now!"
Bolan noted Danny's genuine curiosity at the mention of the Salibra dig. But then she obviously remembered the real reason for her being there. She sneaked a second quick check with Bolan. They were working on a tight schedule.
Bolan nodded his encouragement. Grimaldi had the trailer already hitched to the Hog. "It's okay. I'll follow Abdel to the site. You must accept the sheikh's kind invitation. We can meet later at the International Hotel."
"Very well." She seemed a little annoyed to be handed off to Zakir.
"I should be back in town by about six," said Bolan. He opened his briefcase and extracted the wrapped package of videotape.
"If you should be granted an audience with Sheikh Zayoud, you can give him this, or perhaps Mr. Zakir will be kind enough to pass on our small gift with the
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