Authors: Clive Cussler
Pitt stared down at the blowup of the desert surrounding the Tebezza plateau. “So you intend to land the airbus in the dead of night on a desert airstrip, drive over a road that’s tough to trace in daylight, assault the mine, carry off all foreign prisoners, and then rush back to the strip and take off for the lights of Algiers. We may be biting off more than we can chew with the limited resources at your command.”
Levant saw no disapproval in Pitt’s expression, nor did he sense sarcastic criticism. “As you say where you come from, Mr. Pitt, what you see is what you get.”
“I’m not doubting the fighting quality of your people, Colonel. But I had expected a larger, better equipped force.”
“I regret the UN does not lavishly fund our Response and Tactical Team with expansive manpower and ultra-sophisticated equipment like most special operations forces. But our budget is tight and we must work within our limits.”
“Why a UNICRATT team?” asked Pitt curiously. “Why not a British or French Foreign Legion commando unit or one from American Special Forces?”
“Because no other nation, including yours, wished to risk dirtying their hands on this mission,” explained Levant wearily. “We were volunteered by Secretary General Kamil.”
The name brought back a fond memory in Pitt’s mind of an interlude spent with Hala Kamil on board a ship in the Straits of Magellan. Two years ago, he recalled, during the search for the Alexandria Library treasures.
Levant caught the faraway look and Giordino knowingly smiled. Pitt saw their expressions and refocused his attention to the satellite map. “There is a catch.”
“There are several,” said Levant evenly. “But they can all be overcome.”
“Except two.”
“And they are . . . ?”
“We don’t know where O’Bannion’s communications center and security monitoring rooms are located. If he sends out an alert to Kazim’s security forces before you can stop him, we won’t stand a bishop’s chance in hell of making it back to this aircraft and getting a good headstart to Algeria before one of his fighter squadrons shows up and nails us to the nearest barn door.”
“In that case, we have to get in and out of the mine within forty minutes,” said Levant. “Not impossible if most of the captives can make it aboveground without help. If many of them have to be carried, we will lose valuable time we cannot spare.”
At that moment Captain Pembroke-Smythe appeared with a tray of coffee and sandwiches from the aircraft’s galley. “Our fare is filling if not gourmet,” he said cheerfully. “You have a choice between chicken salad and tuna fish.”
Pitt looked at Levant and grinned. “You weren’t kidding when you said you ran on a tight budget.”
As the airbus soared over the desert as black as the sea, Pitt and Giordino sketched large diagrams of the mine levels as they remembered them. Levant was amazed at their recollections. Neither professed to photographic memories, but they recalled an enormous amount of detail for the short time they were held prisoner in the mine.
Levant and two other officers interrogated the NUMA men in depth, often repeating questions three or four times in hopes of obtaining details observed but overlooked. The track to the canyon, the layout of the mine, the weapons of the guards, it was all covered over and over.
The data was voice recorded on computer and the sketches of the mine programmed into three dimensions. Nothing was overlooked. The weather forecast for the next several hours, the flight time of Kazim’s jet fighters from Gao, alternate escape plans and routes should the airbus be destroyed on the ground. Every possible contingency was given a plan.
An hour before touchdown at Tebezza, Levant assembled his small force of men and women in the main cabin. Pitt led off the briefing by describing the guards, their numbers and arms, and observations of their indolent attitude from living and working beneath the desert.
He was followed by Giordino who gave them a tour of the mine levels with the oversized sketches pinned to a standing easel.
Pembroke-Smythe divided up the UN tactical team that was to execute the assault into four units and passed out individual maps of the underground tunnels printed from the computer. Levant capped the briefing by instructing the teams on their missions.
“I apologize for our lack of intelligence,” he began. “We’ve never attempted such a dangerous mission with so little data. The charts you’ve been given of the mine show probably less than 20 percent of the existing tunnels and shafts. We have to strike hard and fast by securing the offices and guards’ quarters. Once we’ve eliminated resistance, we will round up the prisoners and begin our withdrawal. Final rendezvous will be at the entrance cavern exactly forty minutes from the time we go in. Any questions so far?”
A hand went up and a man near the front spoke up with a Slavic accent. “Why forty minutes, Colonel?”
“Any more, Corporal Wadilinski, and a Malian fighter pilot at the nearest air force base can close and shoot us down before we’re safely back into Algeria. I’m hoping that most of the captives can make it to our transports without help. If many of them have to be carried, we will be delayed.”
Another hand. “What if we get lost in the mine and cannot find our way back to the rendezvous in time for the withdrawal?”
“Then you will be left behind,” Levant answered conversationally. “Anyone else?”
“Do we get to keep any gold we find?”
The query came from a muscle-bound character in the back, followed by a round of laughter.
“You will all be strip searched at the end of the mission,” replied Pembroke-Smythe jovially. “And any gold found will be turned over to my personal account in Switzerland.”
“The ladies too?” This from one of the women.
He threw her a wily smile. “Especially the ladies.”
Though it did not crack his serious expression, Levant was thankful for the show of humor to relax the tense atmosphere. “Now that we know where the booty goes,” he said, “let us wrap this up. I will lead the first unit with Mr. Pitt as our guide. We will clear the offices on the upper level before descending into the mine and releasing the captives from their hellhole. Unit two, under the command of Captain Pembroke-Smythe and led by Mr. Giordino, will drop down the elevator and secure the guards’ quarters. Lieutenant Steinholm will be in charge of unit three and will follow as backup and take up defensive positions at the side shafts off the main tunnel to prevent flanking movements. Unit four under Lieutenant Morrison will secure the gold ore recovery levels. Except for the medical team, the rest of you will remain to guard the airstrip. Any further questions shall be directed to your unit commanders.”
Levant paused and stared around the interior of the cabin at the faces of his men. “I regret we’ve had so little time to prepare for this operation, but it should not prove beyond the capabilities of a team that has successfully accomplished its last six missions without the loss of a single man or woman. If you should confront the unexpected, improvise. We have to get in, free the captives, and get out fast before we are pursued by the Malian air force. End of speech. Good luck to all of you.” Then Levant turned and walked into his command compartment.
46
The data from satellite positioning systems was downlinked to the navigational computer which fed the course into the automatic pilot and put the UN airbus precisely over the plateau of Tebezza. A slight correction toward a new grid coordinate and the pilot was soon circling the airstrip that showed as a barren strip across the desert on the monitor of the sonar/radar system.
The rear cargo doors swung outward and four of Levant’s commandos lined up at the edge of the black void. Twenty seconds later a buzzer sounded and they leaped forward and swiftly dropped into the night. The doors closed and the pilot circled to the north for twelve minutes before banking around on his landing approach.
The pilot peered through night-vision goggles as his copilot scanned the desert below through specially tinted bifocal glasses that enabled him to detect the infrared lights set up by the parachutists while glancing at the instrument readings.
“I have clear ground,” announced the pilot.
The copilot shook his head as he detected four lights blinking in unison on the starboard side. “You’re picking up a short field for light planes. The main strip is half a kilometer to starboard.”
“Okay, I have it. Gear down.”
The copilot pulled the lever and the wheels clumped down into position. “Landing gear down and locked.”
“How do those Apache helicopter pilots keep from smacking into the ground?” muttered the pilot. “This is like looking through twin toilet paper tubes with green fog inside.”
The copilot had no time to smile or reply. He was too busy reading off airspeed, altitude, and course corrections.
The big wheels struck the sand and gravel, throwing up a cloud of dust that obliterated the stars behind the speeding aircraft. The reverse thrusters were amazingly quiet as the plane hurtled down the airstrip. Then the brakes were firmly applied and the airbus settled to a stop less than 100 meters from the end of the strip.
The dust was still billowing in the aircraft’s wake when the rear ramp swung down and the vehicles drove out and parked in a convoy, the attack dune buggy at the front. The six-man security team that was to remain behind came next and dispersed around the aircraft. The main force followed and swiftly boarded the personnel carriers. The leader of the parachute team ran up to Colonel Levant as he stepped to the ground and saluted.
“The area is deserted, sir. No sign of guards or electronic security.”
“Any facilities?” asked Levant.
“Only a small brick building containing tools and drums of automobile diesel and aircraft jet fuel. Shall we destroy it?”
“Wait until we’ve returned from the mine.” He gestured to a shadowy figure next to him. “Mr. Pitt?”
“Colonel.”
“Mr. Giordino told me you have raced off-road vehicles.”
“Yes sir, that is correct.”
Levant motioned him into the driver’s seat of the attack vehicle and handed him a pair of night-vision goggles. “You know the way to the mine. Please take the wheel and lead us in.” He turned and faced another figure who appeared in the dark. “Captain Pembroke-Smythe.”
“Sir.”
“We’re moving out. Ride in the last carrier and keep a watch to our rear, especially the sky. I don’t want an aircraft sneaking up on the column.”
“I’ll keep a tight eye,” Pembroke-Smythe assured him.
If the UNICRATT team operated on a shoestring, Pitt couldn’t help wondering how incredibly exotic the equipment must be for U.S. Special Forces with unlimited funding. All of Levant’s men and women, including Pitt and Giordino, wore night camouflage-gray and black flame-resistant combat suits with bulletproof assault vests, protective night goggles, and helmets containing miniature radio communications gear and carried Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns.
Pitt threw a wave to Giordino, who was climbing beside the driver of the rear personnel carrier, and settled into a cramped seat, his head tucked beneath the six-barrel, Vulcan machine gun. He slipped on the goggles and adjusted his eyes to the sudden light magnification that made the desert for 200 meters in front of the dune buggy look like the green surface of an alien planet. He pointed toward the northwest. “The track to the mine begins about 30 meters ahead and to our right.”
Levant nodded, then turned and confirmed that his tactical team was all loaded and ready to roll. He made a forward gesture with his hand and slapped Pitt on the shoulder. “Time is passing, Mr. Pitt. Please go.”
Pitt accelerated rapidly as he shifted the dune buggy’s five-speed gear box. The vehicle leaped ahead, tailed by the three personnel carriers. The ground soon blurred beneath the widetrack tires. Fine sand particles burst and exploded in its trail, forcing the personnel carriers to drive in a staggered V-formation to escape the blinding dust clouds. It did not take long before the vehicles and their passengers were all caked in a layer of fine brown-gray dust.
“How fast will she go?” Pitt asked Levant.
“On a level surface, 210 kilometers.”
“That’s around 130 miles an hour,” said Pitt. “Not bad considering her lack of aerodynamics and heavy weight.”
“Your Navy SEALs came up with the idea of using them during the desert war with Iraq.”
Pitt nudged Levant. “Tell your drivers we’re going to bear left 30 degrees and then continue straight and steady for about 8 kilometers.”
Levant issued the directions over his radio communication system, and a moment later the personnel carriers swung around in formation and followed the dune buggy’s lead.
Landmarks were scarce on the faint track running from the airstrip to the canyon carved in the plateau. Pitt relied half on his memory and half on eyesight. Plunging across the desert in the dead of night was nerve-racking enough, even with night-vision goggles. There was no way of seeing or knowing for certain what was behind the next hump in the road, or whether he had strayed off course and was leading the convoy off a cliff into a bottomless pit. Only an occasional stretch of tire track that hadn’t been covered by wind-blown sand told him he was dead on the trail.
He stole a quick glance at Levant. The Colonel sat relaxed and incredibly composed. If he felt any fear of Pitt’s wild drive over dark ground, he gave not the slightest indication. His only expression of concern came when he turned and checked to see that all three personnel carriers were following behind.
The plateau loomed ahead, its towering mass shutting off the lower curtain of stars to the west. Four minutes later a wave of relief swept Pitt. He had hit the slot right on the money. The opening into the twisting canyon split the plateau’s black walls like the blow from an axe. He slowed and stopped.
“The entrance cave that leads into the equipment parking cavern is only a kilometer from here,” he said to Levant. “Do you wish to send a scouting party ahead on foot?”
Levant shook his head. “Continue on slowly, if you please, Mr. Pitt. At the risk of giving away our approach, we’ll go in with the vehicles and save time. Make sense to you?”