“I thought you could use this.”
Davis turned and saw an angel carrying a big cup of coffee.
He took it with reverence. “Bless you.”
“Sleep well?” Antonelli asked.
“Always.” He took a long hearty sip. “So did the village population go up by one last night?”
“Two.”
“Twins? Good thing you were there.”
“There are midwives. That’s how it’s been done for a long time. But yes, a little training always helps.”
He sipped again while he looked over the scuba gear. “So how much did I pay to rent this stuff?”
“One hundred U.S.”
Davis shook his head. “I guess the pirate culture is alive and well in the Horn of Africa.”
The old man said something to Antonelli.
She relayed to Davis, “He says you must go soon. The air is heavy today, and rain may come in the afternoon.”
“Rain? It does that here?”
“On occasion.”
“Tell him I need a few things before we go. Half a dozen plastic jugs, empty, the bigger the better. A screwdriver, a hacksaw, and maybe a claw hammer.”
Antonelli stared at him quizzically.
“Hand tools work just as well underwater. The jugs act as salvage buoys. If I find something I want to bring up, I can tie them on and fill them with air.”
As Antonelli passed on the request, Davis picked up two fist-sized lumps of coral from the beach and dropped them into the boat. The old man didn’t bat an eye as he walked off. He was probably having great mental fun picturing what Davis was going to do fifty feet underwater with saws and hammers and rocks.
“So are you free for dinner tonight?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Barring any new arrivals. But there is one bit of sad news.”
“What’s that?”
“There will be no wine. Apparently we drank all they had in the village.”
“Wow. I’ve never single-handedly drunk a town dry before.”
“You had my help.”
“Right.”
“Will you be long?” she asked.
“Five hours, maybe six. It depends on how much air is in this tank.”
Antonelli studied the equipment. “It looks quite old.”
“It belongs in a museum.”
“Is it safe?”
“About as safe as the airplanes I’ve been flying lately.”
She gave him a rueful glare.
Twenty minutes later Davis was seated backward in the boat, the old man steering by Mr. Gamun’s instructions. Back on the beach, he saw Antonelli give a subdued wave. Davis returned it. He liked the doctor. Liked her a lot. In some strange corollary, he even found himself wondering if Jen would like her. But that was a question for another day. Right now Davis had to plan.
Not knowing how long he would have on the bottom of the sea, it was important that he prioritize his inspection of the wreckage, consider which parts of the airplane to study first. The cockpit was high on the list because he needed to know who’d been flying X85BG. He suspected it was a pair of Sheik Khoury’s Sudanese contingent, although according to Boudreau and the others no crewmembers other than the Ukrainians had gone AWOL. Still, somebody had flown the airplane from Khartoum to its watery grave. Hopefully somebody with a wallet or a passport, something to explain who they were and what they’d been doing. Davis also had to look at the configuration of the airplane. Were the gear and flaps extended? Had the engines been shut down? He’d look for obvious signs of distress, like a damage pattern from a missile strike, or soot from a fire. Anything to tell him what tragedy had befallen the last flight of X85BG.
More importantly, anything that would tell him what the hell Rafiq Khoury was up to.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When they arrived at the crash site, the old man tossed over an anchor — actually a concrete block on a rope — and Davis dove in with only the mask. He spotted the wreckage instantly. Mr. Gamun had them right on the spot. Davis clambered back into the boat and began to don the scuba gear. The harness consisted of a collection of straps and a metal ring to hold the tank in place. Sized medium at best, the rig fit over Davis’ shoulders like a dog bridle on a horse. Even with the straps fully extended, he had to leave two buckles unlatched, flapping by his hips. He decided it was secure enough to keep everything in place for one dive.
Davis grabbed the hammer and got the old man’s attention. He leaned toward the transom and banged the hammer three times on the engine’s lower housing. He handed over the hammer, held up three fingers, and jabbed his thumb in an upward motion. Three bangs, I come up.
The skipper nodded like he got it.
Davis put on his mask and stood in the gear, his legs bending in rhythm with the rocking boat. He reached down and picked up the coral he’d taken from the beach and wedged the rocks into his pockets. This would act as his weight belt, to be discarded in the event of negative buoyancy. He put the screwdriver in a back pocket, but decided to leave the hacksaw and bottles here. He’d come back later if he needed them. That was it. Davis was breaking pretty much every rule in the dive book. He didn’t have fins or decompression tables or a wrist computer. His divemaster was a hundred-year-old Sudanese fisherman who didn’t speak the same language. Davis didn’t even have a diver’s most critical safety instrument — a buddy.
He nodded toward the old man.
The old man nodded back and leaned to the port side of the boat to act as a counterweight. He was smiling again.
Davis turned to starboard. One giant step later, he splashed into the crystalline blue water.
“Have you seen Davis today?” Khoury asked, already knowing the answer. His chief pilot was on the other end of the phone.
“No,” Schmitt said, “the last time I saw him was Friday, when he got back from the Congo.”
“Very well,” said Khoury. “But if you should see him, tell him to contact me. I wish to speak to him.”
Schmitt remained silent, not inquiring about the subject. Khoury’s doubts about the man were fed once again.
“Tell me about tomorrow’s flight,” he continued. “Are you prepared?”
There was a long pause. “Yeah, I’ll be ready. But I don’t like it. It’d be nice to know what the hell is going on. First all my pilots are either deported or disappear, and now we’re flying again?”
“I have told you, the flight tomorrow involves a joint military project between Sudan and Egypt. You will be delivering a specially instrumented airplane to an airfield near Cairo.”
“The airfield you showed me on the map?” Schmitt asked.
“Yes. After arriving, transportation has been arranged to take you to Cairo. All your exit papers are in order.”
“And the rest of my money?”
“Did you not receive the first installment?”
“I called the bank. It’s there.”
“Good. And once you have completed your contract, the rest of your severance will follow.”
“Three days ago you told me we’d be hiring soon. Now FBN is shutting down?”
“Enough!” Khoury barked. “I do not answer to you. We have been more than generous. If you would rather, I can send Hassan right now. He has matchless talents when it comes to escorting malcontents to the door.”