“Of course, my dear,” said Romanov.
“What about the black woman?” said Nika scornfully. “When will she provide you with the location of the Goliath?”
“I have that already. Madame Yusuf and I spoke for hours last night, and I know precisely where to look. Miss March is here to provide us with the jewels,” said Romanov, looking over at Jen and her mother at the far end of the hanger. “You have my word that we will soon have what is rightfully ours.”
“Father, all I need are the coordinates, and I can be there with a crew to commence digging in a matter of hours,” boasted Nika.
“Patience, Nika,” said Romanov brusquely. “I will give you what you need tomorrow morning. Now, I must call Madame Yusuf and talk about my plans for Iceland,” said Romanov as he turned his back on the container and strode away, leaving his daughters alone to contemplate the next day’s events.
20
The twin-engine Antonov AN-32 flew over the vast Saharan Desert, cruising along at 450 kilometers an hour. Since leaving Algiers, the plane had flown steadily at just over 8,000 meters above sea level. The sturdy Russian transport plane used by many countries throughout Africa had come at a steep price, but using one to fly into Mauritania only made sense to Mitchell if they wanted to avoid any unwanted attention. Yuri Uvarov removed his headset, turned the controls of the plane over to his co-pilot, a trusted accomplice from his earlier days as a black market smuggler, and then climbed out of his seat. He pulled his long black hair back into a bushy ponytail and then headed to the passenger compartment to join the remainder of Mitchell’s team.
Seeing Yuri approaching, Mitchell gave Jackson a little nudge to wake his sleeping friend. No matter where they were or what they were doing, Jackson could always find a way to grab forty winks. It was something Mitchell could never do.
Since leaving the States, Mitchell, Jackson, Fahimah, Sam, and Cardinal had first flown to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris; from there, they hopped a flight to Algiers. It was there that they linked up with Yuri and boarded the AN-32 for the last leg of their long journey into Mauritania.
Jackson rubbed his eyes and sat up. His stomach rumbled loudly. “Is it time to eat yet?” asked Jackson, looking around the cabin for some food.
“After the brief, you can eat to your heart’s content,” said Mitchell as Fahimah handed out briefing packages to everyone in the cabin.
“Ok folks, first things first. Mauritania is a less than stable country. It is an Islamic republic, and the current government is made up of the former heads of the armed forces. They were voted in during an election last year that was roundly criticized by the West,” said Fahimah as she perused her notes. “There is wide-spread discrimination by the Arabic-dominated regime against the nation’s black population. Unbelievably, it is one of the few places left in the world where slavery is still openly practiced.”
“Wonderful place to vacation,” murmured Cardinal before getting a sharp shot in the ribs by Sam.
“Any hint of rebellion by the population is brutally suppressed by the military. The Arab Spring was an abject failure here, with hundreds killed and many more missing, presumed dead as well,” explained Fahimah.
“All of this means that we need to tread lightly and do nothing that will bring the heat and light of the Mauritanian Police upon us, as I for one don’t want to rot in some African jail for the rest of my natural life,” said Mitchell.
“So what’s our cover?” asked Jackson, pretending to flip through the notes provided by Fahimah.
“Ok, this was really short notice, so I did the best I could,” said Yuri with his thick Russian accent as he reached into his grungy-looking canvas pack and pulled out a handful of fake passports. “I haven’t changed our names or pictures; our cover story is that we are a documentary film crew scouting locations for a show on the desert,” said Yuri as he handed out the passports. “All of the visas and stamps have been entered into the passports. It cost me a lot of money, but they will fool the customs officials at the airport.”
“Equipment?” said Sam, eyeing the less-than-flattering picture in her passport. She quickly decided that she needed to get a better one taken when she got back to the States.
“All in the back,” said Yuri. “I bought cameras, computers, satellite phones, and plenty of other top of the line Japanese stuff. Trust me, we will look like real movie people,” said Yuri proudly.
“Transport?” asked Cardinal.
“I have a trusted friend who still has connections at the airport. We have two old army Land Rovers waiting there for us to pick up once we arrive,” said Yuri.
“Ok, then, everything is set. The plan for us is quite simple,” said Mitchell, looking into the eyes of his teammates. “We’ll split into two teams. Fahimah, Nate, and I will work together, while Sam and Cardinal will work as the other. We’ll start in the south and you two can start in the northern end of the Eye of the Sahara. We’ll do hourly calls to pass on any news,” said Mitchell. “Yuri, as per, I want you to be our leg on the ground. See about renting a helicopter in case we need to leave in a hurry.”
“If I can’t find one to rent?” said Yuri.
“Then get ready to steal one. If things go pear-shaped, there’s no one sitting around waiting to come to our aid. Besides, we can always beg for forgiveness after the fact,” said a grinning Jackson.
“Questions?” asked Mitchell. As he had expected, there were no questions, only a dogged sense of determination to get the job done in the eyes of his friends. He was proud of them all and trusted them with his life.
“Ok then, we’re set,” said Mitchell. “I’m counting on whoever kidnapped Jen to be in country by now. All we need to do is find them, and then follow them back to where they’re holding her and her mother.”
“Then what?” asked Cardinal.
“Then we go in, get them out, and if need be, kill whoever gets in our way,” said Mitchell, his voice steeled with resolve. “If you find yourself in a spot of trouble, don’t hesitate; these people won’t hesitate to kill you, so give them the same courtesy.”
21
Like a pair of giant birds of prey, two large military transport helicopters dove out of the cloudless sky, their shadows racing along the desert floor. In unison, they banked over and, one after another, they touched down on the rim of a rocky plateau overlooking the expansive Eye of the Sahara. No sooner had they landed than the back doors of the MI-8s opened, disgorging men in desert fatigues carrying a variety of assault rifles and machine guns. Quickly, they fanned out and set up a secure perimeter. Some were Mauritanian regulars while others were a team of Chang’s men. The helicopters, their holds empty, revved their powerful engines and then leapt back up into the sky.
A minute later, a golden helicopter dropped from the sky and landed in the center of the perimeter, sending up a billowing cloud of dust and sand. The instant the engine switched off, the doors to the helicopters opened. David Teplov and Colonel Chang climbed out and together they looked around at the desolate terrain that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Colonel Chang pulled a tan desert cap out of his trouser pocket and then placed it onto his head. He had always hated the heat and the endless sand of the desert. The overwhelmingly dry heat always made him think of what it would be like to be trapped inside an oven. Chang preferred the more temperate climate of his native North Korea, but he went where the money was, and at this moment in time, the money was in the Saharan Desert.