David Teplov, his hands grasped firmly around his AK-74, stepped over beside Chang. A new scar ran down his left cheek from the shattered windshield glass that had flown everywhere when his SUV had been hit. He had yet another reminder of his many brushes with death. He’d decided to come along with Chang to ensure that Dmitry Romanov’s orders were followed to the letter.
A slender man with dark east African features walked over and stopped in front of Chang. “Colonel, the perimeter is now secure. The Mauritanian lackeys have the outer perimeter, and we patrol the inner cordon,” reported the man.
Chang nodded and thanked the man.
Teplov stood silently looking out over the rocky and hilly desert, reminding him very much of his time as an eighteen-year-old conscript in Afghanistan. He had learned his trade there, and once he had realized he was good at killing, he’d never looked back.
Chang smiled as his deputy, Ivan Kolikov, sauntered over and handed him a cool water bottle. “Good work, Ivan. Tell the men that they should be prepared for a stay in this location for up to a couple of days,” said Chang as he retrieved a satellite phone from his chest rig. He quickly called Romanov to tell him it was now safe for them to fly out to the dig site.
Stepping over to the edge of the rocky cliff, Chang looked down and saw nothing that even remotely looked like a crash site. As far as the eye could see there were rocks, sand, jagged red dusty colored hills and still more rocks. He checked his GPS one more time, just to make sure that they had not landed in the wrong spot. The coordinates checked out; he was precisely where he had been told to go.
Chang shrugged his shoulders. If this is what Dmitry Romanov wanted him and his men to do, stand guard over some worthless rocks, who was he to complain? He knew he would be well-paid. Opening his water bottle, Chang took a deep swig of cool water, looked out over the desolate and unforgiving landscape, and wondered how long they would have to wait until their employer and all the excavation equipment showed up.
22
The desolate silence of the desert was broken as a dust-covered Land Rover trailing a cloud of dust behind it came to a grinding halt at the side of what had once been a paved road. Even though the engine had been switched off, the battered and rust-covered vehicle’s engine continued to shake and rattle as if it were alive.
Long snake-like sand dunes had built up alongside the road from the strong winds whipping across the Sahara from the north. Anyone foolish enough to drive into one while speeding would have found it to be like hitting a brick wall head on, with the same result to their car.
Nate Jackson applied the parking brake, reached down, grabbed a bottle of water, and then chugged the lukewarm liquid down, quickly emptying the bottle. Looking over, he saw Mitchell checking their location on an old worn map with his handheld GPS. “I should be navigating,” said Jackson. “We all know officers, even retired ones, can’t read maps.”
“Well then, we only have the NCOs like you to blame for not teaching us properly,” shot back Mitchell without looking up from his map.
“Ouch, that hurts Ryan,” said Jackson, feigning pain in his chest.
“Where are we?” inquired Fahimah from the back seat.
“If our GPS is working, and if I’m reading this right,” joked Mitchell, “then we’re only a couple of kilometers outside of our first stop, the village of Ouadane.”
Their sat phone rang. Reaching over, Fahimah picked it up and chatted with Sam and Cardinal for a couple of minutes before hanging up.
“Sam says they are currently heading cross country towards the northern end of the Eye of the Sahara and have seen nothing but camels and millions of rocks for the past hour,” reported Fahimah.
“Well, at least they’ve seen camels,” said Jackson. “This has been one long and boring drive from the capital.”
“That’s ok,” said Mitchell. “I’m happy to keep it quiet for now.”
Jackson shrugged his shoulders as he started the Rover, released the parking brake, and then steered their vehicle back onto the atrocious potholed path that masqueraded as a road.
Five minutes later, the village of Ouadane came into view. Built as part of the trans-Saharan gold trade route, the Portuguese had established an outpost in 1487, but eventually had to abandon it when the gold dried up. A once thriving outpost now mainly lay in ruin. Sand-colored dwellings with thick high walls hugged the narrow road that zigzagged like a maze through the center of the town.
Jackson pulled over near a small dilapidated-looking government building on the far side of the settlement. An old and tired police officer, who looked like he had not washed or pressed his faded blue uniform in weeks, sat out front. A rusting AK lay across his lap.
Mitchell jumped out, accompanied by Fahimah, who pulled up her headscarf to cover more of her head. Pointing at the map, Mitchell assisted Fahimah by asking the police officer the best spots to look for a documentary movie shoot at the southern end of The Eye of Sahara.
The policeman looked disinterested and shrugged his shoulders at each question until Mitchell dug into his wallet and offered him a one-hundred-dollar bill for his help. Instantly, the old man burst to life and enthusiastically pointed with his nicotine-stained fingers at several prominent features on the map that he thought would offer an excellent backdrop for a film.
Mitchell thanked the man and paid him for his help.
Fahimah was about to crawl back into the jeep, when she spotted a group of young women dressed from head to toe in traditional long dark robes, standing around chatting and pointing at the Land Rover and the new strangers in town. Strolling over, Fahimah flashed a winning smile and quickly engaged the women in conversation. A few minutes later, she thanked the women and then walked back to the Land Rover and climbed in.
“Any luck?” said Mitchell, looking back at Fahimah.
“Yes, quite a bit, actually,” said Fahimah as she dug out her water bottle. “The women said that there haven’t been any strangers other than us stopping in town for at least a week.”
“Damn, I was hoping that someone with a lot of digging equipment would have come through here. I would have thought that this is the logical route to take with heavy equipment to a crash site.”
“Well, they did say something else that caught my attention,” Fahimah said before taking a swing of water.
Mitchell and Jackson locked eyes on Fahimah and waited.
“For the past couple of nights, helicopters, lots of them, have been heard flying over the village heading to and from the Eye of the Sahara.”
A grin broke across Mitchell’s face; it could only to be the people looking for the Goliath. If they were there, Jen would also be there.
“One more thing, the women said that men with guns are out on the main roads keeping people from going anywhere near the Eye of the Sahara,” said Fahimah.
“Sam and Cardinal need to know this,” said Jackson, as he dug out the satellite phone.
“Good call,” said Mitchell. “Tell them to hole up where they are until nightfall and wait for the helicopters to appear, and make sure that you warn them to use caution and avoid the armed patrols.”
After a minute, Jackson finished the call. “They’ve gone to ground in a wadi. I think we should do the same.”
“I agree,” said Mitchell.
An hour later, Jackson pulled off the bumpy road and drove their Rover across the rocky terrain until they came to a slight depression in the ground. Deciding that it was the best spot around to hide in, Jackson parked the jeep. Right away, Mitchell and Jackson jumped out, grabbed a dirty sand-colored tarp from the back of the jeep, and then built a roof over the side of the vehicle, giving themselves some shade from the scorching sun.