Stone said, “Two weeks ago? That’s quite a time delay. Do we know where in Angola?”
“No,” Fleming interjected. “For some reason they lost coverage. Maybe technical.”
“Our people in Angola are attempting to identify the helicopter. They have make, model, and markings. It had a peculiar livery and logo, probably bogus.”
“What is the station in Windhoek doing?” Stone said.
“The COS in Windhoek is stateside in the hospital.” Colonel Frederick pointed to Fleming. “Since you’re the backup COS for Namibia, that will smooth administrative issues.” He looked at Stone and Sandra. “We have to step lightly, especially after that ambush today. The ambassador expects to take heat from the South African officials. Apparently they feel they have enough problems with the homeboys shooting each other. They don’t need to import sideshows.”
The snickers from the three men from the safe house disturbed Stone. He expected more from them, no matter how unseasoned they appeared. Across from him Sandra stiffened when Colonel Frederick turned in her direction.
Frederick regarded his notes. “Sandra. Very quick thinking on your part, by the way. You saved a fellow case officer’s life. Well done.”
Sandra relaxed and shot Stone a look of relief. Both now knew where Colonel Frederick stood regarding Sandra shooting Farley Durrell. He was definitely in her corner.
“Back to those four men up there in the desert,” Stone said. “Any indication they were Abdul Wahab’s people? Or Van Wartt’s group?”
“Houston, did you research that?” Colonel Frederick asked.
“We’ve tracked Wahab and Van Wartt in town. No linkage between the unknowns and either man.” Houston paused. “But here’s something. Our bird, that is drone, picked up a meeting yesterday between Van Wartt and a fellow from Namibia. The two were sitting outside Van Wartt’s residence. Believe the fellow’s name is Rhyton. We’re checking him out. Anyway, both seemed on edge. When Rhyton left, Van Wartt drove to a gas station and called the Libyan consulate. Later he met a man at the Bo-Kaap Museum.”
“What’s that?” Sandra asked.
“It features Cape Muslim culture.”
“This guy. Did you ident him?” Stone asked.
“Looked North African, but nobody we know from the Libyan consulate.”
Stone looked at Colonel Frederick. “Could be an intelligence officer from Libya.”
There were a few nods among the group.
Stone continued, “Now about the bomb. We’ve got to take possession before Wahab’s people get there.”
“That’s one of our hang-ups,” Colonel Frederick said. “We don’t have the aircraft or ships in the vicinity to take something like this on. The navy is sending an amphibious ship with marines and helicopters, but won’t be in position to launch a team for at least forty-eight hours.”
“We could neutralize the opposition.” Stone’s suggestion met silence.
Finally, Colonel Frederick said in a quiet voice, “Van Wartt is a South African national, and we can’t touch him on his home turf. As for Abdul Wahab.” He looked at Fleming, who squirmed in his seat. “Let’s forget about Wahab for the time being. The people he’s dealing with are the major targets. What’s that man’s name who is working for Wahab?”
Stone caught Sandra’s eye. She’d picked up on the same undertone. Why was Abdul Wahab off limits all of a sudden?
Fleming spoke up. “Nabeel Asuty. The one who today tried to kill our colleagues here. Asuty’s the guy who’s gathering men to take possession of the bomb.”
Colonel Frederick said, “Stone, I want you and Sandra to fly to Namibia. Secure that boxcar. Leave here early tomorrow.”
Stone nodded and turned to Sandra, who seemed to be thinking the same thing he was. How in hell would they to travel to the Kalahari Desert, find the boxcar, and secure it for two days?
“We’ll provide logistical support from the station,” Fleming offered. “We have a plane available.”
Houston said, “You’ll need a little more than water bottles and field rations. You need some local support up there.”
“We’ll ask the South African intelligence officer Dirk Lange to come along,” Stone said.
“I don’t know about—”
“Do you two trust him?” Colonel Frederick asked.
Both Stone and Sandra nodded.
“Make it happen.” Frederick looked around. “That’s it for the time being. Let’s see what kind of game the ambassador has cooking on the grill.”
Stone watched the people file out of the room and head for the patio area where the ambassador was hosting his function. Fleming held back at the doorway, directing his question to Frederick. “Bringing in this South African, Dirk Lange, can create problems. I know he helped Sandra save Farley Durrell’s life, but it’s best to vet his background before we let him in on our operation.”
“Stone dealt with him in Freetown,” Colonel Frederick said, pointing his thumb in Stone’s direction. “He trusts him, and we need someone with local knowledge to help us.”
“I’m sorry, Stone,” Fleming said, “but when you get Lange, you get his security service. That’s a little dicey now with the turnover in the South African Security Service. The old hands are bailing out and the new people are political appointees.”
“You’ve a point,” Colonel Frederick said. “How soon can you get a decent vet on him?”
“By tomorrow morning,” Fleming said, heading for the door.
Colonel Frederick turned to Stone. “A moment of your time. You too, Sandra.”
They moved to a corner of the room, and Colonel Frederick asked, “Have you seen Jacob?”
Stone told him about the meeting on Victoria and Albert’s Wharf and how Jacob expressed concern about Wahab and Nabeel Asuty. Jacob knew Van Wartt wanted to sell them arms. “We know now that it’s a nuclear bomb he wants to peddle.”
“We have to contact Jacob,” Colonel Frederick said. “I want to talk with him while you’re up in the desert.” He touched Sandra’s arm. “Get in touch with Dirk Lange. Ask him to contact Jacob, in case Stone can’t. Ask Lange if he can accompany you two to Namibia. I’m going to assume Fleming doesn’t find anything too negative on him.”
“I’ll have to tell Lange about the nuclear device. So far, we haven’t discussed it.”
Frederick thought a moment, and Stone knew he might change his mind. “Colonel, I wouldn’t doubt that he knows something about it already.”
“All right. Just tell him we know about the bomb. That it’s up in Namibia and Van Wartt wants to sell it to Wahab.” Frederick pointed his finger at Sandra. “Don’t divulge our sources.”
“I’ll see if I can meet with him tonight,” Sandra said. She hurried out the room, calling back to Stone, “I’ll be in touch.”
Stone felt charged. The mission was straightforward. He’d be flying to a fascinating part of the world, the Kalahari. The orders were clear-cut. Keep the bomb out of the hands of the bad guys. He’d be working with two trusted, competent individuals. What could be better? Stone, you’re back in business.
Stone made his way through the living and dining rooms to the patio where guests had gathered. All wore coats or sweaters against the early evening chill. He stopped, looked around, and saw Patience St. John Smythe heading in his direction.
“Hi there, sport,” she said, affecting an Afrikaner accent. “Let’s sink some tinnies and whack some steaks on the grill.”
“I see you’ve gone native.”
“I am sort of a native. Now about the last time we saw each other.” She moved close and whispered, “Appreciate you not mentioning our meeting in front of my beau. He’s the jealous type.”