Matthew depressed the microphone for the internal speaker system. “All right, team. Vacation’s over. I want everyone on the bridge right now.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Elise waited until the last person from the crew entered the room before she spoke. She looked around the room. Veyron, their engineer, Genevieve their chef and general jack-of-all-trades, and Matthew, their skipper. All professionals. Every one of them the best in their respective fields. Disciplined. Tenacious. Exacting individuals capable of achieving anything they set their minds to. Elise smiled as she recalled how she’d come to be part of such a team.
She was by far the youngest person in the room. Most people guessed she was in her mid-twenties. Elise didn’t know her exact age. She’d been orphaned at birth and years later had been picked up by a random IQ and cryptic reasoning test the CIA had run through all schools and public child centers. Her results had been off the charts and the CIA had taken her in and raised her as their own. Their very own weapon to beat the next generation of computer hackers. She instantly related to computers and evolved with them at a time when the internet was slowly being introduced to homes around the world. One day she decided she didn’t want to work for the CIA anymore and simply wrote herself a new identity. That’s how she came to be working for Sam Reilly on board the Maria Helena.
And now Sam Reilly and Tom Bower were in serious trouble.
Despite her age, people listened when she spoke. “Three days ago we lost track of Sam and Tom. Somewhere deep in the Saharan desert. The last time we had photographic surveillance of both men they were about two hundred miles south of Libya, bordering Niger and Chad at an oasis, enjoying an afternoon swim.”
Elise opened the first of the images on the overhead projector. It showed the small jellybean shaped oasis in the middle of a sea of sand dunes. There were five palm trees. Next to the water on the northern side, were several pieces of rubbish and debris. She enhanced that section of the image and the bodies of two people were clearly visible. They wore the jungle camouflage uniform of any number of rebel forces found much further south in the Sudan, Congo, Nigeria, the Central African Republic, or even the Democratic Republic of Congo.
No one spoke.
Elise clicked to further enhance the image of a third deceased person on the southern side of the oasis. “This is where my day really turned bad!”
The dead man was lying on his back and his uniform, despite being quite reddened had an emblem of a snake holding an AK-47. It was almost cartoonish, if it wasn’t so serious. It was the sign of the African United Conquerors. And if they were that far north it meant only one thing. They knew about Sam Reilly and were coming to stop him.
“Ah, shit!” Veyron was the first to recognize the significance. “When do we leave to go get them?”
Elise looked at Matthew. “Do you think the Secretary of Defense would authorize help from the USS Mississippi? It’s currently stationed in the Mediterranean Sea.”
“Are you kidding me?” Matthew shook his head. “With a covert operation like this, she’d have to sacrifice her agent. Even if she was the one to recruit Sam as her personal problem solver.”
“We have to go after Tom and Sam,” Genevieve said. “Their own government can’t — so if they’re in trouble, we need to be their solution.”
Elise said, “There’s one other thing I haven’t mentioned. A massive hoard of General Ngige’s men is out there in the desert. They’ve been slowly heading south through the Erg of Bilma. The good news is that while they’re on the move, they don’t yet have Sam and Tom. The bad news is we don’t have a clue why the General would risk moving so many of his soldiers this far away from the Democratic Republic of Congo. But we have to assume he had a damned good reason. The most likely, being that he knows about Sam Reilly coming for the diamonds.”
Genevieve nodded. She’d heard every word and none of it made a difference to her. “Okay. Matthew, take us in as close as you can to the Libyan coast without getting us killed. I’ll pilot the Sikorsky. We’ll mount two Browning machine guns in case we get into any trouble. Veyron and Elise, you’ll arm the machine guns and we’ll go in and get our boys back.”
No one had a better idea.
Elise smiled. This is why she loved her family. These people would shift the world to help each other. There was no discussion about whether the U.S. government would approve of their rescue attempt. Heck, even flying a heavily armed helicopter over Libyan airspace was likely to have them shot down and start a war, but the team could get around that. She would have to hack into the Libyan Civil Aviation Authority and write a special permit for approval to fly within the airspace. Perhaps she could associate the helicopter to one of the oil companies inside Libya. They would be screwed if someone actually looked at their helicopter and its armaments, but it would be enough to stop the Libyan Airforce from shooting them out of the sky within the first few minutes of entering Libyan airspace.
It could be done.
Matthew stood up. He was by far the most conservative on board the ship. Everyone looked at him. He was the only one who might consider objecting. Certainly the most likely to find legitimate reasons to object. And there were many.
His face was focused and his eyes determined. “Okay. Remember our boys are stuck in a desert with a hoard of madmen after them. Let’s get a move on!”
Chapter Forty-Nine
The Sikorsky flew a total distance of 815 miles from the coast of Libya directly through to the desert town of Bilma on the north eastern border of Niger. The flight had taken five hours and almost completely depleted their long range fuel tanks. The Erg of Bilma was one of the largest sandpits in the world and seemingly one of the most hostile environments to match. The prevailing wind gusted from the northeast, known as the Harmattan, which pummeled sand at a speed in excess of 70 knots for nine months of the year. The giant, rolling sand dunes were the hottest, driest and most inhospitable regions of the Sahara. The town reported an annual rainfall of less than one inch and the nearest known wells in the region were hundreds of miles away.
Genevieve banked the chopper to the right and ran along the Kaouar Cliffs. Their 328 foot high face appeared white against the surrounding sand and provided her first visual navigation aid since entering the large Erg. About three minutes later, she spotted a glimpse of the town. Once upon a time it was a thriving metropolis, where travelers using the Great Saharan caravan routes from Azalai to Agadez could stop and make provisions for their journey. The Kaouar oases were still famous for salt and date production, and are still the only place of provisioning along the route of the great Bornu to Fezzan caravan trail. Up until the 19th century, this route was the main point of contact between the African Sahel and the Mediterranean civilizations. Its current population was under 1600 and its people survived solely on date cultivation and salt production through evaporation ponds.
She looked down at the oasis town below. A small city of adobe buildings lined the plains, where the Kaouar escarpment in the north protected it from the constant northeastern winds. To the east of the city, large saline pans were dug into the side of the town. Genevieve instantly thought the place looked like it belonged in the set of an early Star Wars movie rather than somewhere people actually lived.
Genevieve glanced at Veyron. “You’re certain we can find reliable aviation fuel here?”
Veyron nodded. “Certain. I talked to a guy this morning who says he flies a twin-engine Beech G36 Bonanza throughout the region. Says he mostly transports mail and fresh goods that can’t be produced in the town. Sometimes takes individual passengers, but not often. He says there’s an airstrip at Bilma and it has good quality aviation fuel. Uses it every week.”