"The charges?"
"All explosives have been placed in a line running parallel with the glacier's face. The detonation should bring down the entire frontal wall on the ship."
"How soon before our withdrawal can be completed?"
"The use of paddles makes for slow going under a heavy ebb tide. We can't use the boat's motor for fear of alerting Machado's men. I'd estimate another forty-five minutes to clear everyone off the ship."
"We must be safely away before daylight."
"Everyone will do their utmost, Suiek= Aziz."
"Can they run the ferry operation without you?"
:'Yes."
'Bring one man and meet me at Hasan's cabin."
"We're going to execute them?"
"No," replied Anunar. "We're taking them with us."
Ammar switched off the radio and slipped the Koran into a pocket of his coat.
His betrayal by Akhmad Yazid would be revenged. He was going to enjoy seeing his magnificent plan Turn to shambles. Ammar had no intention of carrying through with the original operation, knowing Machado had been hired to kill him and his hijack team. He was angered more by the loss of his fee than by being stabbed in the back.
Therefore, he reasoned, he would keep Hasan and Kamfl alive, and yes, De Lorenzo too, at least temporarily, as bargaining chips. He might recoup after all by turning the tables and throwing all guilt on Yazid and Topiltzin.
He needed time to think and create a new plan. But first things first.
He had to sneak his hostages off the ship before Machado and his motley crew caught on to his sleight of hand.
Hala's heart sank when the door opened and the hijacker's leader stepped into the cabin suite. She stared at him for a moment, seeing only the eyes behind the ridiculous mask and the machine gun casually held in one hand, and wondered with female curiosity what kind of man he might be under different circumstances.
He entered and spoke in a quiet but fearsome voice. "You will all come with me."
Hala trembled and lowered her gaze to the floor, angry at herself for showing fear.
Senator Pitt was not intimidated. He jumped to his feet and crossed the cabin in long strides, stopping only when the toes of his shoes nearly touched Ammar's.
"Where are you taking us and for what purpose?" the Senator demanded. .
"I am not sitting in front of one of your camel-witt,--d Senate investigation committees," said Ammar icily. "Do not cross examine me.
"We have a right to know," the Senator insisted firmly.
"You have no rights!" snaPPed Amnw. He roughly pushed the Senator aside and moved into the room, his gaze taking in the pale, apprehensive faces.
You're going for a little boat ride, followed by a short journey by train. My men will pass out blankets to ward off the damp chill."
They all looked at him as if he was crazy but none argued.
With a dreadful feeling of hopelessness, Hala slowly helped President Hasan to his feet. she was tired of living under the constant threat of death. She felt as though she no longer cared.
And yet, something within her, a spark, a will to defy, still smoldered.
The fearlessness of a soldier going into battle who knows he is going to die and has nothing to lose by fighting to the end slowly crept over her. She was determined to survive.
Captain Machado entered the communication room and found it empty. At first he thought Ammar,s radio operator had taken a brief break for a call of nawm, but he looked 'm the head and found it empty too.
Machado stared at the radio panel for a long moment, his eyes strained and red from lack of sleep, his face showing a puzzled expression. He stepped onto the bridge and approached one of his own crewmen who was peering into the radarscope.
"Where is the radio operator?" he asked.
The radar observer turned and shrugged. ,i haven't seen him, Captain.
Isn't he in the communications room?"
"No, the place is deserted."
"Would you like me to check with the Arab leader?"
Machado shook his head slowly, not quite able to get a grip on the Egyptian radio operator's disappearance. "Find Jorge Delgado and bring him here. He knows radios. Better us than the stupid Arabs to oversee the communications."
While they were talking, neither man noticed the strong blip that appeared on the radarscope, indicating a low-flying aircraft passing over the center of the island.
Even if they had been alert, there was no detecting the radar-invisible
"stealth parachutes" of Dillenger's Special Forces team as they opened them and began gliding toward the glacier.
Pitt sat in the Spartan confines of the tilt-rotor osprey. The bullet-shaped craft lifted off the ground like a helicopter but flew like a plane at speeds in excess of six hundred kilo meters per hour. He was wide-awake; only a dead man could sleep in those aluminum seats with ultrathin pads for cushions, the weather turbulence, and the engine noise that roared through the barest of soundproofing. Only a dead man, that is, except Giordino. He was deflated like a life-size balloon figurethere was no other description for it-with just enough air to give it form. Every few minutes, as if his brain was set on an automatic timer, he changed position without cracking an eye or missing a breath.
"How does he do it?" asked Findley in frank amazement.
"It's in the genes," Pitt answered.
Gunn shook his head admiringly. "I've seen him sleep in the damdest contortions in the darndest places, and I still can't believe it when I see it."
The young copilot turned and peered around the back of his seat.
"Doesn't exactly suffer from stress syndrome, does he?"
Pitt and the others laughed and then became quiet, all wishing they didn't have to leave the cozy warmth of the aircraft for the icy nightmare outside. Pitt relaxed as best he could. He felt some measure of satisfaction. Though he was not included in the assault-better to leave that to trained professionals in the art of hostage rescue-he was positioned close enough to tag along on the heels of Hollis and his SOF
teams, and he had every intention of following Dillenger's men down the scaling ropes after the attack was launched.
Pitt sensed no foreboding premonition nor imagined any omen of death. He did not doubt for an instant his father was alive. He couldn't explain it, even to himself, but he felt the Senator's presence. The two had a tight bond over the years. They could almost read each other's minds.
"We'll be at your landing point in six minutes," announced the pilot with a cheerfulness that made Pitt cringe.
The pilot seemed blissfully unconcerned at flying over jagged, snowcapped peaks he couldn't see. All that was visible through the windshield was the flash of sleet slamming the glass, and the darkness beyond.
"How do you know where we are?" asked Pitt.
The pilot, a laid-back Burt Reynolds type, shrugged lazily. "All in the wrists," he quipped.
Pitt leaned forward and peered over the pilot's shoulder. No hands were on the controls. The pilot was sitting with his arms folded, staring at a small screen that looked like a video game. Only the Osprey's nose showed at the bottom of the graphic display, while the flashing picture was rifled with mountains and valleys that hurtled past under the simulated aircraft. In a split-screen panel in an upper corner, distances and altitudes appeared in red digital numbers.