The Sahara Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  The problem? — What problem? — Resolved? — "What are you talking about?" A tsunami of worst-case possibilities raced through my jumbled brain. This guy, he's the head of the… What happened — did they get to Lisette?

  Jack said, "We teamed up with some guys sent by the count. She had 24/7 security—"

  "Had … What the hell?"

  "They're alright. A couple, a team probably from the Škorpion Brigade tried to kidnap them."

  "What?"

  "We don't know what they had in mind because they're dead. They didn't catch our surveillance and we got them before they had a chance to get inside the house."

  "He is correct. Jacque Richard is how would you say in the cinema —one tough hombre — one of my men was wounded, but Jacque killed the man and the woman before—"

  Fear welled up inside, bordering on panic. "A man and a woman. Was she—"

  Jack answered, "No she wasn't your redheaded girlfriend. They weren't well trained, must've assumed they had a soft target."

  "Where's Lisette and Duval?"

  The count examined his watch. "They should be landing in the Seychelles in one hour." He noted my surprise. "Tomorrow they will stay under guard at the hotel of Doctor Andre Louis on Lamu Island."

  "Lamu!"

  "They are safe, that is all you are required to know."

  "Like hell — that's my wife and son, this operation can wait, I'm going to Kenya."

  The count shot an icy stare and spoke slowly, his voice firm with authority, "My friend John Smith assured me you would stay on course and complete the job." I started to open my mouth. "And he also informed me you would be driven by love." He let the thought hang for a moment. "And by revenge."

  "Is Marsden in Libya?"

  "Yes."

  Jack was smiling. He knew I couldn't resist a chance to frustrate Marsden. They say anger, aggression, hatred, and revenge can't sustain one's actions, but they never met Marsden. Again, my sixth sense failed, I acted without thinking things out, "Okay, let's get this over with. I'm going to Lamu right after this is finished. Any problems with that?"

  The count's mischievously sly smile told me I'd been had. "Comme il faut — as it should be." He snapped his fingers and a professional looking soldier stepped out of the car. "Let me introduce Commandant LeGrande who will coordinate your departure." The commandant nodded without smiling or offering a greeting. "You may continue your training while the commandant and I consult with the colonel of the regiment.'

  I asked Jack, as they drove away, "Okay, now tell me what happened."

  He completed the tale, finishing with him shooting the two assailants with his silenced Browning Hi-Power. "… and that about covers it. The count's man called in the local gendarmes and they cleaned up the mess."

  "And what was Lisette's reaction?"

  "She never knew what was going down, until it was all over. She didn't even realize I was there. We attempted to keep the incident low-profile."

  "Did she say anything? Did you talk to her?"

  "Yeah, I'm afraid she wasn't too happy."

  "I can imagine."

  "I tried to smooth things over, but it didn't do any good. The count had a team there in a couple of hours and they took her to a safe house in Lyon. He came down yesterday afternoon and spoke with her. Somehow, he got her to agree to go to her uncle's."

  "This all happened on Friday?"

  "Yeah, late, right before midnight."

  A familiar feeling enveloped my entire being, the numbness of despair. Things had gone from bad to — complete disaster. It couldn't get worse, but it could. My shoulders slumped. I could have lost Lisette, and little Duval, for good.

  Jack gripped my arm. "Pull yourself together. They're safe now. Maybe her uncle can help straighten things out."

  "Fat chance — he blames me for everything that happened back when we first met. I don't think he ever forgave me. Now this. Yeah, he's going to talk to her. That's what I'm afraid of. I'm SOL. I'm … I don't know what I am anymore." I let out a deep sigh, "Let's go get a drink."

  Jack held me back. "Getting smashed is the last thing you need. You've got a mission starting in a couple of days and you gotta keep your head on straight."

  The mission receded to the back of my mind. "Are you coming along too?"

  "No, John Smith and me will be at the French base at Banqui. That's a town in the Central African Republic. We'll monitor the situation and be available in an emergency. Did Joe get here with the receiver he was working on?"

  "Yeah, he brought it down right after we got here."

  D'you think it'll work?"

  I shrugged. "Dunno."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not sure what's going on here. It seems crazy to set up a covert mission with a full team based upon a receiver bought in a PX." Jack started to say something, but I continued. "The unit won't even pick up the harmonic, and besides that the target will likely be too far away. This whole mess is stacking up to be a train wreck from the get go."

  "What do you think is really happening?"

  "Beats the hell out of me. But I'm glad that count guy's here, I'm gonna ask him. Come on let's find the SOB."

  Dylan yelled from the top of the wall, "Are you through talking? We've still got an hour to go."

  Jack slapped me on the back and called up to Dylan, "We'll be right up." He gave me a shove. "You need to cool down. We'll talk about it later."

  I handed him my gloves. "You go first."

  Jack grabbed the rope and scooted up the wall effortlessly, despite wearing civvies and casual shoes. At the top of the rampart, Dylan asked, "Where did you learn to do that?"

  "Army Ranger school. Went to a refresher course in Colorado, just a few weeks ago. You don't mind if I join you, do ya?" Jack had been a Ranger before joining Special Forces.

  LeGrande returned and informed us, we were to dine with the count in the officer's mess. We had twenty minutes to clean ourselves up, and make sure we were on time, no exceptions.

  * * *

  Lunch took place in a small private chamber with one round table topped with a white tablecloth and a bouquet of flowers. An armed guard stood outside the door as the count, the commandant, Jack, and our team of five dealt with an epicurean tour de force of pan roasted citrus rubbed game hen, lubricated with multiple bottles of Bordeaux Merlot and a local booze called Izarra, a sweet green liqueur with a peppermint taste. The formality of dining with an officer was an uncomfortable experience for Tauzin and Goulon. Jack and Dylan took it in stride. I just wanted an opportunity to confront the count.

  I asked the count how he knew about Lisette's uncle in Lamu. He said they served together in the war after the invasion of Normandy. Louis saved the count's life from an SS assassination team and they kept in contact ever since. I had the impression there was something more involved but decided to keep quiet until I could speak to him later.

  After about the third glass of wine and an unknown number of shots of Izarra, my tongue began to loosen up a bit. I asked, "Say count, what can you tell me about Lara Dumont. Where is she now?" I felt bad about having a negative impact on her career as a result of her helping me out of jams on two occasions.

  He gave me an unpleasant look and made a comment en français to Commandant LeGrande regarding the weather. It seems I breached a subject most taboo. I persisted, "Listen count, I would—"

  He dismissed my question in midstream with a wave of his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of exasperation on the face of LeGrande. I glanced at the others. No one dared make eye contact.

  The meal completed, the count turned to me. "We must talk."

  Nothing good ever comes from those words. They always seem so innocent at the time, an invitation for a simple conversation. I've learned the hard way — we-must-talk — are three little words you don't want to hear. My first thought, as always: BOHICA.

  LeGrande ushered everyone out, leaving Count Alexandre and me alone. He poured himself ano
ther shot of Izarra, leaned forward, and spoke, "As to the subject of Dumont, I can understand your interest. She is an intelligent and attractive woman, as you are aware. I assure you I appreciate her value to my service," he paused and glowered at me with an unforgiving eye, "despite her lapses of judgment in the past."

  "Okay, what about my wife, I want to be sure she and my son are safe."

  "They have been relocated under the highest security. Your family has the same level of safety as our president."

  For some reason, I thought about the movie, Day of the Jackal, but decided to withhold comment. He didn't seem to be in a humorous mood. Instead I asked, "Fine, now how about this mission? Something doesn't add up."

  The count took a breath of deep irritation. "And why do you say this?"

  I went through the same points I made with Jack and added a few more, "…and why do we need visas for all these other countries. Libya especially, if we can get a visa for Libya, why don't we just go there and take a look?"

  He gave a wry humorless smile. "Indeed, that is what you may have to do." He couldn't help but notice I was stunned. "What you Americans say, our fallback-plan." He paused and tapped the table with his fingers. "The matter has become more complex in the past days. I have firm intelligence, this man Lukas Penwell is now involved with your Marsden. We must not allow the terrorist Škorpion Brigade to use this technology. If they help Qadhafi gain control in République du Tchad the current military and political situation in Africa will be at grave risk. If you are unable to locate the radar by technical means, other measures must be considered."

  I had a pretty good idea what his other measures might entail. Then another thought occurred to me. "What's this about another team member? Demers said something about a photographer."

  He pursed his lips and stared out the window. After a long pause, he called out for LeGrande. The commandant stepped in and the count told him to bring la femme.

  The woman? Uh oh, I don't like the sound of this. "A woman! What—" The count motioned for me to be silent and poured both of us another shot of Izarra. The door opened and in strode a babe with short dark hair, dressed in skin-tight neon blue Capri pants and a yellow blouse that revealed plenty. She appraised me with a haughty air, removed her large-framed sunglasses, and introduced herself as Alix.

  The count with a knowing smile said, "Alixandra Moreaux will be the basis of your legend story. She worked as a professional photographer…" he eyed her and them me "… and now she works for my bureau."

  I took a swig of Izarra as she examined me with an appraising eye, placed a hand on her hip, and announced, "So, you are to be my lover boy?"

  Peppermint liqueur caught half way down my throat as I reacted to the bombshell. I gagged and just did manage to avoid spewing out the green liquid.

  She giggled a deep-throated sexy laugh and cooed, "It will not be so bad." The count took it in with a great deal of amusement.

  I coughed a couple of times and regained my breath. "I don't understand. What's the—"

  "You will travel as Alix's companion. The other members of the team will pose as support staff. It is essential to maintain an impression of an innocent enterprise."

  "What do you mean companion?" I gawked at her, serious as I could get. "I'm married. I don't think—"

  She tilted her head, inched up her shoulders, and said with eyes sparkling, "Do you promise not to be a bad boy?"

  "I … I guess … I—"

  The count placed his hand on my elbow and ushered us from the room. "I am sure you will behave in a most professional way." He sighed and gave Alix a longing stare. "Ah, the things we must do for our country."

  14 ~ The Sahara

  Wednesday, 1 October 1980, In Flight to Algeria

  The early morning flight from Algiers offered a breathtaking view of the endless Sahara. Huge ranges of dunes stretched to the horizon over the Grand Erg. Blue sky blurred into an infinite golden landscape devoid of vegetation and human habitation. The Air Algérie Boeing 737 winged its way south for 1,000 miles, with a final stop at In-Salah, before landing in Tamanrasset early in the afternoon.

  Alix sat at my left in the window seat of Classe Économique. Amadeo and the rest of the team flew out the day before. We didn't want to be obvious and attract attention with a large group arriving at once. The overnight stop in Algiers had been uneventful. Alix and I each had separate rooms. I wondered how I would to handle the situation when our legend called for us to share a single room. So far, she regarded me with cool disinterest. That was fine with me — no matter how tempted I might be to go feral.

  Thanks to the infectious presence of Alix, my status at the citadel had elevated from that of an ill-prepared tech guy to the man of the hour. Everyone, including Amadeo, viewed me with a complicated mix of envy and awe. My usual response would have been to play it to the max, but the best approach seemed to be one of caution. I said nothing about my new role, unless asked, and then did my best to shrug it off. Before he left, Jack warned me about the volatile nature of my relationship with Alix. He picked up on some jealous vibes from the others and sensed potential trouble.

  We spent the last day in intense preparations. We packed everything, unpacked, discarded items, and repacked our gear until we got it right. LeGrande examined our documents and interrogated us on the finest details of our cover story. The mood changed — for the worse as far as I was concerned.

  Alix gazed out the window. "The Sahara is so beautiful, don't you think?"

  "Yeah and we'll get all we can stand in the next few days."

  "Are you worried?" A slight tightness formed around her eyes.

  "Nah, grew up in the desert. But this looks like the big time. You been here before?"

  "Yes, but—" She offered a weak smile. "You know."

  I understood. She didn't want to chat about it in public, time to change the subject. "You speak English with an American accent. You spent some time in the states?"

  "I lived in New York City for four years. My father worked as a chef in a large hotel. I graduated high school and studied one year at Columbia. My family lived in many countries."

  "Really, where else?"

  "Singapore, Dubai, even Brazzaville in the Congo."

  "Do you cook also?"

  Her eyes sparkled as she asked, "Now why would you want to know?"

  For once, I came up with a quick answer. "We might need someone to cook."

  The smile faded, and her face froze. "Very well, since the count appointed you my assistant, you may do the washing up afterwards."

  Why is it, I always say the wrong thing around women? "Touché, you win. Let's hope our guide" — I almost said Roger — "has someone lined up."

  * * *

  The Tamanrasset airport, in the center of the Sahara, a thousand miles from anywhere that mattered, was unexpectedly up-to-date. Expecting a blast of heat, a warm breeze offered a pleasant greeting. The open desert surrounding the place made my hometown of Alamogordo seem lush by comparison.

  The situational awareness thing clicked into place as I strode down the steps. Alix, walking ahead, appeared oblivious. Not a worry in the world. I carefully checked the area, only one guy, an Arab, paid us any attention. As we got closer, I recognized the man: Roger in his Atif outfit.

  Atif greeted us with deference, took our luggage, and ushered us through the internal controls. Outside he loaded the bags into an old Land Rover and opened the door to the back seat. He appeared startled when I gave him a dollar tip. We dropped the pretense as we left the airport.

  "That was a nice touch." He held up the greenback. "Do I get to keep it?"

  "Yeah, this time, but I can't afford to make a habit of it. The count didn't say anything about an expense account. Did the others arrive all right?"

  "Yes, they are in a separate hostel for inexpensive travelers. You are booked in what may be called a tourist class hotel."

  "How about you?"

  "I am only a poor Arab guide. I sleep in the t
ruck."

  I turned my head towards Alix and asked, "Do you have a cook?" She kicked my ankle.

  "We will share—" He noted my discomfort. "Is there a problem?"

  "Alix answered first, "No, I think he just volunteered." She caressed my thigh. "Is that not so, my dear?"

  "Yeah, and she's offered to wash the dishes—" Her hand squeezed hard, too near my tender zone, and I let out a yelp.

  "Sounds like you two are already in character. Keep it up."

  She rejoined tenderly, "Oh, we will."

  Our destination, the incongruously named Hotel Rosengarten run by an ex-foreign legionnaire from Germany and his French-Algerian wife, sat on a back street. As we checked in, she eyed Alix and then me as she reached for the key. It was obvious from our passports; we weren't married, at least to each other. She said something en français, Alix retorted in a catty tone, and entwined her arm with mine. The lady replaced the key and gave us another.

  Down the hall to our room, I asked, "What were you talking about? You spoke too fast for me."

  "She thinks you are my rich American boyfriend."

  "Okay, so what'd you tell her?"

  "It does not translate well. Something like mind your own business." As I paused at the door, she continued, "I also told her we want to bathe." With a little smile, she brushed past me into the room and halted. "You realize this will be our last night in a comfortable bed for at least two weeks."

  The way she accentuated the 'a' made my knees go weak. There was only one bed in the room. She winked at me and closed the bathroom door.

  Someone called from the hall, "May I?" It was Roger with the bags.

  "Sure, come in."

  He grinned as he entered. "You didn't object."

  "What? I don't understand."

  "At the desk, she told the clerk she wanted a room with only one bed. I reserved two beds."

  I plopped down on the bed. "Hey shoot me now. I ain't gonna survive this." Things had spiraled out of control, again, and we hardly even started.

  As Roger turned to leave, he said half-aloud, "We will meet later at a small restaurant. Remember, we must maintain our legend, we are preparing for a normal desert trip as tourists." He checked the time on his cheap wristwatch. "In one hour, I will return with the Land Rover." He cast a glance at the bath and smiled. "If you are not too busy."