The Sahara Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  The door closed, and I leaned back, trying to conjure up a way out of my predicament. She was indeed attractive, and if single, I would have been in hog heaven. Reality is a ruthless master. I was married, struggling to keep my life with Lisette intact. I couldn't yield to temptation. I'd hate myself in the morning.

  The bathroom door swung open, Alix strode over, and sat on the bed. The sparkle gone from her eyes. Instead, she focused on me with a long hard stare. Her one-sided smile oozed a sub context I couldn't fathom. My pulse accelerated as I struggled to come up with something to say.

  She spoke without emotion, "The reason I insisted on one bed was to preserve our cover story. We are supposed to be lovers, are we not?" She paused lips shut tight and lifted her brows. "But there is one thing you must understand, we are not, and if you try anything — anything — you will not have more children. Do I make myself clear?"

  Her cold stare hit like a lightning bolt. "Yes ma' am." I held up my hands. "No problem." I wondered who was going to sleep on the floor.

  She read my mind, not a good omen. "We may occupy the bed together … if you behave."

  I blew out a breath of air. "I guess so, ah … whatever you say."

  She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, "I do say, and don't forget it."

  Women — what the hell, I'll never understand them.

  * * *

  The Piste Restaurant, someone's idea of a traditional local eatery jazzed up for western sensibilities, had tables outside, but Roger led us back to a shaded private patio decorated with carpets and colorful wall hangings.

  The owner, dressed in a long loose-fitting burnous type robe, arrived, and spoke to Roger in Arabic. The man snapped his fingers and we were soon dining on a meal of grilled camel steak with onions and French fries. I would walk a mile to avoid eating a camel, but I was hungry, even roasted goat would have sufficed.

  Amadeo dug in with enthusiasm. Sensing my hesitancy, he said, "Go ahead, tastes like beef, lower in fat too."

  I cut off a piece and he was right. "Not too bad." Goulon was absent. "Where's the big guy?"

  "Atif had him stay behind and guard the vehicles."

  "He expecting trouble?" There it was again, a vague uneasiness, my sixth sense kicking in: something was about to go wrong. It always does.

  "Dunno, most likely just being cautious." He dipped his head and asked, "You got a reason to ask?"

  "Nah, you're probably right. How's your hotel?"

  "Okay, but I'm sure our humble abode don't compare to the honeymoon suite." He paused for a reaction. I caught Alix's smile out of the corner of my eye. Amadeo continued, "Stayed in worse. Best way to describe it is, let's say, a hot sheet motel with serious roach potential."

  I grinned. "So, you feel right at home.

  Tauzin didn't understand, so Alix offered a rough translation. He responded with that devilish smirk. She leaned against me and cooed, "Oh, it will be so nice to go back to our room and take a long hot bath. Don't you think?"

  Four sets of eyes bored holes in me as a bolt of testosterone shot through my body. "Yeah, a massage would feel good too."

  Her shoulder tensed, but she kept up the game. "Oh yes, you can read my mind."

  The wild leer in Tauzin's eyes told me I had gone far enough. "Atif," — I almost said Roger. — "what's the plan?"

  Roger's cold stare showed he thought so too. He announced in French, we would go to the truck after the meal, and make sure everything was ready. Alix translated for my benefit.

  * * *

  Goulon greeted us at the gate to the hotel compound with his usual passive expression that changed to a faint smile as Tauzin produced a covered plate of food. He told Tauzin about a bottle of wine he found, and they ambled off to the rooms. Algeria, being a Muslin country and Tamanrasset in particular, was dry in more ways than one. Alcoholic drinks were forbidden, a rule usually ignored by travelers.

  Roger stayed off to the side as Dylan took charge for public consumption. He motioned for Alix and me to inspect the vehicles. "This is an almost new by Saharan standards: four-wheel drive Mercedes Benz Unimog, only five years old and kitted out with 46-inch tires and a 5.7-liter diesel that has a sixty mile an hour top speed through its six-speed transmission. It served as a support vehicle on the Algerian stage of the recent Paris-Dakar Rally. Certain parties," he tilted his head at Roger, "were lucky to obtain it for our use."

  "You sound like a used car salesman," quipped Amadeo.

  Without changing expression, Dylan replied, "And we have an easy payment plan. Isn't that what you Yanks call it?"

  "Send the bill to the—" I started to say count, but hesitated as I caught Roger's eye. "To the boss. Any luck finding a bike?"

  Dylan shook his head. "Sorry, nothing you would want to risk your life on. We need you in one piece." He nodded in Roger's direction. "Your safety is our responsibility."

  Amadeo chimed in again, "You guys got your hands full then."

  I broached a subject that had been on my mind ever since Roger told us we would enter the country without weapons. "Were you able to come up with something for personal protection?" I didn't want to say guns out loud in the compound.

  Amadeo answered with a wisecrack. "You might stop at the pharmacy on the way back to the honeymoon suite."

  Alix blushed as Dylan let out a hearty laugh. "Yeah mate, I suggest you do that." After a moment of nervous silence on my part, he said, "It's taken care of. We'll un-wrap the goods after we leave town. Find some isolated place on the piste."

  "You'll like what we got," said Amadeo. He grinned, "Should be adequate for personal protection."

  We went over the next few days' route in detail. The trail appeared to be a rough go on a seldom-traveled piste. I enquired before we left Bayonne, why it was necessary to go overland to the border region. Commandant LeGrande explained the arrival of our group at the airport would attract too much attention. He didn't answer when I asked why that was a problem.

  * * *

  Later, Roger let the happy couple off at the hotel. The legionnaire owner sat at the front desk as we entered. We spent a few minutes talking about the Hoggar Mountains to the north. Alix assured him that we would make every effort to follow his sightseeing suggestions.

  Acting the part of a gentleman, I held the door to our room open and Alix brushed by with a coy smile. Better watch yourself, it's gonna be a long night. I reached in and switched on the light only to hear her gasp in astonishment. Our things lay scattered on the floor.

  I shut the door, put a finger to my lips, and shook my head. She recognized my meaning — don't say anything. I pulled out my switchblade and popped open the blade. Much to my surprise, she did the same. I tiptoed to the bathroom door, eased it open, and flipped on the light. Empty. We were alone. I started to say something, but she waved her hand, pointed to her ear, and then to the walls. We checked the room for a bug, found none. A quick inventory of our belongings turned up nothing missing, except a spare camera lens. To my great relief, Joe's radio receiver was still in the daypack.

  "What do you think?" I asked.

  She answered with a calm professional demeanor, but I detected an edge to her voice. "Made to look like a burglar was here, an ordinary thief would have stolen more." She paused and closed the camera bag. "I believe the lens was taken to deceive us."

  "Yeah, that's about right." Having my room searched seemed to be an occupational hazard. "Another thing to consider, someone could be trying to send us a message."

  The way she ducked her eyes left me with an uneasy feeling. She dropped her gear on the bed and retreated to the bath. I had a bunch of questions but wasn't sure who to trust.

  An hour later, after a tense ritual of getting ready for bed, we lay under the covers with a healthy distance between us. I wondered if I should say something.

  She spoke first with a delicate, almost fragile tone. "Tell me about your wife."

  "She's French."

  "I know. How did you
meet?"

  I told her how we met, Lisette's kidnapping, the events in Nairobi, our reunion in Mexico, and everything else that happened since, including our adventures in Iran and Afghanistan. It felt good to get it all out.

  "Sounds like you have the perfect marriage?"

  "Not really. We're separated."

  Her tone changed, harder and more inquisitive. "Why? I don't understand."

  I emptied my heart out with despair as I told about Lisette's depression after the birth of the baby and our disastrous trip to Rome. "…the last word I have is she returned to Lamu."

  "Do you think you will see her again?"

  After a tense silence, my stomach tied in knots, I said, "I'm not sure. It doesn't look too good. She's strong-minded … I guess that's one of the things I like about her."

  Alix leaned over and placed a tender kiss on my cheek, I could feel her tears. "You are a good man. I wish I—" She turned over. "We need to sleep, I think we face a long day tomorrow."

  I lay still thinking about Lisette and the kid. It seemed hopeless. I had no answer. How strange is this? Here I am in bed with a babe who's undoubtedly hot-to-trot and all I can think about is Lisette. Guess that's what they call true love.

  15 ~ Reflections

  Thursday, 2 October 1980, Tamanrasset, Algeria

  A loud pounding woke me out of a deep sleep. — A dream interrupted. — Together with Lisette on the beach at Lamu, I could even feel the warmth of her body.

  The hammering continued. "Hey Ross, let me in. We gotta go." Amadeo's voice echoed in the hall.

  What's he doing here? Then a stunning realization — the body cuddled up against me wasn't Lisette.

  Alix moaned, "You better let him in."

  A shot of adrenalin cut through the cobwebs like a fifty-five-gallon drum of coffee. I gaped at Alix lying in the center of the bed. What happened? What's going on?

  "Ross, wake up. We've gotta get going — Now." He jiggled the handle.

  I swung to the floor and opened the door. Amadeo burst in and turned the lock behind him. I pleaded, "What's up? We're supposed to leave—"

  "We gotta leave now. Get your stuff together—"

  Alix, the sheet pulled up to her chin, said, "I'll get ready."

  Amadeo fixed his eyes on her. "Sorry to interrupt, but you don't have time to get ready. Dylan's waiting outside. We gotta leave now." He paused and motioned for us to hurry. "We got problems, big time, I'll explain on the way." He spoke sharply to Alix, who had not moved, "Get up and get moving — Now."

  Alix slipped out of bed revealing the fact, unknown to me, she slept wearing only flimsy panties and a short cut-off tee shirt. She glared at us as we stood ogling. "When you've seen enough, I suggest you get packing." She grabbed up her clothes and sashayed off to the bathroom.

  Amadeo, mouth agape, uttered, "Wow! — Ross, I've got to hand it to you. You never miss a beat."

  "This ain't what you think. Nothing happened."

  His face distorted into an incredulous mask, somewhere between scorn and envy. "You're trying to tell me you spent the night with an almost naked hottie, and nothing happened. I may be—"

  Alex called from the bath, "Stop your masculine banter and get our things together."

  Amadeo gave me a knowing smile and started gathering up the gear as I struggled to dress.

  "Nothing happened. You gotta believe me."

  The bathroom door opened, and Alix sailed through pulling on her shirt. "He's right. He's too much of a gentleman and too married for his own good." She sat on the bed and pulled on her boots. "Now tell me, what is going on?"

  * * *

  The Land Rover sped down the dirt street with Dylan at the wheel. We made a swift exit from the hotel, with only a moment's hesitation for Alix to inform the owner's wife we were leaving. They exchanged some sharp words in French I didn't understand, but then I didn't care, we weren't coming back.

  "Now tell me what's up?" I demanded. "Where's the other guys, are they with the truck?"

  Dylan eyed me through the rearview mirror. "That's the problem — the Unimog. Roger purchased the lorry from a guy who claimed it was used in the Paris -Dakar Rally."

  "Yeah, I remember."

  "Well, it turns out the Mog was used as a support vehicle but didn't make it all the way to Dakar." He paused for effect. "The bleedin' thing was stolen in Tam. Roger bought some hot wheels. He found out last night when one of his contacts clued him in."

  "Where's he now?"

  "He managed to obtain another Land Rover and we spent the night repacking things. Roger left right after we finished and intends to ditch the Mog in the desert. Goulon and Tauzin followed him, and we'll meet up this afternoon."

  Alix asked, "How does this affect our plans?"

  "Hell, if I know."

  Amadeo, sitting in the front passenger seat exclaimed, "FUBAR."

  "Yeah, you've nailed it." A FUBAR, it had to happen that way, it always does. And now— Hell, I don't even know what now is.

  Alix didn't understand, despite her excellent command of the English language. "What is this?"

  Dylan gave her a profane and explicit translation. He seemed to have an unusual facility with interesting French idioms. I made a mental note to ask for some pointers.

  Alix gave me a demure smile. I wondered what she was thinking. My mind's eye conjured up the image of her by the bed. She must have read my mind. Women seem to do that, too easy for comfort. In an instant, her expression changed. "You had your fun." Her gaze turned to an icy stare. "Now we must concentrate on business."

  I started to sound off with a snappy comeback but rejected the inclination. What is it with this woman? Is it too late to get out and go home?

  "There's the bloke I told you about," snapped Dylan to Amadeo. "He tends to show up much too often." I peered out the side window. A wiry man with a weathered face, sat astride a motorcycle, staring at us. A cold chill went down my spine. I recognized him from a photograph.

  Amadeo eyed him as we passed. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

  "Yeah, you recognize him too?"

  Dylan asked, "You've seen the man before. Is he one of yours?"

  "No, only seen his picture. And he's not one of ours." At least I don't think so. How can I be sure? I don't know what to believe anymore.

  Where did you—"

  "Can't say. Sorry. It's … ah, let's just say, he's bad news."

  Dylan snarled, "Look mate we can't keep no secrets here. We're all in this together."

  "We can't say," said Amadeo, "The source is too sensitive. I saw it too."

  "You're sure this is the same bloke?"

  Amadeo glanced back at me with raised eyebrows.

  I said, "We saw a so-so photograph with some other people, I can't be a hundred percent sure, but I'm sure enough to take precautions. We need to lose this guy before we get out of town."

  "Or let him follow and we'll deal with him on the piste," said Dylan with an evil grin. Amadeo nodded in agreement.

  I asked Alix, "What do you think?"

  "Dylan has the right idea." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "The man's name is Harry Dawson. He works for Lukas Penwell."

  "Harry Dawson," exclaimed Dylan. "I've heard the name." He cast an uncomfortable glance in the rearview mirror. "How did he turn up here?"

  Alix continued, "He's a pilot, ex-Australian Air Force, and works for Penwell's Phoenician Air Services International based in Beirut. Probably flew in, and I would wager, he is not alone."

  "How do you—" The look in her eyes said everything: don't ask. Then it hit me, "Do you think he's the one who searched our room?"

  "I am sure he was involved."

  Dylan inquired about the break-in and Alix briefed him on the details. Dylan responded, "Bloody hell."

  I told Amadeo, "Sound like it's time to break open the weapon's stash."

  "They're with Roger. You still have your switchblade?" He held up a butterfly knife. "I've got old trusty."


  Dylan reached into his jacket and pulled out a black matte Makarov PM, "You didn't think I would travel alone did you?" He twisted his head back towards Alix, "Don't worry; we'll protect you."

  Dylan's eyes flinched as he heard the click and felt the cold steel of Alix's switchblade against his neck.

  "I can protect myself. You just need to watch your own bum."

  Amadeo chuckled, "Hey Ross, I believe you now."

  * * *

  The dirt and rock piste north of Tamanrasset led into the Hoggar Mountains, a dark foreboding jumble of rugged volcanic peaks and regs or gravel plains. There were rocks, lots of rocks, rocks everywhere. In the Sahara, one visualizes great sand dunes, but the reality is rocks, usually small gravel sized. The Hoggar has them all: large, small, and huge, everything from pebbles to boulders, an endless sea of rocks stretching mile after mile, horizon to horizon. Despite being late in the season, it was hot — and dry. I'm used to heat, but it was hot never the less.

  We had been on the move for an hour. "You see him?" asked Alix.

  Dylan glanced back in the rearview mirror. "He's still there. I can just make out a small cloud of dust."

  "Do you think he's alone?"

  "Judging by the size of the plume, it could be more than one vehicle, it's hard to tell looking back through the cloud we're producing."

  Amadeo pointed to a spot ahead. "Pull over at the top of this rise, and I'll climb that hill and take a look-see."

  Dylan halted in the center of the track and Amadeo and I scrambled up a large pile of rocks, where I focused my Ziess binoculars on the incoming column of dust.

  "He's passing that arroyo, or whatever, about a mile back."

  "Just the cycle?"

  "As far as I— Wait a minute." I caught sight of a flash of light. "Saw a reflection down the road." I concentrated and waited, to no avail. "He's getting closer. We better get back."

  Amadeo made a quick scan with the East German field glasses and agreed. We scrambled down the slope, Dylan stood in the road beside the vehicle. Alix was nowhere to be seen.