The Sahara Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  His eyes darted to the left, down to the sand, avoiding my stare.

  "Wait a minute. You knew from the start. This hasn't been about an intercept, something else is at play."

  His expression betrayed him, his shoulders sagged, too exhausted to argue the point.

  "That's it, isn't it? You've been holding back all along."

  He sighed. "Yes, the time has come to explain."

  "Explain what?" The realization I had been playing a sucker's game brought me to the boiling point.

  "We understood the fact a problem exists in our security."

  "You mean you got a leak." He nodded. "Was this whole thing staged just to find a freakin leak in your organization?"

  "That was not the original intent, but the situation evolved, a difficulty that must be solved."

  "You suspected Tauzin?"

  "No, we suspect the problem exists in Djanet." He paused to take a deep breath. "Tauzin was a replacement. The first man became injured and not able to serve."

  The bastards used me as bait. "Did my people know about this?" How the hell did Wilson buy into this? I can't believe it.

  "I understand approved at high level your government … The fact secret from operational staff." Roger grew weary, starting to mangle his words, but I didn't care.

  "What do you mean high—" Then it hit me like a load of bricks: Hansen, he screwed me again. If I ever get back to Washington alive, I'm gonna—

  At this point, Dylan exploded. "Bloody hell Roger, and to believe I trusted you bastards." He glared at Alix. "And what was your role in this?"

  Roger drifted off into French, "Ne sait rien…" Whatever he said elicited a sharp vicious response from Alix. I recognized a few colorful idioms mixed in with a flurry of merdes.

  I glanced at Amadeo and shrugged.

  He translated. "Roger said something to the effect that she was uninformed and was along as window-dressing just to keep you occupied."

  The conversation descended into a three-way shouting match between Dylan, Alix, and Roger. I had enough and yelled, "That's it, everybody shut up." They continued arguing. — I grabbed a Tokarev and racked the slide. — "I said shut the hell up and I mean it."

  An uneasy silence ensued. Dylan spoke first, "You said you have an idea."

  "Yeah, I got a plan and Amadeo and I'll carry it out." Amadeo's eyebrows stood at attention. "If you jokers want to come along for the ride, you're welcome, but just remember one thing," I waved the pistol in their direction. "I'm in charge."

  Roger objected: "Non, il s'agit d'une opération française."

  Dylan responded calmly and they carried out a long conversation in French. I could tell Dylan took up for my position, but Roger remained adamant. Suddenly, Alix was at it again, she tore into Roger with a fury, calling him every name in the book — and the French have a particularly expressive book. Roger soon tired of the whole thing and threw up a hand in surrender.

  Alix focused on me with an anguished frown. "Please do not think I knew of this. I don't—" A single tear ran down her cheek.

  At that point, I wasn't sure whom to believe. "Okay, is everyone on board?"

  Dylan scrunched his face into a skeptical sneer. "I want to hear this plan before I commit."

  "Fair enough." I stuck the pistol in my jacket pocket. "It's simple really. We're gonna steal an airplane."

  Amadeo gave me an amused here-we-go-again look, but Dylan spoke first. "Okay, you nick an aircraft. Either one of you blokes a pilot?"

  Amadeo answered, "He can fly. I wouldn't call him a pilot, but if he can steal it, he can fly it." Responding to Dylan's puzzled expression, he added, "Ross is an expert at making off with other people's airplanes."

  I cut him off before he went into too much detail. "He's right — now listen up. I assume Harry Dawson has a twin-engine plane at the local airfield. We're going to steal it and I'll take it into Libyan airspace and locate what we came here to find. We need to do this pronto, before he gets suspicious about his goons not showing up."

  Dylan seemed to buy into the plan. "You're right, if they don't appear today, he'll most likely go search for 'em, or he could leave." He spoke to Roger. "I think this is the only option we have, unless you want to close up shop right away."

  Roger dropped his eyes.

  Alix spoke up, "I agree. You may count on me."

  I addressed Roger. "I need an answer from you. If you don't want to come on board, we'll find a place for you to stay. In any case, you require a doctor for the shoulder wound."

  "Très bien. J'ai un agent de confiance à Djanet." He paused. "The agent is not the person of suspicion. We may go à sa maison. He will find un médecin."

  Amadeo stepped in. "Okay everybody load up. We gotta get Roger to a doctor ASAP. Let's go."

  * * *

  The home of Roger's agent Ali Hassan was perfect for our purposes. We parked the vehicles behind the walls of his small compound and assembled inside. Ali sent for a doctor, one who could be trusted to be silent. That was a lucky break, because he was the only doc in town. As he attended to Roger as we met outside, planning our next move.

  Amadeo suggested he and Ali go into Djanet and scout out Dawson's location. "I'll borrow an outfit from Ali, we're about the same size, and we'll go in his car. He says there's not too many places Dawson could be staying."

  I added, "While you're out, why don't you swing out by the airfield and see if you can spot his plane. We need to lay low until we find his location. Can't risk running into him on the street." Everyone agreed.

  "What are your plans for Harry Dawson? Do you kill him?" asked Alix.

  "No. We grab him and find out what he knows. He should be able to tell us where the rest of the gang is. And maybe we can learn what he had planned for us."

  Dylan smirked. "You think he'll just tell all. Come on, this bloke is—"

  "Believe me, he'll spill the beans." I grinned. "All we got to do is get him here. Any ideas?"

  "You may leave the questioning to me," said Alix. "I will prove to you that I am not … window dressing." She peered in to my eyes. "I can keep him occupied, is that not so?"

  "Yeah, if anybody can, you can. Guess you got the job. Tell me what you have in mind."

  She smiled a wicked smile, "When they return with his location, Ali will take me to Dawson's hotel. And then I will…"

  * * *

  Lunch was all Harry Dawson could ask for. A delectable lamb couscous stew spiced with ras el hanout, and the girl — a French belle fille — captivated by his masculine Australian accent. His plans for flying out to look for his team fell to the wayside, trampled by a stampede of carnal anticipation.

  Amadeo and I sat several tables away, watching the charade. Alix argued she could pull off the ruse alone, but I insisted on providing backup.

  He invited Alix back to his hotel room, but she declined. His disappointment salvaged by her offer to take him to her place in a quieter neighborhood. She claimed the hotels in Djanet offered little privacy for those who enjoyed vigorous and expressive lovemaking.

  Dawson was preoccupied as Ali opened the gate to the compound for the car to enter. By that time, Alix commanded his full attention, her hands busy revving up his expectations. He failed to notice when we slipped through as Ali closed the steel doors. Amadeo pulled open the driver's door and I took the passenger's side.

  Alix sat with Dawson's pistol held firmly in both hands, pointed at his head. I smiled. "M1911, nice gun."

  Harry foolishly tried to escape, pushing the door against Amadeo. Dylan stepped in from behind and laid him out with a blow to the back of the head with the butt of an AK-47.

  "How'd your lunch date go?" I asked as I held the door open for Alix.

  "Got a free meal, what more can a girl ask for?"

  "Yeah but you missed the fun and games."

  That wicked smile again. "Don't be so sure." She walked over to the prone body and kicked him in the groin. "Oh, that felt so good. I told you the earth would
move." She hammered him again. "And it did, didn't it?"

  As she sashayed away, Amadeo said, "Ross, you can really pick 'em. — She make the earth move for you?"

  "Come on, let's drag his butt into the house, we got work to do."

  * * *

  Harry Dawson's body began to twitch. He was tied to a rough chair with telephone wire, a bag over his head, and duct tape across his mouth. He was screwed and knew it.

  By pre-arrangement, Amadeo, Dylan, and Alix kept up a conversation in Arabic. By his reaction, it was clear Harry didn't understand the language. They maintained the charade for a few minutes, not a long time, but eternity for someone tied up and blindfolded. The intensity of his stifled moans and screams indicated Harry wished to speak. I stepped behind, out of his line of vision, and jerked the bag off his head. Alix struck a pose in front of him: wild eyed, teeth barred, with a butcher knife in her hand.

  She screeched like a banshee, grabbed his belt, pulled hard, and sliced the top of his pants down past his crotch. He let out a pitiful scream as trickles of blood oozed from his upper thigh.

  Dylan stepped in, restrained her, and yelled, "We need him to talk, you can play with him later." She screamed something in Arabic and Dylan forcibly disarmed her. Amadeo grabbed Alix around the waist and pulled her aside.

  I strutted around and stood in front of the chair. He struggled at the restraints, the hard wire cut into his wrists and he soon gave up. I looked him up and down and glanced back at Alix.

  "Nice, don't you think. Not quite what you expected, was it? An afternoon devoted to the pleasures of the flesh." I fixed my eyes on him. "Yeah, your guys in the desert can just wait." He flinched. I nodded back at Alix, "You don't know what you missed — that's a wild one." I said to Amadeo and Dylan, "Ain't that right guys?"

  Amadeo played it to the hilt. "Sweet and sassy, oh yeah."

  I continued, "Bet that's the way you like it. Helga's a wild one too, don't you think. Sweet and sassy don't even begin to describe her." His eyes showed he didn't understand. "The redheaded broad with the scorpion tattoo on her inner thigh." A flicker of recognition. "You never had her?" I turned my head to the others and laughed. "Thought everybody had a go at that. — You hadn't? What's the matter, Helga Bremmer thinks she's too good for you?" That did it, he understood. An aura of confusion and anxiety hung over his face.

  "Let me have him," screamed Alix.

  I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture. "Later." I pulled up a chair, sat in front of him, and leaned forward. "Okay, here's how this is gonna go down. In a minute, I'll remove the tape. Then I'm gonna ask you some questions. And then you will answer the questions." I leaned back, straight in the chair. "You comprende partner?"

  He nodded, but I detected a trace of defiance in his eyes. I ripped the tape off his mouth to a blood-curdling scream. He followed with a deft exhibition of Australian expletives, some I never heard before. I stood, walked around behind him, and grabbed his ears.

  "What's it going to be? Your choice." He didn't respond. "Okay let's start with Marsden. Where's he at now?"

  "I don't know no bleedin—"

  I hammered him on top of the head with the heel of my hand. "Maybe you're acquainted with him by his other name — Juan Antonio Machado."

  Harry recoiled. "Don't know—"

  I twisted his head back towards me. "Don't tell me that, you were with him in Beirut at Lukas' house." He flinched again. "You don't remember seeing me?"

  His eyes bugged out. "Who the bloody hell are you people?" He held his breath for several seconds as blood left his face. "Israeli, you're bleedin Mossad."

  I hadn't even considered that possibility and decided to continue his line of thought. "Answer the questions or I'll turn you over to Tamara." That was the only name I could come up with on such short notice. Amadeo let out a genuine chuckle at just the right time.

  "What do you plan to do with me?"

  I snapped my fingers and turned to Alix. "Tamara baby, he's all yours."

  She broke away from Amadeo, charged, and delivered a roundhouse kick to the chest, knocking the chair over. He gasped for breath as I righted the chair. "Talk or we leave. She wants you, she can have you."

  "Keep that bitch away from me, I'll tell you—" He didn't complete the sentence. Alix delivered another boot to the ribs.

  "One last time, tell me about your current operation, the one involving us."

  A bolt of reality stunned Harry as he realized his predicament. We had been his target. I popped open Tauzin's switchblade in front of his face and he stared talking.

  "Not me, believe me … they were supposed to kill you and come to Djanet with your vehicles. Then I would fly them back to Libya. I … I—"

  I held the blade to his neck. "How about the guy in our camp … Tauzin?"

  "Never knew the bloke's name. They told me to contact him by radio. What… ah, I guess something happened."

  "Yeah, something happened all right. Now back to Marsden or Juan Antonio Machado, whatever you call him. Start talking and don't leave anything out."

  "He's in Libya," he gasped.

  "Where?' Be more specific."

  "At Sabah."

  "He has the radar with him … at Sabah?"

  "No, how did—" I slapped him across the face.

  "I'll ask the questions. You answer."

  "No. It's been moved … south towards the border."

  I whacked him across the face again. "Tell me where."

  They moved to a new base … Al Wigh down south."

  "See how easy that was. Now tell me what they got planned next."

  "I— I— I'm not sure. Something about an attack down in the Aouzou Strip. The Libyans trained this Islamic Legion, a bunch of Abos from African countries outfitted with Russkie gear, they plan to move back into Chad … soon, I think."

  I patted him on the shoulder. "Okay, so far so good. Now what's your gang's involvement?"

  "This Machado bloke is helping the crazy Kraut bastards. They have a few Russian missiles to go with the radar. I don't know all the details, they don't talk much."

  I assumed the Krauts were the Škorpion Brigade. "Tell me about the Germans. Why do you call them crazy?"

  "They're an odd lot, bonkers everyone, they keep to themselves and …" He hesitated, fear in his eyes, real terror, not easy to fake.

  "And what?"

  "They're killers, never seen anything like it, not even back in the day, you know Southeast Asia. Thought I saw some cold-blooded bastards, but this lot, they killed a couple of their own people, just on suspicion."

  "They ever bother you?"

  "No, I steer clear, but they did cut-up one of the Turks working for Penwell."

  "How about my girlfriend Helga, is she with the rest of them?"

  "Yes, how— ah, yeah, the whole mob is there."

  "Tell me, is Lukas Penwell running the operation in Libya?"

  "No, Dan Marcus, he's former CIA, works for Penwell's outfit, PASI. He's running it from Saba."

  "Who else?"

  "Another Yank, Eddie Knight, a pilot, ex-air force. He does about the same thing I do. — Fly and … ah, other things."

  "Carl Walker," said Amadeo. "Is he working with you?" Amadeo glanced over at me. He had dealt with Walker in Iran. He missed killing him in Turkey and I knew he was anxious to have another shot at him.

  "The bloke's still in Beirut, as far as I know."

  I asked, "How about the Germans? Any more of them?"

  "One bloke they called George and a few others, never got their names."

  I assumed he was talking about Georg von Hoffmeister, SkB's chief operations planner. "When was George last there?"

  "He's down at Al Wigh."

  "Okay, let's get back to the radar and Marsden or Machado, whatever you call him. Is the system operational? Do they have other radar units?"

  "As far as I know, it's ready to go. It's the only one."

  Anything else?"

  "No, they keep to themse
lves. I'm just a pilot."

  "How did you get mixed up with this bunch?"

  "I met Knight in Bangkok back in '69. I never knew exactly who he was working for. Then three years ago, he contacted me and offered me a well-paying job doing flight training for the Libyan government.'

  "How about Penwell?"

  "Knight works for him, the job was with Penwell. I first met him in Beirut."

  "So, you're pretty tight with Lukas?"

  "Yeah, you might say that. We stay at his villa, whenever we're in Beirut."

  "What'll you tell him when you return?"

  Harry paused. A nervous, questioning expression emerged. "You gonna let me go?"

  "If your information checks out, we might. How'll he react?"

  "Bloody hell, I'm not going back. I ain't bonkers. They'd kill me for sure. If you let me go, I'll disappear, no problem. I ain't going back."

  "Sounds like a plan. We'll check out what you said and if you're straight with us, we'll see what we can do. In the meantime, if you need anything, feel free to ask our hostess here." I nodded back towards Alix. "Make sure our guest gets everything he deserves."

  Outside, I asked Dylan and Amadeo what they thought.

  "I believe he was pretty much telling the truth," said Amadeo.

  Dylan agreed, "You think it's safe leaving her in there with him?"

  A blood-curdling scream ripped through the air. — Sounded like a neutered goat trying to pass a kidney stone. — I commented, "She's good at this. Wonder what he asked for?"

  19 ~ Twin Beech

  Monday Evening, 6 October 1980, Djanet

  Dylan and I drove to the airfield to check out Harry's airplane. The so-called facilities at Djanet airport included a couple of mud huts for the terminal building, no hangars available or needed. It didn't take long to find the plane parked on what passed for an apron. A vintage twin-engine, low-wing tail-dragger with Lebanese registration marks on the tail and Phoenician Air Services International emblazoned across the fuselage in gold letters.

  "What do you know," I said, "A Twin Beech, Model 18."

  "You flown one of these?"

  "No, how hard can it be?"

  I used the key supplied by Harry to open the side door. We hopped in and I went for the cockpit, settled in the pilot's seat, examined the instruments, and checked the charts. "Piece of cake, no problem."