Goliath

by Richard Turner

Ouadane,

  Mauritania

  The desolate silence of the desert was broken as a dust-covered Land Rover, trailing a cloud of dust behind it, came to a grinding halt at the side of what had once been a paved road. Even though the engine had been switched off, the battered and rust-covered vehicle’s engine continued to shake and rattle as if it were alive.

  Long, snake-like sand dunes had built up alongside the road from the strong winds whipping across the Sahara from the north. Anyone foolish enough to drive into one while speeding would have found it to be like hitting a brick wall head-on, with the same result to their car.

  Jackson applied the parking brake, reached down, grabbed a bottle of water, and then chugged the lukewarm liquid down, quickly emptying the bottle. Looking over, he watched as Mitchell cross-checked their location on an old, worn map with his handheld GPS. “I should be navigating,” said Jackson. “We all know officers, even retired ones, can’t read maps.”

  “Well then, we only have the NCOs like you to blame for not teaching us properly,” shot back Mitchell, without looking up from his map.

  “Ouch, that hurts, Ryan,” said Jackson, feigning pain in his chest.

  “Where are we?” inquired Fahimah from the backseat.

  “If our GPS is working, and if I’m reading this right,” Mitchell said dryly, “then we’re only a couple of kilometers outside of our first stop, the village of Ouadane.”

  Their satphone rang. Fahimah picked it up and chatted with Sam and Cardinal for a couple of minutes before hanging up.

  “Sam says they are currently heading cross-country toward the northern end of the Eye of the Sahara and have seen nothing but camels and millions of rocks for the past hour,” reported Fahimah.

  “Well, at least they’ve seen camels,” said Jackson. “This has been one long and boring drive from the capital.”

  “That’s okay,” said Mitchell. “I’m happy to keep it quiet for now.”

  Jackson shrugged his shoulders as he started the Rover, released the parking brake, and then steered their vehicle back onto the atrocious, potholed path that masqueraded as a road.

  Five minutes later, the village of Ouadane came into view. Built as part of the trans-Saharan, gold-trade route, the Portuguese had established an outpost in 1487, but eventually had to abandon it when the gold dried up. A once-thriving outpost now mainly lay in ruin. Sand-colored dwellings with thick, high walls hugged the narrow road, that zigzagged like a maze through the center of the town.

  Jackson pulled over near a small, dilapidated-looking government building on the far side of the settlement. An old and tired-looking police officer, who looked like he had not washed or pressed his faded blue uniform in weeks, sat out front. A rusting AK lay across his lap.

  Mitchell jumped out, accompanied by Fahimah, who pulled up her headscarf to cover more of her head. Pointing at the map, Mitchell assisted Fahimah by asking the police officer the best spots to look for a documentary movie shoot at the southern end of The Eye of Sahara.

  The policeman looked disinterested and shrugged his shoulders at each question until Mitchell dug into his wallet and offered him a one-hundred-dollar bill for his help. The old man burst into life and enthusiastically pointed with his nicotine-stained fingers at several prominent features on the map that he thought would offer an excellent backdrop for a film.

  Mitchell thanked the man, and turned back toward their SUV.

  Fahimah was about to crawl back into the Rover, when she spotted a group of young women, dressed from head to toe in traditional long, dark robes, standing around chatting and pointing at the Land Rover and the new strangers in town. Fahimah flashed a winning smile and quickly engaged the women in conversation. A few minutes later, she thanked the women and then walked back to the Land Rover and climbed in.

  “Any luck?” said Mitchell, looking back at Fahimah.

  “Yes, quite a bit, actually,” replied Fahimah as she dug out her water bottle. “The women said that there haven’t been any strangers other than us stopping in town for at least a week.”

  “Damn, I was hoping that someone with a lot of digging equipment would have come through here. I would have thought that this is the logical route to take with heavy equipment to a crash site.”

  “Well, they did say something else that caught my attention,” Fahimah said, before taking a swig of water.

  Mitchell and Jackson locked eyes on Fahimah and waited.

  “For the past couple of nights, helicopters—lots of them—have been heard flying over the village, heading to and from the Eye of the Sahara.”

  A grin broke across Mitchell’s face; it could only be the people looking for the Goliath. If they were there, Jen would also be there.

  “One more thing, the women said that men with guns are out on the main roads keeping people from going anywhere near the Eye of the Sahara,” explained Fahimah.

  “Sam and Cardinal need to know this,” said Jackson as he dug out the satellite phone.

  “Good call,” said Mitchell. “Tell them to hole up where they are until nightfall and wait for the helicopters to appear, and make sure that you warn them to use caution and avoid the armed patrols.”

  After a minute, Jackson finished the call. “They’ve gone to ground in a wadi. I think we should do the same.”

  “I agree,” said Mitchell.

  An hour later, Jackson pulled off the bumpy road and drove their Rover across the rocky terrain until they came to a slight depression in the ground. Deciding that it was the best spot around to hide in, Jackson parked the vehicle. Right away, Mitchell and Jackson jumped out, grabbed a dirty, sand-colored tarp from the back of the vehicle, and then built a roof over the side of the SUV, giving themselves some shade from the scorching sun.

  While Jackson looked for a good observation post, Mitchell dug into their gear in the back of the vehicle. He was pleased to see that Yuri had ensured that their equipment was custom-made to order. Hidden inside the camera cases were a couple of brand new NVGs. A false bottom built into the back of the Rover hid two brand new Russian built AKS-74U carbines, along with several already-loaded banana-shaped magazines. After a less-than-scrumptious meal from their ration packs, the group settled down for the evening.

  Mitchell took the first watch. Rummaging through his knapsack, he pulled out a gray fleece sweater and then took a seat alongside a rocky outcropping, resting his back against it. Mitchell could see that they had an unobstructed view for kilometers all around them. He relaxed and looked up into the clear, desert night sky. Mitchell was always amazed at the unbelievable view of the stars without all the pollution from a city blocking them out, and also how damn cold it got in the desert once the sun went down. Toward the end of Mitchell’s four-hour shift, Jackson ambled over, plunked his massive frame down beside Mitchell, and handed him a cup of hot coffee. Mitchell thanked him. Together they sat in silence, listening to the noisy banter of a couple of jackals calling to one another across the lonely breadth of the desert.

  “Sounds like someone is looking for a date,” joked Jackson.

  “Yeah, but I bet she’s coyote ugly,” said Mitchell in reply, which garnered a disapproving moan from his friend.

  “Worst joke of the mission,” said Jackson.

  Mitchell took a sip of his coffee and then looked over at his friend. “I really appreciate you coming along, but you know you didn’t have to,” he said. “You’ve earned a break; no one would have said a word if you’d taken the time to be around your son.”

  Jackson nodded. “Daniel’s doing fine these days. We’ve hired a private tutor who works with him three nights a week after school to get his grades back up to where they should be, and ever since he joined the high school football team, I’ve seen a profound change in him; he’s finally found something to focus on,” said Jackson. “Besides, my mother-in-law is coming to visit over the holidays, so a little time away for me isn’t a bad thing.”

  Mitchell chuckled and then suddenly stopped. He l
ooked up at the night sky. A faint rhythmic sound, like a train riding the rails somewhere out in the dark, caught his attention. Both men jumped to their feet and began scanning the horizon for the location of the noise.

  Quickly turning his NVGs on, Mitchell’s vision was bathed in bright green. He scanned the sky, trying to locate what could only be the helicopters the locals had reported hearing.

  A couple of dark shapes flying nap of the earth emerged out from a nearby valley and then started to climb toward a craggy ridgeline in the distance.

  Mitchell quickly adjusted his NVGs to get a better picture and recognized the helicopters as MI-8 Hips flying without any running lights on. They seemed to rise up for a moment, banked over to the left, and then swiftly disappeared from view. Mitchell grinned; they had them. He grabbed his gear and sprinted down to the Land Rover. Mitchell grabbed his map and marked the position where the helicopters had vanished.

  It looked to be no more than ten kilometers cross-country.

  Jackson placed a quick call to Sam to let them know what they had seen, and that they were going to check it out right away.

  Fahimah shot up, wide awake. She pulled her blanket over her shoulders, and walked over to the side of the Rover to see what was going on. Mitchell quickly filled her in and then told her to pack.

  “It’s time to do some night driving—cross-country, no less,” said Mitchell to Jackson, with a grin on his face.

  “I hate driving by NVG,” grumbled Jackson.

  “Okay then, I’ll drive.”

  “No way, Captain, you’re bad enough with a map. I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you drive cross-country by NVG.”

  “Your call,” said Mitchell, as he dug out the two AKs from the back of the vehicle. Slamming home a thirty-round magazine in his AK, Mitchell pulled back on the charging lever, loading a round into the chamber. His mind became fixed on one goal: finding and rescuing Jen and her mother before the sun came up.

  23