His face was focused and his eyes determined. “Okay. Remember our boys are stuck in a desert with a hoard of madmen after them. Let’s get a move on!”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Desert City Bilma – Niger
The Sikorsky flew a total distance of 815 miles from the coast of Libya directly through to the desert town of Bilma on the north eastern border of Niger. The flight had taken five hours and almost completely depleted their long range fuel tanks. The Erg of Bilma was one of the largest sandpits in the world and seemingly one of the most hostile environments to match. The prevailing wind gusted from the northeast, known as the Harmattan, which pummeled sand at a speed in excess of 70 knots for nine months of the year. The giant, rolling sand dunes were the hottest, driest and most inhospitable regions of the Sahara. The town reported an annual rainfall of less than one inch and the nearest known wells in the region were hundreds of miles away.
Genevieve banked the chopper to the right and ran along the Kaouar Cliffs. Their 328 foot high face appeared white against the surrounding sand and provided her first visual navigation aid since entering the large Erg. About three minutes later, she spotted a glimpse of the town. Once upon a time it was a thriving metropolis, where travelers using the Great Saharan caravan routes from Azalai to Agadez could stop and make provisions for their journey. The Kaouar oases were still famous for salt and date production, and are still the only place of provisioning along the route of the great Bornu to Fezzan caravan trail. Up until the 19th century, this route was the main point of contact between the African Sahel and the Mediterranean civilizations. Its current population was under 1600 and its people survived solely on date cultivation and salt production through evaporation ponds.
She looked down at the oasis town below. A small city of adobe buildings lined the plains, where the Kaouar escarpment in the north protected it from the constant northeastern winds. To the east of the city, large saline pans were dug into the side of the town. Genevieve instantly thought the place looked like it belonged in the set of an early Star Wars movie rather than somewhere people actually lived.
Genevieve glanced at Veyron. “You’re certain we can find reliable aviation fuel here?”
Veyron nodded. “Certain. I talked to a guy this morning who says he flies a twin-engine Beech G36 Bonanza throughout the region. Says he mostly transports mail and fresh goods that can’t be produced in the town. Sometimes takes individual passengers, but not often. He says there’s an airstrip at Bilma and it has good quality aviation fuel. Uses it every week.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?”
Veyron smiled. “Says there’s a guy there who robs him blind, but what’s he supposed to do? He has to refuel his plane somewhere in the Sahara. And there aren’t a lot of suppliers you can trust.”
Genevieve lowered the collective, which reduced their altitude and started their descent. “All right I’m going to land next to the runway. Anywhere in particular I need to put us down?”
“Anywhere will do,” Veyron said. “Our contact guy will drive out to refuel us.”
Genevieve hovered just above the ground and then lowered the collectively fully to the ground, placing the skids firm in the sand. The rotor blades whined to an idle. She ran her eyes along a cluster of instruments. Confident everything was in working order, she flicked the power switch to off and shut down the engines.
Elise unclipped her seatbelt and stared up at the muddy and higgledy-piggledy town. “Why would anyone want to live out here?”
Genevieve laughed. “I don’t think many people planned it. They were born into it and never quite worked out a way of escaping.”
Elise slid the helicopter door open and was the first to climb out. Veyron followed and Genevieve was the last out. She watched the rotor blades whine to a stop before carefully walking around the aircraft, checking for any damage taken during the long flight. If they needed to get out in a hurry, she wanted to make certain their ride was sound.
She noticed Elise attempting to tie her tesirnest, a traditional piece of cloth worn by Tuareg women over a light dress. She intricately ran the indigo blue robe around her body, finishing with it carefully wrapping around her head, while leaving her face open. Tuareg people, Genevieve recalled, were the only Islamic culture in the world where the men wore the veils inside town and the women wore headdresses with their faces exposed. Both Tuareg men and women traditionally wore indigo-blue robes. The dye used in coloring the cloth would leak over time and become absorbed in the wearer’s skin, giving a slight bluish tinge to their faces. Due to this the nomadic desert people acquired the name of the Blue Desert People, which had persisted for centuries until present day.
Genevieve checked the rotor tail for any chips, oil leaks, sand, or damage caused during the flight. She ran her hand, lovingly, along the helicopter’s tail and back to the opening where Elise finished tying the last of her cloth across her shoulders by applying a special knot.
Tuareg women were also recognized for their seniority in the social structure of society, with men being beneath the females in the order of the family household. Women were allowed to divorce their men and were unconditionally entitled to their household savings, while men were not allowed to divorce.
Elise turned to face her. “What do you think?”
The deep blue robe, delicately left open to expose her face and the dark blue make-up applied to her face accentuated the deep purple of Elise’s eyes. If it were possible, the image made Elise even more stunning than she ordinarily appeared.
Genevieve smiled. “I think if I had any inclination of being gay, I’d ask you to marry me.”
“Thanks.” An awkward upward crease formed at the corner of Elise’s lips. “I think. I’m more interested in whether or not you think we’ll pass as Tuareg nomads?”
“Hell no. I think they’ll take one look at you and wonder which empress has arrived.”
Elise closed her eyes. She looked like she was imagining an empress coming to town. She nodded and said, “That will do, so long as they give us the information we need.”
“About that. How do you think we go about this? You think a couple of Tuareg women can just walk up to a public place in Bilma and someone will tell us where Sam and Tom ended up?”
Standing outside the helicopter Elise placed a metallic briefcase on the floor of the Sikorsky. She typed in a code and the weapons case opened. Inside was an Israeli Uzi, a Glock 19, and two German made grenades. “Yeah, I think we can do something like that.”
Elise removed the Uzi and stripped it. She then checked the firing mechanism and reassembled it before starting again with the Glock. She was quick. Always had been. It was part of her inner psyche. She had a naturally sharp, systematic and analytical mind, and completed the entire process in under a minute.
Genevieve watched as Elise glanced over to see how far she had gotten with her weapons. It was a challenge. It made her smile. For Elise it was still a game. One she played well, and for a newcomer had developed an expert proficiency in a relatively short space of time.
But Genevieve had spent her life with weapons. For her, it wasn’t a game. It was a part of life. Genevieve blinked without saying a word. She had already stripped her weapons and reassembled them in nearly half that time. Then again, she had done little else than work with military hardware for a lifetime before joining the Maria Helena.
Chapter Fifty
Elise slipped the Uzi into a holder built into her robes. The Glock, she nestled into an ankle strap on her right leg and attached two grenades to a weapons belt beneath her robe. If General Ngige’s army of rebels were still searching the city, the last thing she wanted to do was get caught in a firefight under equipped.
She watched as Genevieve finished tying her tesirnest. She’d brought a similar array of weapons with one addition – a razor sharp, 13 inch hunting knife. At a glance, the blade was Damascus steel. Elise wasn’t an expert in knives, but recognized the hardened metal from its di
stinctive patterns of banding and mottling, reminiscent of flowing water. Such blades were reputed to be tough, resistant to shattering and capable of being honed to a sharp, and resilient edge, popular among hunters. The handle was made of Karelian birch, turned a well-worn brown color. At the base of the blade was a single word, written in Russian.
“What’s the blade say?” Elise asked
Genevieve grinned. “Some secrets I’d rather keep.”
“Sure.” She pulled her robe over her shoulder to conceal the Uzi. “All right. Shall we go bring our boys home?”
Genevieve nodded and said nothing.
They left Veyron to mind the helicopter and test the quality of the fuel before he purchased any. Elise and Genevieve entered the squat town through its first opening. It looked less like a gate and more like a crack in the poorly constructed wall. There were no other openings visible along the southern side of the town. The air was hot to breathe. The mercury was well above a hundred and ten Fahrenheit and a strong smell of goat manure mixed with squalor wafted from inside. Elise heard some children playing in the distance, and the sound of the moldings of salt-cones being cracked at the saline pans. She analyzed every sound she heard and then relaxed. There were no sounds of large groups of men yelling, or weapons firing, as expected if General Ngige’s army was present.
She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The temperature dropped immediately. At least twenty degrees at a guess. The opening lead to a small semi-covered adobe, which was a mud-piled array of buildings, leading to more of the same structures. Three goats were tied to an iron ring protruding from the clay wall. The animals made no reaction as they entered.
They breached deep into the desert city through a series of narrow laneways, corridors, and tunnels. Further inside was a swathe of mud homes. Nothing quite as ordered as mudbrick, but simply mud piled upon mud to make up the primitive protection provided by an adobe. There were no doors for privacy. Only openings, where the mud had either collapsed or been left intentionally free.
It was quiet. Outside there were the sounds of children playing and men working, but in here the only ones she heard came from the few goats. They walked approximately three hundred feet inside the township without speaking.
Maintaining a northern direction, they followed a pathway toward the heart of the township. It wasn’t quite a road or an alleyway. Most of it was covered in some way or the other. But it was definitely a main pathway from the south to the north of the city, which meandered its way in a disordered approach through a multitude of mud houses that were interlaced throughout. Elise started to feel like she was walking down an old western town, where a shootout was inevitable and the townsfolk had all gone inside to avoid the fight.
Elise glanced at Genevieve. “Does it seem a little too quiet around here?”
“No. I think everyone’s outside working.” Genevieve spoke loudly and then whispered. “They’re following us.”
Elise felt her heart race as adrenaline engaged her fight or flight response. Her eyes darted between each opening and her ears strained to hear her attackers. It disconcerted her to know that Genevieve had already picked up they were being pursued, but she still couldn’t hear or see anything to suggest so. There was nothing but a feeling. A sense like you were being watched. She let it go and picked up her pace, following the warren of low clay buildings which meandered through the salt plains in a random and disordered way. Up ahead there was an opening in the roof where the town shifted upward and an old saline pan had previously been excavated by hand.
That was the goal. From there they might be able to defend themselves against whoever was following. Also, the opening on the side of the hill would allow Veyron to witness a firefight if it came to that. Not that he could do much to help.
“There,” Genevieve whispered.
Elise scanned the series of openings in the building on the right of them. There were eyes staring out at them. They were brown and focused.
Elise asked, “You got a plan how you want to do this, Gen?”
Genevieve smiled. “No. I’m here with you. I kind of figured you’d thought this thing through.”
“That was silly of you.”
“All the same, what do you want to do?”
Elise sighed. “Get to the end of this main drag until we’re up against the wall and then we confront them.”
“That’s a stupid plan. That wall looks more like a place to stand for a firing squad and there’s no exit route available.”
“You got a better idea?”
“No.”
“Then I guess we’ll stick with mine.”
Elise stopped at the solid wall and turned around. Her eyes scanned the area in front. No one had faced them yet, but she could see all the eyes staring at her. She breathed in and reached for her weapon, but felt Genevieve’s hand on her shoulder. Genevieve didn’t say a word, but her eyes told her enough – they said, there’s too many to win this if it comes to a firefight, so keep your weapon hidden for as long as you can.
Elise raised her hands. “You can all come out now.”
Nothing happened. She changed to French, the only other language she knew. “You can come out now.”
Genevieve followed and whispered. “This is your idea of a plan?”
“I’m still waiting for a better one.”
They waited and nothing happened.
Only silence.
And then a crowd of more than a hundred people approached.
Chapter Fifty-One
Elise watched as the crowd approached slowly. There was no yelling. No war cries. They all stared at her face as though they were possessed. They moved toward her, taking a single step at a time, in perfect harmony. There were men, women and children amongst the crowd. The children were at the front of the crowd, followed by the women and then the men. No one held a weapon. Individually, the mob were no match for their Uzis, but their bullets would run out long before everyone was dead.
Despite its extreme poverty, the town of Bilma experienced little to no crime. Why would it? Poor people have nothing to steal. The families lived in a commune, sharing a common roof and water supply with the rest of the inhabitants of the town.
The adults stopped.
But the children continued in utter silence.
Elise left her Uzi holstered and greeted them all with the palms of her hands held out open. “Hello. My name’s Elise and this is Genevieve. And we need your help.”
The children slowed their progress, if that was even possible. They took one, simultaneous step, every tenth second. Their eyes fixated on Elise and completely ignoring Genevieve.
Genevieve said, “This is pretty weird.”
Elise smiled and removed her headdress to show her face. “Hey, at least they’re not pointing guns in our face.”
The children stopped.
A moment later the children’s mouths opened wide and identical to each other. The women behind stood up as though they were about to guard something precious, while the men locked arms and formed a semi-circle around the entire group, trapping her and Genevieve against the wall.
Elise said, “Okay. Now this is getting weird.”
Genevieve replied, “You think?”
A strange and powerful sound erupted from the still mouths of the children. Their eyes, wide and possessed, fixated on Elise. The eerie noise continued for at least two minutes. Never changing volume or pitch. It was sharp, and poignant, and beautiful at the same time. The sound, although terrifying given its situation, would have been worthy of the Monteverdi Choir.
When it stopped, the kids advanced toward them.
Elise glanced at Genevieve. “Don’t kill anyone.”
Genevieve smiled back. “I’ll do my best, but if they start with the singing again, I might have to reach for the Uzi.”
Elise watched as the children pulled at Genevieve with surprising strength, driving her to the back of the crowd. Once there, the women made her st
and with them.
“Back the fuck off!” Genevieve swore.
But the women ignored her. They didn’t hurt her. Instead they simply grabbed her every time she tried to move and forced her to stand still.
Elise breathed in deeply and then slowly exhaled. She forced herself to relax and held the palms of her hands outward. The children reached for her hands. Their touch was gentle. Each child taking it in their turn to make contact and then swap with another child.
Their eyes told her everything she needed to know. They weren’t dilated and fixated because they wanted to hurt her, they children were mesmerized by something about her. They wanted to reach out and touch her fingertips, as they would their God.
But she wasn’t anybody’s God.
In the middle of the crowd, where the women were still trying to force Genevieve to stand still, Elise saw something that made her heart skip a beat.
No, Genevieve, can’t you see these people don’t mean us any harm?
Genevieve was once a deadly assassin. No one knew it as a fact, but everyone on board the Maria Helena had long suspected she’d left a violent past behind her. Watching her now, Elise knew it for a certainty.
She moved like an assassin. A single, agile movement. The outcome of which, found Genevieve with her right arm hooked around one of the women’s throat and her Damascus bladed knife resting at the point of the woman’s carotid artery. “All right everyone. I said, back the fuck off!”
But nobody moved.
Elise watched as the entire crowd remained fixated on her alone. Even the woman now held prisoner, hadn’t taken her eyes away from her.
Elise leaned forward and then stood up, taking a solid stance. In the process her sunglasses dropped to the mud floor. “Enough. Stop this!”
A loud gasp resonated from the crowd in unison. Instantly afterwards, every person bowed before her. Elise watched as the only two people in the crowd who were now not on the floor bowing, was Genevieve and her captive. The captive fought against the sharp, Damascus steel, until Genevieve relinquished the fight and allowed her to bow.
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 2 Page 68