by Alex Lukeman
"You provide some honey, then. We’ll see what kind of flies I catch."
He stood up, glared at them and left.
Harmon waved for the waiter. "Why is Samake suspicious of you? Me, I understand. But why you?"
"He told us to not to go north. Samake doesn't want us up there for some reason."
"So you told him that's where you wanted to go. Just to piss him off."
"Pretty much."
Harmon shook his head and looked at Selena. "He always like this?"
"Pretty much," she said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next afternoon the plane was ready. The new tires were shiny and black, stark contrast against the faded, peeling paint. Carter itched to get things moving. That truck could be far away by now.
Harmon rested his hand on the wing. "I'll take her up."
"I'll go with you." Carter gestured at the plane. "Think of me as test equipment."
He weighed two hundred pounds. He had a point.
Harmon shrugged. "Your funeral if it goes south. Don't touch the controls on your side."
They got in the plane. Ibrahim, Moussa and Selena stood out of the way. The engine coughed into life with a burst of blue smoke and settled to an even idle. Harmon looked at the gauges, tapped them. He always tapped gauges. He'd tapped them on his first car, a beat up Chevy. He'd been tapping gauges ever since. All functioning. Oil pressure, good. Fuel, half full, both tanks. He worked the stick and the pedals, getting a feel for the controls. He watched the flaps and rudder move. He held the brakes and increased revs, watched the tachometer. So far, so good.
Harmon released the brakes and taxied out of the hanger into the bright sun. He lined up on the flat plain behind the building, advanced the throttle and rolled. They lifted into the air.
An hour later they landed. He taxied back, shut down and climbed out of the cabin.
"Well?" Selena stood by the wing.
"She’s good. Like Ibrahim said, a little tired, not as much power as I’d like, but good. We just go a little slower, that’s all."
"So we can go north."
"I don’t see why not. It’s too late today. If we’re going to Taoudenni, we’d better leave at sunrise, give us all day."
"How long will it take?"
"It’s around four hundred and fifty miles. Probably three hours. We’ll need to top off the fuel there." He paused. "Where do you think this truck is?"
"A cave." Selena brushed hair from her forehead. "I came across a manuscript with some landmarks. We want to find it."
"Now we have tea," Moussa said, "before I drive you back to the hotel."
Carter thought about riding with Moussa and wished for something stronger than tea.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sun exploded over the horizon, an angry red eye shimmering in a vermillion haze. Six in the morning and already over eighty degrees.
The Musketeer had an 800 mile range. They'd need extra fuel to get to Taoudenni and back. Fifty liters in cans went into the cargo area.
They loaded bottled water and dry rations. A large tarp. A tire pump and repair kit, in case one of the tires went bad. A few tools, a first aid kit, flashlights. A fire extinguisher. Sleeping bags, just in case. You didn't fly unprepared over the Sahara and it got cold at night. Harmon calculated the weight was within the plane's limit. They'd get lighter as they used fuel and flew north.
Ibrahim presented them with a rifle and a dozen rounds of ammunition, a bolt action 8mm German Mauser from the big war. The swastika and palm of Rommel’s Afrika Korps marked the receiver. A collector's item, clean and oiled and lethal.
Selena sat in back. Harmon started the engine and waited for everything to settle down. He taxied out of the hangar, wound up the revs and in a minute they were airborne, north to terrorist country.
They leveled off at three thousand. The big turtle canopy gave everyone a wide view of the earth below and cloudless, luminous blue sky above.
"What’s Taoudenni like?" Carter asked.
"It makes Timbuktu look like Miami. It’s where the salt comes from." Harmon glanced at the gauges.
"The miners dig it out of old lake beds with hand held axes. It gets too hot for work in the summer, a hundred and forty or more. This time of year it’s cooling down, but the miners won’t be working yet. All the water up there is contaminated with salt. No one can stay there more than six months if they want to keep living."
"The water kills them?"
"Their kidneys fail."
"How do they get the salt out to sell it?"
"Camels. Like hundreds of years ago. The route from Taoudenni is one of the last caravan routes still going. It's become a tourist attraction. Sometimes four wheel drive vehicles."
They flew over a group of seven or eight camels ridden by men in blue robes. The riders looked up as the plane flew over.
"Those are Tuareg tribesmen," Harmon said. "Tough bastards. You don't want to get on their bad side."
The landscape below was a barren wasteland of sand, stone plateaus and dry valleys. A long time ago it had been a green savannah alive with game. From up here it didn’t look like global warming was anything new.
After a while Harmon said, "If terrorists are using this cave how come no one’s spotted them on satellite, or from the air?"
Carter looked down at the panorama of sand and rock slipping by beneath them. "All Mali has for air patrols are a few old Mig 21s. They’re too fast and most of them don’t work. The whole area is a maze of ravines and escarpments leading into the mountains. The satellite photos are broad passes. Not very specific, unless you know exactly where to look and can target it in. It’s rugged terrain."
Harmon made a slight course correction. "What are the landmarks we're looking for?"
Selena answered. "Two hills that look like kneeling camels. That’s the key."
"Two hills out of what, two thousand?"
"The manuscript talks about salt mines a day’s journey from the cave. That means Taoudenni and the mines there. Those two hills are somewhere in that area. There’s another landmark, a pyramid shaped pillar of rock. If we find that, we could find the camel hills."
For a while they flew in silence.
"How'd you end up out here, Joe?" Carter asked.
"That's a long story. I didn't have much to go back to in the States." Harmon paused. "I was married. I came back from a year in Iraq and she was five months pregnant."
"Oh."
"Yeah, well, shit happens. No way we could save it. So I filed for divorce and signed up for another tour. I had a buddy who knew the African scene and he convinced me to go partners with him and come here. We got a chance at a plane and took it. I figured two, three years over here, make some money, go back and start a charter business. Maybe out west, the Rockies. He gave it up a year ago and I stayed. Another few months, I would have had enough."
"And now?"
"Now you get my passport back and I'm going home. I've had it up to here with Africa." He sliced his hand in front of his throat in a cutting motion.
Two and a half hours later they closed on Taoudenni. To the north, the unforgiving escarpments of the Algerian mountains rose in a rugged blue haze. To the west lay the great spread of the barren Taoudenni Basin.
They came in low over the village, a desolate huddle of small buildings and tents and open air storage for the salt, all set in the midst of a sea of reddish sand. Thousands of holes pitted the salt flats. Carter saw tiny box-like hovels made of salt, flat, ugly slabs fitted and tied together. They flew over a group of blue-robed men clustered next to camels.
They landed on the single paved airstrip. Harmon taxied to the end, turned around and cut the engine. He popped the canopy and the heat scorched them. There were no other planes, no vehicles, no hangers, no buildings. Just a stretch of black asphalt across the desert. LAX, it wasn't. Carter wondered why anyone had bothered to build it.
If Timbuktu was in the middle of nowhere, Taoudenni was at the
end of it. Carter had never seen a place so remote and God-forsaken. A dirty, reddish brown desert extended in all directions. Not a tree, not a shrub, not a green thing as far as the eye could see, only sun blasted rock and drifted sand. It made the Mojave look like a golf resort.
Hell on earth.
They got out of the plane. "I don’t see any Dairy Queens," Selena said.
"Mars must look like this," Carter looked at the distant horizon. "Nice place."
"Here comes the welcoming committee." Harmon pointed at two tall figures swathed in blue robes, riding toward them on camels. Dark blue turbans wrapped their heads. A black veil of cloth covered the lower part of their faces. Each rider carried an AK-47 slung over his shoulder and a bandoleer across his chest.
Less than a hundred years ago downed aviators were tortured and murdered in this region. All infidels were fair game back then, but times had changed. At least Carter hoped they had.
He kept ready to reach for his pistol.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Tuareg riders towered over them on their camels. The camels stank. Carter didn’t like the way the beasts eyed him. The only camel he’d ever paid much attention to was the one on a cigarette pack. He thought about lighting one up. Not a camel, a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in four years, but he still missed it.
"Salaam Aleikum," Selena said.
The first rider looked surprised a woman would speak to him, but he returned the greeting and broke into a stream of Arabic. He addressed the men. Women’s lib wasn’t big out here.
Selena translated. "He asks why we’re here, if we came to buy salt. He says they have the finest salt, the ‘beautiful’ salt. That's the best they have, four levels down. He will offer you a very fair price. Or you would like to buy some jewelry? He’s being rude. Normally they offer tea. Tell him something."
Carter thought. He knew cave paintings had been found in the area, dating back thousands of years to when the desert had been green.
"Thank him and tell him we have heard about the Tuareg salt, the finest in the world, even across the ocean, but that is not why we have come. Tell him we heard there were paintings up here, in the caves in the mountains."
Selena translated. The rider grunted. Carter continued. "Tell him we will pay for information. We heard there might be caves near a tall pillar of rock."
The Tuareg's eyes were impenetrable, his face weathered and burned dark, unreadable behind his veil. He began speaking to his companion in the native dialect. They laughed. He turned back and spoke again in Arabic.
"He says he can tell you where the pillar is, but there are no caves. For 15,000 CFA he will tell you where it is. You cannot walk. You must take your plane, but there is no place to land."
15,000 CFA was about thirty dollars American. Cheap enough. Carter took out the money, careful not to show how much he had with him. He handed it over. The camel snorted and pulled its lips back from huge, yellow teeth. A trail of greenish spit drooled from its mouth.
"Ask him where."
The man pointed toward the mountains and let loose a stream of Arabic. "He says it’s a day’s ride. You go up a long valley. He says the pillar is very tall, as tall or taller than the Mosque in Timbuktu, and that it is shaped like the Mosque. He says Allah put it there to remind the Tuareg of His glory. But there are no caves."
"Ask him if he’s seen anyone who’s not from around here."
A rapid exchange between the men, then more Arabic.
Selena said, "Now that the heat is going, there will be foreigners. But we are the first to come since before the heat. There was a group with trucks then, but they did not come here and they did not buy salt. He says they went south. I think he’s lying."
"Thank him. We’re done here."
A few more words and the tribesmen abruptly wheeled their camels around and rode off.
Carter wiped sweat away. "Let’s top off the fuel and get back in the air in case our new friends decide to come back. Those AKs make them boss around here."
They got the gas out and emptied the cans into the tanks. Minutes later they were airborne.
A "day’s ride" on a camel meant fifteen or twenty miles. Harmon headed in the direction the rider had pointed out. Below, the plain rose to meet the mountains. The sands gave way to stretches of gravel and rock riven with barren ravines and gullies. He spotted a wide valley and banked left to follow it. A tall, pyramid shaped rock formation stuck out at the far end.
"That’s gotta be it," Carter said. "Dead ahead."
They flew past it and circled around.
"You see anything looks like two camels?"
"Follow that long slope." Selena pointed out the canopy. "It looks like the easiest path through the mountains."
The broad, rocky slope led deeper into the foothills. They were close to the Algerian border, maybe already in Algerian airspace. They followed the rise of the slope. Harmon kept five hundred feet above the ground. The slope crested and they came over the top.
"Look." Selena pointed again. Two steep hills rose up about a half mile ahead. Their shapes were distinctive. Two camels, head to head. They flew toward them.
"Someone down there," Carter said.
"Where..."
The canopy shattered. Something hit Carter hard. Harmon cried out and fell against the controls. Blood sprayed across the cockpit. The plane nosed down and began to turn.
Carter grabbed the stick in front of him and pulled back against Harmon's weight. The plane rose and leveled off. Bullets thudded into the wooden fuselage. A fine spray of oil streamed back from the engine.
He tried for altitude, but they were going down. He tried to keep the plane in the air. Hell, he wasn't a pilot. Just a few lessons, years ago. Carter squinted through the oil and blood coating the broken canopy. The wind tore at him. He looked for a place to set down.
Harmon was unconscious or dead. The engine made loud, hard noises. Black smoke streamed behind.
Ahead, a table top plateau rose from the valley floor, tall and isolated. The top was flat and strewn with boulders and rocks, big enough to set down if he could make it. The engine seized and died. With no power and no way to get higher, he might make the plateau. If he didn’t, they wouldn't have to worry about it.
The plane skimmed over the edge of the plateau. The wheels struck hard on the rocky ground. The shock slammed his teeth together. He stood on the brakes and watched the other side of the mesa coming up. One of the wheels hit a rock and snapped off. The wing dipped and dug into the ground. The plane corkscrewed away from the edge and came to a shuddering halt.
They were down.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Selena."
"I’m all right."
Carter reached over to Harmon and felt his neck for a pulse. Unconscious. Still alive. His shirt was covered with blood, his lap soaked in it.
"We’ve got to get out," Carter unbuckled his seat belt. "Away from the plane."
He climbed out of the cabin and stood on the angle between the wing and the fuselage. He hauled Harmon out of his seat. Dead weight, but Nick got him up and out and lowered down to the ground. Selena came after him.
Fuel leaked from the wrecked aircraft.
"Get his feet." They hurried away toward the edge of the mesa.
They set Harmon down.
"Here." Selena handed him the first aid kit. She’d grabbed it on her way out of the plane.
Joe Harmon had taken two rounds. One bullet had missed the lung and exited out the front of his chest. A ragged, bloody hole marked where the second had come out through the front of his abdomen beneath the rib cage.
Carter tried not to think much as he worked on him. Compression bandages. Antibiotic powder for infection. If those rounds had nicked an artery, Harmon would die. If he was bleeding internally, he would die. The abdominal wound would kill him for sure if they didn’t get serious help soon. A field dressing wasn't going to cut it.
Harmon's eyes fluttered. Carter didn’t like h
is color.
"What..."
"Don’t talk. We’re down, I’ve stopped the bleeding."
"How bad?"
"Two. Both through and through. One high, missed the lung. One low in the side and abdomen." Harmon knew what that meant.
"Mother fuckers." His voice was weak, wet.
"Don’t talk."
"The plane?"
"It’s finished. But we’ll get out. Don’t worry about it. Joe, you gotta take it easy. I’ll get you out of here."
Harmon coughed. A bubble of blood formed on his lips. "Hurts a little." The pain hadn’t really set in yet, but it would in a few moments. There was morphine in the kit. Nick took a syrette and injected it into Harmon's thigh.
"Stay awake," Nick said. "Don’t go south on me."
He looked over at the plane. There was no fire. That was a break, whoever shot them down wouldn’t see smoke and come straight to the plateau. They were certain to come, sooner or later.
"Selena, come with me. We’ve got to salvage what we can."
They approached the plane. The smell of gas made him dizzy. He didn’t think it would go up, or it would already be in flames.
"No smoking, right?"
She laughed. Nervous.
"You stay outside. I’ll hand stuff out to you."
Daylight streamed through holes riddling the fuselage. Nick tossed out the tarp and sleeping bags. The flashlights were useless. His phone was shattered. Water soaked the floor of the compartment, but three of the liter bottles were still intact. The emergency rations were reduced to a few packages of chalk-like granola bars. The gas cans were full of holes. He took the old stretcher from its straps and handed it out.
He took the Mauser rifle and ammo and passed it out to Selena. He touched his holster, felt torn leather and took out the H-K. It was useless, the frame bent where it had stopped a round. He remembered the blow to his chest in the plane. That left them with Selena's pistol and an old bolt action rifle with twelve rounds against an unknown number of enemies with automatic weapons.