by Greg Iles
Hauer'll kill Hess if gets the chance. That make you feel any better?"
Shaw smiled with satisfaction. "Thank you, Colonel. I shall be in
Berlin by noon."
IL
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
826 A.M. Angolan Airspace
At eighteen thousand feet the Lear 31-A turbojet knifed southward
through the sky and down the length of Africa. In the sumptuously
appointed passenger cabin, Prime Minister Abdul Bake Jalloud sipped from
a glass of sherry and contemplated the excited face of Dr. Hamid Sabri.
The bespectacled young physicist could barely restrain his enthusiasm.
In a matter of hours he would be shepherding back to Libya the first
nuclear weapon ever to stock an Arab arsenal. Prime Minister Jalloud
was more subdued. Despite Muammar Qaddafi's repeated assurances that
all was well, Jalloud could not shake a vague suspicion that something
was not as it should be.
"Are you all right, Excellency?" asked Dr. Sabri. "You look pale."
"It's the food," Jalloud muttered. "I shouldn't have eaten anything."
"I'm nervous myself," Sabri confessed. "I cannot wait to return home
with the device."
"I can't wait to return home, period," Jalloud murmured.
This curious statement disconcerted the young scientist.
He glanced through his window at the'clouds below. "Excellency?"
he said quietly. "I must admit I am glad Major Karami is not
accompanying us on this trip. He makes me uncomfortable. I do not
believe Mr. Horn liked him either."
"Major Karami makes a lot of people nervous," said Jalloud, glancing
past Dr. Sabri. At the rear of the cabin, sitting on a pile of
embroidered pillows, six very dangerouslooking soldiers quietly smoked
cigarettes. Qaddafi had assured Jalloud that he'd ordered them loading
of the weapon, but Jallc doubted this. On the last trip two security
guards had been considered adequate escort. Jalloud was almost certain
that these men had been handpicked from Ilyas Karami's personal
bodyguard.
"I'm not so sure we are flee of Major Karanii," he whispered, cutting
his eyes toward the guards.
Dr. Sabri peered around the prime minister's kefflyah and looked at the
sullen group. "Don't say that," he said quietly.
"Allah protect us, don't even think it."
Twenty-eight miles behind the Lear, Major Ilyas Karami stepped onto the
flight deck of a Soviet-built Yakovlev-42
airliner and leaned down into the pilot's ear. "Should I go over it for
you again?" he asked.
"It's net necessary, Major," the pilot replied.
"Good." Karanii laid a hand on the young man's shoulder.
"Because what I told my commandos goes for you pilots too. Any man that
makes a mistake on this mission will lose his head when we return to
Tripoli."
The pilot strained to keep his hands steady on the controls.
Ilyas Karaiti's threats Were never empty.
"And his testicles will be in his mouth,",Karami added.
The plane lurched violently, as if buffeted by turbulence.
"I'm sorry, Major!" the pilot croaked.
"Low-pressure pocket," the copilot covered quickly.
Major Karami snorted and left the flight deck.
This Yakovlev aircraft-popularly known as the Yak-42
-had begun its life as an Aeroflot jetliner, then passed into Libyan
commercial service. But for this mission Major Karami had ordered it
configured as an Air Zimbabwe commercial airliner. Karami smiled with
satisfaction as he walked through the stripped cabin of the plane.
Lining both walls of the Yak-42 were fifty heavily-armed Libyan
commandos; and filling the center section from front to rear were
pallets stacked high with weapons, ammunition, a small truck, and at the
rear of the cabin, lashed to the fuselage by chains, a 105-millimeter
artillery piece.
Karami nodded to his company commanders as he made his way through the
tangle of legs and equipment and stopped beside the small pickup truck.
The bed of the Toyota had been Padded with wrestling mats, and its sides
fitted with cleats sized to take chains. Ostensibly the truck had been
brought along to tow the 105mm howitzer into position.
Only Major Karami knew what special eargo its bed and suspension had
been modified to accept. When they got a little closer to their
destination, however, Karami would let his men in on the secret. For
what force could withstand the fury of Arabs come to claim the weapon
that would finally wipe the Jews from the sands of Palestine?
O40 A-Ai. Northern Transvaal, Republic of South Africa
Alan Burton scrambled over the lip of the Wash and down the slope to
where Juan Diaz half-sat, half-lay in the slowly drying mud. He had
bandaged the Cuban's wound as best he could; it was crusted with blood
but not suppurating. Diaz opened his eyes when he heard Burton
approach.
"Well, English?" he croaked.
"No chance," Burton said bitterly. "It's worse than it looked last
night. Fidel's chopper blew itself all over the runway. It's a wonder
we weren't cut to pieces. The tail of that Lear looks like scrap
metal."
"The lateral finst' Diaz asked hopefully. "Or the vertical?"
"Left lateral's completely gone. Vertical's got more holes than a Swiss
cheese."
"Shit! What now, amigo?' Diaz tried to smile. "We re dead men, eh?"
"Not bloody likely," Burton said with an optimism he didn't feel.
"That's an airstrip up there, isn't it! This place is too damned remote
to service by road. It's bound to be just a matter of time before
another plane lands."
Diaz squinted skeptically at the Englishman.
"And when it does, sport," said Burton, tapping his submachine gun
against his chest, "I'm going to climb aboard and watch Captain Juan
Diaz fly our wet arses right out of here."
The Cuban grinned, exposing dazzling white teeth. Burton pulled some
more brambles around the little depression he had expanded into a hiding
place during the night. A patrol from the house had come by just after
last night's attack. It had missed them, but Burton wasn't sure the
shelter would stand up to daylight scrutiny.
"I tell you, Juan boy," he said wistfully, "it's times like this I wish
I was back in England, fishing a stream in Cotswolds."
"Why aren't you?"
Burton smiled sheepishly. "I'm persona non grata there, sport.
Occupational hazard. Her Majesty takes a rather dim view of soldiering
for pay. Not like your scruffy boss in Havana. The only thing waiting
for me in England's a bloody jail cell."
Diaz tried to smile in sympathy.
"I had a chance to go back free and clear," Burton said quietly.
"Last night. But we ballsed it up."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean while you were working for a Colombian drug baron, I was working
for Her Majesty's Government. My pay was full reinstatement of British
citizenship. I don't know why everyone wants the old man in that
fortress dead.
' 9
I don't care much, either. Maybe his dru s are ending up in London, and
the bloody Hou
se of Lords wants him discreetly blotted from their
universe." Burton grinned. "By God, if I thought I had half a chance,
I'd give it another go on my own. I know, I know-English loco, right?"
Diaz nodded, then grimaced in pain.
Burton checked the barrel of his MP-5 for mud. "Who needs England,
anyway?" he muttered. He fixed his gaze on the rim of the ravine.
"You've got one job, Juan boy- Stay alive until I can commandeer some
air transport. Then it's straight back to civilization. Comprende?"
Diaz coughed horribly.
Burton touched the Cuban's forehead. It felt cool and clammy. A fishy
paleness had spread beneath his olive skin.
"Can you do it, lad? Can you hold out?"
"Fucking-ay, English," Diaz grunted. "You get me a plane, and I'll fly
the whore out."
"That's the ticket." Burton patted the Cuban on his good shoulder.
"But you better hurry, amigo," Diaz coughed, gripping his torn side. "I
can fly drunk, stoned, or bleeding, but I can't fly dead."
Burton nodded grimly.
1.40 Piw. The Union Building. Pretoria Captain Barnard slammed down
the phone and glared at his watch. He had been trying in vain to reach
General Steyn since ten-thirty. When the general failed to show up for
work this morning, Barnard had assumed he was simply late.
But by ten A.M. Barnard knew something was wrong. No one answered at
General Steyn's home, and none of the government ministries knew where
he was. As Barnard continued his round of calls, a disturbing image
kept coming back to him: the resolute eyes dr the German police captain.
Barnard was certain that Captain Hauer believed he possessed information
vital to South Africa's security. Hauer might be insane, but he was
sincere. The Afrikaner ground his teeth in frustration.
Major Graaff had told him that the Visagie police interrogators would
have the prisoners' story by lunchtime, yet Bernard had received no
further word regarding them. Bernard had never liked Major Graaff, but
in the NIS, like the army, you had to go along to get along.
Fspecially with superiors. Barnard almost jumped out of his skin when
the phone on his desk rang.
"General Steyn's office," he answered.
"Bernard?" boomed a husky voice.
"General Steyn! Where are you?"
"I'm out at the Pretoria office of Phoenix AG. The directors here seem
to think that some type of shenanigans may be going on in their defense
division. I felt I should handle it myself Phoenix works on some very
sensitive projects, you know Captain Barnard felt sweat on the back of
his neck. "Excuse me, General, but how did you learn about this
problem?"
"Gruaff called me at home this morning. He's right on top of this.
Seems he's friendly with the people over here at Phoenix. He was the
one who suggested I handle it personally, in fact."
"Where is Major Graaff now, GeneraIT' "I haven't the foggiest, Bernard."
"General," Captain Barnard said hoarsely, "I think we've got a problem."
2.05 Pm. Visagie Straat, Pretoria When General Jaap Steyn strode
through the doors of the Visagie police station, the desk sergeant knew
that his afternoon had just been shot to hell. The chief of South
Africa's ruthlessly efficient intelligence service was a bluff,
red-faced giant of a man. He stalked straight up to the high desk and
planted himself like an admiral on the prow of a flagship.
'Sergeant!" he bellowed. "I want to see your foreign prisoners
immediately. Where are they?"
"Urn ... yes, sir. Well, one is in the cellblock and the other ... I
believe Major Graaff is supervising his interrogation. 19
"Lead on, Sergeant!"
The desk sergeant wasn't sure if the NIS general had legal authority to
give orders to a municipal police officer, but risking his career to
find out didn't seem like the best of options. He jumped down from his
stool and led General Steyn and Captain Barnard to a heavy steel door at
the back of the station. He nodded once, then fled down the hall.
General Steyn grunted and pushed open the door. Inside he saw two
bull-necked policemen holding-a shirtless, grayhaired man against a
cinder-block wall. The man's face was covered with sweat and blood.
Major Graaff held a rubber truncheon high above his head, poised to
strike.
"That will do, Major," General Steyn said icily.
Graaff whirled. When he saw his furious general filling the door, he
ftoze, the truncheon still above his head. He looked back at his
muscular accomplices, but after one look at General Steyn they released
their bruised captive and came to stiff attention. Hauer slid slowly to
his knees.
"Captain Bernard," General Steyn ordered, "place Major Graaff under
arrest. You men clean the prisoner up and bring him and his companion
to the visiting room" General Steyn stalked out.
Barnard drew a pistol and leveled it at Graaff. "Give me an excuse, you
bloody bastard."
Hauer faced General Steyn across the long wooden table used to separate
prisoners from their visitors. He had a bloody towel wrapped around his
bared shoulders. Captain Barnard stood stiffly behind his superior.
Gadi Abrams sat at Hauer's left. Hauer had brushed aside their concern
over his injuries and immediately gone over to the offensive.
"I simply don't have time to explain everything you want to know,
General," he repeated. "Stern needs your help."
"I'm afraid that's just not good enough," General Steyn said.
"Jonas Stern is a good friend of mine, a damn fine intelligence officer.
He's a friend to this country. But I simply cannot agree to help
without knowing more."
Hauer sighed. Stern had told him to call out the NISin full strength-to
request whatever was necessary to take Alfred Horn's isolated fortress
by storm. But after what he had seen of Major Graaff, Hauer didn't
share Stern's confidence in the South Africans who would be called upon
to carry out that attack.
"General, did Captain Barnard inform you of the code word Stern told me
to repeat to you?"
General Steyn's jaw muscles flexed. "He did."
"And still you won't agree to help me?"
Captain Hauer, the South African government does not yield to blackmail.
If by some remote misfortune Jonas Stern has seen fit to confide in you
the true meaning of that code word-and if you have been trumpefing it
about-I may decide that Major Graaff's tactics were lenient. Do you
understand? Now, do you know the meaning of that code word?"
Hauer nodded slowly. "It's Hebrew. Literally, it means going up to
Zion."' General Steyn's face flushed. "Leave us please, Captain
Barnard."
Barnard reluctantly obeyed.
"General," Hauer said gravely, "Aliyah Beth is a secret contingency plan
that mandates the evacuation by sea and air of South Africa's entire
nuclear weapons arsenal and fuel stocks to Israel in the event of armed
insurrection by the black population. This move will be considered a
redeployment of weapons, as the warheads will remain under the control
of the
South African government@' "My God, " General Steyn breathed.
"Stern's gone mad."
"No!" Hauer argued. "General, Stern knew that the dimensions of this
crisis are such that any other consideration pales beside it. I'm
telling you that a nuclear threat exists now-inside this country!"
General Steyn slammed his fist down on the table. "Then I'll have the
bloody -details now, Captain! Even if I have to torture you to get
them!"
"You wouldn't get them in time, General. I'm sorry, but that's the way
it is. Don't you understand? Your men can't be trusted.
Major Graaff was on your personal staff, for God's sake! One phone call
from an informant could bring about the very disaster that Stern is
trying to avert. A nuclear weapon could be detonated before we leave
this building!"
General Steyn came to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor.
Startled, Captain Barnard rushed in with pistol drawn.
"It's all right, Barnard," the general said. The Afrikaner towered over
Hauer. "Tell me something, Captain. What does Stern have to do with
this? How is Israel involvedt' Hauer had been dreading this question.
"General," he said slowly, "all I can tell you is that a madman
possesses a nuclear weapon within the borders of your country.
It could be detonated at any moment. In my opinion, any political
considerations are secondary."
"Political considerations are never secondary, Captain.
More's the pity. What about Thomas Horn? What's he got to do with all
this?"
Hauer knew he had to tread carefully beri. "General, how would you
describe -Herr Horn's ties to the South African government?"
"Well, he's what some would call a power broker, a behind-the-scenes
type. Very reclusive. But I understand he's a force to be reckoned
with in the ultraconservative encloves. Very chummy with the old
Afrikaner stock. It's the military Horn's tied to, you see. As you
probably know, during the last few decades South Africa has been forced
to become self-sufficient in many areas@specially defense. We build
everything from bullets to heavy artillery and aircraft.
We're damned proud of it, too. As you.might imagine, anyone with Thomas
Horn's industrial clout is courted constantly. His money and factories
have produced untold amounts of ordnance for the army. He's involved in
some very sensitive defense projects. I imagine-" General Steyn's voice