Then he looked up.
"Forty to forty-five minutes from air drop to ship assault."
"Pardon me for telling you your job, Major," said Pitt. "But you're cutting it too fine."
Findley nodded. "I agree. I've hiked the glacier on many occasions.
The ice ridges make it slow going."
In a smooth, greased movement, Dillenger pulled a long, wicked-looking Bowie knife, angled between hilt and blade, from a sheath behind his back and used the spiked tip as a pointer. 'The way I see it, we'll make our jump on the backside of the mountain to the right of the glacier. This should hide our C-140 transport from the ship's radar.
Using the preveiling winds, which hopefully will run true to pattern, we'll glide our 'stealth parachutes' around the mountain for seven kilometers, landing within one kilometer from the glacier's forward wall.
Time from jump until we regroup on the ice, I'd judge eighteen minutes.
Time to walk to glacier's edge; another twenty minutes. Six more minutes to prepare repel operation. Total time; forty-four minutes."
"I'd double it if I were you," said Giordino disapprovingly. "You'll have a hell of a time meeting a deadline if some of your men fall in a crevasse. The dive team won't be aware of the delay."
Hollis shot Al a look he usually reserved for war protesters. "This isn't World War One, Mr. Giordino. We don't have to synchronize watches before we go over the top. Each man is custom-fitted with a miniaturized radio receiver in his ear and a microphone inside his ski mask. No matter whether Major Dillenger and his team are late or mine is early, so long as we are in constant communication, we can coordinate a joint assault-"
"One other thing," Pitt broke in. "I assume your weapons are silenced."
"They are," Hollis assured him. "Why?"
"One burst from an unsilenced machine gun could bring down the wall of the glacier."
"I can't speak for the hijackers."
"Then you better kill them quick," muttered Giordino.
"We don't train to take terrorists as prisoners," Hollis said with a cold, ominous grin. "Now then, if our visitors can restrain their criticisms, are there any questions?"
Dive-team leader Richard Banning raised his hand. "Sir?"
"Henning?"
"Will we be approaching the ship underwater or on the surface?"
Hollis simply used a ballpoint pen as a pointer. He tapped it on a small island in the fjord that was behind a point of land and out of sight from the ship. "Our team will be ferried by Pigeon Carrier to this island. Distance to the Lady Flamborough is about three kilometers. The water is too cold for a swim that far, so we'll stay dry and move in by rubber boats. If Mr. Findley is correct about the frost smoke, we should be able to approach without detection. If it's dissipated, we'll enter the water two hundred meters away and dive until we reach the hull."
"A lot of balls will be iced if we have to wait very long for Major Dillenger's team to get in place."
A small wave of laughter echoed from the eighty men gathered around the table.
Hollis sighed and gave a broad smile. "I don't intend to freeze mine.
We'll give the Major an ample head start."
Gunn raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Gunn," Hollis said wearily. "What's on your mind now? Did I forget something?"
"Just curiosity, Colonel. How will you know if the hijackers somehow get wind of the assault and lay a trap?"
"One of our aircraft is filled with advanced electronic-surveillance equipment. It will fly a circular pattern seven Miles above the Lady Flamborough, detecting any radio transmissions sent by the hijackers to their collaborators outside the region. They'd scream like madmen if they thought a Special Operations Force was closing the net around them.
The Communications men and translators can intercept all transmissions and alert us in plenty of time."
Pitt made a casual motion with one hand.
"Yes, Mr. Pitt."
"I hope you haven't forgotten the NUMA party." Hollis lifted an eyebrow.
"No, I haven't forgotten." He turned to the geologist. "Mr. Findley, where did you say the old abandoned mine was located?"
"I neglected to place it," replied Findley matter-of-factly. "But since you're interested-" He paused and placed a match cover on the side of a small mount overlooking the glacier and the fjord. "She sits here, about two and a half kilometers from the forward edge of the glacier and the ship."
Hollis turned to Pitt- "That's where you'll be. You can serve as an observation post."
"Some observation post," grumbled Giordino- "In the dark and rain and sleet, we'd be lucky to see our own shoelaces."
"CozY and safe and out of harm's way," Pitt said pontifically. "We may light a fire in the stove and have ourselves a picnic."
"You do that," Hollis said with some satisfaction. He looked around at the assembled men. "Well, gentlemen, I won't bore you with a gung ho pep talk. Let's just do our jobs and save some lives."
"And will just one for the Gipper," Giordino muttered. "What did you say?"
"Al was saying what an honor it was to be part of an elite fighting force," said Pitt.
Hollis gave Giordino a stare that would cut glass. "Special Operations Forces do not give out honorary memberships. You civilians will stay back out of the way." Hollis turned to Dillenger. "If any of these NUMA people attempt to set foot on the ship before I give permission, shoot them. That's an order."
"A pleasure," Dillenger grinned sharkishly.
Giordino shrugged. "They certainily know how to vent wrath around here."
Pitt did not share Giordino's caustic mood. He understood perfectly Hollis's position. His men were professional, a team. He gazed around at them, big, quiet men, ranged in a mugh circle around the model. None was over twenty-five.
As he stared into their faces he couldn't help wondering which ones were going to die in a few short hours.
"How much longer?" Machado asked Ammar as he sprawled on Captain Collins's settee.
With no ship's power, the Captain's cabin was dimly lit by four flashlights strategically hung from the ceiling. Ammar shrugged indifferently while he read from the Koran. "You spend more time in the communications room than I do. You tell me."
Machado made a spitting gesture at the deck. "I am sick of waiting around like a pregnant duck. I say shoot the lot of them and get the hell away from this barren purgatory.
Ammar looked at his peer in the business of murder. Machado was sloppy in his habits. His hair was oily and his fingernails wedged with dirt.
One whiff at two paces was enough to recognize he seldom bathed. Ammar respected Machado as a dangerous threat, but beyond that there was only disgust.
Machado rolled off the settee to his feet and restlessly roamed the cabin before settling in a chair. "We should have received instructions twenty-four hours ago," he said. "Topiltzin is not one to hesitate."
"Neither is Akhmad Yazid," said Ammar while keeping his eyes focused on the Koran. "He and Allah will provide."
"Provide what? Helicopters, a ship, a submarine, before we're discovered? You know the answer, my Egyptian friend, yet you sit like your Sphinx."
Ammar turned a page without looking up. "Tomorrow at this time you and your men will be safely back in Mexico."
"What guarantee can you give we won't all be sacrificed for the good of the cause?"
"Yazid and Topiltzin cannot risk our capture by international commando forces," Ammar said wearily, "for fear we might talk under torture.
Their blossoming empires would be chipped to pieces if one of us revealed their involvement. Trust me, arrangements have been made for our escape. You must be patient."
"What arrangements?"
"You'll learn that part of the plan as soon as instructions arrive concerning the fate of our hostages."
The deep-dyed falsehood was beginning to fray at the edges. Machado might see the light at any time. As long as one of Ammar's men operated the ship's commu
nications network, no signals were received while the radio was set on the wrong frequency. Yazid, and probably Topiltzin too, Ammar thought, must be sweating if they thought he had ignored the original plan and murdered everyone on board, instead of keeping them alive for propaganda purposes.
"Why not act on our own, lock them all below, sink the ship and be done with it?" Machado's voice came thick with exasperation.
"Killing the entire British crew, the American Senator and other non-Mexican or Egyptian nationals would not be wise. You may enjoy the excitement and constant intrigue of being the object of an international manhunt, Captain. Me, I'd prefer to live out my life in comfortable convenience."
"Stupid to leave witnesses."
The fool had no idea how right he was, Ammar thought. He sighed and laid down the Koran. "Your only concern is President De Lorenzo. Mine is President Hasan and Hala Kamil. Our relationship ends there."
Machado stood and crossed the cabin, jerking open the door. "We better hear something damned quick," he grumbled nastily. "I can't keep my men in check much longer. They have this growing urge to place me in charge of the mission."
Ammar smiled agreeably. "Noon . . . if we haven't heard from our leaders by noon, I will Turn over command to you."
Machado's eyes widened for an instant in suspicion. "You'd agree to step down and place me in charge?"
"Why not? I've accomplished what I set out to do. Except for the disposition of President Hasan and Miss Kamil, my job is finished. I'll gladly hand the final headaches to you."
Machado suddenly grinned the devil's own grin. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, Egyptian. Then maybe I'll see the face behind the mask." Then he stepped outside.
The door latch had hardly clicked after Machado's depamm when Ammar removed the miniature radio from under his coat and pressed the transmit switch.
"Ibn?"
"Yes, Suleiinan Aziz?"
"Your location?"
"On the stern."
"How many on shore?"
"Six have been ferried to the old mine pier. There are fifteen of us left on board, including you. The going is slow. We only have one
-man boat. The large eight-man inflatable was slashed beyond repair."
"Sabotage?"
"It could only be the handiwork of Machado's men."
"Have they caused any more problems?"
"Not yet. The cold keeps them off the outside decks. Most are sitting in the lounge drinking tequila from the bar. The rest are sleeping. You were wise to instruct our men to become friendly with them. Their discipline has loosened considerably."
"The charges?"
"All explosives have been placed in a line running parallel with the glacier's face. The detonation should bring down the entire frontal wall on the ship."
"How soon before our withdrawal can be completed?"
"The use of paddles makes for slow going under a heavy ebb tide. We can't use the boat's motor for fear of alerting Machado's men. I'd estimate another forty-five minutes to clear everyone off the ship."
"We must be safely away before daylight."
"Everyone will do their utmost, Suiek= Aziz."
"Can they run the ferry operation without you?"
:'Yes."
'Bring one man and meet me at Hasan's cabin."
"We're going to execute them?"
"No," replied Anunar. "We're taking them with us."
Ammar switched off the radio and slipped the Koran into a pocket of his coat.
His betrayal by Akhmad Yazid would be revenged. He was going to enjoy seeing his magnificent plan Turn to shambles. Ammar had no intention of carrying through with the original operation, knowing Machado had been hired to kill him and his hijack team. He was angered more by the loss of his fee than by being stabbed in the back.
Therefore, he reasoned, he would keep Hasan and Kamfl alive, and yes, De Lorenzo too, at least temporarily, as bargaining chips. He might recoup after all by turning the tables and throwing all guilt on Yazid and Topiltzin.
He needed time to think and create a new plan. But first things first.
He had to sneak his hostages off the ship before Machado and his motley crew caught on to his sleight of hand.
Hala's heart sank when the door opened and the hijacker's leader stepped into the cabin suite. She stared at him for a moment, seeing only the eyes behind the ridiculous mask and the machine gun casually held in one hand, and wondered with female curiosity what kind of man he might be under different circumstances.
He entered and spoke in a quiet but fearsome voice. "You will all come with me."
Hala trembled and lowered her gaze to the floor, angry at herself for showing fear.
Senator Pitt was not intimidated. He jumped to his feet and crossed the cabin in long strides, stopping only when the toes of his shoes nearly touched Ammar's.
"Where are you taking us and for what purpose?" the Senator demanded. .
"I am not sitting in front of one of your camel-witt,--d Senate investigation committees," said Ammar icily. "Do not cross examine me.
"We have a right to know," the Senator insisted firmly.
"You have no rights!" snaPPed Amnw. He roughly pushed the Senator aside and moved into the room, his gaze taking in the pale, apprehensive faces.
You're going for a little boat ride, followed by a short journey by train. My men will pass out blankets to ward off the damp chill."
They all looked at him as if he was crazy but none argued.
With a dreadful feeling of hopelessness, Hala slowly helped President Hasan to his feet. she was tired of living under the constant threat of death. She felt as though she no longer cared.
And yet, something within her, a spark, a will to defy, still smoldered.
The fearlessness of a soldier going into battle who knows he is going to die and has nothing to lose by fighting to the end slowly crept over her. She was determined to survive.
Captain Machado entered the communication room and found it empty. At first he thought Ammar,s radio operator had taken a brief break for a call of nawm, but he looked 'm the head and found it empty too.
Machado stared at the radio panel for a long moment, his eyes strained and red from lack of sleep, his face showing a puzzled expression. He stepped onto the bridge and approached one of his own crewmen who was peering into the radarscope.
"Where is the radio operator?" he asked.
The radar observer turned and shrugged. ,i haven't seen him, Captain.
Isn't he in the communications room?"
"No, the place is deserted."
"Would you like me to check with the Arab leader?"
Machado shook his head slowly, not quite able to get a grip on the Egyptian radio operator's disappearance. "Find Jorge Delgado and bring him here. He knows radios. Better us than the stupid Arabs to oversee the communications."
While they were talking, neither man noticed the strong blip that appeared on the radarscope, indicating a low-flying aircraft passing over the center of the island.
Even if they had been alert, there was no detecting the radar-invisible
"stealth parachutes" of Dillenger's Special Forces team as they opened them and began gliding toward the glacier.
Pitt sat in the Spartan confines of the tilt-rotor osprey. The bullet-shaped craft lifted off the ground like a helicopter but flew like a plane at speeds in excess of six hundred kilo meters per hour. He was wide-awake; only a dead man could sleep in those aluminum seats with ultrathin pads for cushions, the weather turbulence, and the engine noise that roared through the barest of soundproofing. Only a dead man, that is, except Giordino. He was deflated like a life-size balloon figurethere was no other description for it-with just enough air to give it form. Every few minutes, as if his brain was set on an automatic timer, he changed position without cracking an eye or missing a breath.
"How does he do it?" asked Findley in frank amazement.
"It's in the genes," Pitt answered.
&nb
sp; Gunn shook his head admiringly. "I've seen him sleep in the damdest contortions in the darndest places, and I still can't believe it when I see it."
The young copilot turned and peered around the back of his seat.
"Doesn't exactly suffer from stress syndrome, does he?"
Pitt and the others laughed and then became quiet, all wishing they didn't have to leave the cozy warmth of the aircraft for the icy nightmare outside. Pitt relaxed as best he could. He felt some measure of satisfaction. Though he was not included in the assault-better to leave that to trained professionals in the art of hostage rescue-he was positioned close enough to tag along on the heels of Hollis and his SOF
teams, and he had every intention of following Dillenger's men down the scaling ropes after the attack was launched.
Pitt sensed no foreboding premonition nor imagined any omen of death. He did not doubt for an instant his father was alive. He couldn't explain it, even to himself, but he felt the Senator's presence. The two had a tight bond over the years. They could almost read each other's minds.
"We'll be at your landing point in six minutes," announced the pilot with a cheerfulness that made Pitt cringe.
The pilot seemed blissfully unconcerned at flying over jagged, snowcapped peaks he couldn't see. All that was visible through the windshield was the flash of sleet slamming the glass, and the darkness beyond.
"How do you know where we are?" asked Pitt.
The pilot, a laid-back Burt Reynolds type, shrugged lazily. "All in the wrists," he quipped.
Pitt leaned forward and peered over the pilot's shoulder. No hands were on the controls. The pilot was sitting with his arms folded, staring at a small screen that looked like a video game. Only the Osprey's nose showed at the bottom of the graphic display, while the flashing picture was rifled with mountains and valleys that hurtled past under the simulated aircraft. In a split-screen panel in an upper corner, distances and altitudes appeared in red digital numbers.
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