Treasure dp-9

by Clive Cussler

  Recklessly the Arabs threw themselves against the crushing mill and scurried over the makeshift barricade. The shooting match quickly turned into a man-to-man struggle as the two groups met in a savage, brawling mass of bodies.

  Findley went down as two bullets struck him in his unprotected side, yet he remained on his knees, feebly swinging his empty shotgun like a baseball bat.

  Giordino, wounded in five places, gamely heaved ore rocks with his right hand, his left arm dangling useless from a bullet through the shoulder.

  Pitts Thompson fired its last cartridge, and he hurled the big gun in the face of an Arab who suddenly up before him. He yanked the Colt automatic from his belt and fired at any face that lurched through the smoke. He felt a stinging sensation at the base of the neck and knew he'd been hit. The Colt quickly emptied, and Pitt fought on, chopping the heavy gun like a small club. He began to taste the begininggs of sour defeat.

  Reality no longer existed. Pitt felt as if he were fighting a war. A grenade went off, a crushing explosion that deafened him by its closeness. A body fell on top of him, and he was caught off balance and thrown backward.

  His head struck against a steel pipe and an expanding ball of fire flashed inside his head. And then, like a wave breaking in the surf, the nightmare swept over and smothered him.

  The Special Operations Forces landed and regrouped behind the ore tracks that shielded their approach from the mine buildings. They quickly spread out in a loose battle formation and waited for the command to move in. The snipers established their positions around the mine, lying flat and watching for movement through their scopes.

  Hollis, with Dillenger at his side, crawled up to the summit of the tracks and cautiously peered over. The scene had the look of a graveyard.

  The ghost mine was an eerie stage for a battle, but the cold rain and barren mountainside seemed an appropriate backdrop for a killing ground.

  The dull gray sky fell and gave the decaying buildings the look of a place that didn't belong to any world.

  The firing had stopped. Two of the outer buildings were blazing fiercely, the smoke rolling into the low overcast. Hollis counted at least seven bodies littering the road on one side of the crushing mill.

  "I hate to sound mundane," said Hollis, "but I don't like the look of it."

  "No sign of life," agreed Dillenger, peering through a pair of small but powerful binoculars.

  Hollis carefully studied the buildings for another five seconds and then spoke into his transmitter. "All right, let's mind our step and move in-"

  "One moment, Colonel," a voice broke in.

  "Hold the order," snapped Hollis.

  "Sergeant Baker, sir, on the right flank. I have a group of five people approaching up the railroad track."

  "They armed?"

  "No, sir. They have their hands in the air."

  "Very good. You and your men round them up. Watch for a trap. Major Dillenger and I are on our way."

  Hollis and Dillenger snaked around the mine takings until they found the railroad and began jogging along it toward the fjord. After about seventy meters, several human figures took form through the pouring rain.

  Sergeant Baker came forward to report.

  "We have the hostages and one terrorist, Colonel."

  "You've rescued the hostages?" Hollis exclaimed loudly. "All four of them?"

  "Yes, sir," replied Baker. "They're pretty well worn out, but otherwise they're in good shape."

  "Nice work, Sergeant," said Hollis, pumping Baker's hand in undisguised exuberance.

  Both officers had memorized the faces of the two presidents and the United Nations SecretaryGeneral during the flight from Virginia. They were already familiar with Senator Pitts appearance from the news media.

  They hurried forward and were enveloped in a great surge of relief as they recognized all four of the missing VIPS.

  Much of their relief turned to surprise when they saw the terrorist prisoner was none other than Rudi Gunn.

  Senator Pitt stepped forward and shook Hollis's hand as Gunn made the introductions. "Are we ever glad to see you, Colonel," said the Senator, beaming.

  "Sorry we're late," mumbled Hollis, still not sure what to make of it all.

  Hala embraced him, as did Hasan and De Lorenzo. Then it was Dillenger's Turn, and he went red as a tomato.

  "Mind telling me what's going on?" Hollis asked Gunn.

  Gunn took grim delight in rubbing it in. "It seems you dropped us off at a very critical point, Colonel. We found almost twenty terrorists at the mine, along with a hidden chopper they planned to use in clearing off the island. You didn't see fit to include us in your communications, so Pitt tried to warn you by sending a runaway train down the mountain into the fjord." Dillenger nodded in understanding.

  "The helicopter explains why the Arab hijackers deserted the ship and left the Mexicans to fend for themselves."

  "And the chopper was their transportation from the mine," Gunn added.

  Hollis asked, "Where are the others?"

  "Last I saw of them before Pitt sent me to rescue his father and these people, they were under siege inside the crushing mill building."

  "The four of you took on close to forty terrorists?" Dillenger asked incredulously.

  "Pitt and the others kept the Arabs from escaping as well as creating a diversion so I could rescue the hostages."

  "The odds were better than ten to one against them," stated Hollis.

  "They were doing a pretty good job of it when I left," answered Gunn solemnly.

  Hollis and Dillenger stared at each other. "We'd better see what we can find," said Hollis.

  Senator Pitt came over. "Colonel, Rudi has told me my son is up at the mine. I'd like to tag along with you."

  "Sorry, Senator. I can't permit it until the area is secure."

  Gunn put his arm around the old man's shoulder. "I'll see to it, Senator. Don't worry about Dirk. He'll outlive us all."

  "Thank you, Rudi. I appreciate your kindness."

  Hollis was not so confident. "They must have been wiped out," he muttered under his breath to Dillenger.

  Dillenger nodded in agreement. "Hopeless to think they could survive against a heavy force of trained terrorists."

  Hollis gave the signal and his men began moving like phantoms through the mine buildings. As they neared the crushing mill they began to find the litter of dead awesome. They counted n bodies crumpled in rag-doll positions on the road and ground outside.

  The crushing-mill building was riddled with hundreds of bullet holes and showed the splintered results of grenades. Not a single pane of glass was left intact anywhere. Every entry door had been blown into splinters.

  Hollis and five men cautiously entered through holes blown in the walls while Dillenger and his team approached from the shattered opening that was once the front main entrance. Small fires burned and smoldered everywhere, but had not yet joined to build a major conflagration.

  Two dozen bodies were heaped about the floor, several stacked against the front of the ore crusher. The helicopter stood amazingly clean and pristine with only its tail section in mangled condition.

  Three men still lived among the carnage-men who looked so smokeblackened, so bloody, in such awful shape, that Hollis couldn't believe his eyes. One man was lying on the floor, his head resting in the lap of another, whose hand was held in a gore-stained sling. One stood swaying on his feet, blood streaming from wounds on one leg, the base of his neck where it met the shoulder, the top of his head and the side of his face.

  Not until Hollis was only a few meters away did he recognize the battered men before him. He was absolutely shocked. He couldn't see how those three pitiful wrecks had kept the faith and won out over fearsome odds.

  The Special Operations Forces grouped around in silent admiration. Rudi Gunn smiled from ear to ear. Hollis and Dillenger stood there wordlessly.

  Then Pitt painfully straightened to his full height and said, "About time you showed
up. We were running out of things to do."

  PART IV

  October 27, 1991

  Washington D.C.

  Dale Nichols and Martin Brogan stood waiting on the White House steps as the President stepped from his helicopter and walked swiftly across the lawn.

  "You have something for me?" the President asked expectantly as he shook hands.

  Nichols could not contain his excitement. "We've just received a report from General Dodge. His Special Operations Forces have retaken the Lady Flamborough intact in Southern Chile. Senator Pitt, Hala Kamil and Presidents De Lorenzo and Hasan were rescued in good condition."

  The President was weary from a series of nonstop conferences with the Canadian Prime Minister in Ottawa, but he brightened like a streetlight.

  "Thank God. That is good news. Were there any casualties?"

  "Two SOF men were wounded, neither seriously, but three NUMA people were shot up pretty badly," reported Brogan.

  "NUMA people were on the scene?"

  "Dirk Pitt was responsible for tracking down the cruise ship. He and three others kept the hijackers from escaping along with their hostages."

  "So he helped save his own father."

  "He certainly deserves a major share of the credit."

  The President rubbed his hands together happily. "It's al most noon, gentlemen. Why don't we celebrate with a bottle of wine over lunch, and you can give me a full report."

  Secretary of State Douglas Oates, Alan Mercier, the President's National Security Adviser, and Julius Schiller also joined the group for lunch.

  After dessert, Mercier passed around copies of the transcribed report from General Dodge.

  The President toyed with his fork as he read the transcript. Then he looked up, a mixture of surprise and triumph on his face.

  "Topiltzin!"

  "He's in it up to his ears," said Brogan. "Topiltzin provided the Mexican terrorist crew and die vessel for the switch with the cruise ship."

  "So he did conspire with his brother on the Lady Flamborough hijacking,"

  the President said confidentially.

  Nichols nodded. "The facts add up that way, but it won't be easy to prove."

  "any idea as to the identity of the mastermind behind the operation?"

  "We have a make," replied Brogan briefly. This is a condensed file on the man." He paused to hand the President another folder. "He did a remarkable job of disguising himself to look like the Captain of the ship during the capture, and then he changed to a mask. Later, Dirk Pitt met face to face with him during a truce before the fighting. The name he gave was Suleiman Aziz Ammar."

  "Seems odd this Ammar got lax and dropped his name," mused Schiller.

  "Must be an alias."

  Brogan shook his head. "The name is real enough. We have a comprehensive packet on him. So does Interpel. Ammar must have figured Pitt was as good as dead, and had nothing to lose by identifying himself."

  The President's eyes narrowed. "According to your file he's suspected of being directly or indirectly involved with over fifty murders of prominent government officials. Is this possible?"

  "Suleiman Aziz Ammar is rated at the very top of his profession."

  "A diehard terrorist."

  "Assassin," Brogan corrected the President. "Ammar specializes only in political assassination. Cold-blooded as they come. Big on disguise and detailed planning. As the words of the song go, 'Nobody does it better." Half his hits were so clean they were written off as accidents.

  He's a Muslim, but he's taken on jobs for the French and Germans and even the Israelis. Gets top dollar. He's amassed a considerable fortune for his successful operations in and around the Mediterranean."

  "Was he captured?"

  "No, sir," Brogan admitted. "He was not among the dead or wounded."

  "The man escaped?" the President asked sharply.

  "If he still lives, Ammar cannot get far," Brogan assured him. "Pitt he pumped at least three bullets into him. An extensive manhunt has been activated. There is no escape from the island. He should be found in a few hours."

  "He'll be a major intelligence coup if he can be persuaded to talk,"

  said Nichols.

  "General Dodge has already alerted his field commander, Colonel Morton Hollis, to take every precaution in capturing Animar alive. But the Colonel thinks there is good reason to believe Ammar will kill himself when cornered. "

  Nichols shrugged resignedly. "Hollis is probably right."

  "There were no other survivors among the hijackers?" the President asked Brogan.

  "Eight we can interrogate. But they appear to be only Ammar's hired mercenaries and not radical Yazid followers."

  "We'll need their confessions to prove Ammar was working for Yazid and Topiltzin," said the President without optimism.

  Schiller did not feel there was a setback. "Look on the bright side, Mr. President. The ship and hostages have been rescued without injury.

  President Hasan knows damn well Yazid wanted him dead and was behind the hijacking. He'll go after Yazid now with a vengeance."

  The President looked at him, and then his eyes traveled from face to face. "Is that the way you gentlemen see it?"

  "Julius has a good grasp of Hasan," said Mercier. "He can be real nasty if he's crossed."

  Doug Oates nodded in agreement. "Barring unforeseen developments, I think Julius's projection is right on the money. Hasan may not go so far as to risk riots and ignite a revolution by arresting Yazid and trying him for treason. But he'll certainly take off the gloves and do everything short of murder to destroy Yazid's credibility."

  "There will be a backlash against Yazid," Brogan predicted. "Egypt's Muslim fundamentalist moderates do not condone terrorist tactics.

  They'll Turn their backs on Yazid while the country's parliament gives President Hasan overwhelming support. Also, in my best rose-colored view, the military will climb down out of its ivory tower and reaffirm its loyalty to Hasan."

  The President took a final swallow of wine and set the glass on the table. "I must confess, I like what I hear."

  "The crisis in Egypt is far from over," warned Secretary Oates. "Yazid may be pushed out of the limelight for a while, but in President Hasan's absence the Moslem Brotherhood of fundamentalist fanatics has formed an alliance with the Liberal and Socialist Labor parties. Together, they'll work to undemiine Hasan's nile, to bring Egypt under Islamic ties with the United States and scuttle Israeli peace agreements."

  The President tilted his head at Schiller. "Do you subscribe to Doug's doomsday canvas, Julius?"

  Schiller nodded grimly. "I do."

  "Martin?"

  Brogan's solemn expression told it all. "The inevitable has only been stalled off. Hasan's government must eventually fall. The military's support will be here today and gone tomorrow. My best brains at Langley project a fairly bloodless coup eighteen to twenty-four months from now."

  "I recommend we take a hands-off, wait-and-see attitude, Mr. President,"

  said Oates. "And study our options in dealing with another Muslim government."

  "You're suggesting an isolationist approach," said the President.

  "Maybe it's time we took that stance," suggested Schiller. "Nothing of substance your predecessors attempted in the last twenty years worked."

  "The Russians will lose too," added Nichols. "And our big consolation is in keeping Paul Capesterre, also known as Akhmad Yazid, from creating another Iranian disaster. He would have worked to destroy our Middle East interests at any cost.

  "I do not entirely agree with your overall picture," said Brogan. "But in the time we have left we still have the opportunity to cultivate the next man to rule Egypt."

  A questioning frown crossed the President's face. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Egypt's Defense Minister, Abu Hamid."

  "You think he'll seize the government?'

  "When the time is ripe, yes," Brogan explained patiently. "He has the power of the military
in his pocket, and he's shrewdly sought strong support from the moderate Muslim fundamentalists. In my opinion, Abu Hamid is a shoo-in."

  "We could do much worse," murmured Oates with a thin smile. "He hasn't been above accepting favors and tapping some of the billions of dollars we've poured into Egypt. Abu Hamid would not be the type to kick a gift horse in the mouth. Oh, sure, he'd make the required noises condemning Israel and cursing the U.S., for the sake of the religious fanatics, but underneath the rhetoric he'd keep a friendly line of communications open."

  "The fact that he's on close terms with Hala Kamfl won't hurt us either," Nichols said flatly.

  The President was silent, staring into the glass of zinfandel as if it was a crystal ball. Then he raised the glass.

  "To a continued friendly union with Egypt."

  "Hear, hear," said Mercier and Brogan in unison.

  "To Egypt," murmured Oates.

  "And Mexico," added Schiller.

  The President glanced at his watch and rose, followed by his advisers.

  "Sorry to cut this short, but I have a meeting with a group of Treasury people. Congratulate everyone involved in rescuing the hostages for me." He turned to Oates. "I want to meet with you and Senator Pitt the minute he returns."

  "To discuss any words he had with President Hasan during their ordeal?"

  "I'd be more interested in hearing what he learned from President De Lorenzo on the crisis south of our border. Egypt is of secondary importance compared to Mexico. We can safely assume Akhmad Yazid has been benched for the rest of the season, but Topiltzin is a far worse threat. Concentrate on him, gentlemen. God help us if we can't stabilize the upheaval in Mexico."

  Slowly, reluctantly, Pitt rose from the black depths of a sound sleep to the brightly lit surface of consciousness only to find it was accompanied by stiff, aching pain. He tried to go back and reenter the comforting void, but his eyes blinked open, and it was too late. The first thing he focused on was a smiling red face.