Hostile Contact

by Gordon Kent

  She was lying under the car, holding a big Colt Python two-handed.

  “Jesus, Alice. I thought you were dead.”

  “Dirty, yes. Dead, no.”

  “Did they shoot?” He was already holding her left hand, helping her crawl clumsily out from under the back of the Land Rover.

  “What do you think, bwana?” She leaned against the back of her vehicle and started to shake a little. She reached into her pocket and got out her pack of local cigarettes. After a moment of watching her try to light a smoke, Harry lit it for her.

  “You return fire?”

  “I was trying to play dead. They weren’t really interested. I never saw the grab, just drove right into the end of the whole thing.”

  “We’ve got to clear the road. Or rather, I do. You just rest.”

  He lost track of time for a little while, came back to himself to find he was rolling the logs off to clear the road. He was sweating, and his thoughts were coming sluggishly. He shook his head. His hands hurt from the logs.

  He didn’t want to be found here by the next truck. He also didn’t want the little Suzuki to kill a trucker belting down the hill, and he took it out of gear, gave it a little push, and let it roll away over the edge of the road.

  The men who had followed Lao had had friends in front. They had ambushed Lao, and Alice had driven right into it. Perhaps they had made her earlier, or perhaps she had been shot at to prevent some other trouble. Perhaps they had thought her to be an American. It didn’t matter now.

  Right now, he wanted the men who had done it, and the mission was still there.

  He walked back to Alice, who was deep in her second African Dunhill.

  “I thought I was dead. Goddam, I thought I was dead. And they just didn’t come. The doors slammed and they were off, and I could already hear the little fucking Mahindi coming.”

  “I was wrong, Alice. I thought it would be after Moshi. Can you keep going?”

  “Fuck, yes! I’m immortal right now. My truck is past history, though.”

  “Leave it. Somebody will strip it and we’ll charge the loss to our contract.” He smiled at her in the first tinge of light. Then he pointed off to the east, toward Kilimanjaro. She laughed.

  “Beautiful,” she said simply. “I’d forgotten what it looked like.”

  “Me, too,” he said. She walked off beyond the ditch and he crossed the road to give her privacy, had a piss, then walked back to his jeep. The men who had grabbed Lao were perhaps a half-hour ahead. He thought he knew what they’d do. He got back in the Mahindi, wiped his hands on his spare T-shirt and threw it in the back, worked the throttle until his engine came to life, and Alice jumped in. He didn’t think that Lao’s kidnappers knew he was behind them.

  “Start trying to raise Dukas,” he said to Alice, handing her the sat-phone. She couldn’t get a satellite, so he kept driving.

  The sun was above the mountains by the time they came into the outskirts of Moshi. Harry pulled them into the first truck stop and got water and gas while Alice played with the sat-phone. Harry asked the attendants if they had seen two vehicles full of Asians.

  They had. They waved at a back road stretching out east of the town. It was a dirt track that ran down toward Same and the coast, nearly parallel to the road they had been on for sixty miles before it ran along the north side of the Pare Mountains. They had come up the south side. Harry pulled out his Michelin guide to Africa and looked at the road. It improved south of Same, ran on as a broad two-lane to the coast at Tanga. There weren’t any branches.

  It could be done.

  “I’ve got a connection,” Alice shouted. She ran over to him and gave him the phone.

  32

  Shompole.

  Dukas stood under a gnarled tree that gave its shade as if it had to pay to do so. He was a few yards up the slope of one of Shompole’s outriders, high enough to see out over the plain to the north and west of Lake Natron. Lao would come, he thought, from the east, from the way he couldn’t see, but Alan and Triffler were up in the aircraft to spot him, and he’d put Margo and O’Leary in the swamp grass down where they could see around the mountain’s flank to the east.

  “Three, this is One,” he said into his Walkabout. Three was Bob.

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Can you see me?”

  “Got you.” Bob was higher up the slope. He had wanted to have a rifle up there. Dukas had thought the idea was asinine, but had said only that it was too risky. If Lao came with muscle, intending something ugly (kidnapping Dukas would be a nice thought), they’d see everything long before it got here.

  “Four?” Four was Frank, who should be in place by now, farther around the hill.

  “Yo.”

  “You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here, but I’m fucked if I know where here is.”

  “Can you see Margo and O’Leary?”

  “I can see Margo’s hat if she moves around.”

  “Well, so can I, so you’re not too far away. Okay, radio check, folks—let’s go by the numbers—can everybody hear?”

  Everybody could hear.

  “I got meeting time minus one hour thirty. Settle in, stay cool, and be alert.”

  Twenty minutes later, he heard the aircraft droning behind him. Dukas had been concerned about gas; Alan had assured him he could stay aloft for six hours if he had to, but Dukas didn’t want any emergencies, so he’d told him to leave Magadi later than everybody else. Now the Cessna flew over him at a thousand feet and headed over Natron, then swung east. Dukas did a radio check with them and got a partly garbled reply from Triffler in the right-hand seat. The plane went out of sight behind the hill, and he could hear it for minutes afterward, going away and then coming back as if Alan had wanted to take another look at something.

  Then they all settled down to wait.

  Alan was flying some sort of Navy-inspired grid, Dukas thought. The plane would appear as a speck, higher and smaller now, fly a leg up the middle of the lake and then swing east and disappear, its sound fading; then it would come up the lake again and swing west and disappear behind the volcano.

  It was all very boring. Also tense, and somewhat depressing, as if a kind of fatigue set in from the heat. Dukas was not a worrier about what might be, but it was only human to want something to happen and to want it to be over.

  He did another radio check. Everybody was awake, at least, but the voices sounded drowsy.

  Dukas watched birds in the marsh grass. He watched an eagle overhead. He watched a pack-train of ants labor past.

  And then his cell phone rang. There was no way that a cell-phone call could be anything but trouble at this point, and the vague depression of the wait was dispelled by the hammering of his heart. He fumbled with the unfamiliar satellite phone, finally pressed the receive switch, and got the call.

  “One, this is Alpha, talk to me! One, talk to me!” It was Harry.

  “Alpha, this is One—”

  “They grabbed him, Mike! No question, it’s his own people; they grabbed him. You’re busted—he’s a no-show. You read me?”

  “Jesus, yes, loud and clear! What d’you mean? Where?”

  “I’m at Moshi. Maybe two hours from you. Two cars, four guys, not locals; they just grabbed him!”

  “Pursue.”

  Without hesitation, Harry said, “I’m on the way. The vehicles are a white Toyota pickup with a broad red stripe on the hood and some kind of long cab pickup, maybe an Isuzu, white with some pale-blue trim. Maybe the trim’s green. Got all that?”

  “White Toyota with red stripe, stretched-cab Isuzu with blue or green trim. Copy all. Keep him in visual; we’ll do what we can. If we can’t catch up, break off. I’ll let you know.”

  “I read you.” Harry said something to somebody else. “They shot at one of my people.”

  “Be careful. Harry, don’t try this on your own.”

  “You aren’t paying me enough.”

  “Exactly. I’ll see what I
can put together. Keep in touch.”

  “Out here.”

  Dukas stepped out of the shadow of the tree and shouted into his Walkabout, “Two, Three, Four, Five, this is One. Abort! Acknowledge: Abort!” His mind was tumbling over itself, sorting and seeking, looking for a way out. He didn’t have a contingency for this, except to wish that he’d scheduled the meeting earlier, before anybody in Beijing could know what was going on.

  He hurried down the slope. Margo and O’Leary were pushing through the livid swamp grass. Margo was still a hundred feet away, but she was making some signal to him. Dukas was too busy trying to raise Alan to acknowledge her. Even out in the open, however, he couldn’t raise the aircraft, which had made the turn west behind the volcano and was probably well west and south now.

  “Hey, Mike,” Margo called, “what the hell—!”

  “Get in the cars!” Dukas shouted. He was looking around for the others. Bob was coming down the rocky slope with his eyes on his feet. “Where the hell’s Frank?” Dukas raised the Walkabout again. “Four, this is One—acknowledge! Four! Four, this is One!”

  “One, this is Four. I fell over a goddam boulder—”

  “Well, get your ass back here!”

  Margo was standing with her hands on her hips. “Okay, we go to the cars, so? Then what?”

  “Find a route and head for Dar es Salaam. The only sure border crossing’s Namanga; you’ll be way the fuck west of Dar, so go to Arusha—”

  He heard the plane before he saw it.

  “Eight, this is One! Do you read me?”

  Garble from Triffler. At least he’d heard.

  “Eight, this is One! You’re not clear. Do you read me?”

  More garble, of which he got “miles” and “minutes.”

  Frank was limping toward them by then, Bob standing under the nearest tree, Margo and O’Leary close to him.

  “Listen up! O’Neill called. It looks like Lao’s been grabbed by his own folks. O’Neill’s tailing them, but I’m not sure what he can do otherwise. We’ll do the best we can. I’ll be honest with you—our chances aren’t good. Plus we’re busted on the pickup from the carrier, because they’ll head for Dar, plus we don’t have country clearances for Tanzania. Anybody wants to drop out can do so.”

  They all simply looked at him.

  “Frank?”

  “I’ll live.” He had a bloody spot on his khaki pants leg.

  “Let’s get going!” O’Leary said. “Cut the talk.”

  Dukas came close to reading him out and then saw that the man was right. “Okay, both cars—Namanga, Arusha, Dar. It’s a long trip—six hours if we’re lucky.”

  “You?” Margo said.

  “I don’t know yet.” Dukas pushed his radio switch and called the aircraft again, which he could see clearly now.

  “Read you,” Triffler said. Jesus, thank you. Dukas gave it to him in three sentences.

  “What . . . to do?” Triffler sputtered.

  “Not reading you good, Dick.” What was this line-of-sight shit? He could see the fucking plane well enough! The plane went into a dive and turned toward them. The reception brightened. Dukas hit the switch again. “Ask Al if he can pick me up, or do I have to go back to Magadi?”

  Dukas watched the aircraft. Something was going on up there, he thought. Was Alan unwilling to land? No, it would be Triffler, not because he was frightened but because he liked things right—runway lights, radar, control towers with good radios.

  “We’ll pick you up. Head for the northeast shore of the lake.”

  Dukas looked that way. Trees and soda crust waved in the heat ripples. Above them, the plane was already heading downwind to set up for an approach.

  Dukas looked at the others. “I’ll meet you in Dar.” He started running into the rippling oven.

  Twenty minutes later he was airborne, headed for Dar on an undeclared flight plan. Alan was on the radio with what passed for air-traffic control, refiling his flight plan as if he were a tourist who had changed his mind and wanted to see Kilimanjaro from the air. Dukas got cooler as they climbed, until the sweat from the soda flats began to run like ice down his back and his shirt was cold. Alan turned back and took his headset off. He had to shout over the noise of the engine.

  “Hakuna matata, bwana.” He gave Dukas a big thumbs-up; Dukas nodded and unbuckled his seat belt as if he were taking his life in his hands. Triffler was still sitting erect in the front seat, as if he didn’t plan to be taken by surprise again. He hadn’t liked the landing or the takeoff.

  “I want to contact Harry.”

  “Keep trying his cell phone. If we have to use radios, I’ll only be able to get him within a couple of miles.”

  Mike shook his head emphatically. “I can’t get him.”

  Alan held up a road map. “I can take us right down the road he’s on. We ought to find him. He’ll be between Moshi and Same for the next two hours. I’ll fly right down the road.”

  Mike shook his head, unconvinced by Alan’s eagerness. “I’ll keep calling.”

  Tanzania—on the Same Road.

  Every time they reached a little hamlet, Harry asked about the cars ahead of them. Probably the only ethnic group that stuck out in Africa more than whites was Asians, so he always got a report. Something about the two trucks raised the suspicions of every hamlet they passed, so that Harry had to listen to long-winded suppositions about the intent of the passengers. He stuck to it. He couldn’t afford a mistake. He couldn’t let them slip down some dusty side road to a safe house in the hills. He hoped they were going for Tanga, but he couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t raise Dukas to ask for support. He tried to imagine how he could grab Lao on the road without a major international incident developing. He didn’t have the numbers or the ability to get ahead and lay an ambush.

  It was nine in the morning when they reached Same, where the road divided. The northern road ran to the coast, while the southern ran down to Dar. It was the decision point he had dreaded, because without some luck, he’d never be sure which way they were going. Harry guzzled water and Alice pumped gas, and suddenly he heard his radio crackle. He grabbed for it.

  “Alpha, this is . . . over?”

  “This is Alpha!” he all but shouted into the headset. He sat on the seat and pulled his headset over his ball cap. “This is Alpha, please say again. You’re broken and garbled.”

  “Alpha, this is Eight.” Clear as the great red hump of Kilimanjaro. Alan Craik, a man with a mission. He made Harry smile.

  “Where are you?”

  “Overhead. Where are you?”

  “Gas station just north of Same.”

  “I’m taking One down to Dar. I can be back in three hours.”

  “Can you see the roads south of Same?”

  “Sure.”

  “There are two. One runs north of the Pare Mountains, one runs south.”

  “Got it.”

  “Try and get a spot on the subject vehicles, copy?”

  “Wait one.”

  Alan turned to Triffler and slid his headset back. “Harry needs us to find the guys who have Lao. Road splits at Same.”

  Dukas leaned up, apparently impressed that Alan had found Harry in the mountainous desert. “Has he lost them?”

  “I think he’s just too far behind.” Alan dove for speed and turned southeast, then steadied up to get a long, clear look at the two roads. He turned north and climbed again, cresting the first ridges of the Pare range and watching the long red road.

  Even from three thousand feet, the two cars were obvious. They raised plumes of dust, and the red stripe on the Toyota was like a beacon. Alan turned back immediately, diving to drop back behind the ridge. They flew for a few minutes until they had the range of Harry’s radio.

  “Maybe fifteen miles ahead, Harry. They’re on the north road.”

  “Then the only place they can go is Tanga. That’s a four-hour drive for them.”

  Alan looked at his instruments, turning slowly over
Same. He read his fuel gauge and did some calculations. “Hang on, Harry. We need to have a little talk.”

  He pulled off his headset and leveled the plane. “What’s it going to be, Mike?”

  “Where are they going?”

  “Tanga, on the coast. Maybe Dar after that, but they took the Tanga road. They’ll be there in four or five hours.”

  Mike Dukas thought with his chin sunk on his chest. The plane circled above Same.

  “We have two problems, and they both look huge. We have to get Lao, and we have to get his family.”

  “I can get us to Dar in another hour, maybe a little more.” Alan looked at his fuel gauge again. “Then I’ll have to get gas. Then I’ll have to get back to the road and find Harry. And then what the hell do we do?”

  “Grab Lao.” Mike didn’t hesitate.

  “How, Mike? Damn, do you know what you’re asking?”

  “Why don’t we take him now?” asked Triffler.

  “Because we’ll need to get him and his family at the same time, Dick. Once we have Lao, the family will be disappeared.”

  “I don’t like this,” said Triffler. He set his jaw and looked out the window, then turned back. “I think we’re over the edge. We don’t even have an operational clearance for Tanzania.”

  Dukas looked at Alan. Alan played with the controls. “We’re out on a limb, Mike. I don’t really like it, either.”

  “We can still do it. You and Dick and Harry get Lao. I get the family.”

  “And if we screw up, then what?”

  Dukas shook his head.

  “Mike, what’s our job here? Do we know Lao’s trying to defect? If we kill some Chinese spook, is that going to spark World War III?”

  “Didn’t you just give me the patriotic speech the other day, Commander? That we needed to do something ‘for the Navy’? This is it, Alan. This is the biggest thing I’ll ever do, maybe the most important. I’m not ready to bag it. I still think it can be done.”