torch up under his chin, turned the flashlight on and off.
Having seen Damya’s face the American raised the rifle so that the barrel was pointing at the sky. Five seconds later the scout was aboard with an AK-47 at the ready.
Palmer slapped the roof of the cab, Guiscard turned the key, and the roar of the big diesel shattered the desert silence. Loose gravel spewed out from under the rear tires and pummeled the nearest tent, as the engineer put his foot into it, and sent the Mercedes lurching forward.
Bandit leader Basel Naravas was one of the first people to exit his tent, realize what was taking place, and empty his Turkish made Yavuz 16 pistol after the fleeing truck. The unexpected engine noise, plus the persistent blam, blam, blam of the nine millimeter, brought the rest of the men out, and muzzle flashes stabbed the darkness as they opened fire too.
But the Mog was gone by then sending everyone running to the other vehicles only to discover that both of them had been disabled. Someone shouted, “Abdul is dead!” That served to remind Naravas that his twelve-year-old son had been on sentry duty. Seconds later he was there, kneeling next to the body, feeling for a pulse. There was none. No one who heard it would soon forget the wail of anguish that issued from the bandit’s lips.
But Naravas knew his grief would have to wait if he was to catch up with the murderers. And catch up he would. Because while the thieves had been clever,
very
clever, they had overlooked one very important fact: Both of the bandit chieftain’s vehicles were Land Cruisers of about the same age. And they were equipped with
two
spare tires each. All of which were stored on the sort of roof racks common to off-road vehicles in north Africa. That meant one of the Toyotas could be made road worthy within twenty-minutes. Lights came on, a variety of jacks appeared, and work began.
***
Guiscard felt a brief moment of exultation as the Mog cleared the encampment and lurched over a half-buried rock before surging forward. The headlights swung wildly in response to the way he was turning the wheel back and forth. Then he saw the emergency triangle that marked the spot where the Volvo had been left. Guiscard braked, brought the big flat bed to a full stop, and waited for Palmer to dash past the front of the Mercedes.
Then, once the way was clear, Guiscard let out the clutch. Unsecured gear rattled as the Mog waddled over some loose stones, but the ride began to settle down after that, as a pair of headlights appeared in the outside rearview mirror. Knowing that Palmer was right behind him, the Chadian began to scan the left side of the track for the pile of rocks that had been heaped around the Mongo Iron. There was a false alarm as he braked for what turned out to be a large boulder. But that was followed by success as the truck’s headlights washed over the half-concealed meteorite.
Gravel flew, and the Mog skidded, as Guiscard stomped on the brake. Then, having overshot the pile of rocks by twenty-feet, Guiscard was forced to back-up as the Volvo pulled in. Once the Mercedes was properly positioned Damya was sent back along the road. Having found a place to hide it would be the Tuareg’s job to lay in wait for any brigands foolish enough to pursue the Mog on foot. Darkness closed in around him.
***
Palmer was pleased with the way the operation had gone thus far as he steered the 4 X 4 around the flat bed truck and positioned the smaller vehicle so it would be ready to leave. Then, with the bolt-action hunting rifle in hand, Palmer went over to assist Guiscard. He left the rifle leaning against a huge tire but had a semi-auto pistol stuck down the back of his pants as he climbed up onto the truck bed where Guiscard was preparing to deploy the crane. “What’s this stuff?” Palmer wanted to know, as he scrambled over a pile of olive drab boxes.
“Beats me,” Guiscard replied. “I haven’t had time to check them out…. Here, grab
Having seen Damya’s face the American raised the rifle so that the barrel was pointing at the sky. Five seconds later the scout was aboard with an AK-47 at the ready.
Palmer slapped the roof of the cab, Guiscard turned the key, and the roar of the big diesel shattered the desert silence. Loose gravel spewed out from under the rear tires and pummeled the nearest tent, as the engineer put his foot into it, and sent the Mercedes lurching forward.
Bandit leader Basel Naravas was one of the first people to exit his tent, realize what was taking place, and empty his Turkish made Yavuz 16 pistol after the fleeing truck. The unexpected engine noise, plus the persistent blam, blam, blam of the nine millimeter, brought the rest of the men out, and muzzle flashes stabbed the darkness as they opened fire too.
But the Mog was gone by then sending everyone running to the other vehicles only to discover that both of them had been disabled. Someone shouted, “Abdul is dead!” That served to remind Naravas that his twelve-year-old son had been on sentry duty. Seconds later he was there, kneeling next to the body, feeling for a pulse. There was none. No one who heard it would soon forget the wail of anguish that issued from the bandit’s lips.
But Naravas knew his grief would have to wait if he was to catch up with the murderers. And catch up he would. Because while the thieves had been clever,
very
clever, they had overlooked one very important fact: Both of the bandit chieftain’s vehicles were Land Cruisers of about the same age. And they were equipped with
two
spare tires each. All of which were stored on the sort of roof racks common to off-road vehicles in north Africa. That meant one of the Toyotas could be made road worthy within twenty-minutes. Lights came on, a variety of jacks appeared, and work began.
***
Guiscard felt a brief moment of exultation as the Mog cleared the encampment and lurched over a half-buried rock before surging forward. The headlights swung wildly in response to the way he was turning the wheel back and forth. Then he saw the emergency triangle that marked the spot where the Volvo had been left. Guiscard braked, brought the big flat bed to a full stop, and waited for Palmer to dash past the front of the Mercedes.
Then, once the way was clear, Guiscard let out the clutch. Unsecured gear rattled as the Mog waddled over some loose stones, but the ride began to settle down after that, as a pair of headlights appeared in the outside rearview mirror. Knowing that Palmer was right behind him, the Chadian began to scan the left side of the track for the pile of rocks that had been heaped around the Mongo Iron. There was a false alarm as he braked for what turned out to be a large boulder. But that was followed by success as the truck’s headlights washed over the half-concealed meteorite.
Gravel flew, and the Mog skidded, as Guiscard stomped on the brake. Then, having overshot the pile of rocks by twenty-feet, Guiscard was forced to back-up as the Volvo pulled in. Once the Mercedes was properly positioned Damya was sent back along the road. Having found a place to hide it would be the Tuareg’s job to lay in wait for any brigands foolish enough to pursue the Mog on foot. Darkness closed in around him.
***
Palmer was pleased with the way the operation had gone thus far as he steered the 4 X 4 around the flat bed truck and positioned the smaller vehicle so it would be ready to leave. Then, with the bolt-action hunting rifle in hand, Palmer went over to assist Guiscard. He left the rifle leaning against a huge tire but had a semi-auto pistol stuck down the back of his pants as he climbed up onto the truck bed where Guiscard was preparing to deploy the crane. “What’s this stuff?” Palmer wanted to know, as he scrambled over a pile of olive drab boxes.
“Beats me,” Guiscard replied. “I haven’t had time to check them out…. Here, grab
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