Chapter 28
Libyan Desert
Johnny pressed the talk button on the cyclic stick between his legs. "Derek," he
said into his microphone, "you want to take her for a few minutes... get the feel?"
Derek smiled. They were barely skimming the tops of the taller dunes. He'd
been itching to take over since they'd left base camp. "I've got it," he said as he gently
maneuvered his own stick. He allowed the chopper to drop lower. Slowly, he pushed
the delicate cyclic control forward and, with his right hand, pulled up on the collective
stick between the seats. The helicopter's nose tipped downward, the thrust increased,
and they picked up speed. "Smooth," he said.
Adjusting his headset, the major nodded. "It's an updated version of the Army's
OH-6A, what we called a 'Loach' in 'Nam. One of the best damned workhorses ever
made." He reached under his seat to pull out the Ingram machine gun to give it one
final check, then felt the pockets of his cargo vest to again count the number of
magazines he had in reserve. From the back of his pants, he extracted a Beretta,
checked its clip and felt for its spares in the pockets of his khaki fatigue pants. Intently
focused, he imprinted upon his mind the precise location and number of each.
Derek pressed down on the directional pedals to change the pitch of the tail
rotor. The aircraft arced around one of the taller dunes. Somehow, he always equated
flying a helicopter with playing the piano... left hand doing one thing, right hand doing
another, feet manipulating pedals, mind focused on rhythm and tempo. Suddenly, he
popped it over the crest and down into another sandy canyon.
"OK, hotshot... give it back," said Johnny, "before you make me seasick."
Stowing the weapons, he glanced over at his friend. "Where's your ring?" he asked as
he resumed control of the chopper.
"I gave it to William," Derek replied, looking at the diamonds that had replaced
his precept's ring on his right hand. "Feel naked without it... even with this thing."
"Why? No one would have known."
"Just a feeling," said the younger man. "It was the Legatus
"OK," said Boyle, "you've got the area's layout straight... and the complex down pat?" He glanced over to see Derek nod. He hadn't before noticed how exhausted the younger man looked. "We stick together... but, if we do get separated, we meet at the rendezvous point we're going to pick when we fly over... right?"
"Roger," said Derek. Suddenly, a half-smile crossed his face. "Can you manage to dig up that SOB Major Boyle that I first met?" he asked.
"Shouldn't be a problem... he's always there," said Johnny with complete seriousness. "Are you OK?" he questioned, giving another quick glance. Sloan was right to be worried... Derek looked stretched to the limit.
"Just thinking," he replied. "Got! You were a bastard... could've put Patton to shame. Then when I became precept... I had no idea how I was ever going to work with you... you were older, more experienced." Derek hesitated, knowing that he was treading on shaky ground. "Thank you for accepting me," he said.
"Why are we talking about this?" the ex-soldier gruffly asked, uncomfortable with the conversation, and the memories. "You were the West Pointer... I was the non-com... what was I supposed to do... mutiny?"
As the major allowed the chopper to climb, Derek looked out across the sea of ochre sand rolling in all directions to the horizon. He cleared his throat. "I just wanted you to know that your support and friendship has meant a lot. You could have made life miserable for a precept as young as I was."
"Thanks," was Johnny's uncertain reply. No one had ever said anything like that to him before... he always figured he was ahead of the game if he didn't get the equivalent of his father's belt across his back. He shook his head... Derek had the damnedest knack for throwing him off balance.
"I owed you that," Derek explained. Mostly men just grunted and clapped each other on the shoulder to show their appreciation, but there wasn't the time for such subtleties. "You've saved my tail often enough... you, I can tell," he chuckled, "William... when hell freezes over."
"Unidentified aircraft," said an accented voice cutting into their headsets. "This is Kufra tower... please identify... you have entered Libyan airspace... identify... or you will be shot down."
"They know we're here." Johnny reached over to adjust the transmitter's dial. "Kufra tower," he responded. "This is Helicopter seven-three-two bound for Al-Taj Complex... twenty-five kilometers north-north-east... inbound... ETA fifteen minutes. Request instructions." He turned toward his friend. "You're sure you're OK? Last chance to bug out."
The younger man nodded. The major could see a physical change take place as Derek began to center his concentration... the warrior assuming control... the Legacy precept emerging in all its forceful dignity.
"Helicopter seven-three-two, roger, continue inbound. Wind two-one-zero at five, altimeter two-niner-niner-six. Cleared to land at Al-Taj."
"Here we go," said Derek.
< < + > >
Legacy Camp
"They're there," said Sloan, listening to Johnny's final exchange with Kufra tower as he brought the helicopter in for a landing at the Jebel al-Taj terrorist camp. He laid his glasses on the map, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his eyes. "Now... we wait," he told Kym. He dragged a chair closer to the radio and sat down. "It's the worst part of moving up the ladder... it turns into a corporate position."
The young woman pulled the scarf from her head and sighed, "I wish Derek was in a more 'corporate' position."
As she leaned her head back to comb her fingers through her hair, Sloan saw the anxiety in her green eyes, which were made all the greener by the redness that surrounded them.
"I doubt he'll ever consent to leave San Francisco... as a house precept, he has a certain freedom... gets to be in the field, which is what he's best and happiest at. Besides, it's home... and he's got Luna and the museum to manage as well."
"I know," Kym said sadly. "That's what I'm afraid of."
In her eyes, William saw that he had misread. It wasn't anxiety he had seen there... it was undiluted terror.
< < + > >
Tanit
"Your wait is over, my chosen one,"
the voice whispered into her soul. "Soon my Tanit will become."< < + > >
Al-Taj
Slowly Johnny angled the chopper over the Al-Taj Complex. He revved the engine, increasing the power so that they could hover for an extra moment or two to compare their mental images of the area drawn from maps and satellite photos with the real thing. The long, shallow Al-Kufrah depression contained five oases, around which clustered date groves and small groups of low buildings. They recognized the largest, off to the south as the village of Al-Jawf. Directly below was the terrorist training center, a scattered mix of mud huts, tents, concrete block structures, and pre-fabricated buildings.
Immediately, the major spotted the ammunition dump, a small, boxy, concrete building separated from the rest of the camp by the obstacle course and target range. A few hundred yards to the north was what he thought must the well where the temple had been found.
He nudged Derek. "Look over there," he said, pointing toward the site.
"I see it," said the precept. "Where do we meet, if something happens?"
Major Boyle scanned the complex. "Over there... at ten o'clock... see the radio tower and the satellite dish? Has to be the communications center... make for that," he said as he allowed the helicopter to descend to the concrete landing pad, where he set down with scarcely a jar.
Men emerged from the surrounding buildings and trucks. All were variously armed and none bore the faintest trace of friendship. Shouts in several languages and pointed weapons ordered them out of the aircraft.
Derek spotted a figure that seemed familiar. "There's Hassan," he said, nodding toward a man in a camel colored suit.
"What's your mother's maiden name?" asked the major with a chuckle.
"Rahel Jurcksen," replied his friend as a quick grin slipped across his face.
"Remember...," Boyle cautioned, "...count your shots... if it comes to that."
Derek nodded. "I think we'd better get out," he said, reaching for his hat and attache case. "You remember... they want to buy our merchandise." He pushed open the door and jumped down from the helicopter. Holding onto his hat, he stooped beneath the whirring blades and walked straight toward Hassan ibn Aziz. The Arab extended his hand. "Piers Myndertsen, my old friend, how are you?" he asked.
"Well," said the precept, "it's been a while... and you?"
"Well fed, as you see," ibn Aziz replied, slapping his stomach. "My comrades are a rather nervous lot," he explained. "I'm sorry... they wish to search you."
From his position by the chopper's open door, Johnny watched nervously as three of the armed men approached Derek. All other weapons remained trained on himself and the helicopter. He glanced down to make sure of the Ingram's location. Now was the moment when they would discover whether or not this was all a trap to snare a prize hostage and create an international incident.
Derek handed the briefcase to Hassan, who snapped it open to search through. "It's heavy," the arms dealer commented.
The major saw one of the men sling his weapon back over his shoulder and gesture for Derek to raise his arms. They were too far apart... he shouldn't have let Derek get more than six feet away.
As he was frisked, the young precept explained, "It's got lead shielding... I frequently carry film in it."
Guessing the truth, Ibn Aziz nodded, quickly closed the case, and handed it back to the Dutchman. "I'm afraid your companion will have to remain here... with the aircraft." He saw Derek's eyebrow rise, a habit he remembered, but which had become more pronounced.
"He won't like it," said the younger man as he glanced toward the major. He could tell by the soldier's stance that he was ready for just about anything... except maybe this. He walked back to his friend. "Johnny... you've got to stay with the chopper."
"That's not the plan," he objected. "I'm supposed to stay with you."
"I don't think they're giving us that option," Derek explained quietly.
Used to being accompanied by his own bodyguards, Hassan seemed to understand the situation. Approaching, he said confidently, "Your employer will be fine in my protection.... You may wait here... or you may come to the administration building for refreshment."
Johnny's hackles rose. This wasn't the plan, or what had been promised. "My employer will be fine, because I intend to stay with him," he said. A cold harshness overlay his tone. "You agreed to one bodyguard."
"My profuse apologies," said ibn Aziz. "I promised what I should not have. This is their camp," he added, sweeping his hand toward the surrounding men, "...not mine."
Placing a hand on the soldier's arm, Derek assured him, "I'll be OK, Major."
Johnny looked his precept straight in the eyes... concealed behind their emerald-hard green, he could see the fatigue. "No," he said flatly. "I'll be joining you." Fatigue, he knew from experience, bred mistakes, even in the most seasoned officers.
"Johnny," whispered Derek, "the ice is thin... don't step out too far. I'll be fine." His back stiffened. A coldness infused his eyes and manner as he turned away to join the terrorist.
Boyle reached out to touch the younger man's sleeve. "The dish... if you can't make it here," he reminded.
< < + > >
Legacy Base Camp
More than an hour had passed since Kym and Sloan had heard the last transmission from Johnny, when he had requested landing instructions. The precept had finally paced himself out. He sat beside the communications equipment turning the dials in search of the frequencies the Al-Taj Complex might be using, but got only military and commercial aircraft chatter.
Kym, however, had taken over where he had left off... back and forth across the supply tent. Because of her short height, she had a little farther to pace... her head would never touch the tent's ceiling.
"How long should it take them?" she asked. "Should I be worrying, yet? Worrying... what am I saying... I'm way beyond that already," she added, twisting her hand through her hair, now damp with perspiration.
Sloan, deep in thought, spun Derek's ring like a top... again and again. He should have gone. He hated the feeling of helplessness. What would the terrorists have done if three of them had shown up instead of the two agreed upon? Probably killed them all. Logic told him that Johnny was the best choice to partner Derek. The major had the combat experience, and like those they would be dealing with, he was a killer with cold, deadly precision. The precept knew that, if necessary, the former soldier would die for Derek. Still, he flogged himself... he should be there.
Mumbling to himself, he gave the ring another spin. "Derek... dammit... if you screw up," he murmured under his breath, "I'll kill you myself."
"What?" asked Kym.
Only then realizing what the young woman had asked, William pulled himself from his thoughts and glanced at his watch. "Hmmm? Oh, no," he replied. "It's only been a little more than an hour since their broadcast... what with landing and intros... it'll take a while." God! He wished they were dealing only with the supernatural, their area of expertise, not these human lunatics.
Kym had overheard his musings. "What happens if this whole thing backfires on us?" she asked bluntly.
Sloan twisted the radio's dial. Did he dare tell her what she should have figured out for herself? Could he even enunciate it himself?
"William... how will we help them if something goes wrong?"
It took all of his strength to look at Derek's wife. He clutched the ring and raised his head. "Kym," he began with a forced calmness, "I'll be honest... if something goes wrong, our options are limited."
"How limited?" Kym blurted out. "Do I go home and mark an empty grave?"
The precept kept his voice even. "They have the helicopter. By land they are twelve to fifteen hours away at best. If something happens and they can hold on for a day or so, we might be able to help.... Other than that... it's in their ballpark."
Kym found Sloan's coldness infuriating. They were his friends... how could he be so remote? Suddenly, Kym realized what the precept reminded her of... a chess master... manipulating his pieces with intellectual detachment... sacrificing a pawn here to gain a rook there. She discovered that she detested him nearly as much as she detested Johnny Boyle.
With her temper barely in check, she asked, "Why do you insist on doing this? You know you can control Derek with only a word or two... and you always send him into the most dangerous situations."
"Kymberlee... you don't know your husband very well, if you think I, or anyone, can control him. Derek Rayne is like a force of nature," he explained calmly.
The dam restraining Kym's emotions... the fear, frustration, and weary anger... burst. "You bait him... knowing he'll rise to the challenge!"
"You don't understand," said the precept. "It's our game... it's such a rarity to find one's intellectual equal. We bring out the best in each other. I make him think... he comes to his own decisions."
"You manipulate him!" Kym retorted. The smugness of the bastard! Damn his ferret face! She wanted to claw those cold eyes right out of their sockets. Mocking his most academic tone, she continued, "You mean it's a rarity to find someone you can trick into doing whatever you want."
Sloan remained calm. He understood where the woman's emotional outburst was coming from, but he couldn't comprehend her loss of control. He could never respect someone who couldn't restrain their own emotions. In most situations, such a loss was of no benefit whatsoever... in some instances, it could be deadly.
"If I bait him... it focuses him... it clarifies his thinking... sometimes makes him even more obstinate," William explained. "When Derek first arrived at Oxford, I tutored him in the Classics... not his best subject. He complained that Latin and Greek were too hard... that he didn't understand." As he paused to gaze at the ring in his hand and to take a quick look at the time, a quick half-smile fluttered by. At least he had Kym's quiet attention for the moment. "No amount of logic or reasoning could get it through that thick Dutch skull that he could pass those classes. I was at my wits end, when I finally discovered that if I pricked his ego, he'd respond in kind. But... to my surprise," the older man admitted in a softer tone, "his thinking would be a layer deeper. I found that not only did he understand the material, but sometimes he saw meanings deeper than I'd ever thought of... maybe deeper than the author himself. I'll never truly win an argument with Derek... but, in times like these, I've won, if I can goad him into looking before he leaps."
"And if you can't... he dies," Kym said. "You're playing with very high stakes, Mr. Sloan." Her temper had faded, but not her anger. Never again would she actually welcome William Sloan into her home.
He responded coldly, quietly. "I am more aware of that than you will ever know."
| CHAPTER 29 |
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