Sunni Ali was taking his ease in his tent; the caves were too confining. He sat cross-legged on cushions of woven camel hair, sipping coffee with seeds of cardomon added for spice. Pungent, aromatic, the thick brew soothed his thoughts.
Things were going well. He had received a communication from his agent: St. Johns was ready to comply with his demands. He asked only for time to work out the details of transport, a difficulty which Ali understood. Shipping large quantities of weaponry from one continent to another would require some planning. He had no doubt that St. Johns could accomplish the task. The old bandit had been doing exactly that since the end of World War I.
Allah had been good to Sunni Ali, giving into his hands the one thing which St. Johns valued more than his wealth — his son. For one such as he, this son was the continuation of his name, his only link to immortality — a powerful inducement to make a recalcitrant personality see reason. If there were no unforeseen difficulties, Sunni Ali estimated that he should receive the first shipment of arms in no more than five weeks.
He was glad that he did not have to live up to his threat to dismember the boy and his wife one piece at a time. He had no use for senseless cruelty and gained no pleasure from it. Sadism was a weakness of the spirit, something he would not tolerate in himself. He sipped his brew, smacking his lips over it. That he would have done so if it had been required, there was no doubt. But he took satisfaction in the thought that he would not have enjoyed it.
Once he had his weapons he would live up to his end of the bargain and release the hostages unharmed. He would have no further use for them. He also wanted the world to know that Sunni Ali was a man of his word. A man of honor. That was important. All must know that he would do exactly as he said. There was nothing like the truth; it was the sharpest of swords. A sword which could set his people free or slice the throats of those who tried to keep him from fulfilling his destiny.
Outside he could hear the whinny of horses and the movement of his men around their campfires. Good, familiar sounds. Natural sounds. In the shadow of the massif the winds were softened, giving them shelter from the whirling sand devils of the open desert.
Five weeks. Then he would send out his messengers to all the tribes, calling them to rally with him in his jihad, his holy war against those who would take their heritage from them. In time they would come to him. They would have to or they would die. In a war such as he planned there was no place for sentiment. Only the true, the righteous, deserved to survive. Those who opposed him must fall. There was no other way. Allahu akbar! God is great!
It was with a deep feeling of satisfaction that Sunni Ali lay down upon the pallet which served as his bed. He would sleep well this night. For the stars were in their proper course and each coming dawn brought him closer to fulfillment. All was well.
Dominic felt his temples begin to pound, his palms to sweat, his heart to race. Anticipation. God, it felt good. For the first time in months he felt alive. Holding his knife close to his side, he crawled closer and closer, taking his time. There was no need to rush things now. The pace had settled into a pattern. Like sex, it should not be rushed or it would be spoiled. He knew the rest of the team was with him though they couldn't be seen. His total concentration was on what he was to do in the next few moments.
Turning his head at a whisper of the night wind, the sentry's eyes ran over the dark. Then he turned back to watch the campfire where his brothers sat about the burning coals. Soon it would be his turn to sit by the fires and listen to the rhythmic pulse of the allun as each of the warriors took their turn at telling stories.
Dominic slid closer, letting his mind project itself forward. He knew beforehand every move the Tuareg would make.
Above him Roman waited with Abdul, the Sudanese. He placed the light machine gun in the best position for covering fire. They had the hard part, the waiting. Not being able to do anything but wait for the others to move.
Gus kept close to Carl's heels. They had to wait also. This was Dominic's work. They knew, from the months during the siege of Dien Bien Phu when time and again they had gone out into the Viet Minh positions, that Dominic was the best, the most dependable. The sentry had to be taken out silently if they were to get inside the caves before the Tuaregs knew of their presence, and such a job required their best man.
The sentry adjusted the Mauser rifle on his shoulder. He did not like this business of standing watch but Sunni Ali ordered it, so it would be done. He knew that no harm would come to them at this place, far from the power of the ferengi. If anyone had approached, their outlying scouts would have let them know hours before they could get to the caves. But in sha Allah, God's will. He reconciled himself to the lonely, boring hours of standing watch.
His boredom came to a sudden halt. Dominic moved. Gathering his legs under him, he came to within ten feet of his quarry. He took a deep breath and held it in, compressing the air down deep inside his abdomen. He moved again, left hand leading. The Tuareg's back was inches away. Dominic's hand slid around, going for the sentry's throat. It missed and hit the mouth. Instantly the Tuareg bit down hard. Dominic forced his hand more solidly against the man's mouth to stifle any outcry as his knife came down at the junction of neck and collarbone, heading for the carotid artery. The Tuareg tried to scream as he felt the steel turn and twist in his neck as it searched for the major artery that sent blood to the brain. It found it. The knife punctured, then severed the thick vessel, probing deeper as the blade cut a three-inch opening in the upper lobe of the right lung. The Tuareg began to bleed, blood pouring out in gouts and spurts as Dominic held him close. He desperately wanted to cry out a warning. Then he wanted to plead for mercy but knew it was too late. He was dying and there was nothing on this earth that could save him. His last thoughts were La ilah illa' Allah: Muhammad rasul Allah. There is no god but Allah: Mohammed is His prophet.
Dominic let the body slide easily to the earth, then grabbed it by its robes and dragged it behind the boulder to where Sharif Mamud waited. Swiftly the old man put on the Tuareg's jellaba, wrapping the veil over his face to leave only his eyes uncovered. Disguise intact, Mamud took the Tuareg's place as Dominic slid back into the shadows.
Squatting behind a patch of brush, Carl waited for the next victim to come near. The sentry was in the most exposed position. He patrolled the fringe of the light cast by the campfire. Carl would have to be quick and silent. Twice the sentry passed him but each time there were too many eyes from the campfire looking his way. It was hard to get set, be ready, then not be able to move, only to have to wait again. The man came close. Then from the cave came a call. Automatically all eyes turned to the entrance. Carl moved, rising up from the patch of brush which concealed him. His hand grasped the Tuareg's throat and he squeezed his fingers, going deep into the cartilage of the esophagus, crushing it as he dragged the body back into the shadows. Another change of clothing and Egon had taken the Tuareg's place. By the time all eyes had returned to the campfire, Carl had two men in critical positions, one on each side of the cave entrance. It was almost time.
Carl clicked his fingers once, then again. Sharif Mamud moved closer to the ring of men sitting and nodding to the beat of the skin drum. Egon did the same. At their waists their weapons were held in the horizontal position, barrels pointing casually forward. Their Mats-49s had longer snouts than usual. Silencers. Twenty feet away, then ten, Sharif Mamud came near the fire, A man turned to him, his lips forming a question. The question was never spoken. He died too quickly. Sharif Mamud's first burst took out three men instantly, pumping fifteen subsonic 9 mm's into their bodies. Less than a heartbeat behind him came Egon's burst of fire, cutting down the others, who had no opportunity this time to make their peace with God. The only sound from the submachine guns was that of the bolts slapping back and forth. Eight men died. Carl and the rest of the team emerged from the shadows, leaving Egon and Sharif Mamud to guard the cave entrance.
Carl moved out into the open. From behind him came the rest of the team. Weapons at the ready, they hit the entrance to the cave. As they moved inside Sharif Mamud and Egon dragged the dead away from the campfire into the dark, then took up positions on each side of the mouth of the cave.
Following Mamud's directions they split into two units where the cave mouth separated. Carl and Gus went to the left while Dominic and Foche took the tunnel to the right. They ran in a crouch. Two men lay on their sides, blankets about them. Carl passed them by, leaving them to Gus and the others. Swift cuts taking less than five seconds and Gus was on Carl's heels, putting his knife back into its sheath as he ran.
Ahead of Carl was a brighter guiding light. He slowed to a halt. Gus nearly knocked him down coming to a stop. Carl listened. Voices speaking Tamahaq. Then he heard one in English ask for something. He couldn't make out what it wanted, but the voice was definitely that of a girl. He pointed to the other side of the tunnel, indicating to Gus and one other to move over there. They waited a moment, then began to move closer to the light.
Carl knew the others could sense the timing. They didn't have to be told. Instincts were working. He knew that each of them took a breath at the same moment he did. They burst into the light, fingers taking up trigger slack to the width of a hair. They each picked out their targets.
Dark eyes had little time to register alarm before bullets began smashing into faces and bodies. In the cavern the sound was deafening as the submachine guns roared and jerked. Carl moved to his left, keeping the wall to his back.
The girl and her husband were at the far end on his side. There was only one way out. "Lie down and don't move!" he screamed at them over the deafening echoes of gunfire. They did as they were ordered. Face down, hands over their heads, they lay still. Only one Tuareg managed to get off a wild shot that clipped Gus on the ear, taking with it a dime size plug. The rest went down.
Jumping over bodies Carl grabbed the girl by her arm and jerked her to her feet, then did the same to the boy. "Get up and move. Stay behind me and do as I say."
He ran back to the cavern entrance, telling Gus, "You bring up drag."
They moved back out. Reverberations echoing through the tunnels told Carl the other group had made contact. Probably their shots had set off the Tuaregs. If the other group wasn't pinned down, they would be doing as he had ordered and heading back to the entrance where Egon and Sharif Mamud were on guard. Cries of pain came with the gunfire. Curses in Arabic, Tamahaq, and French were all mixed together. He knew men were dying and could only hope that they weren't his.
Sharif Mamud and Egon heard the noise. Moving out of the light they knelt down, recognizing the sound of gunfire coming from inside the cave. As muted as it was, it would bring more warriors.
Roman and Abdul strained their eyes against the dark. They could hear voices. They couldn't understand them but they knew that men were coming. Roman adjusted the metal shoulder stock more securely. Abdul held the shiny brass belt of linked ammo delicately in his hand, ready to move with Roman and keep the belt feeding smoothly, his fingers ready to feel for any twist in it that could cause a stoppage.
Inside the cave a major firefight had started. Dominic had run into the section of tunnel used as sleeping quarters for Sunni Ali's guards. These were the men Ali had trained personally. Even though Dominic and Foche had gotten off the first shots, the Tuaregs responded quickly. Foche went down. Gut shot. Dominic changed magazines lying down along the tunnel as sparks ricocheted off the stone walls.
Dominic looked down at Foche. Blood was coming from his stomach and his back. He was a goner. Foche knew it too. Blood bubbling between his lips, he choked out, "Well, get on with it. You know what has to be done. You wouldn't leave me alive for them to play with, would you?'' He coughed, a piece of torn flesh from his stomach coming up to his mouth. He spat the bloody clot out and looked up, waiting. Dominic knew he was right. He glanced down the tunnel. Men were gathering there and there was no way he could hold them by himself. Without any hesitation or warning he pointed his submachine gun down and blew the top of Foche's head off. Instant death, freedom from pain.
Dominic moved back taking Foche's weapon with him. Now he was just trying to keep them off his back as he fought his way to the entrance of the cave. At the junction he met with Carl and Gus. He answered the unspoken question.
"Foche is dead."
Sparks ricocheted off granite walls. Sparkles of light from both sides searched for soft tissue to enter. The superior firepower of the raiders gave them an advantage. Changing magazines as fast they could, barrels were already heating up to a red glow in the dark.
"Grenades by series!" Carl commanded.
Pins were pulled and the bombs were tossed into the dark as far as they were capable of throwing them. Carl used the grenades as a delaying tactic. Throw a couple, then retreat, throw a couple, then retreat. They leapfrogged back to the entrance of the caves.
The voices outside had come together in a mass. Cries of anger and confusion were closer. Egon and Mamud could hear them clearly. The dull thumps of the grenades in the tunnel told them they were about to get into deep shit. If the Tuaregs boxed them in at the mouth of the cave they would be trapped.
Roman's mouth grew dry and sticky. He looked at Abdul, his black face oily in the dark. They knew that their waiting for action was about to end. Abdul smiled gently at the Spaniard as if to say, "It is in the hands of God."
Sunni Ali heard the muted gunfire. Rising from his bed he rushed out of his tent, calling his men to him. He had no doubt as to what was taking place. From their slumbers confused men gathered clutching their weapons.
"To the caves!" he cried. "They are after my hostages. Go! Run! They must be stopped."
Tuaregs swarmed in the dark running, Sunni Ali whipping them on. This was no time for tactics. He didn't care if his men ran into an ambush as long as they slowed up the raiders. He yelled to his senior radio operator, "Reach all you can. Have them on alert and ready to ride!" Then he raced after his men, jacking a round into the chamber of his SMG. He was only fifteen seconds behind them.
The first ragged group of eleven Tuaregs entered the light of the campfire. Roman took up the slack. Between the rapid fire of the machine gun and the Mats-49s of Sharif Mamud and Egon, they all went down.
Carl came out of the cave dragging the girl behind him. Her husband bent over to take a weapon from a dead Tuareg. Carl saw. A good sign this, the young man was ready to fight. Turning the hostages over to Egon and Sharif Mamud he told them, "Get them away. We'll slow things up here.'' Sharif Mamud led the way past Roman and Abdul, taking them into the dark and removing their Tuareg robes as they went.
Carl gave the rest of the team their orders. "Into the shadows by Roman. Form a perimeter. Let the main body get into the light by the cave. Wait for my orders to fire." He knew it wasn't likely that the next body of Tuaregs to reach them would take off blindly into the dark. They would wait for someone in authority to tell them what to do.
Carl could hear them coming. "Get grenades ready and pass the word to the others," he whispered to Gus. Pins were straightened out and the small bombs set where they were easy to reach.
Sunni Ali came to the entrance of the cave. He didn't have to go inside. He knew his captives were gone. The bodies of the dead did not concern him. What he wanted to know was which way had they gone and how many were there. To his men he cried out, "Spread out and search for their trail!"
Carl couldn't let them do that. He sighted on the man giving the orders and took up the trigger slack. As the last thousandth of an inch was reached, a Tuareg warrior ran in front of his leader and took five rounds meant for Sunni Ali. Carl cursed his luck. When he fired, the rest of the team came in with rapid fire, no fancy shooting. It didn't matter whether what they hit was killed or wounded as long as it stopped them from being able to follow.
"Grenades. Now!"
While the bombs were in the air he told Roman and Abdul, "Take your guns and move out. Set up in the canyon where you can give us cover fire at first light. We'll be right behind you."
Confusion was on their side. The rapid fire from the submachine guns gave them an edge they used to its maximum effectiveness. The sole surviving Tuareg moved away from the glow of the campfire.
Sunni Ali burned up two magazines firing at the ring of boulders. He thought he'd hit one. Whoever it was in the rocks, they were good. They had waited for him to be in an exposed position with his men, when most would have just taken their prize and run for it.
To his lieutenants he ordered, "Take men, spread out, and keep firing. There can't be too many of them."
Mamud led the way back into the rocks. Then he turned to cover a section of rough ground, leaving a trail which, if they were lucky, the Tuaregs would think they had taken.
" Let's do it! " Carl yelled as loud as he could over the increasing crescendo of gunfire. "Leapfrog it out by twos and threes."
The rest of the team was doing good, steady work, giving each other cover as they withdrew. When the first men passed Kitchner he started dropping rounds down the tube. He placed the first rounds on the far side away from Carl and his men, then started walking them in to the front of the cave.
Sunni Ali ran into the mouth of the cave to take cover. He knew the fire wouldn't last long. The one advantage he had was time. The raiders could not stand and fight. They would have to run, and that was when he would catch them. But right now he had to check on his vehicles to see if they had been damaged or destroyed. His men would pick up their trail and stay on them the rest of the night. With dawn he'd know which way to move and have a better idea of how many of the enemy there were to deal with.
With Gus on his heels, Carl was the last to break contact when the mortar rounds started coming in. The Tuareg went into instant panic and confusion. They weren't used to that kind of firepower coming at them. But Carl didn't fool himself by thinking this was the end of it. He knew they had a long way to go.