by R G Ainslee
"Where's Alix?" I asked.
He motioned with his head towards a large rock on the down side. "Loo break. What'd you see?"
"He's right behind us and there may be another vehicle further back, but it's hard to tell. He'll be here momentarily."
"Let's wait for him, if it's him, we'll see what he'll do." Dylan checked his Makarov and stuffed the Bulgarian pistol in his rear pants pocket.
"Where'd you get the Mak?"
"Rather not say."
"Understand."
"You familiar with them?"
"Yeah, my wife killed a guy with a PM model a couple of years ago, popped him right between the eyes."
Alix rejoined us as Dylan asked mockingly, "What … is your wife KGB?"
Alix answered, "No, she is French like me."
Dylan grimaced. "I remember from school, something Kipling said about the female of the species being more deadly than the male." He looked at me. "Am I right mate?"
I smiled at Alix. "Yep, you have a perfect understanding."
Amadeo interrupted, "Here he comes."
The motorcycle, a BMW R-75/5, appeared around the bend. He slowed, almost stopped, and carried on. We made a pretense at appearing casual, a rest stop beside the road. Amadeo raised his hand in greeting. We all smiled. The rider passed without acknowledging our presence.
"Unfriendly bastard," said Dylan. "Is it him?"
Amadeo winked at me and I replied, "Sure looks like the guy in the picture, even with the goggles and cap." I turned to Alix and she nodded in agreement.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Let's wait." He motioned to Amadeo. "Run up there with the binos and track him as long as you can. —- And check back down the piste. We don't need to be caught between these guys."
Amadeo took the binoculars and scurried up the hill. Dylan handed me the pistol and said, "Back in a jif, keep your eyes open, we'll leave in about ten. Don't want him to get too far ahead."
As Dylan headed down slope, I asked Alix, "Okay, tell me what's going on."
Her expression didn't change. "I don't know what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean. How come you recognized this Dawson guy?" This ain't my first rodeo, so don't try to play me for the fool."
She lowered her chin and stared at the ground to her left, "Please don't ask."
"I am asking — tell me."
She stepped forward and gazed into my eyes with a look that's hard to resist. "Please, let's be friends. Don't—"
"Yeah right, you want'a be friends. T'es coquine." I told her she was a tease. "I think Dylan has you pegged right-on."
She whirled around and slipped into the back seat of the Land Rover. Dylan rejoined us a minute later and yelled for Amado to join us.
Dylan glanced at Alix and then me. "Lover's quarrel?"
"Yeah something like that."
Dylan's smirk said it all: the mission had the potential to descend into a comedy of errors, a deadly one at that. I flicked my eyes for him to follow. We walked a few yards ahead.
"She knows something more about this Dawson character and she won't tell me. Do you know?"
"You're right mate. I've been trying to figure that out myself. When we catch up with Roger, I'll find out." He nodded back to the vehicle. "I didn't like it when she was added to the team at the last minute. In my experience, these Frenchies can be deceptive at times. You two, ah, are you…"
"No. Not what you think, not by a long shot."
"Word to the wise mate, watch yourself with that one."
Amadeo arrived as we returned to the Land Rover. "See anything?"
"Not back down the road, but our biker buddy pulled over about a mile ahead. See that next big rise? He's just over the top. Wouldn't hurt to take that one carefully, if ya' know what I mean."
"Righto. Come on let's get moving."
We passed the next rise at a faster than normal speed. Amadeo sat with the passenger door cracked open, Makarov in hand, ready to jump out and spray some Bulgarian lead. We sped by the spot without incident, no sign of the bike or Harry Dawson.
* * *
Hirafok was a small oasis set in a wadi beside two hills, great piles of rock actually. The reed hut village centered on a well, it's most important asset. Sane travelers turned west, back to the Hoggar and the main trans-Saharan route leading to Tamanrasset. Only, the adventurous, or just plain fools, turned east to more serious desert, sand dunes, and endless tracks of rock-strewn piste. Our course lay east.
Rolling into town, we spotted a Land Rover parked in front of a mud walled building. A large sign advertised the joint as an international restaurant. Tauzin appeared at the door and waved. Roger greeted us in Arabic and French as we exited the vehicle.
"Salam! Venez et mangez. Nous parlerons plus tard."
I didn't want to talk later. Neither did Dylan and Amadeo. We pulled Roger aside. "We need to speak now." He gave us an uncomfortable look and walked out to the center of the open area that passed for a town square.
I said, "Where's the truck?"
"Somewhere hard to find. We will be far away when they do. Why are you so concerned about the truck?"
Dylan asked, "You see a bloke on a bike come through here?"
Roger's eyes darted to me and back to Dylan. "Why? What's the—"
I took a step, right in Roger's face. "Don't give me no BS. Answer the question."
"A man on a motorcycle came through about a half-hour ago. He filled up with fuel and left to the west. What's the problem?"
"The problem is…" I let it hang for a moment, taking a deep breath, "… the SOB riding that thing is named Harry Dawson."
Roger flinched, as if startled by the revelation. His eyes darted in Alix's direction. "How do you know this?"
"It's not important how I know, it's important, what you know. If you don't come clean pronto, Amadeo and I are taking the Land Rover back to Tam. ¿Comprende?"
A hint of a smile passed Roger's lips. "Je comprends. There will be no need. The roads are too dangerous to travel at night. Come, we will speak of this in the privacy of the camp. Tauzin has found a place outside the village."
16 ~ The Piste
Friday, 3 October 1980, Hirafok, Algeria
During the day, the desert is hot: think blistering, blazing, boiling, they all fit. Conversely, at night it can get colder than a penguin's butt. And it did.
I woke up with a light coating of frost on my sleeping bag. Goulon and Tauzin turned out early and had a fire going when I rolled out on the cold sand. Tauzin gave me a questioning look, probably wondering why I wasn't sharing bliss with Alix. I ignored him, poured a hot steaming cup of coffee, and retreated to the front seat of the Land Rover.
The evening's conversation ran through my mind as I absorbed the warmth of the pungent liquid. Roger hadn't been as forthcoming as I wished. He continued to be evasive, promising to reveal more as we went along, but he did admit knowing who Harry Dawson was.
The highlight of the evening came when Goulon produced the stash of weapons. Interestingly enough, most of the guns were East European origin. Roger thought it best not to carry anything-traceable back to French intelligence.
Roger and the two Marines each latched on to Tokarev TT semi-auto pistols in 7.62x25mm, Dylan a 7.62x54mm Mosin-Nagant 91/30 Sniper rifle with scope. Amadeo and I received Czech made Škorpion vz.61 full auto pistols in 7.65x17mm. Alix seemed perturbed when Roger handed her a Walther PPK in thirty-two caliber. Dylan's wisecrack about a lady's gun produced a sharp retort in French.
After the sun went down, things cooled temperature and attitude wise. Alix took a turn to the frigid side as she ignored me and bedded down away from the rest of us. That was fine with me, until four in the morning when some extra warmth would have been welcomed.
Amadeo tapped on the window with a hot cup of coffee. I opened the door and he slid in. "Sleep good?" I asked.
"You gotta be kidding. I thought the Sahara would be hotter than hell. Bout froze my but
t off. Been wondering all night why I ever left Miami."
"Same here. What's your take on our dealings last night?"
He checked the area before answering. "Just between you and me, I'm ready to chuck it in and head back home. This thing's got FUBAR written all over it."
"Yeah, you might be right … but let's give it a little more time."
"Do you really think you can make an intercept with that thing Joe made up? Whole deal seems kinda jickey to me."
"Hey, if you keep this up, you'll convince me."
"Nah, you'll stay. You want a second shot at that Alix babe."
I didn't answer and gazed at the campfire.
"Wait a minute. You liked it and want to go back for seconds."
"If you're so interested, you can step right in and take my place. Be my guest."
A voice came from behind the back seat. We wheeled around and a head appeared. "I can decide who to sleep with on my own, if you don't mind."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you—"
"Obviously." She glared at Amadeo. "Would you be so kind and fetch me a cup of whatever you are drinking?"
Amadeo left, as an uneasy silence scorched the air. I started to say something, but she cut me off, "Do not speak about me in that manner. I have a job to do … not easy, what I am expected to do. Please…" she choked back a whimper "…do not make this more difficult."
I felt two feet tall, again. I have a talent for saying the wrong thing, at the wrong time, to the wrong people, especially women. "You're right. I was out of line." I struggled for words. Nothing seemed adequate. "This hasn't been a picnic for me either. I love my wife and don't want to do anything to ruin our chances to patch things up. And believe me, you're not making it any easier. It's all I can do to resist doing something I'll regret. You're one hell of a woman, Alix, so give me a break. — Please."
"I take that as a compliment." She tried to smile. "Why don't we start over? Let's be friends, only friends. I will respect your marriage, if you will respect what I must do."
"Okay by me, but what's this thing you gotta do."
"I cannot say." Her brow furrowed. "Please trust me."
Yeah, sure, I trust you about as far as I can throw you. I frowned. "Okay, we'll see how it goes."
She slipped out the rear door of the Land Rover, met Amadeo halfway, took her cup of coffee, and pranced over to the fire. Even though she was dressed in loose jeans and a floppy shirt, she knew how to make a statement.
Amadeo watched her glide across the sand and gave me a wide smile as he returned to the vehicle. Back in the front seat, he said, "Sorry, didn't mean to—"
"No problem. I talked to her and everything is copacetic." I hope.
* * *
We drove out of Hirafok an hour after dawn and headed towards Ideles less than twenty miles away. The corrugated track — couldn't call it a road — led down a sandy gravel strewn wadi, then up to a low ridge where we halted.
I climbed up on the hood of the trailing Land Rover with my Ziess binos and searched back down the track. A couple minutes of eyestrain produced no results. "Looks okay," I said as I hopped down.
Roger said, "Ideles is further up this wadi, we must take care going into the village. Don't know who might be waiting."
We left the ridge and headed down into another wadi. The driving surface offered a challenging mixture of sand, gravel, and stone. Roger navigated by picking features on the horizon as Goulon steered around soft patches in the dry riverbed. He was superb at sighting variations in the sand. We managed to make good progress and avoided getting stuck, something we would soon become all too familiar with.
Ideles, a small mountain settlement surrounded by eroded volcanic peaks and sandstone mesas was the real jumping off place for our journey. Ahead lay a stretch of Martian landscape. Mostly black porous rock until we hit the sand track leading northwest. We approached the village with caution and halted for Roger to ask questions about anyone who traveled through in the last day or so.
After a spirited conversation with an older man, Roger returned. "He claims to have seen no one."
"Do you believe him?" asked Amadeo.
Roger nodded. "Yes, he has no reason to lie. The last vehicles passed by a week ago. He wants to sell le chèvre. Anyone crave a meal of—"
I answered emphatically, "No thanks, I'll pass." Roger, taken aback by the force of my rejection, offered a questioning smile. "I'm on vacation; I get enough goat meat at home."
Alix snickered. "I did not realize la viande de chèvre was an American delicacy."
Amadeo muttered something in Arabic. They both laughed. I ignored them and started up the vehicle. I had volunteered to drive, citing my experience in the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico.
The track got worse. For the rest of the morning we motored east across the corrugated sand, gravel, and stone piste through a series of volcanic mounds until we encountered the world of the Plaine de l' Amadror, a landscape of dry hills, bare rocks, dunes, and shifting sands. Loose sand became a torture test for vehicles and occupants.
We piled out of the vehicles and pushed on almost an hourly basis. One stretch took an hour or more, placing sand mats down and taking them up for several hundred yards. An occasional black steel stake marked the route. The track, little more than a few rocks cleared to the side. Too often, we slowed, always in four-wheel drive, and picked our way across rocky sections.
We halted for a break at the first big sand dune. Even larger dunes loomed on the horizon. A mountain, Jebel Telerhteba, lay to the south. By late morning, the temperature increased, and we shed another layer of clothes, down to tee shirts and shorts. We learned early on to take our breaks in the shade of the vehicle.
* * *
Just before dusk, with the sun setting behind us, an old legion fort loomed ahead. The pyramid shaped peak of Gara Tn-Seksene Ahni stood as a sentinel in the distance. From the hood of the Land Rover, I examined the walled citadel through my binoculars and detected no sign of life. Fort Serouenout sat unoccupied, a relic from the days of the Foreign Legion in the Sahara, now only a quadrangle of mud and stone. Strangely, its presence offered a sense of refuge from the vast emptiness of the desert.
"Don't see any movement … appears to be clear."
"We will proceed with caution," said Roger. He ordered Dylan and the two French marines to search the building upon arrival.
"Expecting trouble?" I still had a wary feeling about the whole venture — my sixth sense working overtime.
"One never knows." The slight edge to his voice caught my attention.
"Do you have reason to?"
"One does not need a reason to be cautious."
"Situational awareness," said Amadeo. "You forget already?"
"Whatever." I jumped down and slid into the driver's seat.
Alix asked, "Are you worried?"
"Why should I be? I'm only out in the Sahara Desert, miles away from anything, tailed by a bunch of terrorists. Why should I worry?"
* * *
The fort, about fifty yards square, had an opening for a nonexistent gate flanked by two mud columns. One main building stood in the center, with smaller structures attached to the walls. Mud-walled redoubts stood on the northeast and southwest corners.
Roger chose the main structure for our camping spot, with the Land Rovers parked in the center of the quadrangle. Tauzin set up the radio and monitored our frequency, on the hour, for messages. Our communications protocol called for us to maintain radio silence until the mission was complete.
The difficult drive took its toll on our tired bodies. We ate a quick meal, checked the vehicles, and turned in. Tomorrow morning wouldn't be any easier, seventy-five miles to Fort Gardel and then another seventy-five to Djanet. 150 miles may not seem like a long distance, but in the Sahara, it's a full day's journey.
Roger's sense of caution dictated we stand guard, even at a deserted spot in the boondocks. Alix drew the first watch outside. I took a moment to join her. "Did
you get many good photos today?" She had been busy at the early rest stops, but as the day drug on, her enthusiasm seemed to taper off.
"Yes, a few. I must take more in the morning." She wheeled around, sweeping her hands towards the horizon. "Don't you think this is an interesting place? I wonder what it was like. The légionnaires, how did they manage to live here in such a campement isolé … lonely encampment?"
"No problem, there's a woman behind every tree."
She drew near and pressed against me. "Yes, there is. And then what did they do?"
"I guess they—" She wrapped her arms around my waist. Even in the starlight, I could detect a wild spark in her eyes. "I thought … ah, you said this morning."
"You thought what?" She tittered. "We were just going to be friends." She pressed harder. "Oh, do you not feel the moment? J'ai besoin de toi. Don't you want me?" A jolt of testosterone tore through my body. Her voice trembled, sexy and inviting. She leaned in close. I felt her hot breath against my face. Without thinking, our lips met.
Dylan called out, "You're supposed to be on guard. If you two want to hit the sack together, I'll take this watch."
Startled, we broke free from the embrace. I gasped and said, "No, that's all right … I need to turn in." Alix spun around and walked away.
Dylan slapped me on the back as I passed. "Sorry mate, business before pleasure."
I rushed inside and plopped down on the sleeping bag. What's with this woman? She's running hot and cold. What the hell was I thinking? Is she crazy or … or what? I gotta keep away from her, gotta, just gotta. Man, what am I gonna do?
Amadeo noticed my distress, "What's the matter?"
I lied. "Nothing, just need some sleep."
17 ~ HA-HO
Saturday, 4 October 1980, Fort Serouenout, Algeria
My guard shift ran from 2300 to 0100. No one needed to wake me to relieve Roger. The full range of possibilities of my encounter with Alix, both negative and fanciful, raced through my brain. I hadn't slept a wink.
The night air cooled, at midnight it was even pleasant. I wandered around the perimeter under a breathtaking canopy of stars. Time passed quickly, I half expected a coyote to howl in the distance. Solitude encourages reflection: thoughts of Lisette and the baby occupied my mind, I wondered when, or if, I would see them again. Then there was Alix, too much for me to handle, if she kept it up, sooner or later—
