In the morning, everyone was busy cleaning up the debris of the stampede and burying the three Mau Mau bodies. However, they were spared the duty of burying the others who had been cut down outside their defenses. The hyenas had begun that work the night before, and then, with the first light of day, the vultures began.
For the people on the expedition, breakfast was rudimentary, the mess tent having been trashed by the rampaging herd. In a minor irony, there was plenty of milk, which was available from the dozen or so cows that had returned to the camp during the night for protection and water. Diana watched in fascination as Ballard, who had grown up on a farm in England, showed her how to fill a milking pail. By the time a full half-gallon was produced, they had arrived at a plan on how to proceed with the exploration.
“First,” he said, “we really should collect what scattered shards of material we can find, box them, and ship them home. With one known Soviet agent in our midst, our secrets here are indeed vulnerable. And in this motley crew, who knows how many others are spies?”
Diana nodded in agreement. “We have a duty to keep the propulsion system secret also. Now that we have the cutting equipment, that narrow extension behind the hull that mounts the rocket pod, or whatever type of propulsion engine it is, can be cut through, and the entire assembly sent as well.”
“But don’t forget the source of the nuclear activity to the south,” he said. “That could be the shattered propulsion unit from the other ship that appears to have been blown to bits.”
“I think that probably is the case,” she agreed, “as it seems to be within the same debris field. Let’s go talk to Max.”
The expedition leader readily agreed to the plan, but pointed out the shortage of extra hands for the task. Those working in the dig, now mainly in the ship, and the roustabouts and engineers, who were busy with the ever-deepening drilling, could not be spared. The security men had proven the importance of their protection, and the drivers were busy shuttling back and forth trucking in supplies, including food and fuel. Aside from Diana, Dan, and Myra, that left only a very few.
Rather than gather native laborers, it was decided that all would participate in the retrieval of the few scattered fragments that could be found, their other activities permitting. They drove a truck slowly up and down, gathering scattered bits and pieces of the shattered shell of the other spaceship. It was hard work, and because of snakes, there was a certain danger to it. In this way, a bagful was gathered, without event aside from a few scratches to the vehicle, and some low back soreness among the gatherers from all the stooping and bending. This part of the operation would continue over the next month, although at a somewhat reduced pace, as those engaged were frequently called away to other duties as the need arose.
The matter of cutting into the spaceship’s stern boom for removal of the propulsion unit took some planning. Further excavation, deep enough to back a heavy trailer under it, had to be carried out. Some precautions would be necessary in regard to radiation because of the remaining nuclear activity. This work occupied one of the bulldozers and its operator for days.
With the second heavy equipment operator driving the other D-8 Cat, Diana, Dan and Ballard drove in the scout car south, to the site where the other propulsion unit had been detected. Earlier, with the use of the scintiscanner, Cavanagh had found where it was buried. It took a week to uncover it, the last few days employing both dozers. What they found was just wreckage. The super-hard shell had vaporized, along with most of the rest of the ship, and the unit itself was a mass of twisted radioactive metal, scarcely resembling an engine of any type. In everyone’s opinion, very little information would be gleaned from what they had found. But, once transported back to the compound, the salvaged material was boxed and tied down on a trailer for transportation to Dar-es-Salaam, for shipping back to the U.S. when the time came.
Work on the ship’s propulsion unit continued. Almost everything in the hulk was encumbered by limestone concretions, and the ship’s engine housing was no exception. Olszewski was able to cut completely around its mounts, through the shell and the rest of the skin, but the heavy nuclear engine did not budge, still supported by the equivalent of reinforced concrete, solid struts of stone. Only after the jackhammer was employed did the unit in the bulbous stern appendage, still connected to the ship by a number of conduits and wires, drop onto the trailer beneath. It was decided that both nuclear engines should not be shipped together, which led to the intact unit being left on the trailer onsite. Security around the trove was tightened; Pinkerton guards were posted there around the clock.
The Shard Race
At that night’s meeting, Max was jubilant. “We can all concentrate on the hulk, now that we’ve cleaned up the sensitive stuff scattered around. All we have to do is finish our exploration of the ship.”
“Don’t forget the oil drilling,” Ballard said. “That remains the reason the oil interests are paying for the dig.”
Diana was surprised at this, exclaiming, “Haven’t you chaps forgotten something? You don’t think that a few bags of fragments comprise all the debris from the destruction of the other ship, do you? We literally have scratched merely the surface. Aside from the nuclear engine wreckage, there must be at least ten times as much sensitive material just waiting to be dug up out there.”
Max replied impatiently, “You don’t propose that we also post guards out there too, do you?”
“Of course not,” she enjoined, “but we can safeguard the buried debris by staking a claim with the government for exclusive rights to mine or to explore the entire section.”
Looking at Ballard, she asked, “Jon, isn’t it fairly standard in the oil and mining industries to secure the rights for land surrounding sites where their efforts have produced results?”
Ballard nodded, saying, “Quite so, and in fact, it is equally standard for competitors to file claims surrounding a successful strike as well. It’s a case of first come, first served.”
“Then there’s no time to lose!” Diana said. “I’ll fly to Dar in the morning and file the papers with the Ministry there. At least we’ve neutralized the Soviets for the time being.”
Dan agreed that with Dragunov disabled, they had a window of opportunity. The meeting then broke up with everyone happy with the idea.
* * *
The head Mafioso driver was happy too when one of his men, who had been eavesdropping, reported on what he had heard. “This means another trip,” Staltieri said, “this time all the way to Dar-es-Salaam. If we leave now, we might be able to get to the Ministry of Oil and Minerals in the morning before the signorina can. She won’t be able to fly until daylight. But we must drive all night. Go now and refuel the machine, and get some food to eat on the way.” As the driver left, he added, “And see if you can take care of the plane. That would make our success automatic.”
Sabotage
The waning moon, a week past full, was low in the west when the Mafia driver furtively arrived at the airstrip. Creating major structural damage to the L-5 would be too noisy, he decided, and would be discovered immediately. Tinkering with the oil, fuel or coolant systems would show up immediately on the instrument display, so he used a file to partially cut through the rudder cables. He left enough intact so that a preflight check in the pre-dawn light would fail to detect the sabotage. The cables, with only a couple of strands, would most likely part after the stresses of flight had been placed on them.
He was so satisfied with himself on the job done that he thought of creating a gambling pool with the other drivers, betting on how many kilometers the plane could be flown before the cables snapped. But there was no time, and as ordered, he hurriedly prepared sandwiches and coffee for the race to Dar. While profit was always the aim of all Mafiosi, duty came first. Not because of dedication to the organization, but because of the penalty for failure. He shuddered at the thought.
Realizing that the matter was time-sensitive, Diana flew out well before daylight, planni
ng on the moon to help her pick up the railroad tracks, thus homing in on her destination to the east. She took off after a short warm-up of the Lycoming engine, as the horizon to the east became washed ever so faintly in a greenish glow, diminished only slightly by the moon. It was crisp and windless, a perfect morning for flying, as the cool, heavy air lifted the plane easily. The Stinson responded to the controls beautifully as she flew over the dim lights of Arusha, careful to skirt the dark shadow of the lofty volcano. She banked eastward, putting her on the course to pick up the wheel-polished railroad tracks that she would follow. It was still not light enough to see the ground well, despite the yellowish promise of dawn in the east. The engine droned smoothly on, and by the time the moon set, the tracks could be seen clearly as they stretched off in either direction across the plain.
Correcting her course with a little right rudder, she heard a sharp “Ping” as the rudder cable suddenly parted. As the pressure of her foot sent the pedal to the firewall, the plane, momentarily under the influence of the ailerons alone, slipped sideways and down. Her heart in her mouth, she corrected the sideslip with left rudder and stick, leveling the craft, but ended up flying in the wrong direction. There was no way she could turn right, so in desperation, she continued the left turn through a further 180, correcting her heading. Throttling back, she looked for a suitable spot for landing, after she ineffectively tried to compensate by cranking the rudder trim tab all the way to the right. Holding the nose down to avoid stalling, she knew she would have to land immediately, or circle until some other failure occurred. As the plane slowly settled, she found a stretch that seemed free of obstructions, but, unable to “drag” over it first to be certain, she crossed her fingers and set it down, switching off the magneto, cutting the engine.
It was not the landing that she had grown to love in the cool of the evening. It was hot, magnified by the adrenaline and sweat caused by her fear and excitement. Relief at the first touchdown of the wheels was short-lived. A small hidden gulley lay directly ahead, and when the plane hit the opposite bank, it came to an abrupt stop, nosing over with a jolt. The brief shattering sound made by the still-spinning propeller reminded her of splintering bones.
Hanging upside down in her harness, her first thought was to get out fast in case leaking fuel started a fire. She struggled with the releases of her seat and shoulder straps, until she was suddenly deposited upside down at the top of the cabin. From there she was able to get to the door and release it. Grabbing her bag and the emergency kit from its compartment, she then dropped the few feet to the rocky bed of the gulch below, twisting her ankle painfully on a rock as she landed.
* * *
Not more than six hours later, the Mafia men arrived at Dar-es-Salaam. They headed immediately to the office of their contact there, Cavalieri, an Italian importer and entepreneur. They glowingly outlined their plan to lay claim to the exploration rights for the sections surrounding the American site. Seeing that time was critical, after taking the map with the co-ordinates needed to define the sought-after sections, Cavalieri hastily dismissed them. It didn’t take long for his secretary to create the necessary document, which he then took to the Ministry of Oil and Mineral Exploration.
Kindred previously had dealings with the man, and didn’t like him one bit. His manner was too unctuous for the Englishman, who also regarded him with some suspicion. However, his request was reasonable and the papers were all in order. Still, the Assistant Minister was skeptical, because the claim entirely surrounded the American site. He was reminded of Diana’s previous accusation regarding his superior, Krueger, as being a Soviet agent, but he yet had to hear from British Intelligence.
Kindred was certain that the oily Italian couldn’t have had the least connection with the KGB. Because of that, the rights to secure the adjoining sites were lost to the American Oil Cartel, and thus to the dig people as well. This not only gave the Mafia the rights to any buried shards that might be found, it also brought them the possibility of controlling the road from the dig to Arusha, the nearest town.
FIFTEEN
Kidnapped
Climbing out of the gulley, Diana could see a line of telegraph poles that marked the presence of the railroad a mile away. She knew that the road that passed for the main highway between Dar and Dodoma paralleled that. She reckoned that she had landed about a quarter of the way to her destination, and it might be possible to hitch a ride the rest of the way.
Limping in pain, she immediately headed for the road. It was only half a mile, as it turned out, and would have been an easy hike through the tall grass and rocky hillocks, but for her ankle. It took her over an hour, as the pain increased with weight bearing. She thought of fashioning a walking stick with her knife, but neither bush nor tree was to be seen. By the time she made it to the roadside, the sun had risen. The heat waves seemed to impart motion to everything, even the grasses of the windless plain.
By noon, her ankle, swollen and discolored, was throbbing increasingly. Where is all the traffic one usually sees on this rout, she asked herself, recalling the original trip to their encampment. At that moment she saw a truck heading in her direction. As it approached and slowed, she struggled to her feet and waved, happily anticipating help.
Her joy was short-lived. The vehicle was filled with a dozen blacks wearing camouflage fatigues and holding rifles. Good God, she thought, they must be remnants of the Mau Mau who attacked us! What could be worse? She didn’t know that they had stolen the truck in Arusha, fleeing in that direction after the debacle at the dig compound, but had failed to get fuel in Dodoma.
As the driver brought the truck to a stop, the passenger in the cab hopped down to where Diana stood. Displaying a toothy grin, he grabbed her arm and easily threw her down, hampered as her balance was by her injured ankle. This brought cheers from the men in back, hungering for revenge against whites. Their enthusiasm was quickly dispelled by crisp Swahili from the driver. Diana recognized the words for “Prisoner” and something about money. At his command, she was roughly lifted by two of the men into the passenger seat. Before slamming the door, they stripped her of her bag and kit. Being captured by terrorists, escape impossible due to her injury, totally occupied her thoughts.
It wasn’t long before they turned off the road and headed north toward the Kenyan border over one of the many bumpy, rutted wagon trails that intersected the main highway. She glanced at the fuel gauge, which was wavering at empty. They would never find petrol along that desolate track, she thought. Walking would be necessary, and soon. But how long would they tolerate her inability to keep up?
Another mile, and that was it. The engine sputtered and bucked, then quit altogether. There was a tumult in the rear as the driver looked at her with bloodshot eyes. She saw only hatred there. As the men in back piled out of the truck and surrounded the cab, for the first time she saw what a ragtag mob they were. Only three of the ten appeared totally healthy, and less than half were armed. Seven had been wounded, some hobbling around on makeshift crutches. She noted that of those still carrying rifles, ammunition belts hung loosely, indicating a shortage of bullets. They were apparently ravenous and thirsty, as a struggle ensued over her emergency kit, which contained chocolate bars and water. She could see they were far from an effective fighting unit. It did occur to her that what they lacked in ability would be made up in desperation. And desperate men were dangerous.
After a good deal of talk, the leader pointed north, and, saying something to the other two able-bodied men, motioned toward Diana. She was seized by one of the riflemen, while the other produced a thin rawhide rope, binding her wrists in front of her. As the man set off up the track behind the others, he gave the rope a yank, almost pulling her off her feet. In that way she was forced to limp painfully after him in the dust raised by the shuffling troop.
They stumbled along, as the sun heated their dry surroundings, the men reeking with sweat. The ever-rising terrain made the trek more difficult. Her swollen ankle created a
gony at every step. That led to the hope that a rest stop would be forced by presence of wounded among them. No such luck. Their leader drove them mercilessly, until one by one, the weakest fell out in the shade of one of the increasing numbers of scrubby thorn trees beginning to dot the plain.
She felt she would soon collapse as well, and would have gladly stumbled into the shade, parched and in agony, except for the tether dragging her on. She hoped that they would have to slow to a more reasonable pace to allow the stragglers to catch up, but that was not to be. Tears would not come because of dehydration. She had to clench her teeth to avoid screaming.
It was after sunset when their leader signaled they stop for the night. She had not been given water all day, and her mouth was so dry that her tongue seemed swollen, coated with dust. She had remained silent through it all, uncertain that she could talk even if she tried. Besides, there was the fear that she might be abandoned along the trail and left to die, as apparently the weakest of the wounded had been.
The three able-bodied men promptly selected a campsite, building a fire from the ample fallen wood littering the ground under the trees. One grinned at Diana as he lit the pile with a match taken from her emergency kit. The job of fire making, often a laborious affair with flint and steel, had been made easy for him. Nights were cold in the Tanganyikan highlands, and they would all sleep close to the fire. All but their prisoner. Not about to free her for the night, she was tethered to a tree, like a grazing animal, within the relatively safe circle of light given off by the flames, but not close enough for its warmth to reach her. One of her captors remained awake to tend the fire, but after an initial check of her bonds, he remained close to the welcome warmth for the rest of his watch.
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