The African Contract

by Arthur Kerns

  “Ha! You have it all figured out.” Jacob reached for a pack of cigarettes, seemed to think twice about it, and put them back in his pocket.

  Stone knew from the past that when Jacob got edgy he went back to smoking. Time was running out to get that nuclear device before Nabeel Asuty fled the country with it. He thought about the words written on the business card passed to him.

  URGENT THAT I SPEAK WITH YOU ALONE.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Douala, Cameroon

  No sooner had Hayden Stone walked into the safe house than Sandra Harrington handed him a satellite phone. No time for small talk, like how she and Dirk Lange, standing next to her, were recovering from their wounds. The flesh around Dirk’s swollen eye had now turned a yellowish black. Sandra’s face had a drawn, tired look.

  “Colonel Frederick is on the phone,” she whispered. “He wants to speak with you.”

  Stone took the phone while surveying his surroundings. The two-bedroom safe house felt crowded, with only a noisy air conditioner blowing out warm air. He knew Frederick would give him a hard time.

  “Hi, Colonel. Where are you?” From past experience Stone knew that immediately asking Frederick a question put him off balance.

  “A half day’s trip from your location,” he mumbled. “What have you been doing? Do you have the nuclear bomb located?”

  “Checking with sources here in Douala. We’ve been told the plane is sitting at an abandoned airfield ten miles out of town.”

  “Told! Why the hell aren’t you there?”

  Jacob stood close enough to hear Frederick’s voice coming from the speaker. “Hayden.” Jacob spoke loudly enough for Frederick to overhear. “We have eyes on the target. The plane is still in the hangar. There are four armed terrorists guarding it.”

  “Did you hear that, Colonel?”

  “Who’s that with you?”

  Stone told him and asked, “When did you say you’d get here to join the party?”

  “We’ll be there in less than three hours. I’m looking at satellite photos of the airfield.” His voice lowered as he talked with people near him, then came back online. “Our assault team will land at the airfield. We still have two planes. I want you and your people to clear the target area for our landing.”

  “Will do,” Stone said, and the line went dead.

  Stone told Jacob what Frederick had planned. Sandra spread photographs of the target sent by CIA headquarters on the kitchen table. They showed a high chain-link fence enclosing the site. Two hangars and three other buildings sat alongside a weeded runway.

  Stone studied the photographs. “They have a wide-open field of vision from the hangar.” He looked at the people gathered around him. “And we can’t wait for dark.”

  “We’ll be ready to head for the airfield in five minutes,” Jacob said.

  Taking Sandra by the arm, Stone led her outside onto the balcony and closed the door. He wanted the others to think it was a private conversation, but his real intent was to phone Reynard Abdulyale at the number written on the business card he had given him.

  Sandra came close and whispered, even though no one inside the apartment could hear her. “You know about Dirk and me?”

  Stone pulled out the business card and started punching the telephone number into his cell phone. “Yes. I hope you two will be happy.”

  “Do you mean that? I mean … do you have any strong feelings about us?” She bit her lip. “About you and me?”

  The phone rang at the other end, and he tried to think fast before someone came on the line. “Sandra. You and I are close. Very close.” The phone continued to ring. “But Lucinda was there before you and I met. She’ll always be—”

  “Bonjour,” Reynard Abdulyale said in Stone’s ear.

  Stone touched Sandra’s cheek and spoke into the phone, “Mr. Reynard Abdulyale. This is Hayden Stone.” Sandra moved to go back inside, but he took her hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Stone. I had a call from our friend in Paris.” Abdulyale sneezed. “His office is concerned about a terrorist group that has come here. I also am concerned. He said this group might have a weapon of mass destruction. These are the terrorists you are seeking?”

  Stone didn’t want to give him any more information than necessary. “Possibly. It will be best if we act fast. Have you heard anything about people from the Middle East contacting shipping companies?”

  “People from the Middle East ship goods out of Douala every day, but I will ask our sources.” Abdulyale sneezed again. “You must keep me informed of your whereabouts and actions.” He wanted Stone’s number. “Our friend in Paris said that he was sending men to Douala. This is my country. This apparently is a serious matter, and I must be kept informed.” His last words were not a request.

  “Who was that?” Sandra asked.

  Stone explained that the man he talked with was a source of Maurice Colmont, the French intelligence office who both knew from working on what they referred to as “the Riviera contract.” He kept holding her hand. “This mission has a shorter time schedule than we thought. Colmont is sending French agents here. Abdulyale is concerned we’re going to shoot up the place.”

  “We better get to that airfield and take possession of the bomb ASAP,” Sandra said.

  “Before we go back in, Sandra, I want you to know—”

  “We’ll always be buddies, right?”

  “No.” He searched for the words. “I always thought we were more than good friends.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Don’t laugh.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m jealous of Lange.”

  She took a deep breath. “Thought so.”

  As they hurried back inside the apartment, Stone caught Dirk Lange watching them from through the glass door.

  The four SUVs pulled off the dirt road in a position where scrub trees hid them from the airfield’s buildings. Stone and Jacob exited their vehicle and crept up to the rusty eight-foot chain-link fence. They searched their objective with binoculars.

  “Two men at the open door to the hangar. Probably where the plane is,” Jacob said. “Neither one is Nabeel Asuty.”

  “I see a panel truck with the back door open. A guy just pulled out a piece of machinery. They may be repairing the plane’s engine.” Stone lowered the glasses. “Mr. Asuty may be covering his bases. If they can’t get that bomb out by ship, they’ll fly it out of here.”

  Jacob grunted. “Like you said back in the safe house, we can’t wait until dark to move.”

  “Don’t see any guys walking out in the field assigned as lookouts.” Stone thought a moment. “I say we go as planned. Use wire cutters to make an opening in that section of fence.” He pointed. “We’ll drive on the runway. Two SUVs go to the hangar. One vehicle moves toward the outbuildings. One SUV hangs back to fill in where necessary.”

  “Still don’t want to send in one or two men as scouts?”

  Stone shook his head. “We’ve got an open field with very little cover. Chances are someone would spot them.”

  “Let’s go for it.”

  The moment the fence was cut, the SUVs moved into position and tore through the short stretch of bush and grass, pulled onto the runway, then sped at maximum speed to their assigned positions. The attack unfolded fast.

  Stone was surprised they didn’t take on gunfire until they pulled in front of the hangar, and that was from a lone man at the hanger entrance holding an AK-47.

  The SUVs screeched to a halt, and the teams rolled out of the vehicles, shooting their way inside the hangers. Stone led one contingent into the hanger where the C-119 was parked.

  Stone raced with a Mossad agent to the rear of the plane and scrambled up its opened ramp. Two men not older than twenty emerged from the flight deck firing automatic weapons. Stone aimed at the man on the right and hit him with two bursts from his Glock, then fired at the man on the left. Neither dropped, so he repeated two shots
to the right, two to the left until both collapsed. He looked down and saw the Mossad agent groaning on the ground.

  Stone reached down, felt the man’s throat. “I’m still alive,” the agent yelled and pushed his hand away. Stone reloaded and looked inside the flight deck. Situation under control.

  Someone outside blew the all-clear whistle, and Stone ran out of the plane yelling, “Man down! Man down!”

  Sandra and Lange ran back to an SUV and found a medical kit.

  “Jacob! What’s the situation?” Stone shouted.

  “We’re secure here,” Jacob called from out on the tarmac. He indicated with his fingers. “Six of them dead. The other buildings are being searched.”

  Stone let the adrenaline work its way off. He drank a full bottle of water as he searched throughout the hangar for the bomb using the Geiger counter Dirk Lange had handed him. Trash, old rusty equipment, and crates were scattered in the hangar. Sunlight shone down through holes in the ceiling. Not finding the nuclear device, he raced to the other hangar and again found nothing.

  When he went out onto the tarmac, Sandra ran up to Stone. “We better get that man some medical attention.”

  Jacob shouted from the plane, “We arranged for a clinic in the event this happened. Let’s get him into one of the SUVs. Stone, did you find what we’re looking for?”

  “No. They’ve moved it. They’ve still got a lead on us.”

  When Hayden Stone left for Douala, Jacob said he’d stay with his wounded Mossad agent. The two CIA operatives who had flown in with Sandra also stayed at the airfield to facilitate the arrival of Colonel Frederick’s team.

  In the backseat of the SUV, Stone sat with Sandra and Lange as the two Mossad agents in front chatted between themselves. As the SUV bounced in a manhole-sized pothole, Stone guessed Nabeel Asuty and his fellow terrorists were in Douala by now and loading the bomb aboard a ship. Dozens of ships went in and out of the port daily. He debated calling Carl Cardinale when his cell phone rang, and saw that Carl beat him to it.

  “Hey, pal,” Carl said. “Got some information that may help you.” He sounded out of breath. “You said one of the guys you’re looking for is Egyptian. This morning a big bearded guy screaming Arabic, his pants all bloody, ran out of a flophouse near the wharfs and down a street with two of his buddies following him. Shortly after, a well-known Russian prostitute was found in her room in the same flophouse with her head almost chopped off.”

  “Do the police have a lead on the guy?”

  “Listen to this. The Middle East guy and his buddies ended up going to a Catholic dispensary where he had his cock sewn up.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “It’s the talk of the town.” Carl laughed. “This Arab is going to get more than he paid for. The Russian gal was a favorite of the local Russian drug lord, and he’s pissed.”

  “Shit,” Stone said. “Sounds like the guy we want. He killed a South African gal in Sierra Leone. Give me the name of the clinic. We have to find him before that Russian mobster does.”

  Carl gave Stone the address of the dispensary. “Ask for Sister Margaret. Tell her you’re a friend of mine.”

  On arrival at the Catholic dispensary, an ageless Sister Margaret in a white habit and speaking French informed Stone that she couldn’t give him the name or particulars of the man who visited with a bleeding groin area. She did identify Nabeel Asuty’s photograph when Stone showed it to her.

  “I didn’t ask his name,” she said. “He had a gun and so did his two companions.”

  Stone and Sandra walked out the dispensary door onto the crowded street and heard a woman’s voice in pidgin French. Sitting next to the stoop, an uplifted face without a nose or ears spoke, “I know where they went.” Her palm lifted for an offering. The fingers of the hand were absent.

  Sandra squeezed his arm and took a deep breath. At that, Sister Margaret called from the open door, “Isabelle!” She admonished her with a wave of her finger.

  “That’s all right, Sister,” Stone said, taking a handful of CFA francs from his pocket and placing them in the still-outreached palm. “Where did they go, madame?” he asked.

  “Only a few blocks away. There’s a truck parked outside. Many men with beards and guns under their coats stand around.”

  “How long ago did you see them?”

  Isabelle looked up at Sister Margaret with questioning eyes, then looked up and down the street.

  “They may return. I don’t want trouble at my clinic,” the nun said. She leaned down to Isabelle. They both whispered before she stood erect. “The men were cruel in their speech to this poor thing. One accused her of sins, and that is why God cursed her with leprosy.” Stone recognized fury in Sister Margaret’s eyes. “Isabelle followed them and saw where they went. It had to be two hours ago when all this happened. If you have a map, I’ll show you the location.”

  Back inside the SUV, Stone called Jacob to update him. “I figure we’re an hour and half behind Asuty.”

  Jacob snorted. “Just follow the trail of that prick’s blood. Pun intended. Colonel Frederick is due to land in forty-five minutes. He’s bringing reinforcements.”

  “We’re going to check out the building Asuty was seen entering.”

  “Be careful. Don’t get either of my boys hurt.” Jacob rang off.

  Stone suggested that Sandra stay with the parked SUV and act as support while the four men broke into two teams and scouted the target. She bristled and clenched her fists. Seeing this, Lange leaned over and told Stone he’d stay with the vehicle, as his eye was hurting. They exited and Stone gave him a “thank you” pat on the shoulder.

  He and Sandra began searching for the address given to them. Being white in an African town, Stone felt the curious eyes. He didn’t want the word to spread that non-Africans were wandering around the vicinity. Rumors might reach Asuty or his men.

  Sandra tied a light blue scarf over her hair and put on sunglasses. They passed single-story homes set back from the road, surrounded by hard, flat dirt. Short palm trees and overgrown bushes waved in the light breeze. They stopped when Stone spotted a water-stained, two-story concrete building with a red tin roof.

  “That must be it. Let’s move in until we see someone who doesn’t look African,” Stone said.

  “Wait. I’ve got one of the boys on the other team calling,” Sandra said. She listened on her cell phone a moment. “They’re on the other side of the building. No activity.”

  “Tell them to move in cautiously. We will too.”

  They were approaching the building when they stopped, seeing no one outside or looking out the open windows. Birds chirping and wind blowing through the palm trees were the only sounds.

  Stone’s cell phone vibrated. Abdulyale’s number appeared.

  “Hello. Mr. Abdulyale.”

  “No need to whisper, Mr. Stone. Nabeel Asuty and his men have left. Headed for their ship.”

  Stone tugged Sandra’s sleeve and said, “Careful.”

  “Keep walking, Mr. Stone,” Abdulyale said, “and you’ll see my black Peugeot sedan.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  After Sandra returned to the SUV with the two Mossad agents, Hayden Stone got into Abdulyale’s car and headed for the waterfront. He and Reynard Abdulyale talked in the backseat until the driver parked within sight of the Douala piers. Cries of seagulls came through the open windows.

  “That is the ship Nabeel Asuty has chartered.” Abdulyale pointed to a ship tied up along the quay. “It is registered in Panama and my office found some irregularities in the ship’s paperwork. Most of these tramp steamers do.” Looking at his gold watch, he said, “Asuty’s men loaded a large crate into the forward hold of the ship exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes ago. The ship, the SS Natal Bay, is set to sail at six o’clock this evening. Destination is Montevideo, Uruguay.”

  “It’s three o’clock now,” Stone said, “Not much time to get th
e …”

  “The weapon of mass destruction.” Abdulyale flicked his cigarette out the window. “Mr. Stone, hear me. You and your people will not board that vessel while it’s in the harbor. I will not chance having those jihadists blowing up my city.”

  Stone said he understood. He studied the lines of the vessel. Like many ships plying the African coast, it was an ancient freighter, needing a good coat of paint. It resembled a WWII Victory ship, except it was smaller—he judged about 250 feet in length. The engine room, he guessed, would be toward the stern.

  “Do you know the size of the crew?” Stone asked.

  After Abdulyale spoke at length with his driver in an unfamiliar language, possibly the Fulani lingua franca, Fulfulde, he said, “The normal complement is around twenty men, but we saw crew members leaving the ship with their belongings. Asuty’s men are replacing them.”

  “Damn!” Stone pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. The car’s interior had become hot with the air conditioning turned off. “If terrorists can learn to fly commercial jets, they certainly can learn how to handle a ship.” However, Stone knew a crew unfamiliar with the port and littoral needed help to sail twenty miles downstream to open water.

  Stone thanked him for the information and asked to be taken back to his companions. During the ride, Abdulyale emphasized that he and his people would closely watch Stone and the ship until it set sail.

  Returning to the SUV, Stone told Sandra and Dirk Lange they had less than three hours to come up with a plan. “That’s when the ship is scheduled to leave for South America. Abdulyale won’t allow an assault on the ship while it’s in port. He’s afraid Asuty will detonate the bomb.”

  “Reasonable position,” Dirk said. “Why not let it sail, and when it reaches mid-Atlantic have one of your submarines torpedo it?”

  “Great idea,” Sandra said, “but the Washington lawyers and bleeding-heart environmentalists would have a heyday. A nuclear bomb lying on the bottom of the ocean.”