“That drone is gone,” Jess said to Ufuk, trying to redirect his attention. “And we should be too. Where should we go, which direction?” He knew more about these lands and tribes than Jess could guess at, and right now wasn’t a time for guesses.
They needed a place to hide, and fast.
“We can’t drive,” Ufuk said. “It’s too far.”
“What’s too far?” In these pick-ups, on the half-frozen sand, she felt like she could drive anywhere, and fast.
“Tanzania. My launch facility.”
“Ufuk, we can’t—”
“We can’t drive there, no, but as I said, it’s also a communications and technology hub, labs, a lot of technical equipment. I’d been planning to get there, but not…we need to get there. Now.”
“But it’s on the other side of the continent, thousands of miles away—”
“I want to help rebuild humanity, give away what I have. You understand that? What I’ve saved, what I’ve gone to great lengths to save, I need to share it. We need to get there.”
Not for the first time, Jess stared at this guy with amazement. Was he deluded? Taking drugs? It wouldn’t be the first time she hadn’t known someone close to her was an addict. But Ufuk’s eyes were clear. He had a plan. Yet here they were, barely escaping with their lives. Again. And he was spouting lofty ambitions like he was giving a speech from a podium.
Giovanni interrupted her wonderment. “Tanzania’s at the bottom of Africa. Only way to get there is fly. So this is another of your installations. You have equipment? Food? More of those drones? Medical supplies?”
“All of that.” Ufuk nodded emphatically.
The truck bounced and lurched over the gravel road. Sand dunes rose in waves to the west, with a bare windswept black rock landscape to their east.
“I saw planes when we first arrived,” Jess said, switching her mind into problem solving mode. If this Tanzania was such a paradise, why hadn’t they just gone there direct and stopped in this wasteland? “Some turboprops, right, out near the oilfields?”
“That’s right.” Ain Salah nodded. “De Havilland Otters, in hangars just beyond the town, past the irrigation fields to the north.”
“Whoever attacked came from the east and south,” Jess said. “Let’s check those places out. I didn’t see any disturbances in deserts north.”
“They’ll be guarded,” Ain Salah said, but relented without further argument. “Head that way.” He pointed left, at a small road they sped toward.
“Then we better drive fast. I bet we aren’t the only ones looking to bug out. Ufuk, you said you could fly, right?” Jess didn’t want to have to rely on her own paltry skills. The last time she’d flown a plane, she’d used it to crash and bomb the Vivas facility.
“Single engine, yes. But twin engine, that’s a whole—“
“Wait. You build spacecraft but you can’t fly a twin-engine plane?”
Peter leaned forward: “I can.”
Jess punched him amiably in the shoulder. “See? I knew there was a reason I brought you along.”
The hangar laid beyond a sharp rise in the dunes, man-made, the last feature on the landscape after a long, winding road threaded a narrow path between an ocean of wide, circular irrigation fields. The ground angled gently upward from behind, sloped so it was almost impossible to pick out unless an observer knew to look for it. The only clue to the hangar’s existence was a ploughed track in the sand, and the wide, heavy steamrollers off to one side.
Two armed men patrolled, faint silhouettes against the dim gray desert. They made their way to the heavy rollers and perched on top of the machines, then lit cigarettes. Although she couldn’t see into the hangar, Jess imagined there must be more.
They’d parked away from the structure, where the road itself terminated and simple tracks in the desert began. In the center of the irrigation fields, Jess saw rigs as much as a thousand feet across. Ain Salah said the water was drawn from the vast underground aquifers, piped through thousands of kilometers of pipeline to supply the town.
Massarra watched them through the telescopic sight of the M4. Jess tried to formulate a plan. She turned to Ain Salah who lay beside her.
“You seem to know a lot about Al-Jawf,” she said. “Yet you’re not Zuwayya.”
“The Zuwayya are Muslim. I am a Coptic Christian. I have been useful to them because I have a technical education from the Cairo University.”
“And you know about this hangar. About the Twin Otters.”
“I have travelled with them. As I said, they found uses for me.”
“The guards know you, then?”
Ain Salah nodded.
“If you took one of the pickup trucks and told them you were loading one of the planes for the Zuwayya, for the Shaikh’s family, would they believe you?”
“Maybe for a few seconds, but if they—”
“That’s all the time we need,” Giovanni said.
“If I take up a position some distance away,” Massarra said, glancing away from the sight, “on a high dune, that would give me a reasonable field of vision. I could time two shots with your assault on whatever guards remain in the hangar.”
“I don’t want to kill them.”
“We can’t afford to be emotional. We need to get away from here. Fast.”
“We shoot only if they become a direct threat to us.” Jess rolled away from the dune and jogged back to where the pickups were parked.
She tightened the straps on the tarpaulin.
Ufuk joined her, and she inspected the beard that had begun to cover his face and cheeks. He hadn’t shaved since they left Sanctuary Europe, and the growth was heavy and thick. His skin was darker than Giovanni’s, his Turkish features closer to North African. With the clothing he wore, he was the least likely to attract attention. He understood their language too, although his accent would give him away were he forced to speak. It would have to be enough. There was only one other option and she would not allow herself to succumb to desperation. On one thing Ufuk had been right: desperation skewed perceptions and allowed the rationalization of inhumane and callous decisions.
“Ufuk,” she said, “you go with Ain Salah. Work with him and back him up. Take a pistol.” She turned to Ain Salah. “Keep them talking. Distract them as much as you can. You only need do it for as long as we need to surprise them. They will see our approach, unless they’re concentrating on you. Understood?”
Ain Salah seemed hesitant.
Perhaps he thought there would be a simple, direct assault on the hangar? He knew that Massarra and Jess had military training, and that Giovanni could handle himself.
Jess smiled to herself. Dependable, courageous Giovanni. Unflappable, always sacrificing. Did she ever thank him enough? She wanted to reach over and take him in her arms then. Show him how proud she was of him, all of them. How much she appreciated his support and the comfort he gave her. He must have seen her looking at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Now wasn’t the time to get soppy. “Let’s get this done. Massarra, you approach the two by heavy rollers from behind. Make your move as we make ours. If we time this right, you can take them down just as we come into view from around the back of the hangar.”
Massarra didn’t like it, but she nodded.
Jess continued: “Giovanni and I will skirt the back of the hangar and approach from the opposite side to Ain Salah. There won’t be much ground to cover, and the hangar will shield us from the two on the rollers until the last possible moment.”
“I’ll keep them talking as long as I can, but I cannot guarantee—”
“Keep them occupied,” Jess said. “Get us the time we need. Tell Raffa to watch the road and to keep Hector in the truck. We need to know if anyone else heads this way.”
Chapter 2
Airport Hangar, outside Al-Jawf
Jess moved quickly with Giovanni beside her, keeping to the shadow of the hangar’s exterior wall. As she reached the e
dge, Ain Salah swung the pickup into the main hangar just away from one of the Twin Otters.
He got out, Ufuk following, and approached the guards who walked toward him. He waved to them, urgency apparent from his movements. Jess hoped they recognized him, but as they walked toward him, their weapons were high in their hands.
Ufuk stood the other side of the pickup, shoulders hunched, head low. He moved to the back and began fiddling with the tarpaulin. Trying to appear busy.
The two guards, their attention focused on Ain Salah and Ufuk, didn’t notice Massarra jog silently to the heavy roller and take up a position behind it. They seemed unhurried as they approached Ain Salah and the pickup, despite having to have watched the rising smoke from fire in Al-Jawf. They seemed calm, which was strange.
Was Ain Salah known well enough to them for the ruse to work?
The simpler plan would have been to put both down, from a distance. Massarra could have done that, without hesitation, but Jess had insisted. She was tired of killing. It would work, she told herself. It had to.
They were close now.
Nearly at the point where Jess and Giovanni could burst out of cover. If they did it fast enough, the shock of their assault overwhelming enough, there would be no possible response other than surrender. Massarra came out from behind the heavy roller, M4 tucked into her shoulder, crouched low against the wind. Jess took one hand from her own weapon and counted down with her fingers so Giovanni could see. Four, three, two, one.
Go.
They swept round the corner, shouting against the wind, weapons raised. Jess moved as fast as she could, continuing to shout, subjugating the guards with the brutal energy of violence, forcing them to submit. They turned, shock etched into their expressions. One stumbled backward, overcome. The other raised his Kalashnikov.
A single shot rang out and punched through his knee. He lurched sideways, the Kalashnikov levering downwards as he staggered and fell. His face creased in agony.
Massarra sprung and kicked the Kalashnikov away. Jess levered the other guard to the ground, roughly and without compromise. He didn’t resist. It took only one look at his partner’s shattered leg to make him believe. He raised his hands, pleading.
“Ain Salah, tell him to help his friend to the back of the hangar. Tell them to sit in the corner, and not to do anything stupid.”
The Twin Otters each sat on a tripod of overly fat tires. Two were located on the fuselage, on stanchions beneath long, narrow wings that ran over the top of the aircraft, one protruded directly beneath the cockpit at the nose. On each wing hung a propeller-driven engine. The door to the passenger area, set just behind the wings, was open and steps fell from it to the hangar floor.
It took them a lot longer than Jess wanted.
Thankfully, one of the Otters was already fully fueled. Peter sat in the cockpit, leafing through the worn flight manual with Ufuk. After hushed words, they yelled that they needed every drop of fuel, any kind they could get, loaded into the middle seats of the plane.
Raffa loaded the twenty-two jerry cans of diesel they always kept in the trucks, then began running around the hangar and searching for any closed container. He found six more twenty-liter canisters and filled them at the gas pump outside. They opened the hangar doors. No telltale puffs of dust to indicate any cars coming.
Giovanni loaded the plane, trying to keep the load even from front to back and side to side. It was an eighteen-seater, so there was plenty of space. They buckled Hector into a seat to the front. The injured man moaned continuously, the sound echoing in the hangar. They tied the two of them up in a corner. It was the best they could do. Massarra knelt climbed onto the roof to watching the road leading through the circular irrigation fields.
Once everything was loaded from the trucks, everything essential, Jess climbed into the cockpit. Peter was already going through the pre-flight checklist.
“So it’s fully fueled?”
“Fourteen-hundred and thirty liters in front and back tanks, plus about the same in long-range wing tanks and bladders. Great thing about the DHC Otters. You can fly them on almost any fuel. Real workhorses.”
“You ever flown one?”
“Some bush flying up in Canada. Just for fun.”
“How far will the fuel get us? All the way there?”
He laughed nervously. “That’s why I said to load up. Each liter gets us a kilometer or so, and we’re really heavily loaded.”
“We’re only six people.”
He laughed again, more nervously this time. “How many jerry cans did you load?”
Jess counted in her head. “Twenty-eight.”
“That right there is nine hundred pounds of fuel, plus another four and a half thousand pounds—”
“That’s two tons,” Jess gasped.
“I told you it’s heavy. We’re going to need a lot of runway. And it’s a hair under three thousand kilometers to Ufuk’s secret hideaway.”
“You sure you can do this?”
Again the laugh. “Lady, every time I’ve ever flown before, I checked weather maps, wind maps, spent a day or two writing out a flight plan. I’m not sure about anything, except that we need to get the hell out of here.”
Jess turned to Ufuk: “And the remaining Predator?”
“I landed and refueled it while you were loading up. It’s already back in the air. Set it on an automatic course to scan ahead of us.” He gestured to his tablet, now taped to the instrument panel.
There was the regular six-pack of analog controls in the middle of the cockpit, and bunch of dead electronic screens. In front of each pilot seat, a control column split into a V-shape. There were charts stuffed into every padded pocket of the doors, and short levers in the low ceiling above.
“So you’re sure you can fly one of these?” Jess asked Peter again.
“One of the perks of my business. I’ve had access to lots of aircraft; often less well cared for than this one. I understand the basics.”
“The basics?” Was he trying to be funny? Jess understood this. In tense situations, humor was often the best response, but she was actually trying to make sure this guy knew what he was doing.
“I can fly it,” he added in a more serious voice. “Ufuk says his drones can guide us forward, the tablet can act as a GPS. Otherwise we’d have no idea. As long as we land in daylight and refuel, then get rid of anything we don’t need. We’ll make it.”
“We’ve got at least eight hours till night.” Jess beamed him her most encouraging smile. “It’s good to have you with us. You’re sure you want to come with us?”
“I’m sure as hell that I don’t want to stay here. Thank you again. For stopping for me.”
She turned back to the passenger seating to find Giovanni strapping himself in across the aisle from Hector. Behind him, Raffa made his way to one of the seats. Jess caught sight of Ain Salah in the office. She couldn’t really make out what he was doing through the grimy windows and shouted to him. “Ain Salah! We need to get going. Peter is ready.”
For a moment, nothing happened, and she wondered if he heard her. Then he emerged with a device in his hands. A box-like thing in a camouflage radio pouch—a military VHF radio, similar to the AN/PRC 113 radio set the USMC had used in Afghanistan.
“I needed to disconnect it.” He made his way up the steps toward her. “And I thought we could use it. Radios are always useful.”
“Did you see Massarra?”
“She’s still on the roof.”
Jess dropped onto the hangar floor and made her way round to where she would be able to see the Israeli. She turned and backed away from the entrance to the hangar, calling Massarra’s name.
For a moment no response came, then Massarra called back: “We’ve got company.”
Jess watched her moving along the line of the roof, hunkered low but still exposed. She brought up the AK, swept a wide arc around the desert and to either side of the hangar. Massarra reached the curved edge of the hangar and lowe
red herself down when Jess heard something. A hollow sound, like a distant whisper in the wind. Massarra jerked sharply, twisting as though something hard had hit her.
She fell.
“Get the airplane moving,” Jess screamed. “We’re taking fire!” She ran to Massarra.
Ufuk stared at her through the open window of the cockpit, his face confused. He couldn’t have seen Massarra fall. Couldn’t have heard the rifle shot from a thousand feet away.
“Get the airplane moving,” she shouted again.
But Peter must have heard her.
One propeller coughed and choked and began to turn, then stopped. The other engine sputtered, and then both roared to life.
Massarra hit the ground heavily from ten feet, unable to do anything to break the hard fall. Jess saw no blood when she reached her, but Massarra nursed her left arm. Bent inwardly, the shoulder dipped at an awkward angle. A fracture or dislocation? Jess didn’t have time to assess. The Israeli was stunned, barely conscious and badly shaken.
Jess felt Massarra’s chest and found her ballistic armor there. She’d put ceramic rifle plates in front and back. Good girl. Easier to hide the bulk beneath Bedouin clothing, and it didn’t matter if she was hot in the vest because it was freezing outside anyway. For once, the weather had worked for them, instead of against.
A whining roar came from behind her. The Twin Otter surged forward through the open hangar doors.
She slipped an arm around Massarra and tried to lift her, but the Israeli was still dazed from the fall. Jess wondered, if she had hit her head. “You need to help me, Massarra. Our ride is leaving without us.”
“Trucks on the road.” Massarra’s words came through flinching pain. “Half a dozen.”
They stumbled together, gunfire cracking around them, punching through the hangar wall and into the sand dunes beyond. At least the frozen desert was a perfect runway.
Raffa emerged from the open back door of the plane, steps still down. The plane accelerated.
“No,” Jess grunted. “Get back inside!” She tried to wave at him but it was too much to carry Massarra and gesture at the same time.
Resistance (Nomad Book 3) Page 24
