courage of all the lions of Judea, the
prince of thunder!"
"Then what does he need me for?"
ventured Sam hesitantly, reluctantly
recognizing the name of the Hawk's
fourth mark. The final ten million.
Jesus! He thought about it now with no
more emphasis than ten boxes of Pop
Tarts!
"Silence, dog! Or both your ears
will be cut from your head and placed
with hot irons up your unspeakable."
"Now, goddamn it, that's not
friendly! You talk nicer or I'm going
to hang up; there's a lady here."
"Please, Mr. Deveroo," said the
Arabic voice, suddenly quite gentle
with a trace of a whine. "In the name
of Allah, for the love of Allah, do
not be difficult. It will be my ears
in unspeakable places if you are
difficult. We must leave for Tizi Ouwu
immediately."
"Tizi who?"
"Ouzou, Mr. Deveroo."
"Ouzoo? Did you say Ouwo?" 69
i
Suddenly, without any warning
whatsoever, the most unexpected thing Sam
could imagine happened. Madge grabbed the
telephone from him.
"Give me that!" she ordered. "I know
Tizi Ouzou; my husband and I stayed there
once. It's a dreadful place, Listen
here, whoever you are, you'd better have
a damn good reason to ask my friend to go
to Tizi Ouzou. It's the godforsaken end
of nowhere! Without a decent hotel or
restaurant, to say nothing about toilet
facilities!"
The girl held the phone to her ear,
nodding briefly every three or four
seconds. The whine on the line became
very audible.
"Really, Madge, I can handle
4'Be quiet. This son of a bitch isn't
even Algerian . . . Yes. Yes.... All
right. Then we'll both be down!... Take
it or leave it, you desert gnat, that's
the only way it's going to be.... They're
your ears, sweetie.... And one -other
thing. The minute we get there, I want a
huge meal waiting for my friend here, do
you understand? . . . And no biscuits of
camel dung, either! All right. Five
minutes."
She hung up and smiled at Devereaux, who
was mostly
naked and completely pale. ;
"That was very generous of you, but it's
not necessary "
"Don't be silly. You don't know these
people, I do. You have to be firm;
they're quite harmless, despite those
goddamned knives. Besides, do you think
I'd let you out of my sight for a minute?
After I've seen what nice thoughts you've
been thinking? And in your condition."
She leaned over and kissed him again.
"It's really very touching."
Devereaux realized that in his weakened
condition he might be subject to
hallucinations; but he was not prepared
for the two robed Arabs that met them in
the Aletti lobby.
Peter Lorre and Boris Karloff. Quite a
bit younger than the more recent
photographs Sam remembered, but other
wise unmistakable.
The next twenty minutes were a blur. Yet
he had to be able to think clearly.
Azaz-Varak (whoever and wherever he was)
signified the last of the investors. He
had to begin putting together the pieces
of his counterstrategy.
170
Peter Lorre sat in the front seat next
to Boris, who drove. The car sped
through the streets and careened
dangerously around the corners of early
morning Algiers. They were halfway up a
winding, steep hill when Devereaux
realized they were heading for Dar el
Beida airport.
"We going on a plane?" asked Sam
apprehensively.
Madge answered beside him. "Oh sure,
sweetie. Tizi Onzou's like two hundred
miles east. You wouldn't want to drive.
Remember, I've levees there."
Devereaux looked at her. He wondered,
and whispered, "I remember. What I can't
understand is why you're here. Do you
know what you're involved with? Do you
know what you're doing?"
'I'm trying to be helpful."
"So was Rose Mary Woods."
The interior of the helicopter was only
slightly smaller than the main level of
Pennsylvania Station. Pillows were
everywhere and beside each seat was an
elaborate water pipe attached to the
wall with a kind of Bunsen burner
underneath it. An open galley was at the
rear.
And after three minutes in the air, Sam
was given the
first sustenance he could recall. A small
cup of acrid, black liquid that vaguely
smelled of coffee, but more of bitter
licorice mixed with stale sardines.
He drank it in one swallow, grimaced,
and looked at the tiny person wrapped in
sheets who had poured it for him. The
tiny person manipulated several wheels
around the water pipe in the wall and
held a match to the burner beneath. A
long rubber tube with a mouthpiece was
reeled from somewhere and held out for
Sam.
He took it and wondered. It probably
would not do him any good, but on the
other hand it was something to put in
his mouth, and nothing of that nature at
this point could be any worse than the
numbed agony he was experiencing. He
inserted the mouthpiece between his
teeth and drew on it.
It wasn't smoke exactly; it was more a
vapor. Sweet and pungent at the same
time. Really very pleasant. Actually
quite delightful. Rather diverting in
its way.
He drew more heavily; and then more
rapidly; he looked across at Madge,
sitting opposite him in a bank of 171
pillows. "Would you mind, my dear?" he
heard himself saying calmly. "Please
remove all your clothes."
"I'd go easy on that," replied the
girl in her most provocative,
breathless whisper.
Was she whispering? Her voice seemed
to arrive at his ears on different
levels of sound.
"Your blouse first, if you please."
Again he was not quite positive he had
said what he heard himself saying.
"Then perhaps if you would remove your
shirt while performing a small,
undulating dance. That would be very
accommodating."
"Put that damn thing down."
"It's up?" He could actually smell
her perfume. And the pains were gone
from his stomach. Instead he could
feel a surging force of great strength
pulsating throughout his body. He was
capable of giant deeds; he was what
was it.P the possessor of the desert
winds. A prince of thunder, a hurler
of lightnin
g. With the courage of all
the lions of Judea.
"That's not a Lucky Strike you're
pulling-on. It's pure hashish."
"Who. . . ?" The information reached
that small section of his brain that
was functioning. What the hey was he
doing? He spat out the mouthpiece and
tried to stabilize the aircraft; it
had to be the helicopter because
something was suddenly going around
and around. The lion of Judea was
shrinking. A mangy pussycat was taking
its place.
And then he heard the whining words
of Peter Lorre, who had walked back
from the pilot's area. "We are on a
heading south-southeast of Tizi
Ouzou."
"How come?" Madge was upset and did
not bother to conceal it. "You said
Tizi, not someplace else. I've got
friends on Rue Joucif, you fly! My
late husband did a lot of favors for
the Algerian government!"
"A thousand nights of blissful
pardons, lady of Deveroo, but my
government is Azaz-Kuwait. My sheik is
the sheik of all sheiks, the god of
all khans, the eyes of the falcon, the
courage "
"When you're caging mee, caking
meee, caging meeee!" Sam suddenly
found himself bursting forth in song;
at least, it sounded like him. It was
a song.
172
"Shut up, Majorl" shouted Madge.
'>4lon~alonnnnne on this night that
was meant for " "Will you be quietl"
yelled the girl.
"It seemed appropriate," mumbled Sam.
"Where are we goingY' asked Madge of
the whining Arab, who was looking at
Devereaux as though the American
should be watched closely.
"Seventy miles southeast of Tizi
Ouzou is a stretch of desert that is
traversed only by Bedouin tribes. It
is very remote and lends itself to
confidential rendezvous. An eagle's
tent has been spread for the sheik of
all sheiks, the god of all knans.
Azaz-Varak, the magnificent, is flying
in from his holiest of kingdoms to
meet with the unspeakable dog named
Deveroo."
"When I'm calling ynooo Deveroo ordy
ynoooo " "Will you shut up!"
173
CHATTIER SIXTEEN
There were maps everywhere, covering
the Watergate bed, spilling over the
coffee table, scattered about the
floor, propped up against the bureau
mirror, and draped over the hotel
sofa. There were gasoline road maps,
railroad maps, elevation charts,
geological and vegetation
carto-analyses; even aerial
photographs from sequential altitudes
of 50(}, 1,50O, 5,000 and finally
ZO,O(*i feet.
These plus 363 ground-level
photographs of every inch of the
terrain under study.
Nothing could be left to change.
Five minutes ago he had made his
final decision. The real estate broker
from the highly confidential, interna-
tional firm of Les Chateaux Suisse des
Grands Siecles would be arriving
imminently. Naturally, secretly; the
first law of Les Chateaux Suisse was
absolute secrecy.
Mac had selected a remote chateau in
the canton of Valais, south of
Zermatt, in the countryside near
Champoluc. The surrounding lands two
hundred acres were in the
cartographical shadow of the
Matterhorn and were virtually
inaccessible.
What was uppermost in his mind were
two factors. The first was terrain. It
would have to come as close as
possible to duplicating Ground Zero,
as Hawkins had decided to name it.
Every turn and curve and rise of the
road; each slope and hill that might
play a part in the approach to or the
escape from Ground Zero would have to
be simulated as precisely as possible.
Maneuvers were useless if the training
grounds did not reflect the combat
cone.
The second factor was the
inaccessibility. His base of
operations, as Mac had come to think
of the leased property, had to be
completely concealed from the outlying
country 174
roads as well as from the air. The
area had to be one where huge pieces
of equipment could be hidden in
seconds; where a complement of at
least a dozen men could live and train
for a minimum of eight weeks.
The chateau in question possessed
these specifics. it was not that far
from Zurich. The Shepherd Company's
capital would be transferred to
Zurich. Devereaux would have to see to
this centralization of finances. As
well as the vetting of the chateau's
lease.
There was a discreet knock at the
hotel door. MacKenzie stepped
carefully over the maps and
photographs on the floor and went to
it. He stood close to the panel and
spoke.
"Monsieur D'Artagnan?" Les Chateaux
Suisse used pseudonyms all the time.
"Out, man general," was the quiet
reply Mom the corridor.
Hawkins opened the door and a
middle-aged, nondescript, portly man
entered. Even his slightly waxed mous-
tache was nondescript, thought
MacKenzie. He'd be a tough fellow to
spot in a crowd; there was absolutely
nothing outstanding about him.
"I see you have perused the
information we sent you," said
Monsieur D'Artagnan in an accent
formed west of Alsace-Lorraine. He was
obviously a man who wasted no time on
the amenities, and the Hawk was
grateful for that.
"Yes, I have. I've made my decision."
"Which property?"
"Chateau Machenfeld."
"Ahh, Le Machenfeld! Magnifique
extraordinaire! What history has been
played on its rolling fields; what
battles won and lost in front of its
towering parapets of granite! And the
indoor plumbing has been kept most
functioningly modern. An exquisite
choice. I congratulate you. You and
your coterie of religious brothers
will be very happy." D'Artagnan
removed the fattest envelope Hawkins
had ever seen from his inner jacket
pocket. The highly secretive firm did
not carry briefcases, Mac remembered;
so much confidential information
crammed into one repository was too
dangerous. The brokers carried only
those papers of immediate concern.
175
.
"Are those the leasing arrangements?"
"Out, men. All completed and ready
for your chosen and agreed-upon mark.
And the six months' deposit, of
course."
"Well, before we get to that, let me
go over the conditions~'
"There are new ones, monsieur?"
"loo. I just want to make sure you
understand the old ones."
"But, my general, everything was
understood," said D'Artagnan, smiling.
"You dictated the specifications; I
transcribed them myself, as is our
policy, and you approved the
transcript. Here. See for yourself."
He handed Hawkins the papers. "I think
you know we would never alter our
clients' demands. We have only to fill
in the specific chateau and
cross-check to make sure the demands
are not in conflict with the owner's
conditions of lease. I have done so
with all potential locations; there
are no conflicts."
MacKenzie took the papers and picked
his way between the maps and
photographs to the sofa. With one hand
he removed two huge elevation charts
and sat down.
"I want to be positive that what I'm
reading is what I heard."
"Ask any questions you wish. As is
the policy of Les Chateau Suisse des
Grands Siecles, each broker is com-
pletely familiar with all conditions.
And when our business is concluded the
papers are microfilmed and placed in
the company vaults in Geneva. We
suggest you make similar arrangements
with your copies. Untraceable."
Hawkins read aloud. "Whereas the
party of the first part, hereafter
known as the lessee, takes possession
in-nomen-incognitum...." Mac's eyes
skimmed downward. "In the absence of.
Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt Page 25
