Hellfire Crusade

7

Bolan reached for the crowbar again.

The nosy official suddenly stepped back smartly and snapped to attention. The other two promptly followed suit.

It was the government's welcoming committee. And not a moment too soon. The long blue Lincoln, pennants fluttering, purred to a stop. The uniformed driver skipped back and held open the rear door.

Salim Zakir stepped out and with a delicate flick of his wrist neatly rearranged his robe. A second imperious wave was all that was needed to dismiss the customs officers. They climbed back into the Jeep and retreated to their office in the terminal at top speed.

"Danica, how good it is to see you again."

The formalities of introduction were quickly dispensed with; he accepted Bolan as one of Danny's colleagues from Westfield. His attention was focused wholly on the young woman.

"Many sincere apologies for not being here to greet you when the plane landed... but, well, pressing matters of state must take preference."

Bolan stood dutifully to one side as the minister offered more profuse apologies to his glamorous American friend. His elaborate greetings barely concealed an air of distraction. Bolan had originally guessed the Minister of Cultural Affairs was little more than a PR function given to one of the ruler's favored relatives; now he began to wonder if he should revise his opinion.

Zakir looked strained, as if beneath all that flowery language it was taking a real effort of will to suppress his true concerns. Perhaps every minor Arab sheikh had cause to be worried.

The smaller states like Khurabi were running out of oil almost faster than the troubled network of OPEC could hold up the prices. But whatever secret business within Harun Zayoud's court troubled him, Salim Zakir was determined to play the gracious host — at least as far as Danica Jones was concerned.

"How long will you be staying with us?"

Danny glanced across at her partner before replying, "Two or three weeks at the most."

"So short a visit!" It seemed their sudden decision to return to the Haufari dig conflicted with Zakir's busy schedule. "These are difficult times... but let us talk of happier things... there is much for you to see. The British team made many exciting finds at Salibra recently. The new items are all in the museum's storerooms. Come, let us go there now!"

Bolan noted Danny's genuine curiosity at the mention of the Salibra dig. But then she obviously remembered the real reason for her being there. She sneaked a second quick check with Bolan. They were working on a tight schedule.

Bolan nodded his encouragement. Grimaldi had the trailer already hitched to the Hog. "It's okay. I'll follow Abdel to the site. You must accept the sheikh's kind invitation. We can meet later at the International Hotel."

"Very well." She seemed a little annoyed to be handed off to Zakir.

"I should be back in town by about six," said Bolan. He opened his briefcase and extracted the wrapped package of videotape.

"If you should be granted an audience with Sheikh Zayoud, you can give him this, or perhaps Mr. Zakir will be kind enough to pass on our small gift with the appropriate greetings."

The Khurabi minister gave a regal tip of his head. It sounded most irregular and typically casual of the Americans, but he indicated it would be his pleasure. It was also his pleasure to have Danica Jones to himself for the afternoon. This tall professor at least had the tact to know when he was not wanted.

The chauffeur held open the door of the Lincoln for Danny. She glanced back at Bolan, but he was already behind the wheel of Chandler's special Jeep.

A few moments later he followed Abdel's truck and the fuel tanker toward the gate.

Zakir's limousine sped through the security gate and turned toward the glass-and-concrete towers of the capital city. Bolan watched the blue import dwindling in the rearview mirror, as he drove in the opposite direction along the airport approach road.

The cargo carrier thundered overhead. The gutsy pilot knew he was breaking all international regulations to fly it out solo; but then Jack Grimaldi always reckoned they must have written the rule book for somebody else. And he had the proven skills to back his self-confidence.

Bolan wasn't sure if Grimaldi was making a midclimb correction or if he actually waggled the wings of that big bird.

The Sand Hog handled just as smoothly and powerfully as Chandler claimed it would on far rougher terrain.

Bolan drove past a row of gaudily painted juice stands, a half-constructed desalination plant, two cement works and a sprawl of shanties built from packing crates, wrecked auto bodies and chipped cinder blocks — the discards and debris of the rapidly expanding city in the hazy distance behind him.

The asphalt curved left, dropping down to run close along the water's edge. Weathered wooden dhows bobbed on weed-choked lines. Fishermen were handcasting their broad nets in glittering arcs of salt spray. Ahead, Abdel hooted to drive a wandering goat off the road. Bolan was keeping watch for any sign they were being followed by the man with the field glasses. Splitting up with Danny served several purposes, not least of which was that it forced the watcher's hand into deciding which one of them he would tag along after.

If, as Bolan suspected, the guy was keeping tabs on the foreign visitors for Hassan Zayoud, it would be easy enough for him to check on Zakir's itinerary with Danica Jones later in the day. Even that smarmy chauffeur could be on Hassan's payroll.

Bolan wasn't ruling out any possibilities.

On the other hand they could be just as easily letting him out on a string. Bolan checked off the points he would have considered. First, he was on the only major road heading south along the coast.

Secondly, he was traveling in convoy with a truck carrying the Allied Oil logo on its doors.

Bolan knew he was a target that would be all too easy to find. The housing, such as it was, thinned out as they proceeded down the coastal strip. On one side the sea rocked gently with a golden greasy swell. To his right, the desert looked as if it could have been used as a test site for a moon walk. And he knew it got even tougher inland. Abdel leaned on his horn again. This time there was no one on the road. One arm windmilled out of the cab window to attract Bolan's attention as the Arab driver pointed ahead to their goal.

The road itself mounted a graded shelf, lifting it away from the shoreline, and a steep gravel track branched up from the right leading to the overhanging bluff where the fenced-off Allied Oil depot was situated. Due to the uncertainty created by the shifting fortunes of the Iran-Iraq war, Allied had put any fresh exploration in this part of the world on hold. They were busy concentrating on new finds in the Beaufort Sea and off the Venezuela coast.

Danny had permission right from the top of the corporate tree to use their equipment storage facility near Haufari as a secure lockup for the valuable tools of her own trade.

As the Hog scrunched up the track, Bolan had a good view of the point of land about two miles farther on, which was the site discovered by the Westfield team. Everything fitted the mental map he had drawn from the study of aerial photos and Danny's detailed briefing.

The Allied Oil property was fenced on three sides of its square. The front was open to a sheer drop of nearly two hundred feet to the coastal road below. It looked as if the ancient cliffs would crumble away in one's hand; climbing them would be suicide.

On the plateau above, the company-leased land was surrounded by a high steel-mesh fence, secured to tall concrete poles that sported strands of electrified barbed wire. More heaps of coiled wire were packed along the inside edge to make a very uncomfortable landing for anyone lucky — or foolish-enough to clear the outer defenses.

Bolan liked the setup. Again, it was exactly as he'd pictured from the reconnaissance shots and Danny's personal photos. The few prefabricated buildings were set well back up the slope from the cliff edge in the unlikely event that there should be another sudden landslip. A small baked-mud shack stood to the right of the main gate, from which a commotion erupted as Abdel clashed gears and topped the crest of the trail. Three children, a woman who was obviously their mother, a dozen scrawny chickens, a retired camel who was loosely tethered and a vicious-looking dog all rushed out into the track to greet their arrival.

The little girl, dressed as brightly as an Amazonian parrot, called out for her father.

Abdel jumped from the cab, picked the youngster up and swung her around in a dizzying rainbow circle. The kid squealed with delight.

It was time — time Bolan did not have — for another round of greetings; the odd thing was, he was getting used to being called professor. Abdel introduced his brother, Hamad, who was standing watch at the compound gate. He took his sentry duty seriously — there was a Winchester cradled in his left arm. Bolan noticed the rifle was clean and polished. Hamad wore a studious expression as he examined the letter of permission typed on Allied's notepaper. Bolan doubted if he could read English, but the guardian was suitably impressed with the embossed trademark, which he evidently recognized.

The dog, of very uncertain ancestry, seemed to have formed a respectful bond with the big newcomer. He silently padded after Bolan as his master gave the American a tour of the yard. They walked to the cliff edge. Looking down from the top, it was obvious that no one would be sneaking in this way.

"That's the shed Professor Brunton used last time," said Abdel, pointing straight back up the shallow incline to a large empty unit.

"Good, it's the one I had in mind." Bolan made his way back to the gate through the stacks of scaffolding, pump parts, crated drill bits, pipes and all the other paraphernalia of Allied Oil's exploration efforts. He drove the Hog and trailer into the compound. Abdel had the big double doors open wide.

"Very hot in there."

"Thanks for the warning. No, that's okay, I'll handle things myself. You better relieve Hamad. I'll catch you later."

Abdel retreated with a shrug. Crazy foreigners! It was too hot to work anyway.

Bolan was left on his own.

He backed the trailer in as close as he could to the wall. First he made sure the Hog was loaded with everything he needed for the run to Hagadan, ticking off each carefully chosen item against a mental checklist. It was hot, heavy work even stowing the small crates and packages on the bed of the Jeep. He stripped off his bush shirt and draped it over the reinforced roll bar.

The Uzi, perhaps the most combat-tested modern weapon in the Mideast, was checked out and stashed for now under the front seat. Then Bolan tackled the big job.

It was stifling inside the prefab shed, but Bolan pulled the doors almost shut against any prying eyes or surprise visitors. Even with Chandler's step-by-step instructions, it still took him four hours to complete the assembly task to his professional satisfaction. He paused for a moment to survey his handiwork. He reckoned Red Chandler would have been proud.

Everything was as ready as Bolan could make it.

He would spend the evening in town with Danny, have one last night of comfortable rest at the International, make sure that tomorrow Danny was set up "working" at the dig to cover for him and then take off under cover of darkness.

If any vehicle could make it across the pitiless desert it would be Chandler's ugly baby. With its roll bars, shoulder harnesses, suspension that could withstand more Gs than those riding inside and its nubby tires the Sand Hog looked as if it could take on the Baja and beat the field. Bolan secured the shed doors, climbed into the special Jeep and wheeled around to the gate.

"Here." Bolan pulled some dinars out of his pocket and handed them to Abdel. "Split this with Hamad. I want you two to keep an especially tight watch on the compound."

The Arab sentry gave him a British-style salute. His brother simply patted his prized rifle.

The little girl waved as Bolan drove past their home. The dog followed after the car to the crest of the trail, then veered off to chase the camel.

Bolan gave them all a final toot on the horn as he ran down the hill to join the main road back to Khurabi.