The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (23 page)

***

Parked beneath a few palms a short distance from the village, John Soames sat behind the wheel of his air-conditioned Range Rover. He soon realised his plan had gone awry when his assassin, Eric, didn’t return.

Tarek
, a rough brute of a man, dodgy-looking with long black hair, occupied the seat alongside him, while behind them one other of similar build stared out of the window.

“I
f you want to get paid, go and find out what’s happened but be back here within the hour. Oh yeah, great job on the hire car garage, you demolished half the street. Didn’t you hear the locals screaming?”

“With what remains of Gaddafi’s loyal troops
on the run, they’ll blame them. This village was a rogue militia stronghold.” Tarek turned his head. “Ali, you’re with me and keep your pistol out of sight. These men are not amateurs.”

Ali shrugged.
” You talk to me as if I’ve just crawled out from under a rock. You may have been the officer during the revolution but now we’re the same.”

Tarek
’s lips twitched as he withdrew a Beretta M9 pistol from his belt and jammed it on Ali’s forehead. “I hired you and if you don’t want to be paid. Fuck off or I’ll blow your brains out.” He jumped out of the car and waited. “Right, let’s go find and kill them. We’ll disable their car first.”

Ali muttered as he traipsed behind
Tarek with a bewildered look on his face. “You bastard, I’ll kill you when I’ve been paid.”

A short distance from the team
’s tented encampment, Tarek, his shirt soaked by sweat, signalled to stop. His eyes scanned the locale. “Can you see the car?”

“Maybe it’s beh
ind the tent.”

“Go and find out.”

Ali crawled on his stomach to one side of the tent, paused, and listened, hoping to catch the slightest sound. On hands and knees, he shuffled to where the Toyota should have been. Baffled by its absence, he moved towards the entrance. The midday sun scorched his back. “It’s quiet, perhaps they’ve gone.”

“
Tell the world,” said Tarek.

From his prone position
, Ali, in stages, pulled back the tent flap, peered in, stood and shouted,” They’ve gone.”

Tarek charged
into the tent, his eyes confirming Ali’s remark. “So where’s Eric?”

Ali
gave a cursory glance around the tent and shrugged.

Tarek kept his voice
low. “Eric’s gone which means more money for us. Let’s get back.”

John Soames glanced at his watch as Tarek opened the passenger door and clambe
red into the air-conditioned vehicle.

“They’ve gone, car, kit
, diamonds, everything.”

“Where’s Eric?”

“He’s fucked off. What’s next?”

“Go
, find our pilot. Two roads leave this shit hole.”

In less than fifteen minutes, Soames and his companions
, along with their equipment and bags, sat in the twin-engine Cessna as the pilot completed his final checks.

The pi
lot clambered into his seat. “Benghazi and a comfortable bed here we come.”

“C
hange of plan,” said John Soames. “I want you to fly along this road.” He pointed to the B3 on his map.

The pilot shrugged.
“You’re paying but no refuelling points exist in that direction until Sabha. At some stage I’ll have to divert.”

“Glad you remember
I’m paying.”

The
Cessna followed the road at a height of 300 metres. Its passengers bored at seeing nothing.

“They must have driven in this d
irection,” said John Soames. “The other way is into the wilderness.”

“
There,” pointed Ali.

“Fly lower,” said Soames. “I need to check that vehicle.”

“How low?”

“Low enough for me to be able to identify the passengers.”

“That’ll cost you extra.”

“Give me the bill when we land
to refuel.”

The pilot dropped altitude in stages until he reach
ed a height of one hundred metres. “Is that low enough for you?”

“Closer,” said John Soames.

“I can bounce on his roof if you want.”

“I’
d rather you didn’t,” said Ali, his eyes bulging and face pale.

Tarek began to laugh. “You look like death.”

“I hate flying.”

***

The heat from the sun baked the exterior of the Toyota and despite the air-condi
tioning the temperature inside rose. Akeem drove at high speed while the others sat and stared at the endless sand. No one spoke. A tense atmosphere developed.

“We’ve got company
,” said Bear. “A light plane, it’s a Cessna, losing height and following.”

Petros opened the sunroof, stood and watched. “The pilot
’s creating a dust cloud in his slip stream.”

With a roar, the plane swooped and headed away. With the grace of a bird
, it soared, turned and traced the road back.

Petros stared at the cockpit but the sun
’s reflection prevented him from recognising any of the occupants. He dropped onto his seat and closed the sunroof. “My gut instinct tells me we’re in trouble. ZZ, is there anywhere we can hide on this road?”

“Not on this road
, Mr Petros, but in the desert forgotten places continue to exist. I can show you.”

“Away you go
, ZZ.”

“It is the ancient
camel tracks merchants used before roads.”

“How did you discover
this track?” asked Bear.

ZZ puffed out his c
hest. “Am I not a man of the desert? My ancestors survived in this land before the world knew we existed.”

“Okay
, show us.”

“Has the aircraft gone?
” said ZZ.

“They’ll land at Sabha, refuel the plane and if it were me
, I’d hire a car and end this farce with no witnesses,” said Amadou.

ZZ opened the sunroof. “
Drive slow, Mr Akeem, I need to find the mark.”

Akeem reduced their speed to fifty kilometres an hour. “Is that slow enough?”

“Slower,” said ZZ.

Twenty minutes elapsed before ZZ spoke. “Turn right at the rock of lava poking from the sand.”

“I can’t see the track,” said Akeem.

“The desert storms have
eroded the road of the camel,” said ZZ, “but if you follow the signs it is easy.”

Akeem stopped the
Toyota. “ZZ, I need you up front. Change places with Amadou.”

“Mr Akeem, I must stay here as if riding a camel.”

Akeem smiled.” This is an expensive camel, but okay it’s going to get hot, open the windows. I’ll kill the air-con. It’ll give us more power and ZZ, you’re the boss, just tell me where to drive.”

“Use the compass and head n
orth. This is very old trail to Surt.”

“I believe you but we have three quarters of a tank of fuel and then we’re buggered.”

“In a few hours we stop and rest for the night. We fill tank at pump house.”

T
hey drove on in the intense heat. ZZ gave simple directions to Akeem. Three hours later he pointed as the decaying walls of a village came into view.

“Where are we?” asked Akeem.

“It’s an ancient Berber village. No one has lived here for a long time,” said ZZ. “Water from the one well dried up and the villagers left.”

“Lots of
palms,” said Petros.

“Yes,” said ZZ
, “but to survive in the desert man must have water. See as we draw near, not one wall remains intact. Many of the houses have collapsed in on themselves. For us it is the perfect hiding place.”

Akeem drove the
Toyota under the curved roof of an aged structure and stopped. “Fuel, ZZ?”

ZZ jumped out, rested against the driver’s door and pointed. “S
quare building with tin roof. Oil pump room. Engine kaput but plenty diesel in tank.”

Petros and Bear
using the available cover scouted the village. Forty minutes elapsed before they returned.

“
Looks deserted. Grab those cans,” said Petros. “The sooner we’re on our way the better.”

“PK, can you hea
r a plane?” said Bear.

“It’s in the distance
. If it’s them, they’ll waste fuel and time going round in circles.”

In good spirits, t
he four men followed in a line behind ZZ carrying two cans apiece. Constructed with once white-painted sheets of metal, the pump room devoid of windows contained little except a large tank bolted to the rafters and a pump with no drive motor.

“Fuel in tank,” said ZZ.

Petros pulled a sock from his pocket. “We drain the fuel through one of my socks. Any crap will stop there. Better than the Toyota stalling in the middle of nowhere.”

“Brain of
Britain,” said Bear. “Thinks of everything.”

“But he’s right,” said Akeem.

“That’s the trouble.” said Bear.

“Th
e tank has more or less a third remaining,” said Amadou. “By the time we’ve filled our jerry cans, it’ll be empty.”

“Not our problem,” said Petros. “Shush.” He placed two fingers to his lips.

Bear nodded and sidled out of the doorway merely to return with his arms raised. An unshaven man in the ragged uniform of Gaddafi’s army prodded his back with an AK 47.

Amadou shouted at the man in Arabic, who automatically lowered his rifle and stood to attention.

“What the fuck?” said Akeem.

Amadou shouted again at the man. “You are a disgrace to the uniform you wear.”

“Who is he?” said Petros.

“One of
many Gaddafi’s loyalists. He believes I am an officer."

“Why would he think that?” said Bear.

“Because many years ago I was. I commanded these weak-willed and easily-controlled men.” He spoke again in Arabic. “Are there any more of our troops hiding here?”

The man
, his voice quivering, still at attention, answered.

“Petros, there’s five of them.
They have a little water but ran out of food a week ago. I will order him to get the others.” The roar from a low flying plane stopped the conversation.

C
lose to the wall, Petros peeked out of the window. “I recognise the registration number and it’s circling. Is there anywhere for it to land, ZZ?”

ZZ shrugged.

“Amadou, get this man to take us to the others. They have what we haven’t, weapons.”

“We have food,” said Amadou. He grabbed the man’s shirt and forced him against the wall shouting
as he grabbed the AK. “You lead.”

“Time to go,” said Petros.

In a line with Gaddafi’s man leading, they walked with purpose through the village and across open ground. In a side passage, a derelict car, it’s bonnet open, blocked their path.

“
What a place to park,” said Bear. “You can never find a traffic warden when you want one.”

“Stranded
, with no transport is a slow death sentence,” said Petros.

The soldier
stopped, turned and lifted half a dozen dead palm fronds to reveal a hatch. A makeshift ladder gave access.

“Underground makes sense, cooler in the heat of the day,” said Bear.

“I hate to say this,” said Amadou. “Do you understand what this is?”

Bear chuckled.
“Those sleeping in the alcoves won’t disturb us, they’re brown bread, dead. Great hiding place, a burial chamber.”

Petros looked at Bear. “This could be a trap.”

              Amadou grabbed the soldier. “You first. Any problems and a dirty great rock will cave your head in.”

             
The soldier stared at him, fear filled his eyes as he descended the ladder.

             
Amadou waited until the man’s head disappeared before he jumped, his knees bent ready to hit the ground.

             
The soldier stood unmoving as Amadou pointed the AK at his chest. “Clear.”

The others followed Amadou and
entered a central chamber where a single oil lamp gave sparse light. Four men sat on the bare earth, their backs against the wall. With eyes downcast, their whole beings crushed from events they could not control or understand. One attempted to rise. Gaddafi’s man said something and hands drifted away from their weapons.

“Bear
, get your arse in gear and check if we have visitors. Amadou, weapons and ammo, what do we have?”