Monpelier ordered one more bottle of wine. "The others with the transport are much the same; you will meet them at Fort Laperrine."
Carl poured a glass of wine from the bottle. "There will be one other going with us. Sharif Mamud. I want him and he wants to go. He knows the mountain and a way over it from the Tenere side."
Monpelier glanced at the men at the table. "Why does he want to go? Isn't he a bit long in the tooth for such a job?"
Carl nodded. "Let's just say he has his reasons and I understand them. As for being long in the tooth, he can still out-march most men half his age and, like I said, he knows the area. That can be very important. It might make the difference in getting in and out alive."
" C'est bien. If that's the way you want it, then I have no objections."
"Good. I'll send Gus and Dominic over to get him in the morning. They should be back by dark."
Monpelier drained the last of his glass. "That will work out. When Mamud gets here we'll head out to the strip and load up. If we pull out at, say, four in the morning, we should be at the strip in Fort Laperrine around noon. It is twelve hundred kilometers, give or take a few."
Carl put his glass down. "What about landing at Laperrine. Are we going to have any problems?"
Monpelier rose, yawning. "Excuse me, my friend. My eyes feel like sand pits. But as to your question, there will be no trouble; we will have plenty of cooperation. That is one thing great wealth can usually buy. We will go in and refuel under the guise of being a geological survey crew looking for oil. And if anyone in authority thinks any different, they have but to radio their headquarters to be put in a cooperative mood. All has been prepared."
Carl agreed. "It seems like you've pretty well covered all bases. Go ahead and get some sleep. I'll introduce myself to the others."
"Very well. But please try not to piss them off until we are operational. It is too late to look for replacements. Therefore be tolerant and don't let Gus play games with them."
Carl laughed. "All right, Sergeant Chef. We'll be good. Now go on and get out of my way. I have to meet them sooner or later."
Monpelier left the lounge feeling a bit uneasy as he saw Gus take down a liter of wine in one draught. But he had made Langers the boss. He would have to go along with him. This was no time to start a split in the leadership and, of course, he was not going all the way with them. His job was, for the most part, complete once he had them in their transport and on their way into the desert. After that, the next time he saw them would be when they were picked up and brought back, hopefully successful. But if they were not? He shrugged mentally. That was life, or death, whichever the case turned out to be.
The three recruits sat quietly, knowing they had been discussed. Now they waited to meet their leader and size him up. The two former legionnaires had heard of Gus and Langers, and Roman had even met Dominic at Sidi Bel Abbes.
Egon Stachel was a serious-looking man, hair sun-bleached, eyes very pale blue. His mouth had once been sensitive; now it was only a slash through which he took sustenance and spoke. He had grown dry with war. Roman was tall, handsome with a proud nose and dark eyes. He stood over six feet and moved gracefully like one of the famed dancers of Seville. Langers liked him on the spot. Sims, the medic, sat patiently drinking straight gin. A filthy habit, Carl thought, but then no one had ever figured the English out. Sims didn't seem to be at all interested in what was going down.
"Gentlemen, I am Carl Langers. Monpelier has told you about me. I am to be in command of the actual operation. I only want one thing from you and that's to do the job and do it right. Supposedly you've all been around the horn, so I don't have to explain basics. Do as I say when I say it, that's all. Once we're committed, there will not be time for arguments. If you have anything to contribute, do it before we move out into the desert. I'll listen, but I make the final decisions and they are not debatable."
"I have known Monpelier for years. He is one of the best organizers in the business. If he says he has something then he does. All the equipment is ready and will be on site when we need it. There will be one other going with us, an Arab sheik who knows the terrain. I trust him, therefore you will trust him."
He ran his eyes over them as he spoke, looking for any signs of nervousness or fear. There were none. Roman's face was a bit flushed but Carl put that down to excitement, not fear. The German looked intense but not upset. Carl knew that he and Egon would have to have a talk in private later. Sims just smiled in acceptance of whatever conditions were to be imposed. He didn't like responsibility anyway, and whoever was in command was fine with him, as long as he knew his job. And it certainly appeared that this scar-faced man did. Therefore he was satisfied.
Egon spoke first. "What is to be the chain of command?''
Carl eyed him. "We'll settle that when I meet the rest of the team.''
Gus and Dominic came over to stand casually behind Langers. They said nothing, but their presence reinforced his authority in Egon's mind. "As you say, sir," Egon toasted him with an empty glass. "What are our orders for now?"
To all of them Carl said, "Just be ready to move out when I say so. It could be anytime, so don't bother unpacking your gear. Stay off the booze and leave the locals alone. You are all restricted to the hotel unless I tell you otherwise. No phone calls and no trouble. As of now we have had our last drink until the job is over."
Egon stood. His frame was slender but well muscled. He bowed his head slightly, accepting the commands. Roman put the cork back into the bottle of wine he'd been sipping and Sims sighed with deep regret as he neatly tossed off the last of the gin.
"That's it for now. Once we have the rest of the team together we'll go over the actual mission and the time schedule. Till we pull out, stay together when you're out of your rooms and if any tourists show up, we're going out on a survey job for an oil company. If they get any nosier, tell them the company doesn't like you talking about your work. They'll understand that. If they persist refer them to me."
"That's it. I'll see you all tomorrow. I am sure you are all tired after the day's trip. Rest well."
They accepted their dismissal with good grace. Egon looked back as they left the bar and saw Gus starting to pour another drink.
"That goes for you too, Gus," Carl snapped. "No more booze till we're through." Gus grunted something obscene and carefully poured the drink back into its bottle and screwed the cap on.
Egon smiled. He liked what he saw. Langers would enforce the same rules on everyone. That was good. It saved problems in the future. Yes, Langers would probably do quite well. He wondered if they'd served on the same front in Russia.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sharif Mamud was picked up by Gus and Dominic early in the morning. True to his word, the old man was ready to go, waiting in front of his tent with his single sack of personal effects. They promptly headed back to Ghudamis. It was nearly three in the afternoon when they returned to the Saharienne.
Monpelier had requisitioned the town's only taxi to take Egon, Roman, and Sims over to the airstrip. The other four followed in the Land Rover. Monpelier's Dakota was inside one of the strip's two hangars. The pilot and copilot, Browning 9 mm automatics on their hips, were guarding the cargo inside the plane, which was worth a fortune. They stayed with the aircraft while Monpelier paid the taxi and assembled his team.
"I know it's a bit early in the game but I would rather have you all here," he explained. "That way, if anything goes down wrong we'll all be together and not spread out. Inside the plane is the equipment: weapons, uniforms, medical supplies, as well as radios, rations, and water."