"Once the advance party gets clear of the Ahaggar Mountains, they shouldn't have any problems getting out to… I would say somewhere
…" he searched his memory, "to some place between Tarazit and the oasis at Bilma. Dead between them are several places suitable for our purposes. Also, that would put us in back of Mt. Baguezane. We may want to go after the boy and girl that way. Sunni Ali would most probably not expect a rescue to come at him from the Tenere Desert. Get me all the photos you can on the area and just what section of the mountain he is keeping his camp in. That might change a few things as far as equipment is concerned."
Monpelier agreed. He gave the impression that he had just started putting things together in the last couple of days when, in truth, he had been on the job for the last three weeks. And most of that had been spent in gathering intelligence for just such an operation. "Very good, my friend. I will meet you at Ghudamis in three days. At that time I will bring the rest of your team with me. With your agreement I will go ahead and arrange for air transport to be waiting to take us to Fort Laperrine."
Carl agreed, glad that they wouldn't have to make the 2,000-kilometer drive out there.
Taking another envelope from his jacket pocket, Monpelier handed it across the table, "in here are what salient facts you may need about the hostages and a profile of Sunni Ali, or at least as much as I was able to find out. The Tuaregs, as you know, are a most secretive people. I wish that I had a photo for you but then, it wouldn't do much good since the Tuaregs nearly always keep their faces covered. But he does wear a distinctive jellaba, the traditional cloak, and has gray-blue eyes much like yours."
Rising from the table Monpelier said, "Well, that is all I have for now. Three days, then, and I will see you in Ghudamis. Stay at the Hotel Saharienne. You might be able to pick up some more current information as to what conditions prevail among the Tuareg tribes. I know that you did have some contacts among some Berbers and Arabs in that area. Perhaps they will know something."
Langers rose with him. There was no longer any need to sit there in the heat of the day. "All right. Three days. And bring more money. We'll need to have it for the unexpected expenses that always arise. And bring me at least ten thousand in gold. The contacts I used to have all had one thing in common, they like the sound of gold better than paper."
Carl left with Monpelier. Outside the cafe Monpelier handed him a set of keys.
"These are yours. There is a red and white Land Rover at the end of the block. It is fully equipped: extra gas cans, water, some rations, blankets, etc. Just what you need for the trip to Ghudamis. I didn't include any weapons. They come later. I don't want you caught with anything that could give the authorities any reason to detain you. I presume you still have some money left. So I'll leave you here."
Langers had thought about taking one of the local buses to Ghudamis. It was with relief that he now had an alternate form of transport. Bus travel in North Africa was an experience most would much rather do without.
At the hotel he rounded up Ciardello and Gus. "Get your things while I pay the bill. We're moving out. Monpelier got back to me in a hurry, so it looks like a go."
Gus stuffed his few belongings into an oversized musette bag. Dominic had had his ready to go since the previous night. Neither asked where they were heading till they were settled in the Land Rover and on the way out of Tunis.
Dominic looked around him and then at the mountains in the distance. "Where are we heading?"
"Ghudamis for now. From there we'll just have to see. Monpelier will join us in three days with the rest of the team."
Traffic was sparse. There were only a few buses, which were jam-packed with people and animals ranging from goats to chickens. More common were carts pulled by weary donkeys and small, thin-haired horses. Their masters urged them along loaded for the marketplaces with heaps of dead wood gleaned from the mountainside to be used as fuel for cooking fires. The only change Carl could see in the carts from 500 years past was that some of them had on old truck or automobile tires instead of wooden wheels.
They had to take the coastal road through Sfax, then around the Gulf of Gabes to the border of Libya. They were eyed with suspicion as they passed over the border, the numbers of their vehicle carefully noted to be passed on later. Carl had decided to take the route that was the better road, in fact the only road. There were trails they could have taken to intercept the road from Tripoli to Ghudamis, but that could have taken them two or even three days to travel. Ghudamis was on the Tunisian side of the border nestling at the point where Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria joined. He figured that they might as well get it over with as far as passing through the border was concerned. Guards at heavily trafficked sites were not nearly as jumpy as those in the more isolated regions. Once they had the Libyan stamp on their passports, it should help them if they ran into any problems before reaching Ghudamis.
Monpelier had it about right. It would take them two days to reach their destination if they didn't run into any problems, and in this part of the world it was a rare excursion when you did not. At Sabratha they took a trail south to intersect the road from Tripoli. They had passed three military patrols since they'd crossed the frontier. The looks they'd received from the crews made Carl uneasy. Best to play it safe.
Fifty kilometers on a donkey trail and they picked up the main road. By then night was full on them. Carl and Dominic switched places, leaving Gus in the back to eat on dates and figs they had picked up from a roadside vendor. At the village of Nalut they spent the night, taking the vehicle into an enclosed area that served as a patio for the hostel. Theirs was the only motor vehicle in evidence.
Inside they were greeted profusely by the owner, a man with Arab features. Not unusual, this was one of those places where the Bedouin Arabs' and the Berbers' lands merged. Most of the clientele were Arabs who kept to themselves. They sat in small groups sipping their tea or coffee mixed with cardomon, a spice which Arabs have a great fondness for.
The common room was a spare area with a fireplace at the sound end of one wall for cooking. Raised areas for eating rimmed the room which was lit by coal oil lamps. Electricity was fifty kilometers to the south and would have been too expensive if it had been available.
Carl called the innkeeper over as Gus went to inspect what was cooking on the spit over the coals in the fireplace. Dominic looked around uninterestedly.
"We want one room for all of us," Carl told the innkeeper. "And I would advise against anyone getting too close to our vehicle. It would upset me terribly if anything were wrong with it tomorrow." His fingers dug into the muscle running from the neck to the shoulder of the tavern master. "We do understand each other, do we not?"
"Oh yes, effendi. It is most clearly understood. I have great love for the English and the French. All will be well. Please be at ease. I give you my word."
Carl released the pressure. "Very well. But if things are not as you say, I will take from you more than your word. Now show me to our room."
Calling Gus away from the fireplace, they followed the innkeeper up to the second floor and were shown into a room with two cots and a wash basin, nothing more.
"This is the best in my establishment, good sirs, the very best. But there are three of you. Will you not wish another accommodation?"
Carl pushed him out the door. "No! This will do."
Gus looked around and opened the window to let in some air. From their window they could see the Land Rover parked close to the wall. "Why just one room, Carl?"