No sooner had Hayden Stone walked into the safe house than Sandra Harrington handed him a satellite phone. No time for small talk, like how she and Dirk Lange, standing next to her, were recovering from their wounds. The flesh around Dirk’s swollen eye had now turned a yellowish black. Sandra’s face had a drawn, tired look.
“Colonel Frederick is on the phone,” she whispered. “He wants to speak with you.”
Stone took the phone while surveying his surroundings. The two-bedroom safe house felt crowded, with only a noisy air conditioner blowing out warm air. He knew Frederick would give him a hard time.
“Hi, Colonel. Where are you?” From past experience Stone knew that immediately asking Frederick a question put him off balance.
“A half day’s trip from your location,” he mumbled. “What have you been doing? Do you have the nuclear bomb located?”
“Checking with sources here in Douala. We’ve been told the plane is sitting at an abandoned airfield ten miles out of town.”
“Told! Why the hell aren’t you there?”
Jacob stood close enough to hear Frederick’s voice coming from the speaker. “Hayden.” Jacob spoke loudly enough for Frederick to overhear. “We have eyes on the target. The plane is still in the hangar. There are four armed terrorists guarding it.”
“Did you hear that, Colonel?”
“Who’s that with you?”
Stone told him and asked, “When did you say you’d get here to join the party?”
“We’ll be there in less than three hours. I’m looking at satellite photos of the airfield.” His voice lowered as he talked with people near him, then came back online. “Our assault team will land at the airfield. We still have two planes. I want you and your people to clear the target area for our landing.”
“Will do,” Stone said, and the line went dead.
Stone told Jacob what Frederick had planned. Sandra spread photographs of the target sent by CIA headquarters on the kitchen table. They showed a high chain-link fence enclosing the site. Two hangars and three other buildings sat alongside a weeded runway.
Stone studied the photographs. “They have a wide-open field of vision from the hangar.” He looked at the people gathered around him. “And we can’t wait for dark.”
“We’ll be ready to head for the airfield in five minutes,” Jacob said.
Taking Sandra by the arm, Stone led her outside onto the balcony and closed the door. He wanted the others to think it was a private conversation, but his real intent was to phone Reynard Abdulyale at the number written on the business card he had given him.
Sandra came close and whispered, even though no one inside the apartment could hear her. “You know about Dirk and me?”
Stone pulled out the business card and started punching the telephone number into his cell phone. “Yes. I hope you two will be happy.”
“Do you mean that? I mean … do you have any strong feelings about us?” She bit her lip. “About you and me?”
The phone rang at the other end, and he tried to think fast before someone came on the line. “Sandra. You and I are close. Very close.” The phone continued to ring. “But Lucinda was there before you and I met. She’ll always be—”
“Bonjour,” Reynard Abdulyale said in Stone’s ear.
Stone touched Sandra’s cheek and spoke into the phone, “Mr. Reynard Abdulyale. This is Hayden Stone.” Sandra moved to go back inside, but he took her hand.
“Yes, Mr. Stone. I had a call from our friend in Paris.” Abdulyale sneezed. “His office is concerned about a terrorist group that has come here. I also am concerned. He said this group might have a weapon of mass destruction. These are the terrorists you are seeking?”
Stone didn’t want to give him any more information than necessary. “Possibly. It will be best if we act fast. Have you heard anything about people from the Middle East contacting shipping companies?”
“People from the Middle East ship goods out of Douala every day, but I will ask our sources.” Abdulyale sneezed again. “You must keep me informed of your whereabouts and actions.” He wanted Stone’s number. “Our friend in Paris said that he was sending men to Douala. This is my country. This apparently is a serious matter, and I must be kept informed.” His last words were not a request.
“Who was that?” Sandra asked.
Stone explained that the man he talked with was a source of Maurice Colmont, the French intelligence office who both knew from working on what they referred to as “the Riviera contract.” He kept holding her hand. “This mission has a shorter time schedule than we thought. Colmont is sending French agents here. Abdulyale is concerned we’re going to shoot up the place.”
“We better get to that airfield and take possession of the bomb ASAP,” Sandra said.
“Before we go back in, Sandra, I want you to know—”
“We’ll always be buddies, right?”
“No.” He searched for the words. “I always thought we were more than good friends.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Don’t laugh.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m jealous of Lange.”
She took a deep breath. “Thought so.”
As they hurried back inside the apartment, Stone caught Dirk Lange watching them from through the glass door.
The four SUVs pulled off the dirt road in a position where scrub trees hid them from the airfield’s buildings. Stone and Jacob exited their vehicle and crept up to the rusty eight-foot chain-link fence. They searched their objective with binoculars.
“Two men at the open door to the hangar. Probably where the plane is,” Jacob said. “Neither one is Nabeel Asuty.”
“I see a panel truck with the back door open. A guy just pulled out a piece of machinery. They may be repairing the plane’s engine.” Stone lowered the glasses. “Mr. Asuty may be covering his bases. If they can’t get that bomb out by ship, they’ll fly it out of here.”
Jacob grunted. “Like you said back in the safe house, we can’t wait until dark to move.”
“Don’t see any guys walking out in the field assigned as lookouts.” Stone thought a moment. “I say we go as planned. Use wire cutters to make an opening in that section of fence.” He pointed. “We’ll drive on the runway. Two SUVs go to the hangar. One vehicle moves toward the outbuildings. One SUV hangs back to fill in where necessary.”
“Still don’t want to send in one or two men as scouts?”
Stone shook his head. “We’ve got an open field with very little cover. Chances are someone would spot them.”
“Let’s go for it.”
The moment the fence was cut, the SUVs moved into position and tore through the short stretch of bush and grass, pulled onto the runway, then sped at maximum speed to their assigned positions. The attack unfolded fast.
Stone was surprised they didn’t take on gunfire until they pulled in front of the hangar, and that was from a lone man at the hanger entrance holding an AK-47.
The SUVs screeched to a halt, and the teams rolled out of the vehicles, shooting their way inside the hangers. Stone led one contingent into the hanger where the C-119 was parked.
Stone raced with a Mossad agent to the rear of the plane and scrambled up its opened ramp. Two men not older than twenty emerged from the flight deck firing automatic weapons. Stone aimed at the man on the right and hit him with two bursts from his Glock, then fired at the man on the left. Neither dropped, so he repeated two shots to the right, two to the left until both collapsed. He looked down and saw the Mossad agent groaning on the ground.
Stone reached down, felt the man’s throat. “I’m still alive,” the agent yelled and pushed his hand away. Stone reloaded and looked inside the flight deck. Situation under control.