Someone outside blew the all-clear whistle, and Stone ran out of the plane yelling, “Man down! Man down!”
Sandra and Lange ran back to an SUV and found a medical kit.
“Jacob! What’s the situation?” Stone shouted.
“We’re secure here,” Jacob called from out on the tarmac. He indicated with his fingers. “Six of them dead. The other buildings are being searched.”
Stone let the adrenaline work its way off. He drank a full bottle of water as he searched throughout the hangar for the bomb using the Geiger counter Dirk Lange had handed him. Trash, old rusty equipment, and crates were scattered in the hangar. Sunlight shone down through holes in the ceiling. Not finding the nuclear device, he raced to the other hangar and again found nothing.
When he went out onto the tarmac, Sandra ran up to Stone. “We better get that man some medical attention.”
Jacob shouted from the plane, “We arranged for a clinic in the event this happened. Let’s get him into one of the SUVs. Stone, did you find what we’re looking for?”
“No. They’ve moved it. They’ve still got a lead on us.”
When Hayden Stone left for Douala, Jacob said he’d stay with his wounded Mossad agent. The two CIA operatives who had flown in with Sandra also stayed at the airfield to facilitate the arrival of Colonel Frederick’s team.
In the backseat of the SUV, Stone sat with Sandra and Lange as the two Mossad agents in front chatted between themselves. As the SUV bounced in a manhole-sized pothole, Stone guessed Nabeel Asuty and his fellow terrorists were in Douala by now and loading the bomb aboard a ship. Dozens of ships went in and out of the port daily. He debated calling Carl Cardinale when his cell phone rang, and saw that Carl beat him to it.
“Hey, pal,” Carl said. “Got some information that may help you.” He sounded out of breath. “You said one of the guys you’re looking for is Egyptian. This morning a big bearded guy screaming Arabic, his pants all bloody, ran out of a flophouse near the wharfs and down a street with two of his buddies following him. Shortly after, a well-known Russian prostitute was found in her room in the same flophouse with her head almost chopped off.”
“Do the police have a lead on the guy?”
“Listen to this. The Middle East guy and his buddies ended up going to a Catholic dispensary where he had his cock sewn up.”
“How do you know all this?”
“It’s the talk of the town.” Carl laughed. “This Arab is going to get more than he paid for. The Russian gal was a favorite of the local Russian drug lord, and he’s pissed.”
“Shit,” Stone said. “Sounds like the guy we want. He killed a South African gal in Sierra Leone. Give me the name of the clinic. We have to find him before that Russian mobster does.”
Carl gave Stone the address of the dispensary. “Ask for Sister Margaret. Tell her you’re a friend of mine.”
On arrival at the Catholic dispensary, an ageless Sister Margaret in a white habit and speaking French informed Stone that she couldn’t give him the name or particulars of the man who visited with a bleeding groin area. She did identify Nabeel Asuty’s photograph when Stone showed it to her.
“I didn’t ask his name,” she said. “He had a gun and so did his two companions.”
Stone and Sandra walked out the dispensary door onto the crowded street and heard a woman’s voice in pidgin French. Sitting next to the stoop, an uplifted face without a nose or ears spoke, “I know where they went.” Her palm lifted for an offering. The fingers of the hand were absent.
Sandra squeezed his arm and took a deep breath. At that, Sister Margaret called from the open door, “Isabelle!” She admonished her with a wave of her finger.
“That’s all right, Sister,” Stone said, taking a handful of CFA francs from his pocket and placing them in the still-outreached palm. “Where did they go, madame?” he asked.
“Only a few blocks away. There’s a truck parked outside. Many men with beards and guns under their coats stand around.”
“How long ago did you see them?”
Isabelle looked up at Sister Margaret with questioning eyes, then looked up and down the street.
“They may return. I don’t want trouble at my clinic,” the nun said. She leaned down to Isabelle. They both whispered before she stood erect. “The men were cruel in their speech to this poor thing. One accused her of sins, and that is why God cursed her with leprosy.” Stone recognized fury in Sister Margaret’s eyes. “Isabelle followed them and saw where they went. It had to be two hours ago when all this happened. If you have a map, I’ll show you the location.”
Back inside the SUV, Stone called Jacob to update him. “I figure we’re an hour and half behind Asuty.”
Jacob snorted. “Just follow the trail of that prick’s blood. Pun intended. Colonel Frederick is due to land in forty-five minutes. He’s bringing reinforcements.”
“We’re going to check out the building Asuty was seen entering.”
“Be careful. Don’t get either of my boys hurt.” Jacob rang off.
Stone suggested that Sandra stay with the parked SUV and act as support while the four men broke into two teams and scouted the target. She bristled and clenched her fists. Seeing this, Lange leaned over and told Stone he’d stay with the vehicle, as his eye was hurting. They exited and Stone gave him a “thank you” pat on the shoulder.
He and Sandra began searching for the address given to them. Being white in an African town, Stone felt the curious eyes. He didn’t want the word to spread that non-Africans were wandering around the vicinity. Rumors might reach Asuty or his men.
Sandra tied a light blue scarf over her hair and put on sunglasses. They passed single-story homes set back from the road, surrounded by hard, flat dirt. Short palm trees and overgrown bushes waved in the light breeze. They stopped when Stone spotted a water-stained, two-story concrete building with a red tin roof.
“That must be it. Let’s move in until we see someone who doesn’t look African,” Stone said.
“Wait. I’ve got one of the boys on the other team calling,” Sandra said. She listened on her cell phone a moment. “They’re on the other side of the building. No activity.”
“Tell them to move in cautiously. We will too.”
They were approaching the building when they stopped, seeing no one outside or looking out the open windows. Birds chirping and wind blowing through the palm trees were the only sounds.
Stone’s cell phone vibrated. Abdulyale’s number appeared.
“Hello. Mr. Abdulyale.”
“No need to whisper, Mr. Stone. Nabeel Asuty and his men have left. Headed for their ship.”
Stone tugged Sandra’s sleeve and said, “Careful.”
“Keep walking, Mr. Stone,” Abdulyale said, “and you’ll see my black Peugeot sedan.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
After Sandra returned to the SUV with the two Mossad agents, Hayden Stone got into Abdulyale’s car and headed for the waterfront. He and Reynard Abdulyale talked in the backseat until the driver parked within sight of the Douala piers. Cries of seagulls came through the open windows.
“That is the ship Nabeel Asuty has chartered.” Abdulyale pointed to a ship tied up along the quay. “It is registered in Panama and my office found some irregularities in the ship’s paperwork. Most of these tramp steamers do.” Looking at his gold watch, he said, “Asuty’s men loaded a large crate into the forward hold of the ship exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes ago. The ship, the SS Natal Bay, is set to sail at six o’clock this evening. Destination is Montevideo, Uruguay.”
“It’s three o’clock now,” Stone said, “Not much time to get the …”