The other members of the NSC remained near their seats.
Conversation erupted as soon as the door shut behind the president, further isolating the two intelligence leaders.
“General, does NSA have any information on the whereabouts of President Aineuf of Algeria?”
“No, but I can task the agency to search its data to see if we do. Any specific reason?”
“This is kind of sensitive, but we have an agreement with Aineuf that makes it to our benefit to locate him. In fact, it is critical that we locate him.”
“Farbros, are you telling me that Aineuf is a CIA agent?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that! Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact. President Aineuf is not considered friendly to the United States, but we did maneuver a private security arrangement with him. We want to locate him and, if he so desires, help him leave Algeria. I am sure you know how much we can gain by spiriting the disposed president out of Algeria.”
“I understand and I’ll see what I can do, but you keep NSA out of this goat rope. I’ve seen what happens when we try to go down that road. Does Pinochet mean anything to you?” And, no, he didn’t understand how much it would benefit America to rescue the disposed president of a “gone to shit” country.
“I only want information. General. That doesn’t necessarily mean the president would approve an insertion to pull him out.”
“Information, Farbros. That’s the name of the game-information.” General Stanhope paused.
“If we hear anything we’ll pass it on to you. There are several other items….”
CHAPTER FIVE
“President Hawali Alneuf, said Colonel Yosef, his voice intentionally low. He stepped out of the night shadows of the alley into the faint light so the fleeing Algerian leader could see him. Yosef’s thin countenance belied the sculptured muscles beneath his gray military uniform. His gaunt face, on the other hand, betrayed his concern. His hawk nose and pencil-thin mustache were easily visible while the darkness hid his wide weathered brown eyes from view. Yosef worked hard to keep up his image of a professional soldier, though continuously worried that others saw through his disguise. It was a useless worry. As colonel of the Palace Guard he had earned Aineuf’s confidence and trust during these five years on the job. His men worshipped and respected him and would gladly follow him into combat, which they were doing now. Smallarms fire echoed from several streets away. The sounds of battle were closing in on the small band. The choice was move, or wait for the inevitable discovery and death. “The British Embassy is surrounded. We cannot go closer without risking your capture.”
The Algerian president slumped back against the wall of the milk crate where Colonel Yosef had unceremoniously shoved him an hour ago.
“What now?” he asked.
Shock resonated in the tone of the president’s voice.
There were no words of encouragement Yosef could give without lying, so he chose to just answer the question.
“Sir, we’re going for the harbor. Hopefully, God willing, we’ll find a boat to escape from Algiers to Tunisia.”
Yosef nervously scanned the surrounding buildings and the deserted street.
“Colonel Yosef, do you know anything about boats?”
“No, but the other alternative is less appealing.”
“Maybe the Navy still retains possession of the harbor?”
Yosef looked at the president, shrugged. He doubted it.
“We don’t know, sir. We haven’t heard from any of our forces in over four hours. I fear the worst for Algiers.”
Yosef bit his lower lip.
“What happened, Yosef?” President Aineuf looked up.
Colonel Yosef’s haggard face, barely visible in the gray darkness of the street, showed the fatigue from the last few days. A tall athletic soldier, his usual crisp uniform was torn and dirty. A crumpled garrison cap, pulled down tight against the forehead, covered the short-cropped hair.
President Aineuf sighed.
“How could this happen in such a short time? A week ago we had the rebels on the ropes”-he squeezed his fist together—“like this, we had them in our grip…. And today, like criminals, we sneak out of our own country. Our own country!” Aineuf lowered his head onto his knees.
“I pray that Allah will have mercy on Algeria.”
Yosef gazed for a few seconds at Aineuf. He wished he knew who had ordered the troops to their garrisons. If the Algerian Army had remained deployed, it would be the FLA mnning now instead of them. Aineuf seemed to have shrunk in size.
“Mr. President, the last signal received reported loyal forces fighting a successful counterattack from Oran. We may still control the western half of the country.
If we do retain that control, then we will join them.
Your survival means hope for Algeria, Mr. President. With you and those remaining forces, we can restore democracy to our country.”
President Aineuf’s gray face, depression etched into each wrinkle, disappeared back into the shadows.
“I am in your hands, Colonel Yosef,” he mumbled.
Colonel Yosef lowered the top of the milk crate and pushed down. The nails slid easily into their original holes.
The open sides permitted the warm night air to flow through the cramped crate. If the president had been a large man, he would never have fit in it. The only protection the crate offered was its ability to hide Aineuf’s presence.
Yosef motioned the driver of the electric milk truck forward.
The vehicle moved off, the quiet hum from the battery-powered engine lost in the sounds of nearby gunfire.
A half block in front, two Palace Guardsmen darted from doorway to doorway along the dark street, avoiding the few remaining streetlights. It amazed Yosef the electricity was still working. If he had been in charge of the revolution his first target would have been the power plant. You shut down a city’s infrastructure and you own it. Even so, not a light shined from the gray windows mourning the battle-scarred street.
A mile away a series of explosions lit up the night behind them, the sound roaring by a second later.
“They’ve started the assault against the presidential palace,” Yosef said to Sergeant Boutrous, walking beside him. “I hope they are gone.” Yosef referred to the forty Palace Guardsmen who had volunteered to remain behind and delay the FLA terrorists. Yosef had issued strict orders to the young captain to abandon the palace an hour after Yosef left with the president. He looked at his watch-sixty-eight minutes. More time than he’d expected. Hopefully, an empty palace greeted the rebels.
“I am sure they are safely away, mon colonel,” the squat, square-shouldered sergeant replied.
“Besides, you know how the captain is. He would never disobey your orders.”
Yosef turned his attention forward as he walked alongside the milk truck. Another hour, he estimated, before the search of the palace revealed that President Aineuf had escaped.
By then, they should be at the harbor before rebels swarmed through the city, searching for the first and last freely elected leader of Algeria. The capture of President Aineuf would mark the end of the battle for Algeria. The country would descend into the same religious nightmare running rampant in Iran and Egypt.
The Guardsman at the point of the column waved his hand, pointing emphatically to the left.
“Quick, turn the truck in here!” Yosef ordered, pointing to a narrow dead-end alley to the right.
He motioned the Guardsmen to take cover. Once everyone was out of sight, Yosef took position near the milk truck.
Ahead, two armored personnel carriers, with rebels on top, sped across the road to disappear in the direction of the embassies.