“You’re bringing her with us?” Sabah asked.
“I am,” Jinn said. “This complex is no longer secure.”
“I’ll contact Xhou,” Sabah said. “The Chinese are treacherous, but they always prefer to save face. That is why he sent Mustafa. He will redouble his efforts and release more funds. He will not be a problem until the sting of this failure has gone away. And that will be long enough for us to gain full control.”
“I’m not worried about the Chinese,” Jinn said. “That American was right. His government will move aggressively. They no longer care about borders. We’re not safe here.”
“We shall see,” Sabah said.
“I need a new headquarters,” Jinn insisted, “one they will not suspect. And I must do more to ensure our plan goes into effect, efforts I cannot make from here.”
He pointed to the woman. “Keep her out of the way until the loading is done. Then put her in the third plane, away from the men. I don’t want them near her.”
“She should be guarded,” Sabah said.
“Her will is broken,” Jinn said. “She will soon do as I demand, but if you must have her watched, send two guards, no more. And warn them, Sabah, if they touch her, I will stake them to the ground and set them on fire.”
Sabah nodded. He picked two men and they took Leilani toward one of the waiting transports. As she was dragged away, Kurt and Joe exchanged glances.
Kurt started the engine again and turned in silence toward the last of the yellow drums. He picked it up deftly, an old hand by now. Joe secured it and came back aboard the forklift.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Joe said.
“Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
“Wouldn’t if I could,” Joe replied. “Do you want some help?”
“I’d love some,” Kurt said. “But someone’s got to figure out where these drums are going and warn whoever they’re meant for. This way, we’re not putting all our eggs in one basket.”
They’d reached the truck. Kurt grabbed the lift lever and began to raise the drum.
“As soon as you can get to civilization, contact Dirk. We have to let Paul and Gamay know they have a mole in their midst.”
Joe nodded. “Once you grab that girl, get out of the hornet’s nest. Don’t take on more than you can chew.”
The drum had reached an even level with the truck bed and the rollers. “Hornet’s nest? I thought we established that this was a lion’s den?”
“Lions don’t fly,” Joe said. “Once you’re up in the air, it’s a hornet’s nest.”
“Now you’re getting the hang of this.”
The two men stared at each other for a moment, friends who’d bailed each other out of countless scrapes. Splitting up went against every instinct in their hearts. Fight together, survive together, they’d often said. But in this case it would mean abandoning a young woman to a terrible fate or cutting in half their chances to alert the world and their friends of pending danger. The stakes were too high for that.
“You sure about this?” Joe asked.
“You take the low road and I’ll take the high road,” Kurt said, “and I’ll be in civilization before you.”
“Define civilization?” Joe said, unlashing the barrel and sliding it forward.
“Somewhere that no one’s trying to kill us and where you can get an ice-cold Coke if you want one. Last one to reach it buys dinner at Citronelle for the whole team.”
Joe nodded, probably thinking of the menu and the ambience of the well-regarded D.C. area restaurant. “You’re on,” he said, lashing the drum into place.
Kurt watched, feeling a mixed sense of concern and relief. The trucks were not meant for cross-country desert travel, they had to go where the roads went. And even in a country like Yemen, that would soon lead to some area of civilization. With luck, Joe would be quenching his thirst and on the phone to NUMA before dawn. Kurt knew his own prospects were less certain.
Joe grabbed a tarp that would cover the back of the truck. He glanced at Kurt. “Vaya con Dios, my friend.”
“You too,” Kurt said.
The tarp dropped, Joe vanished and Kurt backed the forklift away, turning toward the staging area without another glance behind him.
All he had to do now was find out which plane Leilani was on and sneak aboard without being discovered.
CHAPTER 32
JOE ZAVALA HAD HUNKERED DOWN IN THE MOST FORWARD section of the flatbed, between the yellow drums and the front wall. No one had seen him there. Beyond taking a cursory glance from the back end of the truck to count the barrels, no one had even checked. With all accounted for, the tarp had been tied down tight. The doors up front opened and then slammed shut, and the big truck had gone into gear. Soon they were rumbling across the desert.
At periodic intervals, Joe had stealthily checked the surroundings. He’d seen only darkness and sand and the other trucks in the convoy. He wondered where they were headed.
After four hours, they finally began to slow.
“I hope we’re about to hit a rest stop,” Joe muttered to himself. He snuck a peek from under the canvas but saw no sign of civilization. Eventually the truck coasted to a stop, though the engine continued to idle.
Joe wondered whether to make a break for it. He hadn’t really considered jumping from the truck while it crossed the desert because he had no idea where they were and without water he didn’t want to go back into walking mode. At least not until there was somewhere to walk to.
He considered making a break for it now, but a second problem had compounded the first. Somehow, his truck had ended up in the front of the convoy. The other trucks sat behind him with their lights blazing away in the dark. To move now would be like going over the prison wall in broad daylight. He had to wait and hope for a better opportunity up ahead.
Shouting and orders came out of the dark. The big rig lurched as it went back into gear and began to inch forward again. It went over something that felt like a curb, and the flatbed trailer twisted and flexed as each set of wheels crossed whatever it was. The yellow drums shook from side to side. Joe put a hand out to steady the closest one.
“Take it easy on those speed bumps,” he whispered.
Then the nose of the truck angled down as if descending a ramp. The drums strained forward against their lashes, sliding his way. Joe’s sense of anxiety grew.
They leveled out after going no more than fifty feet and then continued forward on much smoother ground. Finally they stopped again. The driver and passenger climbed out, slamming their doors behind them. The lights of the second truck crept closer, penetrating the tarp as they came.
As Joe listened to the sound of the engine and the sound of the shouting voices, he detected an echo. He noticed the smooth ground beneath them after bouncing so long on the desert road and the fact that the truck’s engine had been shut off for the first time.
I’m in a warehouse.
That meant civilization: computers, phone lines and running water. Maybe even a Coke machine in a break room somewhere. A smile crept over his face.
When the lights of the next truck inched up tight and then shut off, Joe was certain of it. He only had to wait until all the trucks were parked and shut down for the night and then he could probably slip out unnoticed.
The smell of diesel fumes grew thick as the other trucks maneuvered back and forth in what must have been a fairly tight space. Finally the last engine shut off. He heard more talking.
“Come on,” he whispered, “everyone out. It’s got to be Miller time by now.”
Voices echoed through the dark for a while longer, but they were slowly growing more distant. The sound of heavy doors sliding shut rang out, and the silence that followed told Joe he was probably alone.