an O.K. signal with his thumb and forefinger, then disappeared back down
the hatch.
Burton flipped his Gauloise over the side rail and walked out to the
helicopters. Maybe a few of them know what they're about after all, he
thought. Maybe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
6.55 Pm. Horn House: The Northern Transvaal The Learjet appeared low in
the east, a fiery arrow hurtling down the vast African sky. The dying
sun glittered on the metal-skinned apparition as it settled onto the
freshly laid asphalt runway. It taxied to the short apron, then turned
slowly until it faced back up the strip, shimmering like a bird of prey
next to Horn's helicopter.
A khaki-colored Range Rover Uundled out to meet the plane. Pieter
Smuts, dressed impeccably as a major of the South African Reserve,
stepped from the driver's seat. He stood at attention, waiting for the
Lear's short staircase to drop to the tarmac. He noticed that the
aircraft bore no corporate or national insignia, only numbers painted
across the gracefully swept tail fin.
When the jet's door finally opened, two dark-skinned Arabs stepped out.
Each carried an automatic weapon that, from where Smuts stood, appeared
to be the Israeli Uzi.
Hats off to the competition, he thought dryly. The bodyguards made a
great show of checking the area for potential threats. Then one of them
barked some Arabic through the open hatchway. Smuts marched smartly
toward the bottom of the staircase.
Four Arabs filed out of the aircraft and down the steps.
Two wore flowing robes and sandals, two wore Western business suits.
Smuts greeted the shorter of the two robed Arabs.
'Mr. Prime Minister?'
'Yes. Greetings, Mr.-?'
'Smuts, sir. Pieter Smuts, at your service. If you gentlemen will
follow me into the vehicle, please.'
The taller of the two robed Arabs-a man with pie] black eyes and a
desert chieftain's mustache-surveyed the vast expanse of grass and scrub
around them, then smiled.
'This is not so different from our own country,' he said.
The other Arabs laughed and nodded.
'Now,' he said, 'let us go to meet the man we have come to see.'
Smuts led them to the Rover.
When they reached the main entrance of Horn House, all the
servants-medical staff excluded-stood outside awaiting their arrival.
This favorably impressed the Arabs, who walked disdainfully past the
white-clad line and into the great marble reception hall. Almost
immediately a low whirnng sound drew their attention to the far side of
the high-ceilinged room. A section of the wall slid swiftly back,
revealing Alfi-ed Horn sitting in his wheelchair inside a twometer wide
cubicle. On his gaunt body, the black suit and tie he wore gave him a
rather funereal air. But something else about him had changed. The
artificial eye was gone. Tonight Horn wore a black eyepatch in its
place. Combined with the wheelchair, the eyepatch gave the wizened old
man the quiet dignity of a battle-scarred war veteran.
'Guten Abend, gentlemen,' he rasped. 'Would you join me in the
elevator, please?'
The elevator Horn occupied led down to a basement complex one hundred
meters below the house. Only from this basement could one reach a
second elevator that led up into the observatory tower of Horn House.
When it became obvious that only four could fit comfortably into the
elevator with the wheelchair, he ordered Smuts to wait with the Arab
bodyguards.
'We'll see you in a few minutes, sir,' Smuts said.
By the time the Afrikaner's party arrived at the secondfloor conference
room, Horn and his Arab guests were already seated around a great round
table of polished Rhodesian teak. A large aluminum briefcase lay closed
on the table before one of the business-suited Arabs. Linah had brought
up chilled Perrier. Prime Minister Jalloud turned to the door and
softly addressed one of the bodyguards.
'Malahim, we feel quite secure in Herr Horn's care. We wish you to wait
downstairs for us. The housekeeper will give you refreshments.'
The bodyguard melted away from the door. Smuts closed the door, locked
it, then stood at attention beside it.
'Herr Horn,' Prime Minister Jalloud said uncomfortably, 'Our Esteemed
Leader has asked us to obtain your pennission to make a video recording
of this negotiation, so that he may witness what transpires here
tonight. He understands if you prefer not to have your face recorded,
but in that case he asks if we might make an audio recording instead.'
The room hung in tense silence. Alfred Horn laughed silently. He had
four video cameras recording the meeting already. 'You have video
equipment in that case?' he asked.
'Yes,' Jalloud replied, worn'ed that he might already have overstepped
the bounds of propriety.
'Set it up then. By all means. In negotiations of this magnitude, it
is necessary to have an accurate record.'
An audible sigh of relief went up in the conference room.
At the snap of Jalloud's fingers an Ar-ah opened the aluminum case and
busied himself with a camcorder and tripod.
'I have a request of my own, gentlemen,' Horn said. 'I too keep records
of meetings, but I'm old-fashioned. Do you mind if my personal
secretary takes notes?'
'Certainly not,' Jalloud replied courteously.
Horn pressed a button. In a few seconds the door opened to reveal a
stunning young blonde wearing a severely cut blue skirt and blouse.
Ironically, the two Arabs who affected Western dress seemed most shocked
by Ilse's sudden appearance.
'As you can see, gentlemen, said Horn, 'my secretary is a woman.
Is that a problem?'
There were some uncomfortable glances, but Jalloud ended any discussion
before it could begin. 'If you wish it, Herr Horn, it is so.
Let us begin.'
Ilse took a seat behind Horn, crossed her legs, and held a notepad ready
