Langers took a drink of his own wine. This was beginning to get interesting. 'What do they want, money?''
Claude shook his head. 'No, my old one. The son's father is an arms manufacturer. They want weapons, many weapons: machine guns, mortars, anti-aircraft guns. But the father cannot supply them. His government has found out about the ransom and will not permit the exchange for as you know, it does not take much to start a guerrilla war and keep it going for some years with a few thousand modern rifles and machine guns.
'So, as he cannot give them what they ask for, he has come to me to find men who will attempt a rescue. That is all. You just go in, get the boy and his wife, and bring them out. Tres simple, n'est-ce pas? '
' That's all! You know that country. It's hell out there. How do we get in and how do we get out? There's nothing but thousands of miles of nothing out there!'
Claude affected a wounded look. 'Ah, but that is why the father will pay so well. However, if you feel it is beyond your talents and do not have the need for twenty-five thousand American dollars, I will go elsewhere, eh?' he said, shrugging his shoulders matter-of-factly.
Carl pushed him back down in his chair. 'Knock the crap off, Claude. We're interested, but we need to know more before making a decision.'
Monpelier knew he had them or he would not have been stopped from leaving. 'Very well. This is what I can tell you now. Our weaponsmaker is a very rich man, and while he cannot get guns to trade for his son, he can supply you with whatever else you may require in terms of equipment. Airplanes, vehicles, communications equipment. His government knows what we wish to try and they have no objection to it. As long as the Tuaregs receive no weapons, we can do as we wish in the matter.''
'You did say we, didn't you, Claude? Are you going in with us?'
Claude hid behind his wine glass. 'Alas, no, my friends, I am afraid that I have other duties which will prevent me from accompanying you on this minor excursion. I do wish that I could attend the festivities. I know you and your creature. I am confident the desert will never be the same after you two leave.'
Gus ordered two more bottles of wine, making certain the waiter knew to put them on Claude's bill.
Langers went back to the subject. 'Okay! The price is all right for me and Gus but there'll be other expenses, and we may have to hire a few more men. In fact, I know we will.'
'I have anticipated your needs, my friends. And if we have, as the Americans say, 'a deal,' I will leave you with advance funds now so that you may begin to plan the operation. But know that it must be done quickly. The Tuaregs can be stalled in the matter for only a short time. Then they will do horrible things to the boy and worse to the girl. Remember Medea?''
Langers remembered. There had been great evil done there, torture and slaughter on both sides that would have left the Nazi Gestapo in awe. 'All right, how much time do we have?'
'Two, perhaps three weeks. No more.'
Sitting silently Langers tried to recall all he could of the terrain between the Talak and the Tenere. None of it was good. 'I need more information,' he said. 'Do you have any idea of just where they are being held and by how many tribesmen?'
Claude gave Gus another dirty look as the second order for two more liters of wine was given to the waiter, before replying, 'Yes, of course we have some information and I hope to acquire more in a few days. For now concern yourself with transport and finding the other men you will require — I may be able to help you there. Also, the chieftain who has the prisoners has at best three hundred men, but probably less than half will be with him as the others will be needed to tend their flocks. So you will have to deal with perhaps only one to two hundred Tuaregs.'
Carl groaned. One to two hundred of some of the meanest and toughest men the desert had ever spawned. Speculating more to himself than to anyone else, he mumbled, 'I'll give odds that they're holed up on Mt. Baguezane northeast of Agadez.'
Claude nodded in agreement. 'You are probably correct. But it is not such a great mountain; it only rises to about six thousand feet. As I said, I have some more information coming. It should give us the exact location where they are being held. There cannot be too many places up there with enough water to sustain them. So we will find them.'
'Have confidence in me. I will contact you again in two days, three at the most. By this time you will have considered the worst possible conditions and will be able to give me your requirements in men and material.'
This was going to be a bit rough. But if it went down right the money was good for a few days' work. What was the name Claude had called the Azbine chief? Sunni Ali? To Claude he asked, 'Sunni Ali? Wasn't that the name of the king of the old Songhai Empire in the fifteenth century?''
Claude rose, leaving a stuffed envelope on the table. 'But of course it was. I am so glad to see that you, unlike your pet ape, are not a complete illiterate. It makes me feel so much more reassured that I have been correct, as I always am, in my decisions. I will see you here at the same time in two or three days, no more. If I do not appear, then the money in the envelope is yours. Au revoir, mes amis.
'
'Yeah. Good-bye, Claude.''
Monpelier was headed for the door when Gus yelled to the waiter, 'Be sure to collect for the wine from the little shit before he gets away.'
Claude Monpelier shrugged his shoulders as only the French can do and paid the waiter. He left the cafe murmuring the word merde over and over.
CHAPTER TWO
Leaving the cafe they wandered back into the streets. They were laid with cobblestones hundreds of years old, many taken from buildings that had seen the coming and the passing of Crusaders. The faces that watched the backs of the two ferengi, as the foreigners were disdainfully referred to, could have belonged to that distant time.
In the envelope was enough money, a mixture of enough dinars and American dollars, to last them for a week or two, or to buy passage to another place if the deal with Monpelier didn't work out. Either way they were better off than they were before. But there was one thing about Monpelier: he didn't pass out money unless he wanted you committed. As far as Carl was concerned, this job was a go.
A change of residence to a hotel which had telephone service and showers was their first move. Tunis was baking beneath the hammer of the North African sun. It was near the midday hour and, as in all hot climes, activity slowed down. Those that could found shade to take naps or ate slow lunches and sipped sweet mint tea served from brass pots. Carl and Gus took the opportunity to avail themselves of the hotel's shower. There was no hot water but it didn't matter. The water temperature was warmer than blood, anyway, yet it still cooled the skin.
Gus settled on his single bed by the window where he could catch what little breeze existed. Carl lay back on his bed, naked save for shorts, his eyes closed as he felt the moisture left on his skin from his shower evaporate. Soon it would be gone, then his own body fluids would replace the water from the shower.
A horrible rasping, gurgling noise broke through the hum of flies swarming outside the screened window. Gus was snoring. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Langers thought for a moment about strangling the sleeping giant, but the desire passed quickly. It was much too warm to keep such hostile thoughts for very long. It simply required too much effort. Besides which, Gus did have some good qualities. One day, Langers promised himself when he had time he would take a few hours and try to think of one.
Outside he heard the plaintive cry of an Arab water vendor wandering the narrow streets, filling the cups of the thirsty with water he promised was as pure as the tears of a virgin, but smelled like the bladder of a dead camel. He rolled over to get on a dry spot. Beneath him the thin cover was already soaked with his sweat.
Gods! It had been a long time since he and Gus had frozen on the steppes of Russia. There had been the ice and the snow winds that peeled frostbitten skin from the face and froze the delicate tissue in the lungs. He almost wished they were back. No! That was a lie. There was no way he could ever wish for that time to return. The Twenty-sixth Panzer Regiment. He and Gustaf Beidemann were the last survivors of their tank crew. All the others were long dead, left on the frozen fields of Mother Russia along with hundreds of thousands of others who had
