time. He had no use for senseless cruelty and gained no pleasure from it. Sadism was a weakness of the spirit, something he would not tolerate in himself. He sipped his brew, smacking his lips over it. That he would have done so if it had been required, there was no doubt. But he took satisfaction in the thought that he would not have enjoyed it.
Once he had his weapons he would live up to his end of the bargain and release the hostages unharmed. He would have no further use for them. He also wanted the world to know that Sunni Ali was a man of his word. A man of honor. That was important. All must know that he would do exactly as he said. There was nothing like the truth; it was the sharpest of swords. A sword which could set his people free or slice the throats of those who tried to keep him from fulfilling his destiny.
Outside he could hear the whinny of horses and the movement of his men around their campfires. Good, familiar sounds. Natural sounds. In the shadow of the massif the winds were softened, giving them shelter from the whirling sand devils of the open desert.
Five weeks. Then he would send out his messengers to all the tribes, calling them to rally with him in his jihad, his holy war against those who would take their heritage from them. In time they would come to him. They would have to or they would die. In a war such as he planned there was no place for sentiment. Only the true, the righteous, deserved to survive. Those who opposed him must fall. There was no other way. Allahu akbar! God is great!
It was with a deep feeling of satisfaction that Sunni Ali lay down upon the pallet which served as his bed. He would sleep well this night. For the stars were in their proper course and each coming dawn brought him closer to fulfillment. All was well.
Dominic felt his temples begin to pound, his palms to sweat, his heart to race. Anticipation. God, it felt good. For the first time in months he felt alive. Holding his knife close to his side, he crawled closer and closer, taking his time. There was no need to rush things now. The pace had settled into a pattern. Like sex, it should not be rushed or it would be spoiled. He knew the rest of the team was with him though they couldn't be seen. His total concentration was on what he was to do in the next few moments.
Turning his head at a whisper of the night wind, the sentry's eyes ran over the dark. Then he turned back to watch the campfire where his brothers sat about the burning coals. Soon it would be his turn to sit by the fires and listen to the rhythmic pulse of the allun as each of the warriors took their turn at telling stories.
Dominic slid closer, letting his mind project itself forward. He knew beforehand every move the Tuareg would make.
Above him Roman waited with Abdul, the Sudanese. He placed the light machine gun in the best position for covering fire. They had the hard part, the waiting. Not being able to do anything but wait for the others to move.
Gus kept close to Carl's heels. They had to wait also. This was Dominic's work. They knew, from the months during the siege of Dien Bien Phu when time and again they had gone out into the Viet Minh positions, that Dominic was the best, the most dependable. The sentry had to be taken out silently if they were to get inside the caves before the Tuaregs knew of their presence, and such a job required their best man.
The sentry adjusted the Mauser rifle on his shoulder. He did not like this business of standing watch but Sunni Ali ordered it, so it would be done. He knew that no harm would come to them at this place, far from the power of the ferengi. If anyone had approached, their outlying scouts would have let them know hours before they could get to the caves. But in sha Allah, God's will. He reconciled himself to the lonely, boring hours of standing watch.
His boredom came to a sudden halt. Dominic moved. Gathering his legs under him, he came to within ten feet of his quarry. He took a deep breath and held it in, compressing the air down deep inside his abdomen. He moved again, left hand leading. The Tuareg's back was inches away. Dominic's hand slid around, going for the sentry's throat. It missed and hit the mouth. Instantly the Tuareg bit down hard. Dominic forced his hand more solidly against the man's mouth to stifle any outcry as his knife came down at the junction of neck and collarbone, heading for the carotid artery. The Tuareg tried to scream as he felt the steel turn and twist in his neck as it searched for the major artery that sent blood to the brain. It found it. The knife punctured, then severed the thick vessel, probing deeper as the blade cut a three-inch opening in the upper lobe of the right lung. The Tuareg began to bleed, blood pouring out in gouts and spurts as Dominic held him close. He desperately wanted to cry out a warning. Then he wanted to plead for mercy but knew it was too late. He was dying and there was nothing on this earth that could save him. His last thoughts were La ilah illa' Allah: Muhammad rasul Allah. There is no god but Allah: Mohammed is His prophet.
Dominic let the body slide easily to the earth, then grabbed it by its robes and dragged it behind the boulder to where Sharif Mamud waited. Swiftly the old man put on the Tuareg's jellaba, wrapping the veil over his face to leave only his eyes uncovered. Disguise intact, Mamud took the Tuareg's place as Dominic slid back into the shadows.
Squatting behind a patch of brush, Carl waited for the next victim to come near. The sentry was in the most exposed position. He patrolled the fringe of the light cast by the campfire. Carl would have to be quick and silent. Twice the sentry passed him but each time there were too many eyes from the campfire looking his way. It was hard to get set, be ready, then not be able to move, only to have to wait again. The man came close. Then from the cave came a call. Automatically all eyes turned to the entrance. Carl moved, rising up from the patch of brush which concealed him. His hand grasped the Tuareg's throat and he squeezed his fingers, going deep into the cartilage of the esophagus, crushing it as he dragged the body back into the shadows. Another change of clothing and Egon had taken the Tuareg's place. By the time all eyes had returned to the campfire, Carl had two men in critical positions, one on each side of the cave entrance. It was almost time.
Carl clicked his fingers once, then again. Sharif Mamud moved closer to the ring of men sitting and nodding to the beat of the skin drum. Egon did the same. At their waists their weapons were held in the horizontal position, barrels pointing casually forward. Their Mats-49s had longer snouts than usual. Silencers. Twenty feet away, then ten, Sharif Mamud came near the fire, A man turned to him, his lips forming a question. The question was never spoken. He died too quickly. Sharif Mamud's first burst took out three men instantly, pumping fifteen subsonic 9 mm's into their bodies. Less than a heartbeat behind him came Egon's burst of fire, cutting down the others, who had no opportunity this time to make their peace with God. The only sound from the submachine guns was that of the bolts slapping back and forth. Eight men died. Carl and the rest of the team emerged from the shadows, leaving Egon and Sharif Mamud to guard the cave entrance.
Carl moved out into the open. From behind him came the rest of the team. Weapons at the ready, they hit the entrance to the cave. As they moved inside Sharif Mamud and Egon dragged the dead away from the campfire into the dark, then took up positions on each side of the mouth of the cave.
Following Mamud's directions they split into two units where the cave mouth separated. Carl and Gus went to the left while Dominic and Foche took the tunnel to the right. They ran in a crouch. Two men lay on their sides, blankets about them. Carl passed them by, leaving them to Gus and the others. Swift cuts taking less than five seconds and Gus was on Carl's heels, putting his knife back into its sheath as he ran.
Ahead of Carl was a brighter guiding light. He slowed to a halt. Gus nearly knocked him down coming to a stop. Carl listened. Voices speaking Tamahaq. Then he heard one in English ask for something. He couldn't make out what it wanted, but the voice was definitely that of a girl. He pointed to the other side of the tunnel, indicating to Gus and one other to move over there. They waited a moment, then began to move closer to the light.
Carl knew the others could sense the timing. They didn't have to be told. Instincts were working. He knew that each of them took a breath at the same moment he did. They burst into the light, fingers taking up trigger slack to the width of a hair. They each picked out their targets.
Dark eyes had little time to register alarm before bullets began smashing into faces and bodies. In the cavern the sound was deafening as the submachine guns roared and jerked. Carl moved to his left, keeping the wall to his back.
The girl and her husband were at the far end on his side. There was only one way out. 'Lie down and don't move!' he screamed at them over the deafening echoes of gunfire. They did as they were ordered. Face down, hands over their heads, they lay still. Only one Tuareg managed to get off a wild shot that clipped Gus on the ear, taking with it a dime size plug. The rest went down.
Jumping over bodies Carl grabbed the girl by her arm and jerked her to her feet, then did the same to the boy. 'Get up and move. Stay behind me and do as I say.'
He ran back to the cavern entrance, telling Gus, 'You bring up drag.'
