'The big equipment-storage door,' Findley answered, his murmur as soft as Pitts, 'and the main front entrance. If I remember correctly there's also a stairway that leads into a side office.'
'No doubt locked,' said Giordino morosely.
'A bright thought,' Pitt conceded. 'Okay, the front door it is. No one inside will be expecting total strangers coming to call. We'll go in clean and quiet, like we belong. No surprises. Just one of their buddies strolling from the dining hall.'
'I bet the door squeaks,' Giordino muttered.
They walked unhurriedly around a corner of the crushing nial and entered unchallenged through a high, weathered door that swung on its hinges noiselessly.
'Curses,' Giordino whispered ugh clenched teeth.
The interior of the building was enormous. It had to be. A giant mechanical machine sat in the center like a giant octopus with conveyor belts, water hoses and electrical wiring for tenfacies. The ore crusher consisted of a massive horizontal cylinder containing various-sized steel balls that pulverized the ore.
Huge flotation tanks sat along one wall that had received the slurry after crushing. Overhead, maintenance catwalks reached by steel ladders crisscrossed above the massive equipment. A cord of lights hung from the catwalk railings, their power produced by a portable generator whose exhaust popped away in one corner.
Pitt had guessed wrong. He had figured at least two, perhaps even three, helicopters to evacuate the hijackers. There was only one-a large British Westiand Commando, an older but reliable craft designed for logistic support. it could carry eight or more passengers if they were tightly crammed in. Two men in ordinary combat fatigues were standing on a high mechanic's stand peering through an access panel beside the engine. They were engrossed in their work and paid no notice to their predawn visitors.
Slowly, cautiously, Pitt advanced into the great open crushing room, Findley on his right, Giordino covering the left, Gunn And Findley together. the helicopter's two crewmen did not Turn from their work.
Only then did he see an uncaring guard sitting on an overturned box behind a support beam with his back to the door.
Pitt gestured to Giordino and Findley to circle around the helicopter in the shadows and search for other hijackers. The guard, having felt the rush of cold air from the opening-andclosing door, half turned to see who had entered the building.
Pitt walked slowly toward the guard, who was dressed in black combat fatigues, with a ski mask over his head. Pitt was only two meters away when he smiled and lifted a hand in a vague greeting.
The guard gave him a quizzical look and said something in Arabic.
Pitt gave a friendly shrug and replied in gibberish that was lost under the sound of the generator's exhaust.
Then the guard focused his eyes on the old Thompson machine gun. The two seconds between puzzlement, and alarm, followed by physical reaction, cost him painfully. Before he could bring up his weapon and whip sideways, Pitt had chopped the butt of the Thompson against his skull under the black ski mask.
Pitt caught the guard as he slumped and propped him back against the beam as though he were dozing. Next he ducked under the forward fuselage of the helicopter and approached the two mechanics working on the engine. Reaching the stand, he grasped the rungs of its ladder and gave it a great heave, tipping it backwards.
The mechanics flew through the air, so startled they didn't shout. Their only reaction was to throw up their hands in a futile attempt to claw the air before thumping onto the hard wooden plank floor. One struck his head and blacked out immediately. The other landed on his side, his tight arm breaking with an audible snap. A painful gasp burst from his lips only to be silenced by the sudden impact of the Thompson' butt against his temple.
'Nice work,' said Findley, dispensing with silence.
'Every move a picture,' Pitt muttered loftily.
'I hope that's the lot.'
'Not quite. Al has four more behind the 'chopper.'
Findley cautiously stepped under the aircraft and was astounded to see Giordino sitting comfortably in a folding chair, staring fiercely at four scowling captives entirely encased up to their chins in sleeping bags.
'You always had a fetish for neat packages,' said Pitt.
Giordino's eyes never left his prisoners. 'And you were always too loud. What was all the noise?'
'The mechanics took a nasty fall off the maintenance stand.'
'How many did we bag?'
'Seven, all told.'
'Four must be part of the flight crew.'
'A backup pilot and copilot plus two mechanics. They weren't taking any chances.'
Findley motioned to one of the mechanics. 'One of them is coming around..'
Pitt slung his Thompson over a shoulder. 'I think we'll fix it so they can't go anywhere for a while. You do the honors, Clayton. Bind and gag them. You should find some straps inside the chopper. Al, keep a sharp eye on them. Rudi and I are going to look around outside.'
'We'll ensure their complete immobilization,' said Giordino, speaking like a bureaucrat.
'You better. They'll kill you if you don't.'
Pitt motioned to Gunn and they stripped off the upper clothing from two of their prisoners. Pitt snatched the ski mask and pulled the black sweater from the unconscious guard. He wrinkled his nose from the smell of the unwashed sweater and slipped it over his own head.
Then they walked out the door, making no effort to appear inconspicuous.
They strode briskly, confidently, staying in the center of the road that ran between the buildings. At the dining hall they cut into
