Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

"Why are we landing?" he asked Hopper.

"I haven't the vaguest idea. The pilots aren't of a mind to communicate."

"Perhaps they're making an emergency landing."

"If they are, they're keeping it to themselves."

Eva leaned over a seat and peered into the darkness through a window. A small cluster of dim, yellow lights pierced the night several kilometers beyond the nose of the aircraft. "Lights ahead," she announced.

"We could kick the door in," Grimes suggested.

"For what purpose?" demanded Hopper. "If the pilots mean to land, there's no way we can stop them. None of us can take control of a jetliner."

"Then there is little we can do but return to our seats and fasten our seatbelts," said Eva.

The words had not left her mouth when the landing lights flashed on, illuminating a faceless desert. The landing gear dropped and the pilot made a tight bank as he lined up on the as yet unseen airfield. By the time they had all strapped themselves in, the tires thumped into hard-packed sand and the engines roared as the pilot engaged the air brakes. The soft surface of the unpaved runway produced enough drag to slow the plane down without the pilots

standing on the brakes. The plane taxied toward a row of floodlights that stood beside the airstrip and rolled to a halt.

"I wonder where this is?" murmured Eva.

"We'll find out soon enough," said Hopper, moving toward the cockpit door, determined this time to kick it in. But it swung open before he reached it, and the pilot stepped into the cabin. "What is the meaning of this stopover?" Hopper demanded. "Is there a mechanical problem?"

"This is where you get off," the pilot said slowly.

"What are you talking about? You're supposed to fly us to Cairo."

"My orders are to set you down at Tebezza."

"This is a UN chartered aircraft. You were hired to take us to whatever destination we require, and Tebezza, or whatever you call it, is not one of them."

"Consider it an unscheduled stop," the pilot said doggedly.

"You simply can't throw us out in the middle of the desert. How do we get out of here and continue to Cairo?"

"Arrangements have been made."

"What about our equipment?"

"It will be guarded."

"Our samples must get to the World Health laboratory in Paris as soon as possible."

"That is not my concern. Now if you will please collect your personal items and disembark."

"We'll do no such thing," Hopper said indignantly.

The pilot brushed past Hopper and walked swiftly down the aisle to the rear exit. He undogged the shaft locks and pushed a large switch. The hydraulic pumps whirred as the aft floor slowly dropped and became a stairway leading to the ground. Then the pilot raised a large-caliber revolver he'd been holding behind his back and waved it at the startled scientists.

"Get off the aircraft, now!" he ordered gruffly.

Hopper moved until he was standing almost toe-to-toe with the pilot, completely ignoring the gun barrel touching his stomach. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"I am Lieutenant Abubakar Babanandi of the Malian Airforce, and I am acting under orders from my superiors."

"And just who might they be?"

"The Malian Supreme Military Council."