Sahara (Dirk Pitt 11)

Above the hum of the dune buggy's muted exhaust, they suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of jet engines and caught sight of aircraft navigation lights streaking across the dark sky. Levant was instantly giving orders over his helmet radio for the flight crew and security unit to scramble away from the airbus and take cover.

Pitt slammed on the brakes and threw the assault vehicle into a four-wheel drift sideways, an act that was as automatic as it was immediate, stopping in a swirl of dust behind a small sand dune. He relaxed his grip on the wheel and stared up at the intruding aircraft. "I think we've just attracted a whole lot of unwelcome attention."

"Kazim must have sent a single reconnaissance plane as insurance to check any possibility that the alert was a genuine attack." Levant's voice was hard, but his expression reflected deep apprehension.

"The pilot may not suspect a problem, or he wouldn't soar in here as nice as you please with his wing lights flashing."

Levant stared grimly at the outline of the jet fighter as it circled the airbus on the end of the airstrip. "I fear he's reporting an unidentified aircraft and requesting instructions to attack."

They weren't kept in suspense for long. The fighter, now recognized by Levant as a French Mirage, suddenly banked and swooped toward the airstrip, lining up its laser sights on the airbus that sat as helpless as a sleeping cow in front of a cannon.

"He's beginning his run!" Pitt snapped.

"Open fire!" Levant shouted to the man sitting behind them who was hunched over the Vulcan multi-barreled machine gun. "Bring him down!

The gunner visually tracked the Malian fighter over the lead-computing gun sight, and the instant he established the lead angle and distance he actuated the firing system. Like the Gatling guns of the nineteenth century, the six barrels on the Vulcan spun in a rotational blur as thousands of 20-millimeter rounds sliced the black sky. The shells homed in and began shredding` the Mirage fighter at the exact moment in time that the pilot unleashed two missiles at the helpless airbus on the ground.

The desert became a caldron of noise and flame as both aircraft exploded into simultaneous eruptions of fire. The jet fighter, now a bright orange ball, continued its descending attack angle in a straight line as if pulled by a string until it plunged into the ground, throwing fiery pieces of debris in a great fan across the uncaring desert. The airbus was no longer a plane, just a great mass of flame that licked toward an oily smoke cloud that rose in a huge column into the sky, effectively shutting out the stars.

Mesmerized, Pitt watched what only seconds ago were two solid, intact aircraft. Now he saw only fire and destruction. He and Levant climbed out of the assault vehicle and were riveted where they stood. In the blazing glow of the fiery devastation, Pitt saw the bitter expression of defeat in Levant's face.

"Dammit!" Levant cursed. "This was exactly what I was afraid would happen. Now we're trapped without a chance of rescue."

"Kazim will soon suspect a foreign force has reinvaded his territory," Pitt added severely. "He'll order his entire air force to Tebezza. Then your backup helicopters will be shot to pieces before they can rendezvous."

"There's no alternative but to make a run for the border," Levant conceded.

"We'd never see it. Even if Kazim's planes failed to use us for target practice or his security forces missed dropping across our path and attacking us every step of the way, your vehicles will run out of gas long before we reach a relief force. A few of your toughest commandos might get through, but those poor souls you rescued from death in the mines will surely die in the desert. I know, I've been that route."

"You were forced to go east toward the Trans-Saharan Track," Levant reminded Pitt. "That was close to 400 kilometers. If we head due north, we only have to travel 240 kilometers before crossing into Algeria and meeting up with a relief force from Algiers. Our fuel is ample for the distance."

"You're forgetting Kazim and Massarde have high stakes in the Tebezza mines," said Pitt, looking directly at Levant. "They'll do whatever is necessary to keep the secret of their atrocities from discovery."

"You think they would strike us in Algeria."

"Your rescue operation has forced them to become desperate men," Pitt interrupted. "A little thing like a national border won't stop them from ordering air strikes into a desolate section of Algeria. Once your force is softened up and the rescue craft is destroyed or driven away, they'll follow up by dropping in their elite security forces to ensure our total annihilation. They can't afford even one survivor to escape and unveil their inhuman activities."

Levant turned from the destruction, his face glowing orange from the fire, and stared at Pitt. "You don't sanction my contingency plans?"

"I have an aversion to pursuing the expected."

"Are you being cryptic, Mr. Pitt, or merely modest?"

"Practical," Pitt answered briefly. "I have every reason to believe Kazim won't pull back at the border."

"What do you propose?" Levant asked patiently.

"Head south until we intersect with the railroad out of Fort Foureau," Pitt answered briefly. "Then hijack a train to Mauritania. If we play our cards right, Kazim won't catch on until we reach Port Etienne

and the sea."

"Into the lion's den," Levant muttered skeptically. "You make it sound absurdly simple."

"The ground between here and the Fort Foureau hazardous waste project is mostly flat desert with occasional sand dunes. If we maintain an average speed of 50 kilometers an hour, we can reach the railroad before sunup with fuel to spare."

"Then what? We'd be exposed from every side."

"We hide out in an old Foreign Legion fort until dark before stopping and hiding everyone on an outward-bound train."