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"Well, yeah, but the oil down there doesn't know that... and we have to go where the oil is," said Bolan, still playing the part of a modern-day prospector. Anyway, you're out here, too, aren't you?"
"My people have always been in these parts, long before soldiers come with their spiked wire and bombs in the ground. This is our land, sah'b."
"Then I insist on paying you to guide us." Bolan moved slowly — he did not want anyone to get the wrong idea — as he pulled a pouch from around his neck. He poured out the contents in his cupped hand. "See, gold coins... Now, let's have some of that coffee while we talk business, eh?"
Da
One of them replied in the high-pitched guttural dialect of these nomads. Bolan wondered if they were already haggling over a suitable price to charge for their services, as his hand dropped slowly toward his ankle. His own smile was fixed, his eyes steady on the leader; but through peripheral vision he concentrated on Da
"Now!" shouted Da
Bolan pulled the knife from its hiding place and, throwing it underarm, struck the other gunman square in the throat. The revolver dropped from his grasp as he made a futile attempt to pluck out the sticky blade from under his chin. With one last soft gurgle he collapsed sideways on the rocks.
The third tribesman was pulling the dagger from his belt when Bolan hit him low with the full force of a shoulder charge. They slammed into the dirt, struggling like wild beasts for the advantage. Scooping up some dust, the nomad threw it at his attacker, but Bolan was no longer there to be blinded by that old trick. He'd slipped the man's hold, twisted around and was looping a forearm under the Arab's beard. He grabbed hair and head cloth all in one, jerking violently and hard. The man's neck was broken in an instant. He flopped on his back with one final spasmodic twitch, his hand splayed open, and the last grains of sand trickled out between his lifeless fingers.
When Bolan spun around to face the fire, Da
"Thanks. I didn't know what the hell they were talking about." Bolan retrieved his Uzi, but Da
"You have killed my sons."
"Uh-huh, you called the play, old man, not me. You lost the gold. You lost your boys. And if you don't lead us safely over that mountain at dawn, then I'm going to track down the rest of your family and wipe them out, too!" Bolan had no idea how he could have executed this snarled threat even if he had meant it, but the menacing warning deflated the chieftain once and for all.
He had just seen this deadly warrior in action and it never occurred to him that the words might be only an angry bluff.
He did not offer the slightest resistance when Bolan shackled him to the Hog. The big foreigner frisked him for other weapons — he had none concealed on him — and then quite calmly, almost as if nothing had happened, this strange invader poured out the last of the coffee from the pot. They took turns standing watch.
10
When Da
They switched lookout shifts once more during the night. Bolan did not appear to stir as he rested, but Da
She was well aware by now that Mack seemed to have covered every angle — but why had he brought along those steel handcuffs? Da
He packed up the last of their things, then stood over the chief. "Remember what I told you?"
The bedu did, only too well. "I'l1 will show you the way."
"No tricks."
"Oh no, sah'b — upon my honor!"
"Then let's go."
Da
The Arab pointed ahead to what appeared to be a dead end, so well did the colors of the rock blend into a seamless whole. Bolan approached with caution.
The trail hooked sharply, disappearing through the granite shoulders of a gap barely wide enough to admit the armored Jeep. Beyond this concealed entrance it widened out and, except for one large flattened rock that partially blocked the passage higher up, it was an easy gradient to the top of the escarpment.
Loose sand had drifted down into this natural fu
Bolan hesitated.
"I ca
Bolan unlocked the cuffs. Da
The man turned, beckoning them forward with a wave.
He moved faster now, the hill was getting easier, until he skipped sideways with several nimble steps.
Bolan was already halfway up the slope when the nomad made that last odd crablike maneuver.
He pulled up hard, jamming on the hand brake.
With utter horror Da
"Stop right there!" Bolan commanded.
The man glanced back as Bolan stood up — and as the American's hands cleared the windshield, he saw the fat round barrel of the silencer affixed to the Uzi.
The Arab weighed his chances. He was safely out of the mine strip. That big flat rock offered him cover less than twenty feet away. Bolan did not give him the chance to try for it... a short burst stuttered softly from the submachine gun. The whining bullets made more noise as they ricocheted off the corner of the slab, chipping out puffs of powdered rock.