“Tucker, keep a close eye on that plane. If they finish off that other truck too quickly, we might still draw the spotter’s attention.”
“Got it.” He twisted around in his seat, climbed out the open passenger window, and rested his butt on the sill. With one hand clutching the roof rack, Tucker watched the pickup truck’s progress.
“Doesn’t look like he’s going to make it!” he called out.
“They rarely do! Hold on tight!”
The Rover picked up speed, slewing around obstacles, bouncing over rock outcroppings, and dipping into dune troughs. The cooling desert wind whipped through Tucker’s hair. His heart pounded with the exhilaration.
“How far to the border now?” he shouted.
“One mile. Ninety seconds.”
Tucker watched the plane suddenly bank right, running parallel now to the racing truck.
“Almost there!” Christopher called.
Fire arched from the plane’s doorway and streamed toward the truck. The aircraft’s minigun poured a hundred rounds per second into its target, tearing the vehicle apart in an incendiary display that lit the black desert.
The engagement quickly ended.
Smoke and flames swirled from the wreckage.
Above, the plane banked in a circle over the ruins. As it turned, their dust trail would surely be spotted.
“He’s coming about,” Tucker called.
He turned forward to see a waist-high stone cairn flash by the right bumper of the Rover. Any closer and it would have knocked Tucker from his perch.
“Border marker!” Christopher called. “We’re across! Welcome to Namibia!”
Tucker ducked back inside and buckled up.
From the backseat, Kane crowded forward and licked his face.
“Are we safe?” Anya asked.
“We’re in Namibia,” Christopher replied. “So no.”
Bukolov leaned forward, red-faced and apoplectic. “For God’s sake! Are you two trying to get me killed? Actually trying?”
Tucker glanced back. “No, Doctor, but the day’s not over yet.”
33
March 20, 10:11 P.M.
Borderlands of Namibia
“Should be just over that next dune,” Tucker said.
He had a map on his lap and his GPS unit in hand.
“What are we looking for?” Anya asked, leaning forward between the two front seats, careful of her cast.
After their flight across the border, Christopher kept the Rover at a cautious pace, proceeding overland, using the terrain to cover as much of their movement as possible.
“There should be a paved road,” Tucker replied. “One heading west into the mountains.”
“Is that wise?” she asked. “Won’t there be traffic?”
“Perhaps, but a vehicle with South African plates in Namibia isn’t unusual. As long as we don’t attract attention to ourselves, the odds are in our favor.”
Christopher glanced over to her. “And on the road, we’re less likely to encounter guerrillas or bandits.”
“That is, until we reach the mountain trails,” Tucker added. “Once we’re off the paved roads and climbing into the badlands, then all bets are off.”
With his headlamps still dowsed, Christopher picked his way over the last of the dunes. A blacktop road appeared ahead, cutting straight across the sands. They waited a minute, making sure no traffic was in sight, then bumped over the shoulder and out onto the smooth pavement.
Christopher flipped on his lights and headed west.
Despite its remote location, the road was well maintained and well marked but completely devoid of traffic. For the next twenty-five miles, as the road wound higher into the mountain’s foothills, they saw not a single vehicle, person, or sign of civilization.
The road finally ended at a T-junction. Christopher brought the Rover to a stop. In the backseat, Bukolov was snoring loudly. Anya had also fallen asleep, curled in the fetal position against the door.
“She is lovely,” Christopher said. “Is she your woman?”
“No.”
“I see. But you fancy each other, yes?”
Tucker rolled his eyes. “It’s complicated. Mind your business.”
Still, he considered Christopher’s words. Anya certainly was attractive, but he hadn’t given much thought to any sort of relationship with her. She would need a friend once she reached America, and he would be that for her, but beyond that . . . only time would tell. He felt pity for her, felt protective of her, but those feelings might not be the healthiest way to start a romance. And, more important, this was the wrong place and time to think about any of it.
Especially in guerrilla-infested Namibia.
Tucker checked their GPS coordinates against the map. “We’re on track,” he said. “We should turn right here, go a quarter mile, then turn northwest onto a dirt trail.”
“And then how far to our destination?”
“Eighteen miles.”
At least he hoped so. If his bearing and range measurements were off by even a fraction of a degree, the cave could be miles from where he thought it was. Plus even if his calculations were accurate, the landmark they needed to find—the Boar’s Head—could have been obliterated by time and erosion. He felt a flicker of panicky despair. Tucker tried to shove it down.
Deal with what’s in front of you, Ranger, he reminded himself again.
“That’s a long distance to cover,” Christopher said. “And the terrain will only get rougher.”
“I know.” Tucker checked his watch. “It’s almost midnight, and I don’t want to tackle the mountains until daylight. Once we’re a little higher in the foothills, we’ll start looking for a place to camp and get some rest. At dawn, Kane and I will do some reconnoitering.
In the backseat, Bukolov snorted, groaned, then muttered, “My ears hurt.”
“We’re at three thousand feet of elevation, Professor,” Christopher said. “Your ears will adjust soon. Go back to sleep.”
A short time later, they were off the blacktop and bouncing slowly along a rutted dirt road. They followed the ever-narrowing tract higher into the foothills.
After an hour of this, Tucker pointed to a craggy hill with a clump of scrub forest at the top. “See if you can find a way up there.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Christopher turned right off the trail and down an embankment. He followed a dry riverbed that wound to the hill’s southern face and discovered a natural ramp that headed up. After another hundred yards, they reached a clearing surrounded by a crescent of boulders, shaded by stubby trees.