The Eye of the Sahara,
Mauritania
Jen felt her stomach flip over, as her helicopter dove out of the night sky. Although a good flyer in general, she rarely flew in a helicopter, and had never been in one flown by an ex-military pilot who acted as if he were still flying in Afghanistan, trying to avoid surface-to-air missiles. She grabbed onto the nearest handhold and closed her eyes. Just as she thought she might lose her last meal, the moment quickly passed. Jen sat rocking back-and-forth in her seat, berating herself for eating before boarding the chopper for the scariest ride of her life.
The inside of the helicopter was blackened out, with only the green lights from the pilot’s controls lighting up the cabin, making it seem far smaller than it really was.
Jen turned her head to look outside; she could not see a thing in the pitch-black night. She doubted her mother was enjoying it any more than she was, as she was squeezing Jen’s hand so tightly that it almost hurt.
Jen took a deep breath to calm her nerves as the helicopter banked over and then slowed down as it positioned itself to land. A moment later, its wheels touched down on the rock-strewn surface on top of the ridge.
Their guard, a youthful-looking woman with a strong Scottish accent, quickly unbuckled herself and then helped Jen to unbuckle Mrs. March from her harness.
The side door of the helicopter opened, and cool, refreshing air rushed inside. Jen stepped through the open door and took a deep breath. Taking her mother by the hand, they followed close behind their guard, as she led them toward a well-lit, white-canvas tent guarded by several well-armed mercenaries. Jen was not surprised to see Romanov waiting for them, his hands resting on his hips with a faint smile on his lips.
“My dearest ladies, I am so glad that you could come here tonight,” said Romanov, as if welcoming old friends.
“I didn’t think we had a choice,” remarked Mrs. March, glaring at Romanov.
“You didn’t,” he replied, still smiling. “Now, ladies, I have some good news that I wish to share with you both.”
“You’re letting us go?” said Jen.
“No, but just as Madame Yusuf foretold, we have found the remains of the Goliath, resting in a deep crevice not very far from here,” stated Romanov.
“Then you don’t need us,” Jen said.
“Au contraire, I need you to find the crown jewels for me,” replied Romanov. “Madame Yusuf was quite specific about that. She insisted that you had to be here to tell me where to look in the wreckage.”
Jen bit her lip to stifle a scream. So much seemed to be riding on her, but she had absolutely no clue how she was going to pull off the miracle Romanov’s mystic claimed she was capable of doing.
Romanov snapped his fingers and then turned his back on the women as he stepped inside the tent. Two well-armed men moved over beside Jen and her mother and waved for them to follow Romanov. Stepping inside, Jen saw that there were several tables covered with debris collected from the crash site. A couple of white-lab-coated technicians were busy photographing and recording everything. On the table nearest to her were some personal effects from the crash: glasses, watches, and the occasional pitiful item of singed clothing were all that remained of the passengers and crew of the doomed airship.
A feeling of melancholy overcame Jen. This was not a dig to find answers about the past to help explain why the Goliath had disappeared. This was nothing more than a naked grab for wealth and power.
“Now, ladies, we are wasting precious time. Please come with me, I want to show you the crash site,” said Romanov.
Led by a couple of Romanov’s guards, Jen and Mrs. March walked to the edge of the ridge. Stopping, they looked down into a brightly lit excavation site. Jen edged forward as her curiosity grew. She peered down into the ever-growing hole dug out of the hard rock and sand, where tall, industrial searchlights illuminated the dig site, making it seem as bright as day inside the pit. At least two hundred Mauritanian soldiers slogged away with picks and shovels to remove the tons of debris covering the mangled remains of the Goliath. Jen had not known what to expect at the crash site, but the partial remains of the outer structure of the airship thrust out of the sand like the rib cage of some long-dead, giant, prehistoric beast. Looking around, Jen saw more well-armed men walking the perimeter of the site, keeping a watchful eye out into the pitch-black desert. They were a mix of nationalities and sexes. They did not look like the men in the pit; these people all looked like hardened killers to Jen. A cold shiver ran up her spine.
Romanov walked over and stood beside Jen and her mother. In his hands was an iPad tablet, that displayed a computer-enhanced schematic of the Goliath’s superstructure, superimposed upon the dig site.
“Now, Miss March, take a look at this and tell me where I should have my men dig,” said Romanov.
Jen took the tablet in her hands. Fear gripped her soul. She had no idea where the jewels could be. When she looked at the image on the screen, Jen saw that the Goliath must have hit the ground nose first, as it appeared to have collapsed in on itself upon impact. She’d spent countless hours reading about the Goliath, but now, looking down at the image on the screen, Jen found it hard to discern one part of the airship from another.
Romanov turned his cold gaze on Jen. “Well, Miss March, where are the jewels?”
Jen fought to control the panic growing inside her mind. She looked down at the screen and froze. There was no way in hell she could possibly know where the jewels were.
The sound of a pistol being loaded snapped Jen out of her paralysis. Looking over, her heart sank. Romanov stood there, with a gun pointed at her mother’s head.
“Jen, please!” pleaded her mother.
Her heart raced in her chest. Jen bit her lip and then looked down at the image; nothing was coming to her. She felt like screaming at the top of her lungs that she was not what Romanov believed she was, when she heard the hammer on Romanov’s pistol being pulled back. Fearing for her mother’s life, Jen closed her eyes and jabbed her finger at the screen, holding it there.
Romanov calmly released the hammer on his pistol, and walked over to see where Jen was pointing on the schematic. Her finger rested on a spot no more than twenty meters from where the soldiers were currently digging.
“See, Jen, I knew you could do it,” said Romanov, as he gently took the tablet out of her shaking hands.
Jen was about to say something, when her mother moved over beside her and wrapped her arms around her. Both women looked at one another, wishing that they could wake from the horrid nightmare in which they found themselves trapped.
Romanov saved the image on the screen and, at the top of his lungs, called over to the dig supervisor to give him new orders.
Jen looked over at Romanov. She could not decide if she had given him what he wanted, or only bought them a few more hours of life. There was no doubt in her mind that the instant Romanov got what he wanted, he would have them both killed. She held her mother tight in her arms. Jen took a deep breath and then peered up at the night sky. With a prayer on her lips, she wondered where Mitchell was, and if he was even alive. Something deep down told her that he had survived the crash, and would never rest until he found her. With a small smile on her lips, Jen knew that as long as she was alive the chance existed. He would come for her. The night now seemed less dark; there was hope.
24