seen from the top of the plateau. And, when he got out to look around, it became apparent that people had been there recently.
Very
recently judging from the occasional wisps of smoke that issued from a fire-blackened pit. “The Mog was here,” Damya emphasized. “Along with two other vehicles. The bandits made coffee and ate lunch.”
That was promising, since they were closing the gap, and Palmer was about to say as much when something caught his eye. A rock that wasn’t a rock! Moments later he was there, kneeling next to the Mongo Iron, checking to make sure the meteorite hadn’t been damaged. Having no need for what they perceived as a worthless boulder, and eager to lighten their load, it appeared that the bandits had taken advantage of the lunch break to dump the iron onto the ground where it had been left.
Up until that point Palmer hadn’t spent much time with the iron, hadn’t gotten to know it, the way he usually did. Because it was his opinion that each meteorite has its own personality, its own mysterious
feel,
even if the geologist in him knew that was silly. But silly or not Palmer felt that there was a brooding quality about the iron sitting in front of him. And something else as well…. It was almost as if the meteorite was alive in some strange way. Although that was stupid.
“So,” Guiscard said lightly, as his shadow fell across the meteorite. “You found it! Well done, especially since I want my fee…. But now what? It’s too heavy for the Volvo…. Assuming the three of us could lift it.”
“We’ll have to leave it here,” Palmer answered regretfully. “Then, once we recover the Mog, we’ll come back for it. In the meantime let’s get some GPS coordinates and try to make it less noticeable. The odds of another meteorite hunter happening along are a thousand to one but you never know.”
So more rocks were gathered up and heaped around the iron in order to make it less conspicuous. Then, eager to close with the bandits, the threesome were off again. But more slowly this time. Because it wasn’t long before the road became little more than a very primitive track and any sort of dust plume would give them away.
Damya was back in his specially rigged seat by that time, both because the light was starting to fade, and because the primitive road continued to branch left and right as it followed an underground river. Evidence of which could be seen in the green plants that had driven their roots down to the point where they could tap into the liquid hidden below.
Palmer was worried, because even though there were weapons in the back of the Volvo, they weren’t where he could reach them. And the further they went from the main road the more likely an ambush was. So the American felt relieved when Damya signaled for Guiscard to stop. Having freed himself from the harness the Tuareg made his way around to the driver’s side window. “The bandits will stop soon,” the scout predicted. “And stay the night. We must hide our vehicle—and proceed on foot. Then, if Allah smiles on us, we will steal the Mog!”
The plan not only made sense, but left Palmer with the impression that the Tuareg had participated in such raids before, and not necessarily on behalf of the government. So Guiscard drove the 4 X 4 off the road—and parked it behind a thicket of spindly bushes. “Can I make a suggestion?” Palmer inquired, as the two men came together at back end of the vehicle.
“Please do,” his friend replied. “In fact, given your combat experience, feel free to make lots of them!”
Palmer nodded. “Okay, I’ll take you at your word…. I think Damya’s plan makes sense—but execution is everything. Assuming we can locate their camp, and approach on foot, stealth will be extremely important. Because if it comes to a firefight we’re going to lose! Then, if we can penetrate their perimeter, it's going to be about speed. Damya says they have two vehicles in addition to the Mog. So