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"What if there is a code for calling down the elevator?" asked Giordino.
"A little late to think of that now," Pitt grunted. "We'll just have to use our own code."
He stepped up to the elevator, thought for a moment, and then pressed the button beside the door once, twice, then three times, paused and pressed twice more.
Through the doors they could hear the switches click and the electric motor hummed to life as the elevator began its descent from a level above.
"You must have struck a chord," said Giordino, smiling.
"I trusted to luck that any combination might work just so long as it wasn't one long buzz."
In a half minute the hum stopped and the doors opened. The operator guard looked out and didn't see anyone. Curious, he stepped over the threshold and was knocked out by a quick thrust of Pitt's gun butt against the nape of his neck. Giordino quickly dragged the operator inside as Pitt closed the doors.
"All aboard for a nonstop run to the executive offices," said Pitt, pressing the upper button of the panel.
"No tours of the crusher or cyanide recovery floors?"
"Only if you insist."
"I'll pass," Giordino grunted as the elevator began rising.
They stood side-by-side in the small enclosure, watching the lights blink on the indicator above the switch panel, wondering if they'd be greeted by an army of Tuareg guards ready to shoot them full of holes. The hum ceased and the elevator eased to a stop so smoothly it was hardly sensed.
Pitt readied his gun and nodded to Giordino. "Get set."
The door opened and nobody pumped bullets into them. There was an engineer and a guard walking together in the corridor, it was true, but they were absorbed in conversation and walking away, their backs to the elevator.
"It's almost as if they want us to leave," Giordino mumbled.
"Don't tempt the gods," Pitt said curtly. "We're not out of here yet."
There was nowhere to hide the elevator operator, so Pitt pushed the button to the lowest level and sent him on his way. They tagged behind the guard and engineer, keeping out of sight, until O'Bannion's men turned and entered an office behind one of the antique carved doors.
The fluted wall corridor was as deserted as when the guards marched them through less than twenty-four hours previously. Guns poised and aimed ahead, they each ran along one wall of the corridor until it met the tunnel leading to the Gallery where the trucks were parked. A Tuareg, seated on a camp stool, guarded the entrance. Not expecting trouble from the engineering offices and living quarters behind him, he was sitting and smoking a pipe while reading the Koran.
They stopped to take a breath and looked back the way they had come. No one had appeared behind them. They fumed their attention to the final hurdle. It was open ground for a good 50 meters with no visible sign of surveillance cameras.
"I can run faster than you," Pitt whispered as he handed his gun to Giordino. "If he comes on to me before I reach him, take him out with a quick shot."
"Just don't get in my line of fire," Giordino warned him.
Pitt removed his shoes, then took a sprinter's start 'position, firmly gripped his feet on the rock floor, tensed, and then sprang forward, accelerating to a fast pace. He was, Pitt knew with sickening certainty, terribly exposed. Though his stocking feet were muffled, the acoustics in the rock-hewn tunnel were too acute. He had covered almost 40 meters before the guard, curious at the sound of thumping feet behind him, turned and stared dumbly at the slave laborer hurtling toward him. But Pitt's saving grace was the guard's slow reaction time. The machine gun's barrel was just beginning to rise as Pitt leaped and smashed into the guard.
Shock it was that showed in the guard's eyes, then quick, flashing pain as his head struck the rock wall and the eyes rolling into the head as he went limp under Pitt's weight. Pitt rolled off the guard, sucking in air to catch his breath. He lay on his back panting as Giordino approached and looked down.
"Not bad speed for an old man crowding forty," he said, extending his hand and helping Pitt to his feet.
"I'm not going to try that again. Not ever," Pitt shook his head in finality. On his feet again his gaze took in the long underground gallery. Two Renault trucks were parked side-by-side just next to the narrow tunnel leading out into the ravine. Then he stared at the crumpled form of the Tuareg. "You're a big strong boy," he said to Giordino. "Carry him over to the nearest truck and dump him in the bed. We'll take him with us. If anyone wanders by, they might think he got bored, left his post, and went for a joyride."
Giordino easily shouldered the guard and hoisted him over the tailgate of the first truck as Pitt stepped into the cab and checked the dashboard instruments. There was no ignition key but the switch turned off and on without one. As Fairweather had promised, the fuel gauge read "Full."
He flipped on the switch and pressed the starter button. The engine kicked over and started right up.
"Is there a clock on the dash?" inquired Giordino.
A quick scan and Pitt shook his head. "This is a cheap model with no options. Why do you want to know?"
"Those dirty Tuaregs took my watch. I've lost all tra
