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"Unless he speaks Arabic or French and looks like a native," said Levant.
"No chance of that," said Sandecker.
Bock tapped the map of Mali with his finger. "Colonel Levant and a tactical team of forty men can be on the ground at Gao inside of twelve hours."
"We could, but we won't," cautioned Levant. "Twelve hours from now would put us there just after sunup, Mali time."
"My mistake," Bock corrected himself. "No way I can risk our force in daylight."
"The longer we wait," said Sandecker acidly, "the better Gunn's chances for being caught and shot."
"I promise you my men and I will do our best to get your man out," Levant said solemnly. "But not at great risk to others."
"Do not fail." Sandecker looked at Levant steadily. "He's carrying information that is critical for the survival of us all."
Bock's face wore a skeptical expression as he weighed Sandecker's words. Then his eyes turned hard. "Fair warning, Admiral, sanctioned or not by the Secretary General of the UN, if a score of my men die on a wild goose chase to save just one of yours, there better be urgent justification, or by God somebody is going to deal with me personally."
The inference of who somebody was came through clearly. Sandecker didn't even bat an eyelid. He had called in a debt from an old friend with an intelligence agency who passed him file copies of the UNICRATT force. They were called unicrazies by other special forces, tough men who lived and fought on the edge. Unafraid to die, totally fearless in combat, and incapable of mercy, there were few better at the craft of killing. And each acted as agents of their own nation, passing on information concerning undercover UN activities as a matter of course. He'd read a psychological profile on General Bock and knew squarely where he stood.
Sandecker leaned across the table and gazed at Bock through eyes that seemed to spark like knives on a grindstone. "Now hear this, you big Luger head. I don't give a damn about how many men you lose s
piriting Gunn out of Mali. Just get him out. Screw up and your ass is mine."
Bock didn't hit him. He just sat there, staring at Sandecker from under great shrubs of gray eyebrows, and the bemused look in the eyes was that of a grizzly bear tucking in his napkin before dining on a rancher's calf. The Admiral was less than half Bock's size and any fight would have been over in the blink of an eye. Then the big German relaxed with a laugh.
"Now that you and I understand each other, why don't we get on with it and hatch a foolproof plan."
Sandecker smiled and slowly relaxed in his chair. He offered Bock one of his mammoth cigars. "A pleasure doing business with you, General. Let us hope the association will prove profitable."
Hala Kamil stood on the steps of the Waldorf Astoria hotel waiting for her limousine after leaving a formal inner given in her honor by the UN Ambassador from India. There was a light rain and the streets reflected the lights of the city on the wet pavement. As the long black Lincoln pulled to the curb she stepped under an umbrella held by the doorman, gathered up the long skirt of her dress, and gracefully slipped into the rear seat.
Ismail Yerli was already seated inside. He took her hand and kissed it. "I'm sorry to meet you like this," he apologized, "but it's too risky for us to be seen together."
"It's been a long time, Ismail," said Hala, her large eyes soft and radiant. "You've avoided me."
He glanced toward the chauffeur's compartment, making sure the divider window was raised. "I felt it best for you if I simply faded away. You've come too far and worked too hard to lose it all because of scandal."
"We could have been discreet," Hala said in a low voice.
Yerli shook his head. "Love affairs of men in power are largely ignored. But a woman in your position; the news media and gossip mongers would savage you in every nation of the world."
"I still have great affection for you, Ismail."
He put his hand over hers. "And I for you, but you are the best thing that ever happened to the United Nations. I won't be the cause of your downfall."
"So you walked out," she said, a hurt look growing in her eyes. "How very noble of you."
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "To avoid headlines reading, `Secretary General of the UN revealed as mistress to French intelligence agent working undercover in the World Health Organization.' My superiors at the Second Division of the National Defense Staff wouldn't exactly be overjoyed at my exposure either."
"We've kept our relationship a secret until now," she protested. "Why not continue?"
"Impossible."
"You're well known as a Turkish national. Who could possibly discover the French recruited you when you were a student at Istanbul University?"
"If someone digs deep enough they'll strike secrets. The first rule of a good agent is to operate in the shadows without being too furtive and too visible. I compromised my cover at the UN when I fell in love with you. If either British, Soviet, or American intelligence get even a whiff of our relationship, their investigation teams would never stop until they filled a file with sordid details which they would then use to extort favors from your high office."
"They haven't yet," she said hopefully.
