said imperiously, “is total and unrestricted access to the Group’s resources worldwide. Men, information, money—everything, from all the members.”
The American eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”
“If we’re going to beat Wilde and Chase to the meteorite, we can’t afford to waste time discussing how to proceed. We have to act quickly and decisively. There’s still a chance we can catch them before they leave Switzerland, or at least before they reach Africa, but unfortunately they’re very resourceful—as you’ve just seen. If we can get people and equipment in place in Ethiopia as soon as possible, we still have a chance of beating them. We can either capture Wilde and force her to locate the stone for us …”
“Or let her lead us to it,” finished Warden.
“Exactly.”
The American nodded again. “All right. I’ll give you complete access.” He took out his phone—then fixed Stikes with a warning look, raising a finger. “Don’t screw this up.”
“I won’t,” Stikes replied firmly. “I’m not going to let them win.”
THIRTY-TWO
Ethiopia
Peter Alderley dabbed sweat off his drooping mustache as he warily surveyed the street outside the ramshackle café. “I shouldn’t even be here, you know,” he said. “MI6 generally isn’t too happy about its officers taking unscheduled trips to foreign countries. If anyone finds out—”
“Hey, everyone!” Eddie suddenly cried, pointing excitedly at him. “British secret agent, right here! It’s Peter Alderley! Come on, quick, get his autograph and listen to him drone on about restoring his 1973 Ford Capri!” None of the passing residents of Dubti, some forty miles from the border with Djibouti in Ethiopia’s northeastern corner, seemed remotely interested in the revelation, or even found anything particularly unusual about the presence of three Westerners in their town. While the country in general was hardly a tourist trap, the wildlife reserve and national park to the south meant that international visitors were not uncommon.
“Eddie,” Nina chided. He laughed and sat back.
“Very funny,” Alderley muttered. “And it’s a 1971, actually.”
“We do appreciate this, Peter, really,” Nina assured him. It was two days since they had left Switzerland, having contacted Alderley and on his advice traveled first to Slovenia before flying on via Egypt to the eponymous capital of Djibouti, where the MI6 officer met them for the road trip into the neighboring country. Alderley’s contacts in both African nations had allowed them to make the journey without any official hassles—for a modest fee.
“And we appreciate this little lot too,” added Eddie, nudging a rucksack beneath their table.
Alderley winced. “Be careful with that!”
“Why? It’s not going to blow up.”
The MI6 man’s expression didn’t inspire confidence. “Is it?” Nina asked.
“The actual explosives should be stable. But they’re … well, past their sell-by date, put it that way. I couldn’t exactly requisition them from the quartermaster at Vauxhall Cross! They’ve been tucked away here for years by someone I know. So I wouldn’t throw them around.”
“What about the detonators?” said Eddie.
“Standard RC units—you’ll have used them before in the SAS. They’ve all got new batteries, but there’s still some risk of deterioration, and since they’re one-use items there’s no way to test them in the field—other than actually firing them, I suppose. As for the trigger”—he took a device the size of a chunky mobile phone from the rucksack—“it’s as reliable as any other electronic device in sub-optimal conditions, so … caveat emptor.” He gave Nina an apologetic smile.
Eddie took the trigger unit from him. “What’s the setup?”
“Simple enough, even for you.” The Yorkshireman made a sarcastic face. “Five channels, controlled by the dial.” Alderley indicated the control, around which were marked the numbers one to five and the words FULL and SAFE. It was currently set to the latter. “The numbers are for individual detonators, obviously, and FULL blows everything simultaneously. Just switch it on and push the red button. Boom. The range is up to about a mile.”
“What about the blast radius?”
“I’d say you want to be at least fifty yards clear—more if you’re taking out something that might produce shrapnel.”
“We’ll definitely want to be more than fifty yards away, then,” said Nina.
“I see.” Alderley took a sip from his bottle of Coca-Cola. “You’re really not going to give me any more than that? Even after everything I’ve done to get you here?”
She shook her head. “This will probably sound like a horrible spy cliché, but the less you know the better. The people we’re trying to avoid are extremely powerful.”
“How powerful?”
“Enough to have the ear of presidents.”
“And bring down ex-presidents,” Eddie added.
Alderley’s eyebrows flicked up. “Dalton?” Nina nodded.