“Okay, concentrate your search efforts on the Devil’s Oasis being in Zimbabwe, but don’t rule out anything. We’ll keep steaming southward and hopefully you’ll have something by the time we reach the Tropic of Capricorn. Meanwhile, I’m going to talk with Langston to see if the CIA has anything on this and maybe have him send out some feelers to the Swiss government as well as the board of Merrick/Singer. Let them know they might have options.”
“This isn’t our usual way of doing things, Chairman.”
“I know, Linda, but we might be in the right place at the right time to make this all work out.”
“Or the kidnappers are going to issue their demands today, Merrick/ Singer will pay the ransom, and good old Geoffrey boy will be home in time for dinner.”
“You’re forgetting one critical piece.” Juan didn’t match her light tone. “Flying him out of the country is a risk they didn’t need if this was about a cash ransom. If that’s all they wanted they would have stashed him someplace within Switzerland, issued their demands, and been done with it. If their planning is as meticulous as you suspect, there has to be another level to their plot we haven’t seen.”
Linda Ross nodded, sensing the gravity of the situation. “Like what?”
“Find the Devil’s Oasis and maybe we’ll know.”
7
THE headphones clamped around Sloane’s ears made her so sweaty that her hair felt glued to her skin, but to take them off to cool herself meant she had to endure the pounding throb of the helicopter’s engine and rotor. It was a balance of discomforts that she’d endured for two fruitless days.
The back of her shirt was also sticky. Every time she shifted position it stuck to the vinyl seat. She’d learned early on to hold the shirt when she moved or it would tighten across her chest, gaining her a leering grin from Luka, who sat next to her on the rear bench seat. She would have preferred to sit in the front next to the pilot, but he said he needed Tony’s weight in the cockpit to keep the small chopper in proper trim.
They were returning to Swakopmund for the last time, for which Sloane was both grateful and frustrated. Seven times they’d flown out over the ocean and searched the spots circled on her map and seven times they’d returned to refuel, having found nothing but natural rock formations. The portable metal detector they could dip into the water on a long tether failed to find any metal source large enough to be an anchor, let alone an entire ship.
Her body ached from so many hot hours in the cramped chopper and she thought she’d never get Luka’s body odor out of her nostrils. She had been so sure of her plan to use local fishermen’s knowledge of the waters off the coast that she hadn’t even considered failing. But now that they were returning to the little heliport in the dunes outside of Swakopmund, defeat scalded the back of her throat while the glare off the ocean below penetrated her sunglasses and made her head pound.