In another warehouselike structure that was mostly destroyed but hadn’t been burned, they found a huge pile of torpedo shells in one corner and barrels in another. While Mancini and Davis were pulling on their hazmat suits, Crocker was hit by a powerful stench.
“What the hell’s that?”
Lasher pointed to a bombed-out four-story concrete structure a hundred yards down the coast.
“It’s probably coming from that camp over there.”
“What kind of camp is it?”
“A refugee camp, I think.”
A couple of mangy-looking dogs wandered past. Mancini reported that the barrels contained acetone and other chemicals used to clean machinery.
“Anything that could be used to make a chemical weapon?”
“Negative, boss.”
Several gunshots went off from the direction of the refugee camp. Crocker turned and watched birds taking flight.
About a hundred feet from where he was standing, near the edge of the concrete driveway, Jabril and Lasher knelt down and were inspecting the ground.
Crocker went over to join them and asked, “What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what are you looking for?”
“There used to be an underground storage chamber around here,” Jabril answered, pushing back strands of gray hair. “A German company helped us build it back in the nineties.”
Mancini and Akil retrieved an underground locating device, a shovel, and other tools from the back of the SUV. The locating device was a handheld gadget about the size of a toaster. Within minutes it started buzzing.
Akil removed his shirt and started digging. Under three feet of sand he struck a concrete door.
“That’s it,” Jabril said.
Akil cut through the lock with an acetylene torch.
A dozen concrete steps led down to a room that stank of mildew and rotting garlic. Mancini, holding a flashlight and wearing a white plastic hazmat suit and hood, went down first. He scurried back seconds later and removed his hood.
“What’s the matter?” Crocker asked.
“There are snakes down there. Lots of ’em. Give me the shovel. Davis, you hold the light.”
They’d brought only two suits, so Crocker descended nine steps and crouched down to look. It was a long, narrow room, approximately ten feet wide and sixty feet long. The side of the room to Crocker’s left was filled with racks of artillery shells and torpedoes, and the floor was covered with snakes.
The chamber looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years.
After they’d scared away the snakes by waving their arms and stomping on the floor, they managed to remove one of the artillery shells, which tested positive for sulfur chloride—a main ingredient of mustard gas.
Jabril said, “This whole area needs to be sealed off immediately. This material could be terribly dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands.”
“The mustard gas?”
“Even if it has decomposed, the substances it creates can be extremely toxic.”
Lasher used his satellite phone to notify NATO command, which said it was dispatching a team to secure the base.
“Tell them to get here fast.”
They stood in the afternoon sun and waited. Akil, whose mind always seemed fixated on women, asked Jabril if it was true that Gaddafi had surrounded himself with an entourage of sexy female bodyguards.
“He called them his Amazons and had sex with all of them.”
“How many of them were there?” Akil asked.
“Four or five hundred.”
Akil smiled. “Nice.”
“A group of them traveled with him everywhere, dressed in tight-fitting camouflage uniforms and high heels, nail polish, mascara. He also had a staff of Ukrainian nurses who stayed by his side all the time. His favorite was a girl named Galyna, a beautiful blonde, like a Playboy Playmate.”
Akil said, “I’d love to meet her.”
“She’s an old woman now.”
“What do you mean by old?”
“Fifty.”
Ritchie said, “As long as she’s still breathing, Akil doesn’t care.”
Jabril told them a story of traveling with the Libyan leader to Paris. Since Gaddafi didn’t trust elevators and didn’t like staying in hotels, he had ended up pitching his Bedouin tent on a farm outside the city.
Coincidentally, the soldiers who arrived to secure the base were French. There were a dozen of them, with German shepherds. They were businesslike and unfriendly. As they unloaded sandbags and rolls of razor wire from the back of a truck, Akil said, “I think we interrupted their nap.”
The French captain, who spoke English, got in his face. “I think you should show a little more respect.”
“Sorry, monsieur, I meant no offense.”