The Secret of Excalibur

by Andy McDermott

  Sudden shouting broke her reverie and she looked round, startled. ‘Rami!’ cried al-Sabban, annoyed. The commotion was coming from the prayer hall. ‘Wait here, I will deal with him.’

  Above, Chase and Mitchell stood helplessly as Hanif, more angry than ever, screeched at them in Arabic. Karima tried to speak, but barely got a few words out before being shouted down. ‘Guess we really pissed him off this time,’ Chase muttered.

  Al-Sabban’s head popped up through the hole like a gopher. ‘Rami!’ he snapped, beginning a vocal exchange with the younger imam. He finally managed to shout Hanif into silence, then clambered out of the cellar entrance. ‘He is angry because you two are in the prayer hall,’ he told Chase and Mitchell, ‘and also because you are with her.’ He indicated a curtain at the other end of the room that could be drawn to divide the prayer hall into two sections. ‘Men and women are kept apart during prayer. He thinks you are insulting Islam by being here like this.’

  Hanif began shouting again, and al-Sabban listened before irritably conceding some point. ‘It seems I will only be able to shut him up if you wait in the courtyard.’

  ‘What about Nina?’ Chase asked.

  ‘She is fine. She is engrossed,’ said the imam. He shook his head, then started for the door. ‘Come, wait outside. Mr Mitchell, this may be a good time to talk about your donation.’ He eyed Mitchell’s bag.

  Hanif followed the group, waiting in the prayer hall’s doorway like a guard dog as al-Sabban led Chase, Mitchell and Karima to a small pool in the courtyard. Chase blinked in the sunlight; the cool of the mosque’s interior made returning to the desert heat all the more jarring. Over the gurgle of water from the fountain he heard a car coming along the street outside, the first sign of life in the village.

  ‘So how big a donation were you thinking, Mr al-Sabban?’ Mitchell asked.

  Al-Sabban made a show of considering the question. ‘I was thinking of . . . something in the region of . . . ten thousand dollars?’

  ‘Done,’ said Mitchell, holding out his hand. Somewhat startled, al-Sabban hesitantly shook it. Mitchell then opened the bag and laid out several bundles of banknotes on a low wall before the imam. Karima looked on disapprovingly, but Chase simply smirked. Al-Sabban had clearly expected to haggle, thinking ten grand was an amount well out of reach, whereas Mitchell had been willing to pay more - probably a lot more.

  Karima wasn’t the only person who didn’t approve. Hanif scurried over as al-Sabban counted the money. Chase’s knowledge of Arabic was modest, but he didn’t need a translator to know Hanif was demanding to know what the hell was going on.

  Al-Sabban’s answer left the young imam open-mouthed in dismay. He jabbed a finger at the banknotes, then pointed to Mitchell. ‘No! Take back! Take money back!’

  ‘Well, at least he’s not so angry at us any more,’ said Karima as Hanif continued his impassioned rant in Arabic.

  Al-Sabban just smiled. ‘The young, they do not understand. But I have been over thirty years in this horrible place!’ He swept his arms wide to take in the run-down surroundings. ‘Peasants, simpletons, ugh! Now I can finally get away from them, and retire in comfort!’

  ‘But you’re doing it by selling a holy relic,’ Karima objected.

  ‘Holy relic?’ al-Sabban scoffed. ‘It has been in a box for years, nobody cared about it until today. It is junk! Who will miss it?’

  ‘He might,’ said Chase as Hanif returned to the prayer hall in disgust.

  ‘After he has been here for thirty years, he will feel the same way!’ The imam continued talking, thanking Mitchell, but Chase suddenly stopped listening.

  There was engine noise outside the walls of the mosque - not the light vehicle he’d heard before, but a truck.

  And a second car—

  He pulled out his gun. ‘I think we’ve got a problem,’ he said, hurrying to the gate. After the total inactivity of Kasfashta when they arrived, three vehicles at once was practically a parade.

  ‘What are you doing?’ al-Sabban protested. ‘This is a place of worship, you cannot bring guns in here!’

  Chase ignored him, inching open one of the wooden doors to peer out at the street. ‘Oh, fuck.’ A jeep was pulling up on the other side of the dirt road - a jeep painted in the dull green of the Syrian army, three soldiers inside. ‘Company’s com—’

  Company was already there.

  The other door burst open as someone slammed against it, knocking Chase backwards. Momentarily dazed, he stumbled before recovering his footing. He brought up his gun—Too late.

  Syrian troops poured into the courtyard, rifles aimed at them.

  11

  Wondering what was keeping al-Sabban, Nina returned to the cellar entrance with the sword. She climbed out, surprised that nobody was waiting. Hanif was lurking at the doors, his back to her, peering out into the courtyard.

  His stance was odd, as if he were frozen in shock . . .

  Something was wrong.

  Hanif turned to face her, his expression no longer angry, but fearful. Noises reached her from outside. Boots on the paving, the clanks and thumps of men laden with equipment.

  The Syrians. Somehow they had discovered they were here.

  Hanif was the obvious suspect, but as he ran to her she saw something in his eyes that instantly convinced her otherwise. He was as horrified by the arrival of the soldiers as she was. ‘Quick, quick!’ he said, his accent so thick the words were barely understandable. ‘You, hide!’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Mahmoud - bad man! He, he . . .’ He shook his hands in frustration, unable to find the right words, before miming holding a telephone receiver to his ear.

  ‘Phone?’

  ‘Yes, yes! He phone army! Sell you!’

  ‘He sold us out?’ Hanif nodded frantically. ‘Son of a bitch!’

  ‘You hide! I stop them!’ He raced back to the door, robes flapping.

  ‘Shit,’ Nina gasped. The young imam may not have approved of their presence in the mosque - but he clearly approved of al-Sabban betraying them for money in a house of worship even less. She could only assume that al-Sabban’s plan had been to take Mitchell’s money in exchange for the sword and then tell the Syrians they’d stolen it, allowing him to keep both the sword and the money after they were arrested.

  She hunted for an escape route. The cellar was out - it had no other exits, and nowhere she could hide that would not be discovered almost immediately. Nothing she had seen going to and from al-Sabban’s office suggested that there were any exits that way either.

  That left the minaret.

  Most of the mosque was a single storey, but the tower was over twice as high as the rest of the building. Maybe there was a way on to the roof . . .

  She ran to the ladder and looked up. Daylight was visible at the top. There had been a staircase running round the interior of the narrow tower at one time, but little now remained, just stumps poking from the walls. The rope tied to the sturdy wooden pallet ran up to a pulley attached to the ceiling. Several electrical flexes dangled loosely from the upper floor, but she had no idea what they were for.

  No time to wonder, either. She heard yells from the courtyard, Hanif ’s protests shouted down by deeper voices.

  Climb—

  She raced up the rungs. Below, the doors flew open. She looked back. Hanif had his arms spread wide, trying unsuccessfully to stop three soldiers from coming in. They saw her.

  One of them raised his gun—

  Hanif slapped it down. The soldier, an officer, raised an angry hand as if about to hit him, but held back the blow. He may have been young, but he was still an imam.

  One of the soldiers, skinny and rat-faced, barely more than a boy, ran to the ladder and leered up at Nina. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, but he had a long and unpleasant-looking knife in one hand.

  Nina tried to climb faster, the broken blade impeding her. The ladder shook as the young soldier scurried after her. ‘Shit shit shit!’r />
  The ladder led to a wooden platform. The power cables turned out to be connected to a tape deck and a large loudspeaker, used to sound the adhan, the Muslim call to prayer, across the village, but Nina ignored them as she searched for a way to stop her pursuer. Maybe she could kick down the ladder . . .

  No use. It was tied to the platform.

  She hurried to the half-repaired wall, seeing Chase and the others being forced at gunpoint into the back of a truck behind the mosque. But there was no way down, the scaffolding only extending a few feet below the level of the platform, just enough to give the builders a foothold.

  The rope around the pulley - could she use it to climb down the outside of the minaret?

  She grabbed the hanging length of rope, a knot stopping it from falling back through the pulley, but already knew the plan would fail. At 116 pounds she was hardly a heavyweight, but the pallet used to lift bricks to the top of the tower probably weighed less than a quarter as much. As a counterweight, it would barely slow her.

  But it was too late anyway. The soldier had reached the top of the ladder, the knife ready in one hand.

  Still holding the rope, Nina backed away. The soldier grinned mercilessly, seeing she was trapped as he clambered on to the platform beside the loudspeaker—

  She hit the tape deck’s ‘play’ button.

  The adhan boomed from the speaker. It almost deafened Nina - but it was like a physical blow to the soldier. He slapped his hands to his ears with an inaudible scream, staggering, and stumbled over the rope.

  Nina pulled with all her might. The rope snapped tight around his ankle. She pulled again . . . and the soldier toppled over the edge of the platform.

  The rope shot through the pulley as the man plunged to the ground. Nina stopped the tape, the adhan still ringing in her ears as she looked down. Screaming and flailing, the soldier fell - pulling the pallet towards her at the same speed.

  She threw herself back as it slammed into the pulley, shards of wood scattering everywhere. The rope pulled taut with a thwack. The scrawny soldier’s fall had been caught just above the ground, where he was dangling by one leg, screeching and flapping as his two comrades ran to help him.

  Their faces turned upwards, guns rising—

  Nina grabbed the pallet, flinging herself over the broken wall and into the open air beyond.

  She had her counterweight.

  The soldier was whisked back up the minaret as Nina dropped down its exterior. She kicked at the wall, trying to abseil down - but was falling too fast, her feet slipping and spinning her out of control. The sword piece fell from under her arm. With a panicked shriek, she swung towards the ground, the military truck rushing up at her . . .

  A soldier started to emerge from the back of the truck to investigate the noise - and Nina smashed into him feet first, propelling him inside again. He collided with a second soldier, both of them collapsing at the feet of their prisoners.

  Nina landed in a heap on the ground and let go of the rope, which instantly whipped away back up the minaret, the luckless soldier on its other end plunging back down the tower to crash on to the two other men. Winded, she looked up. Chase, Mitchell and Karima stared down at her from the back of the truck. ‘And I thought Mitzi made a good entrance,’ said Mitchell.

  Chase grabbed an AK-74 assault rifle from one of the fallen guards. ‘Let’s truck off !’ He jumped down from the vehicle, quickly checking for other soldiers before pulling Nina to her feet and kissing her on the cheek. ‘Oh, and thanks.’

  ‘Any time,’ she replied, shaken but managing a smile. Mitchell took the other soldier’s AK, and Karima yanked a pistol from his holster before they too jumped down to the ground.

  ‘How many of them are there?’ Nina asked.

  Chase glanced round one side of the truck to check the way was clear, Mitchell doing the same on the other. ‘About ten. Two jeeps and this truck.’ Five down . . . but five still remaining, all armed.

  ‘Where’s the sword?’ Mitchell demanded.

  Nina looked round. ‘Shit, I dropped it - no, there!’ She pointed; the broken blade was sticking out of the sandy ground.

  ‘Come on.’ He ran with Nina to retrieve it. ‘Time to leave.’

  Nina heard more shouting from the mosque’s courtyard as she picked up the sword. ‘You do remember that we’re twenty miles from the border, right?’

  ‘Then we’d better get started!’ Chase called. ‘Karima, get back to the camels. Nina, go with her.’

  ‘We can’t outrun them on camels!’ Nina protested. ‘They’ve got jeeps!’

  Chase grinned. ‘Not for long.’ He waited until she had started after Karima before firing a single shot to blow out one of the truck’s front tyres. Then he signalled for Mitchell to follow him round the side of the mosque to the street.

  The sound of the shot would have told the soldiers where they were - which was exactly what Chase wanted, as it would draw them away from the two women. He and Mitchell jogged down the alley, AKs raised.

  A Syrian soldier ran round the corner - and skidded almost comically to a stop in a cloud of dust, getting off a single wild shot purely on reflex before flinging himself back into cover as Chase and Mitchell fired. Stone chipped and splintered where the bullets hit.

  Chase knew where the two jeeps were parked, having memorised their positions while he was being taken to the truck. The rest of the soldiers would be just round the corner by now, some of them moving across the street to cover the alley while the others prepared to spring out from behind the mosque and blast anyone in sight.

  Chase didn’t give them the chance. Instead he ran to the far side of the alley, the first jeep coming into view across the street. Three of the Syrians were using it as cover, lying in wait - but they hadn’t expected him to sprint right into the open, needing a moment to react—

  The moment was all he needed, flicking the AK to full auto and unleashing a thudding burst of bullets - not at the soldiers, but at their jeep. They ducked as its rear wing cratered, hot lead ripping through the metal . . .

  Into the fuel tank.

  A line of fire spurting on to the dusty road gave the soldiers all the warning they needed that they should run, now. Chase was already racing back to take cover against the mosque as the petrol vapour inside the punctured fuel tank ignited—

  The jeep blew up like a small bomb. The fleeing soldiers were thrown to the ground by the blast as the blazing vehicle cartwheeled across the road, flaming fuel spewing out behind it. The two soldiers round the corner desperately hurled themselves out of its path as it smashed into the mosque wall, then bounced back to land upside down in the middle of the street.

  One of the soldiers sprawled at the end of the alley looked up, saw Chase pressed against the wall, raised his rifle - and took the butt of Mitchell’s AK to his temple. Chase dropped his now empty gun and picked up the unconscious Syrian’s weapon to replace it. ‘Thanks.’

  Mitchell peered round the corner. ‘Did you get ’em all?’

  ‘We’ll see in a sec,’ said Chase. Two men at his feet, one already out cold: he sent the other to join him by kicking him in the back of the head. It would hurt when he woke up - but at least he would wake up. He had no love for the Syrian military, but nor did he have any personal grievance against these conscripts, most of whom were probably still in their teens.

  Of the three men by the jeep, one had been thrown against a wall by the explosion and didn’t look as though he would be moving for a while; another rolled in panic on the ground, his sleeve on fire. The third staggered to his feet, AK in hand, but hurriedly dropped the rifle when he saw Chase and Mitchell coming towards him, weapons raised. Chase pointed between two of the houses across the street at the open desert beyond. The soldier gulped, then with his hands raised high turned and ran for the empty sands.

  ‘You could have just shot him,’ Mitchell said.

  ‘We’re not at war with ’em. Hey, your arm!’ Mitchell’s left sleeve was torn, a sm
all patch of dark red slowly spreading through the material. The first Syrian’s lone shot had clipped his bicep.

  ‘Damn,’ the American muttered, regarding the wound with surprise. ‘Didn’t even feel it!’

  Chase quickly assessed the injury as minor, nothing a simple bandage couldn’t fix. Mitchell had been lucky. ‘You’ll live, tough guy. Okay, let’s move.’ He fired a couple of rounds to blow out a rear tyre of the second jeep, then rapidly surveyed the scene. Movement in the mosque - al-Sabban, peering fearfully round the gate. Chase glared at him. The imam hurriedly tossed the bundles of dollars out into the street, then slammed the wooden doors.

  Satisfied that nobody would be in a position to challenge them before they reached Nina and Karima, Chase moved to pick up the money, but Mitchell shook his head. ‘Leave it. We got what we came for.’

  ‘You’re just going to chuck away ten grand?’ said Chase, reluctantly following him at a jog towards the edge of the village.

  ‘Uncle Sam’s paying for it.’

  ‘You mean me and Nina are paying for it. That’s come out of our taxes!’

  Mitchell made an amused noise, and they continued along the road until they reached the camels. Karima and Nina had already mounted their animals, the sword blade protruding from one of Nina’s saddlebags. The other camels were standing, spooked by the gunfire.

  The two men clambered on to their saddles. ‘Okay,’ Chase yelled to Nina, ‘we’re going to have to hoof it! Just grab on as tight as you can!’

  Mitchell brought his camel round to head south. ‘Come on, move!’ he shouted, flicking the reins. His camel grunted and broke into a run, Karima right behind him.

  ‘I don’t wanna do this . . .’ Nina muttered through clenched teeth. But she followed Mitchell’s example and snapped the reins, clinging as tightly as she could to the saddle. The camel reared up, almost throwing her off its back, then started running. ‘Ow - ow - ow - son of a - ow!’