The Gems of Tsingy De Bemaraha

by Roger Weston

  “You speak truth. But I'm sure you are aware that the Ahmed Baba Agency has been trying to get me to turn over my collection to them for safekeeping.”

  Basha nodded. Money from Arab sources as well as UNESCO, the United Nations cultural agency had funded the project. “This I know. But I also know that funds for scientific preservation are sorely limited over there. With Dailia’s resources and our state-of-the-art scientific preservation, your collection will be preserved while others are crumbling into dust. Those who cooperate with Dailia will stand to prosper in many ways when Timbuktu becomes a place of pilgrimage.”

  Ishak opened the door wide. “Come in, come in. Let us discuss this further in the courtyard.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Standing wide-legged against the roll of the pinasse, Paul glared out at the yellow-brown water. It was the color of death.

  “We must go ashore,” Tariq said, crouching down, his eyes shifting rapidly. “The winds will hit us any minute. The sands can suffocate an entire caravan of men and camels. It is no different here on the river.”

  Paul’s eyes shifted to the big sand dunes that lined the shore of the Niger River. “Fine, we will go ashore.”

  “Wait,” Marwan said as he pointed down river.

  Paul looked in the direction that Marwan was pointing. A vessel was following them and gaining water fast. Paul grabbed his binoculars from his backpack and focused on their pursuers.

  “Damn,” Paul said as he lowered the binoculars. “Speed this thing up, Tariq.”

  “No,” Tariq replied. “The river people are my friends.”

  “Friends? Do your friends always train their rifles on your boat?”

  Paul saw fear come over Tariq's face.

  “Under the bags,” Tariq ordered.

  “What?”

  “There is another motor under the bags.”

  Paul and Marwan began moving the bags of rice as quickly as they could without capsizing the boat. Paul’s arm muscles bulged as he heaved the heavy bags overboard.

  Under the stack Paul uncovered a Honda 250 horsepower outboard.

  “This'll do,” he said, bear-hugging the motor, lifting with his legs and carefully moving aft. Paul grappled with attaching the engine while the boat was on full throttle. “Where are they?” Paul said without bothering to look up.

  “They're catching up,” Marwan said. “Hurry!”

  Paul rapidly tightened the bolts.

  Tariq mumbled while pointing to a tarp that covered a small pile.

  Paul didn't ask questions. He quickly lifted the tarp. Stacks of rope and nets lay under two big gas cans. Paul attached the gas can to the outboard and went to work with the pull cord, but the engine wouldn’t start.

  “The sandstorm is more dangerous than those men,” Tariq said. “It’s going to hit any minute. Look at the water.”

  Paul pulled the cord as he eyed the river. It had taken on a deep, dark, red hue.

  “This is not good,” Tariq said. “It will be a fierce one.”

  Paul tugged the pull cord and a plume of blue smoke billowed out of the old Honda, but the motor still didn't catch. He glanced up. The men in the pursuing pinasse were gaining quickly. He was out of time.

  He heaved into the pull cord. The engine caught. Blue smoke wafted out and trailed away into the wind. Paul turned the accelerator handle, and the propeller blades bit into the water. Paul turned the handle further and the front end of the pinasse lifted up slightly. The aft section sunk as a rooster tail cleared the wake, and their speed more than doubled.

  Several gunshots boomed from the pursuing pinasse. One slug splintered the canopy framing.

  “They're going to catch us,” Marwan yelled.

  Tariq nodded as he mumbled loudly to himself.

  The river curved further, and as it did a wall of wind struck.

  The blow hit the pinasse violently and without any buildup. Sand-filled wind threw itself at Paul, stinging his hands. With sand blowing into his eyes, Paul turned his back to the wind.

  The once calm, flat river lifted into a boiling chop, and three-foot waves hurled themselves beneath the hull of the rocking boat, shaking it so fiercely that Paul had to hold onto something to kneel on his knees. The pinasse lunged over a swell then crashed into the water, launching nets of sea spray.

  “In the name of Allah, take it ashore,” Marwan cried out.

  Paul looked back at Tariq. The old man clung to the handle of the old outboard, his eyes filled with fear. With his free hand in a fist, he repeatedly pounded his leg. Marwan crawled next to Paul.

  “I can't swim,” Marwan said.

  The wind pounded them relentlessly, and sandy spray whipped unceasingly across the deck. Paul looked at the shore that lay just beyond visibility, behind a curtain of flying sand.

  “If we go ashore, they'll have us.”

  “I don't care,” Marwan said. “I want off this boat.”

  Tariq grabbed the rudder and drove the pinasse at an angle against the waves. Water flooded over the rails.

  Paul looked past him at the other pinasse. Even with waves relentlessly tossing it, the boat was slowly closing the distance.

  Their own boat lunged and crashed over bigger and bigger waves, which tossed the pinasse around like a buoy on a stormy sea. Paul squinted his eyes at Tariq, who didn't seem to be trying to right their course at all.

  Paul yelled at him to keep on course, but he could hardly hear his own voice in the storm. He yelled louder. “We can't go ashore.”

  “We must,” Tariq said. “Or we will all die.”

  Paul made his way aft as a rogue wave hammered the wooden vessel. He hit the deck hard. Warm water drenched him.

  Paul moved towards Tariq. “No,” he said gesturing negatively.

  Tariq ignored him. His eyes were fixated on the shoreline.

  Paul grabbed the rudder and pulled it so the boat turned away from land.

  “Get away,” Tariq said. “This is my boat.”

  Paul used his fingers to demonstrate a pistol shooting his head. “It’s your life, too. They will take it.”

  Tariq picked up a stick and whacked Paul’s arm several times. Paul winced in pain, but held onto the steering arm. Seizing the stick and tossing it, he grabbed Tariq by the collar and said, “No!”

  Now the old man looked him in the eye, his jaw shivering, his fingers shaking.

  The waves grew bigger. The boat batted around like a toy in a bathtub.

  Red-brown waves attacked in legions. Each one dumped gallons of water into the boat. Paul knew they needed to start bailing. He pointed away from shore and left Tariq to steer. The old man stayed on course.

  Paul grabbed a pail. He heaved buckets of water into the churning river. As he did the liquid tore apart, and the wind carried it away as mist and spray.

  Crawling towards Tariq, Marwan stopped and glared at Paul, his eyes full of terror.

  “Stay under the canopy,” Paul said. The boy obeyed, but as Paul continued to bail he kept an eye on him.

  The blow carried so much sand and spray that Paul could no longer see the boat behind them. He bailed harder. He glanced at Mar—

  “No,” Paul said. Marwan was shoving Tariq out of the way and trying to take control of the steering arm.

  Paul dropped the bucket and hurried aft.

  “Get away,” Marwan said, raising his arm in defense.

  Paul grabbed his hand and twisted his arm behind his back. Marwan’s face hit the deck as he shouted in misery.

  A powerful red wave rose out of the gloom and collapsed over the side of the pinasse, swamping the boat.

  Water sloshed against Paul's calves. He jerked Marwan’s face out of the bilge. Marwan coughed, and water dripped from his hair.

  “Get back under that canopy,” Paul said. “If I don’t bail this boat's going to sink.”

  Marwan did as he was told. Paul watched as the boy huddled under the arched cover. He could see his body shake and tremble as he closed his eyes
and buried his face in his legs.

  Paul wiped the water from his eyes. He tied his backpack to a pallet board. Snatching the bucket from where it was floating on the boat’s bottom, he began bailing with fury as wave after wave swept beneath the old craft, heaving it and sucking it into troughs.

  Just when Paul felt he was making progress, another wave dumped another flood of water over the rail.

  The sand whipped in like lashes from a nine-tailed cat. Paul kept his eyelids pinned shut against the assault. Wind tore away the cloth covering his mouth and nose blasting his face with sand pellets.

  While heaving a few more buckets of broth over the rail, Paul opened his eyes a sliver to check on Marwan, who was still hugging his knees. Beyond him, Tariq sat on the rear bench stoically holding fast to the steering arm. The stray corners of his turban whipped in the wind. The burgundy sky cast darkness over his eyes.

  Paul watched as a monstrous wave rose like a beast from the water. For a second, the wave was suspended in mid-air. Wind slashed away the foam that outlined the peak and the wave collapsed over the sinking boat.

  The last thing Paul saw was the old man violently snatched from the helm.

  As the boat capsized, Paul plunged several feet underwater. He clawed for the surface. When he broke through, he gasped for a lungful of air. He pulled his facecloth away from his eyes and mouth. Using a hand to protect his eyes, he looked around for Marwan and the old man, seeing neither.

  He climbed up onto the keel of the overturned pinasse and looked for them on the other side. They were both gone. To get out of the relentless wind, Paul dropped back into the water and into the lee of the pinasse's hull. He took off his robe, leaving him in just shorts and t-shirt. He gasped for a deep breath and dove underwater, stowing his robe in a nook under the overturned boat. Then he dove down. Beneath the surface, the turbulence was diminished. He swam down and opened his eyes for a moment. The blurred world seemed almost peaceful. As he dove deeper, his ears began to hurt. A dark form materialized out of the gloom. He moved faster until the form turned over and an arm drifted around in the void. Paul wrapped an arm around Marwan and swam upwards, the pain in his ears mercifully diminishing.

  As he broke through the surface, he gasped for air. Marwan wasn't even conscious. Paul managed to get him onto the hull of the pinasse, but a wave washed them back into the river. The second time on the hull, he turned Marwan onto his stomach and squeezed his mid section. Marwan heaved a gutful of water onto the overturned boat. Paul turned him over and did CPR, which was hard because the boy wanted to slide back into the water as the boat rocked.

  Marwan gagged and began a coughing fit.

  The sandstorm threw itself at the overturned pinasse while Paul and Marwan clung to the keel. The wind tore the tops off waves and showered them. Tariq was gone.

  Paul leaned over and spoke into Marwan's ear. “I'll be right back. I've got to go after Tariq.”

  Marwan coughed as he nodded.

  Paul plunged into the river and dove down. He blinked his eyes, looking for Tariq, but silt stung his eyes. He swam down deeper into the enclosing darkness. Nothing. His lungs burned. He swam a big circle, but no sign of the old man.

  Unable to hold his breath any longer, Paul swam for the surface, eyes closed. His head bumped into something—a body. Paul almost blew all the air out of his lungs, but kept his calm and wrapped his arms around the old man and fought for the surface. The pangs of desperation within him begged for air.

  Breaking the surface, Paul gasped for a lung-full of oxygen, but quickly exhaled and groped for another. He opened his eyes enough to look at the body. He gasped and let go, but then grabbed the body again before it sank.

  It was Marwan!

  Paul turned around in a circle, spotting the overturned pinasse.

  All over again he revived Marwan, administering CPR until finally Marwan responded, again vomiting seawater.

  “I don't want to die here,” Marwan cried as he shuttered with fear.

  “Stay calm and I'll pull you ashore.”

  Still coughing, Marwan rolled his forehead against the keel of the pinasse. “Alright,” he said. “Alright.”

  On his own, Paul knew he could easily make it, but with Marwan he wasn’t sure. So far Marwan had panicked.

  Paul suddenly froze in disbelief. The nose of the following pinasse slowly edged out of the sand-blown gloom.

  “Marwan, they're coming. Hold your breath.”

  Marwan took a deep breath. Paul pulled him down into the water and under. He swam under the pinasse and up into the air pocket, which gave them plenty of room to keep their heads out of the water.

  Paul squeezed Marwan's cheeks and the young man nearly started hyperventilating.

  “Hold onto that cross-beam and stay quiet,” Paul said.

  Marwan did, and Paul was relieved that he had gained some self-control. But the danger now was the other pinasse.

  The air pocket under the hull was eerily quiet. Paul closed his eyes and said a quiet prayer, but then doubted he would get any answers. He felt the crate he had tied his backpack to as it bumped into him. A flotsam of old wood and other buoyant junk floated in the water under the hull.

  He heard the hum of the advancing pinasse as it approached and came alongside. Their boat idled for several minutes. They began arguing in Arabic. One said everyone on the pinasse had drowned. The other said this was very bad. They were supposed to bring them back alive. Paul could hear fear in their voices, especially when they said something about “Marwan.” Several waves bumped the two boats together hard.

  Finally, the motor of the other boat whined and the gunmen departed. Paul waited a couple of minutes, then went up to check.

  Back under the boat he said, “They're gone. Apparently they know who you are.”

  Marwan said, “They probably want to . . . interrogate me . . . or kill me because Paja was my grandfather and I went everywhere with him.”

  Paul took Marwan outside again, where the grainy wind pounded the surface of the river. Marwan held onto the pallet board, which acted as a flotation device. Paul dragged the pallet along behind him as he did an awkward sort of one-armed dogpaddle, but he slowly pulled Marwan toward shore. The waves swept beneath them, lifting and lowering them, washing over them occasionally. When Marwan got a mouthful of water, Paul had to stop while he coughed and gagged.

  Finally, he felt something touch his foot. There it was again.

  The bottom!

  A minute later in knee-deep water, Paul helped Marwan onto his feet.

  Now that Paul was out of the protection of the water, a layer of sand stuck to his body. His exposed arms and legs stung under the windy assault.

  Fifty-foot high sand dunes rose along the shore. Paul's feet dug into the sand as he climbed the nearest slope. On the top, he allowed his eyes to open enough to take a look. All he could see was an endless landscape of dunes, but the storm limited his visibility. He descended the slope and put Marwan down in the lee of the big dune, which shielded them from the wrath of the storm.

  While Marwan got his strength back, Paul went back to the beach. There he retrieved his backpack from the pallet he’d tied it to.

  After throwing his ruined laptop into the river, he returned to find Marwan curled up in the sand.

  “Not a bad idea,” Paul said.

  Later, under moonlight, Paul roused Marwan and instructed the kid to follow him. As the sun rose it bathed them both in a pink light that shown from a crimson sky. They would walk along the edge of the Niger River until they got to Timbuktu.

  CHAPTER 31

  Kelly took a seat in Dailia’s tent. Her eyes were fixed on the neurotic little woman who held the power of life and death over her. Dailia was talking on her Sat Phone.

  “What is taking him so long?” she said. “He’s the best linguist there is, isn’t he?” She paused and eyed Kelly momentarily. “Yes, but he said he’d have it cracked by now.”

  “Where is he? . . . Well
, find him!” She hung up and smiled at Kelly, but her smile was forced and brief. She held out Kelly’s blue sapphire. Her fingers gripped it so tightly that the veins in her wrist bulged. “What does this mean?”

  “What does what mean?” Kelly said.

  “The code!”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Dailia shook her masculine hand. “Don’t play games with me. I know it’s encrypted.”

  Kelly stared at the precious stone that Ryan had given her. “May I see it?”

  Dailia’s head tilted slightly and she smiled. Peering at Kelly, her yellow eyes lit up with curious anticipation. She leaned forward and handed the stone to Kelly.

  When Kelly accepted it, she felt the dry skin on Dailia’s over-sized hand brush her fingers and she cringed inwardly. Turning the brilliant gemstone over in her hand she couldn’t see anything on its surface. Then Dailia passed her an enormous magnifying glass with a twisted handle carved in ivory. Grasping the heavy white handle Kelly focused the glass over the blue stone. A line of six tiny symbols appeared in the lens—the script of a forgotten language. It meant nothing to her. Her mind flashed back in time. She did remember a conversation she’d once had with Ryan when he’d talked about engraving messages in hieroglyphics on the back of gemstones, but he never told her that he had done so, or how to decipher the old-world message. It was never discussed again. She set down the magnifying glass and looked at Dailia.

  “I don’t know what they mean,” she said.

  “My dear, if you ever want to get out of here, you will cooperate.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “Ryan told you. I know he did.”

  Kelly’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you know about Ryan? Where is he?”

  “You mean your fiancé?” The doll-like woman brushed her smooth cheek with thick fingers, her eyes stabbing Kelly with a cold glare.

  “Please, tell me where he is,” Kelly whimpered.

  “You are going to take me there.”

  “He’s alive?”

  Dailia eyed the sapphire in Kelly’s hand. “He’s long dead, my stupid woman. That is why you are going to take me to his mine. The letters etched on that stone tell the location of the grandest mine ever to be found.”