by Roger Weston
Kelly began to sob. “Dead?” She looked into Dailia’s eyes hoping that the woman was going to tell her that she was lying, but Dailia’s sick yellow eyes continued to pierce her soul. “Oh, please God, no.” She buried her face in her hands and wept uncontrollably.
Dailia snatched the sapphire out of Kelly’s hand. “You don’t appreciate your situation. Tell me the cipher or I’ll have my men get it out of you the hard way.”
Kelly realized that she wasn’t breathing. She gasped for air when she heard Dailia’s Sat Phone ring.
When Dailia answered the call, her face slowly lit up with a smile as she listened to the person on the other end. “Brilliant work,” Dailia smirked. Then she set the phone aside and trained her evil eyes once more on Kelly. “You are no longer needed,” the sick little woman said. “The code has been broken.”
CHAPTER 32
Basha Hadid stood in the back room of the Talal home, carefully paging through another ancient manuscript. Light streamed through the window of the mud-walled room, casting his shadow on the sand floor. The Talals were a well-known clan in Timbuktu, their ancestors having lived there for hundreds of years. The Talal collection was one of the more impressive ones he had examined.
As a Muslim scholar, Basha was fascinated with ancient religious texts. Some of them were so old that he couldn’t risk turning the pages for fear of causing them to crumble. Others had been remarkably well-preserved in the dry desert air. Basha closed the manuscript in his hand and placed it on the pile with the fifty-two other manuscripts he’d already catalogued. When all these works were preserved, they would provide a magnificent resource for Islamic scholars, who traveled to Timbuktu from far away. Basha considered it a crime that these papers had been hidden away in the Talal’s home where nobody could use them for research. However, he realized that he was probably the first scholar in modern times to touch these manuscripts, and he felt honored.
He made an entry in his log and then picked up the next manuscript, a two-inch thick stack of papers tied together with twine. Grains of sand sifted down from between some of the pages. The paper had yellowed, but was well-preserved. The handwriting immediately stood out to Basha as extraordinary, for it was in English. As he read the cover page, his heart quickened. These were the papers of the famous Christian explorer, Gordon Laing, who traveled to Timbuktu in 1826. When Dailia hired Basha to acquire rights to manuscript collections for preservation, the search for Laing’s lost papers was one of her primary motives.
An awareness came over Basha that he held in his hands a piece of history that had been considered lost for nearly 200 years. The Laing papers were a discovery that would elevate his status in the academic world to heights he’d never dreamed of before. When he took this job he never believed that he would actually find Laing’s papers. He’d been more interested in the preservation of ancient Islamic texts. By finding the Laing papers, Basha had just become a significant light in African history. Scholars would read about his discovery a hundred years from now.
A smile swept over Basha’s face. He stood up to pace the room a few times, but he tripped on the chair and nearly fell. He laughed and held Laing’s papers against his chest. He skipped across the room several times before he took to pacing. Finally he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He sat down and began carefully flipping through the pages, reading the fascinating history of Laing’s journey across the Sahara with his treacherous party of Taureg guides.
Over the next several hours, Basha read the entire manuscript. But the most fascinating passage he came across was near the end. This one page he read again and again because it was both vague and thrilling. He memorized a few key lines. This page was the reason he was hired. Privately, he had not believed that this page even existed. He’d thought it was a myth.
Basha tied Laing’s papers snugly together with new strings. He listened carefully to see if any of the Talals had returned home, but the house was quiet. He slid the manuscript into his shoulder bag and opened the door that led into the main room of the Talal home. His feet padded softly across the sand floor as he made for the front door.
Quietly, he slipped out into the bright sunlight. He wanted to get away from the Talal residence quickly. As he passed a mule, he suppressed an urge to shout with joy and leap onto the animal’s back.
CHAPTER 33
Abu Bakr sat on the lower deck of his 200-foot yacht, Raashid, talking on his Sat Phone, watching with binoculars the shore boat that sped toward him.
“Have there been any significant changes in the old lady’s activities?” he hissed into the phone as he set the binoculars down on the teak deck table. He lifted a crystal high-ball and took a sip of his cocktail. “Good, tell your man to keep it up.” Setting the tumbler down, he wiped his wet hand on his brown linen trousers. “I’ll be visiting the old hag soon.” He put down the Sat Phone and continued to watch the approaching shore boat. He saw the Russian clearly, and a faint smile formed on his lips.
A few minutes later the 18-foot shore boat idled up to the swim deck on the Raashid’s stern. The inboard engine grumbled and Abu Bakr waved his bandaged hand in front of his nose to clear the air of exhaust fumes. Fatih shut off the engine and another of Abu Bakr’s body guards stepped onboard and climbed the stairs with the Russian behind him. At the stair landing, with his mouth half open, the Russian eyed the twin shore boat secured on the port stern deck. His eyes flitted around, quickly surveying the multi-million dollar yacht. He was a gray-haired man with slack skin under his gray eyes and thick glasses with black plastic frames. He looked around at the gleaming teak decking and the shiny railing. Abu Bakr could tell he was already mentally spending all the money he was about to make, envisioning himself living a lifestyle he’d only dreamed about as an underpaid Russian scientist.
“So you are Viktor Primikoff?” Abu Bakr said. “I was beginning to wonder if you were real.”
They both laughed.
Abu Bakr eyed the three briefcases in Victor’s hands, then gestured toward the deck table. “Please, sit.”
Victor settled into a chair, putting two of the briefcases on the floor next to him. He set the third on the table in front of him.
“Would you care for a drink?” Abu Bakr asked.
“No, thank you.”
Abu Bakr summoned the steward. “He will have what I’m having,” he said as he studied the Russian’s face for a reaction. Seeing a slight twitch he reached over and patted the briefcase on the table. “I know the damage these are going to cause after they are detonated. What I want to know is how much radioactivity they are emitting right now?”
Viktor shrugged. “You’re getting radiation all the time.” He sat back in his chair and gestured expansively. “That’s what sunlight is. We can all stand a little radiation, but when you detonate these, you will cause true horror and devastation.” He handed an envelope to Abu Bakr. “Here are complete instructions.”
“What about radiation exposure?” Abu Bakr said.
“Don’t worry about it. The waste is stored in protective capsules. I’ve slept with these for the last six nights.”
“But that doesn’t tell us anything about your life span, does it?” Abu Bakr said.
“I think people worry too much about radiation exposure,” Viktor said. “On the other hand, when these things blow, I wouldn’t want to be within a hundred miles.”
Abu Bakr smiled. “You’re a pragmatic man. What if I told you that one of these will be detonated in Red Square?”
The man’s smile disappeared. “I thought you said these were to be used against the Americans and the Israelis.”
“I lied, didn’t I?”
“What?” His nose scrunched, and his black-framed glasses slid down slightly on his ruddy nose.
“Of course, if you don’t want to go through with the transaction--”
“No, that’s alright,” Viktor said. “I don’t plan on going back to Russia anyway.”
“With $3 million d
ollars, you can go about anywhere you want, can’t you?”
Viktor nodded, pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I have a few ideas.”
“Is it fair that you should go and live the good life while my Muslim brothers suffer in ghettos and slums?” Abu Bakr said.
Viktor glanced nervously over at Fatih, then back at Abu Bakr. “Hey, do you want to do this deal or not?”
“You are a naive and stupid man,” Abu Bakr said. “I’m surprised you managed to steal the radioactive materials without getting caught.”
Fatih produced an MP5 submachine gun and Abu Bakr drew his .45, pointing the pistol at the Russian’s face.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” the scientist said. “I’ve got friends in the Mafia.”
Abu Bakr stood, but a faint spell swarmed across his head and blurred his eyes.
After a few moments, he regained his equilibrium. He looked at the scientist and ran his bandaged finger along the cleft in his forehead. “An American did this to me,” he said as he pushed the pump on his abdomen. “I don’t expect to live long. If I live another ten years, I’ll be lucky. Even if the Jews and the other assassins don’t manage to kill me, the death inside me is slowly spreading. But I don’t care. We’re all going to die. I just want to make sure that I die as a martyr and fulfill my destiny. I was born for greatness. So with the little time I have left on this planet I must make a loud noise. Greatness is measured by the noise a man makes. I will make a lot of noise and my son’s destiny will be ensured. The Islamic revolution will prevail and I will be its modern-day prophet.”
“You’ll need more dirty bombs, and I can get them for you,” Viktor said standing up slowly, his gray eyes fixed on the gun in Abu Bakr’s hand. “I am your servant.”
“You are a greedy stinking capitalist,” Abu Bakr said. He gestured toward the stairs with his pistol. “If you want to leave you can swim, and I’ll mail you the money.”
“Swim? Are you crazy? It’s thirty miles.”
Abu Bakr nodded at Fatih, who grabbed the scientist by the arm and shoved him down the stairs. Viktor rolled onto the swim platform and then groaned in pain. Fatih descended the stairs. Viktor sat up and screamed. He began swinging his fist but Fatih kicked him in the face. On the third kick, Viktor plunged backward into the water. He thrashed and screamed for a couple of minutes before the ocean claimed him.
CHAPTER 34
Kelly walked out of her tent and climbed to the top of a large dune that lay just outside of Dalia’s remote campsite. While the mound rose only a couple hundred feet above the camp, sweat beaded on her forehead. With every step, her feet sank to her ankles, and the hot sand burned her exposed skin. All the energy that remained in her physically and emotionally wracked body drained under the blazing sun. She summoned all the strength she had left to crest the dune. Shading her eyes with her hand she looked out over the terrain. To the north lay a vast wasteland which stretched to the horizon broken only by the occasional patch of scrub grass. To the south, endless wind-carved sand dunes spread across the earth as far as she could see. After scanning the landscape she realized that she had a better chance of escaping from a maximum security prison than from this desolate place. Recalling the long helicopter ride that brought her to this forlorn outpost made her feel completely helpless and alone. Her hand fell heavily to her side. She should have trusted Paul. He was right. She now realized that what he had told her was true. Ryan was not coming back.
As she turned her head from the vast and isolated desert, she also understood the truth that her life to this point had been just an illusion. It was like a beautiful distant mirage. A mirage that had spun out of control and brought her here to the heart of the Sahara—trapped by a harsh and unforgiving landscape that would kill her as unmercifully as any man. Her mind rebelled from such thoughts and shifted to better times. She remembered standing on the hill behind her childhood home in Idaho. The last time she had hiked to the top of that hill was the day she had picked out her wedding dress. She remembered the dainty white flowers that were embroidered on the fabric. How she loved the soft and silky material of that dress. She had tried on dozens of others before she chose that one. She had picked it because those flowers reminded her of the wildflowers that erupted faithfully each spring on the hillside behind the hill of her home. Life had been blissful and beautiful then. Her wedding to Ryan was just three weeks away and she was filled with anticipation. A hot gust rippled through her hair bringing her back to the present and she realized that she had never known how awful life could really be. Until now...
Kelly wiped the tears from her eyes and went back down to the camp, where a dozen tents rippled against the fiery desert air.
Entering her canvas cell, Kelly startled when she saw a veiled women sitting on the edge of her cot.
The woman stood and said, “Come with me.”
CHAPTER 35
Timbuktu
After a grueling fifteen hour walk along the shore of the Niger River, Paul and Marwan approached Timbuktu. As they did, Paul took a good look at the sprawling, low-lying city. Mud buildings crowded this patch of humanity on the southern tip of the Sahara desert. Although the appearance of the town was nothing like the magnificence of its ancient legend, after his long trek over one of the hottest, most desolate land masses on earth, Timbuktu looked like a dazzling jewel to Paul’s eyes.
On the outskirts of town they came upon a hole in the ground surrounded by a cement silo. Paul watched as Marwan descended upon it like a desperate man, pulling up a yellow gallon bucket filled with murky water. Then Paul drank some of the liquid and felt new life spreading within him. He lingered for a while longer, not daring to leave the life-giving water too hastily.
After several more minutes of nourishing their bodies, they entered the town along a wide dirt track. Funnel-shaped huts were scattered about next to parched acacia trees. Dogs and flies feasted on entrails which rotted in piles along the way and the scent of blood hung thick in the heat.
The streets bustled with people. A camel caravan was arriving in the city loaded with precious salt slates. Paul noticed a few young men loafing near donkeys loaded down with sticks. Children played amidst cans and debris that littered the sandy road. He watched as water carriers moved quickly through the crowds, shouting for customers and as laborers carrying neck-straining loads of bricks on their heads moved slowly but fluidly along the jam-packed road.
Paul and Marwan twisted their way through the masses. A truck with a screeching engine rushed past, outrunning a trail of dust. Paul noticed piles of sand accumulating next to the mud huts they walked past. The desert seemed to resent this scar on its otherwise majestic landscape and was slowly reclaiming the land. This was no city of gold.
Kids swarmed around Paul and Marwan begging for money. Paul told himself to relax, but the kids were making it difficult to keep a low profile. Not only that, they were in danger just being around him. If Abu Bakr’s thugs showed up the children would be in harm’s way.
He picked up a can and dished a pocketful of change into it, then, slowly, with all the kids watching, added a handful of paper money to the booty.
He looked at Marwan. “Tell the kids that we’re going to play a game.”
Marwan looked confused, but didn't ask questions.
Paul handed the can to Marwan. “Take this can down the street until I say stop.”
When Marwan was a good ways down, Paul yelled to spread the money on the street and run back.
Marwan nodded, the confused expression on his face dissolving into a smile. When he returned, he whispered another idea into Paul's ear.
Paul took another handful of coins and launched them onto the flat roof of a nearby mud house. Like sharks off the Cape of Good Hope, the kids took off in a feeding frenzy, their feet pounding on the hard packed sand.
“Come on,” Paul said to Marwan, running in the other direction. Several blocks later, Paul slowed down then stopped as he waited for Marwan to ca
tch up. As he waited a bright eyed little girl who walked with a limp came up to him. “What about me?” she asked.
Paul fished in his pocket for more cash. He held up five dollars. “Bonjour. Ca Va. Which way to the Khan Hotel?”
The little girl stared at the money in amazement and said, “I will show you the way.”
“No, no.” Paul said as he put the money gently into her hand. “Just point the way.”
She held up a finger indicating that they should turn down the next street.
He smiled into her big eyes and then shooed her away.
Marwan walked up a few minutes later and they continued down the dusty lane. Paul noticed sticks jutting out of the mud houses and thought they looked like toothpicks in the mud forts he used to make as a kid in the mountains of Idaho. Here and there they passed crumbling and collapsed dwellings. In one of these, three African women stood around a fire where they roasted pigeons on a spit.
Paul and Marwan turned down the road that the little girl indicated and walked for another fifteen minutes until they came to a small inn.
“I’m not staying here,” Marwan said. “We must hire a Jeep to take us into the desert.”
“Tomorrow we will camp in the desert.”
“No,” Marwan said. “I want to go now. We're getting close now. All I think about is what Abu Bakr did to Paja. This town reminds me of our trips here together. I would rather die than break my promise to Allah. Abu Bakr must die. We need a Jeep to go out in the desert now.”
“I said tomorrow.”
Paul was about to enter the building when he saw the little girl limping down the street towards them.
Approaching, she said, “I will take you to the famous homes.”