by Roger Weston
“Look!” Kelly screamed.
Their headlamps illuminated the red eyes of a crocodile on a sandy beach as they swept furiously past.
“Stay calm and they won’t attack.” Paul reminded her as he scanned the raft for punctures.
Their small inflatable craft held up and continued to race through a series of turns. Whitewater churned from every direction and sprayed their faces. Then the narrow cavern spit them down a chute throwing them into a pool of water so rapidly that Paul was almost thrown forward out of the boat as a wall of warm water doused him.
He regained his seat. “Are you okay?” he asked Kelly.
“I'll be better when we get out of here,” she said.
Paul's helmet lamp illuminated Jawara some twenty yards ahead. The guide’s boat moved slowly now.
“How much farther?” Paul asked.
The guide dug his oar into the water as his canoe slid through the now smooth black water. “Not far.”
“Paul!” Kelly said.
Paul looked back and saw Kelly pointing his pistol toward the beach. At least ten large crocodiles lay on the beach, eyes glowing like hot embers.
“It’s okay,” Paul said. “They’ll leave us alone.”
She put away the pistol. As they rowed down the now slower moving river they passed more beaches and more crocs. Some of the big lizards slid into the water, but they all kept their distance. After twenty more minutes of rowing, Paul saw light flood into the cave. His spirits were just beginning to rise when several gunshots boomed through the cave followed by horrid screams. As he rowed for daylight, the screams continued. A minute of silence followed. Then a voice called out, “Help me! Please come back. I'm trapped on the beach. They're surrounding me.” A gun fired several shots, and Paul heard the sounds of thrashing water.
Paul grimaced. What a way to go, he thought to himself.
“You're in the wrong place,” the voice screamed. “Come get me, and I'll tell you where the mine is!”
The man knows where the mine is? Paul reflected on that for a moment.
Another shot boomed through the cave. “You've got to help me. You can't leave me here.”
Paul, Kelly and Jawara continued to paddle until they came out under a blue sky on a smooth glistening river.
“Jawara,” Paul said, “pull up on the beach.”
He looked back at Paul with a confused expression.
“Over there,” Paul said pointing to a sandy bank near the cave mouth.
Jawara pulled his canoe onto the shore. The big man stepped out, hiked up the bank and sat down, shotgun aimed at the cave mouth.
Paul rowed to shore, and then said to Kelly. “Wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?” she cried.
“Back in the cave to help that guy.”
“You’re going to help him? But he is after us?
“He said he knows where the mine is? Do you want to find Ryan or not?”
Kelly got out of the flimsy craft, walked up the bank and sat down on a bench-like stone.
CHAPTER 41
Paul’s canoe slid into the darkness of the cave. He was blind until his pupils dilated in the darkness. He heard more shooting and yelling as he paddled the inflatable raft back into the cave. He saw a flashlight that was taped to an assault rifle swiping frantically back and forth along the edge of the water. The light passed over a deflated boat that was half in the water and half out. A dead croc floated upside down in bloody water. The next time the light swept across the croc, the dead beast was being jerked away from the edge by another croc.
Rat—tat—tat—tat—tat—tat—tat—tat—tat! Gunfire sprayed the water.
“Hurry,” the man yelled out.
Paul hesitated, concerned that the bloody water might cause the crocs to attack more readily. But then he remembered what Jawara had said about gunfire making them shy. Either way, he needed to do something fast. “When I come in,” he said, “shoot any crocs that get near this raft or we're both dead.”
“Okay, just hurry.”
The canoe approached, and Paul recoiled as a tongue of fire spit from the man’s Uzi submachine gun, which roared in his direction. Bullets sprayed the water on his right.
“Be careful,” Paul shouted.
“I saw one,” the man said.
When Paul was within ten feet he lifted his shotgun and said, “Hold your gun by the barrel.”
A skinny little man with big bulging eyes and a checkered head-cloth spun his Uzi around and held the stock towards Paul, who lowered his weapon and dug his paddle a couple of final times as his canoe approached. Paul lifted his gun again. “Get in front and keep your back to me.”
Still holding his Uzi, the man did as he was told. He sat in front with his back to Paul.
“Where are the others?” Paul said.
“The gators got them.”
Paul pushed off with his oar and started paddling. “Fire into the water a few times.”
The man squeezed off several bursts of gunfire into the water.
“Good,” Paul said. “Now sweep the water with your light and shoot anything that comes close. But keep your back to me, or I'll show you what a twelve-gauge shotgun can do at close distance.”
Paul dug his paddle deep into the water and propelled the canoe along briskly. Twice he stopped paddling to fire a shot into the black water behind the canoe. Within a few minutes he decided they were clear of danger. “Slide your gun back here,” Paul said.
“Who's going to keep the gators away?”
“Do what I say.”
“Not until we get out of here.”
“Now!” Paul said, lifting his shotgun, “or I'll put a load of birdshot in your back.”
The man complied, mumbling. At that very moment Paul noticed movement in his peripheral vision. He looked to the left and saw the huge form of a ten-foot crocodile making for the raft. He swung the shotgun and thunder roared as he sent a hailstorm of lead buckshot at the croc. The huge beast began rolling in the water, churning up a cloud of blood around him. Paul dropped his gun and paddled hard. A few minutes later they came out into the daylight.
When the canoe slid onto the sand outside of the cave, the skinny little man got out of the boat so fast he stumbled to his knees in the sand. He put his forehead in the sand and clung to his checkered head-cloth with skeletal fingers. A wave of emotion swept over him and his entire torso shook as he bawled. When he lifted his forehead from the sand, Paul noticed a stream of drool coming from the corner of his mouth. The man wiped the drool from his cheek and looked at Paul with bulging eyes.
“I thought I was going to die,” he said.
Paul blinked with surprise. Abu Bakr's men were known to be fearless Islamic fanatics whose greatest desire was to be martyred, yet this man feared death.
Paul looked over at Jawara, whose brown skin shined in the sunlight. Nodding toward the new arrival, he said, “Check him for weapons.” Paul turned to the terrorist. “What's your name?”
“Otto Kroucher,” he said, his eyes focused on Jawara, who approached and patted him down.
Paul raised his eyebrows at hearing the German-sounding name.
“Lift up your arms,” Jawara said.
Otto did as he was told, and Jawara smacked him in the face three times. Otto stumbled backwards and fell down. Jawara checked him for weapons and came away holding a slim knife with a six-inch blade.
“Throw it in the river,” Paul said.
Hatred overcame Jawara’s expression as he moved to stab Otto with the man’s own knife. Paul tackled Jawara. They struggled and Jawara came out on top, still holding the knife.
“Drop it,” Kelly said. She held Paul’s pistol, which was aimed at Jawara.
Otto was sitting and wiping blood from his mouth when Jawara’s boot connected with his face.
Kelly shot over Jawara’s head. “We need his help!” she said.
Paul watched her in amazement.
&nb
sp; Jawara cursed at Otto and then went over to the water’s edge and stood with his back to them. He winged the knife, and it splashed into the cobalt water. After a minute he came back and searched Otto again, finding a leather pouch full of money.
“Give it back to him,” Paul said.
“The man’s a murderer!”
“I said, give it to him. He may be a murderer, but I’m not a thief.”
Jawara handed it over.
“Did Abu Bakr send you after us?” Paul said.
Otto’s bulging eyes looked down to the left and to the right as he fashioned an answer. He wiped blood from his face with a rag. “He said that you are part of a Mossad conspiracy to assassinate him.”
“That’s why you’ve been tracking us?” Paul lifted his shotgun and pointed the barrel at Otto’s chest. “What about the mine? If he thinks we're part of a conspiracy to kill him, why did you bring up the mine?”
Otto wiped sweat from his forehead. “He said that you tried to kill him in Tetouan.”
“How do you know about the mine?”
Otto looked over at Kelly.
She glared back at him, her red hair shivering in the breeze.
“It belongs to her lover,” Otto said. “Abu Bakr’s known about her for a while.”
Kelly stood up. “Where’s Ryan?”
“Last I heard he was dead.”
Kelly began to cry softly.
Paul aimed his shotgun sight on Otto, “You said that you would tell us where the mine is.”
“Wait.” Otto raised his hands, showing his palms. “You've got me all wrong. I'm on your side. Yeah, sure, I was tracking you, but Abu Bakr would have killed me if I didn’t. I hate him more than you do.”
Paul stared at him. “Why should I believe you?”
Otto wiped sweat from his long neck, then dried the back of his wrist on his flowing robes. “I know you don't because my men were shooting at you.”
“You were shooting at me, too,” Paul said.
Otto raised his hands again. “What would you have done in my place?”
Paul led the limping Otto a few feet away.
“Who are you to judge me?” Otto said. “You grew up a rich man in America. I grew up in vicious poverty in Gaza. My father was murdered by Israelis. I had no way to support my mother and my sister. I only went to Germany because my mother wanted to eat and I was promised money.”
“Germany?”
“The Baader-Meinhof Gang recruited me because my cousin had joined them the year before. I was with them for several years, but then I found out they were plotting to kill me. That's why I went to Abu Bakr. I married his niece, and she told me that he would give me protection.”
“Every terrorist has a sob story,” Paul said, “so does every murderer.”
“Let’s kill him now,” Jawara said.
Otto spit on the ground. “What do you know about it? You see how I limp?”
Paul looked at Otto’s deformed leg.
“Abu Bakr did that to me. I want to see that piece of scum dead. Abu Bakr didn't trust me when I joined his network. He jailed me and had me tortured for six months until he was satisfied that he'd totally broken me. That limp—his men did that to me by beating my heel every day with a Coke bottle. You have no idea what I went through. I've just been waiting for a chance to get away from him, but until now, I've never had a chance.”
“Until now?” Paul said.
“Of course! Now that I'm helping you, I could never go back to him or he'd kill me.”
“You're married to his niece.”
“You think that matters to him! He killed his own mother. I'll tell you where you can find the mine. All I want from you is enough money to get away. I’m done with Abu Bakr. I've been a prisoner for long enough. All I want is freedom.”
“You killed my brother,” Jawara said.
“It wasn’t me,” Otto said. “It was an accident. My men panicked.”
Jawara spit in Otto’s face.
Paul stepped between Jawara and Otto. “You may get free of Abu Bakr, but not before you show me where the mine is.”
Otto grabbed the sleeve of Paul's shirt. “I’ll tell you where it is, but I can't go there! What about Abu Bakr?”
Paul removed Otto's fist from his shirt sleeve. “If you hate Abu Bakr so much, you can prove it to me. Otherwise, I’ll turn you over to the CIA for questioning. I can’t let a known terrorist go free.”
“I'm a prisoner, not a terrorist.”
“That's between you and them. But if you help me now, I'll put in a good word for you. Now tell me where the mine is.”
“Not unless you agree to let me go.”
Paul slugged Otto in the solar plexus. The man dropped to the ground and keeled over forward, resting on his forehead, gasping for air. Paul’s boot connected with his face, and Otto landed on his side. “I risked my life to bring you out of that cave,” Paul said. “Tell me where the mine is or you're gonna swim back in there, right now.”
When Otto finally got his breath back, he said, “All right, all right. I'll help you.” He stood up, holding his hand to the cut over his eye. “You're in the wrong place. The mine is farther to the south.”
“You’re lying to me,” Paul said.
“No, I swear to it.”
Paul stared into his eyes. “The tsingy there is so intense that it’s considered impenetrable.”
“That is true,” Otto said, “but Ryan Lebarge found an entrance to a cave system.”
“And you know where the entrance is?”
Otto took several deep breaths. “I'll not only take you there, I'll kill Abu Bakr myself.”
Paul squinted his eyes. “I've heard that before.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
“There is a helicopter waiting to pick us up,” Otto said. “I will call him and we will make him take us to there.”
“Okay. Now I’ m starting to believe you,” Paul said. “We will see if you’re telling the truth. Let’s go.” He pushed him forward with the butt of his shotgun.
CHAPTER 42
As the helicopter dropped down into the clearing, Paul, Jawara and Kelly hid in the bushes. Paul had the Uzi trained on Otto in case he tried to pull anything. When the chopper landed, Paul concluded that there were no armed men inside. He walked out of the bushes, and they all got into the chopper. Jawara found three M-16s on the floor.
“Good,” he said, “Now I can kill ‘em two-at-a-time.”
When the pilot looked back at Paul and the Uzi, fear and panic filled his eyes. Otto told the pilot to take them to the southern tip of Tsingy de Bameraha. The pilot began shouting angrily at Otto, so Paul shoved the gun barrel into the back of his neck. The man's lips stopped moving. His hands got into action as he eagerly bothered himself with the details of takeoff.
The helicopter carried them over the deeply scarred terrain. As the helicopter headed south over Tsingy de Bemeraha, the density of the rock formations increased dramatically. Paul felt his cheeks sagging. Here the needle-point pinnacle formations thickly dominated a sea of limestone spikes and ridges that stretched as far as he could see. Hiking through this part of the tsingy was going to be incredibly difficult.
Paul knew from his research that even in the twentieth century, large parts of this forest of karst pinnacles remained unexplored. It amazed him that Ryan had picked this place to hunt for sapphires. Did his old friend really find the world’s largest sapphire here?
A few islands of green trees and rich foliage appeared between and around the vast sea of needle rocks, but not many. Even knowing the exact coordinates of the mine it was going to be a challenge to find it in this place. Paul wondered if Otto really knew the location of Ryan’s mine or if he was leading them into a trap in this vast, unexplored nature reserve that covered over a hundred and thirty square miles of land.
“You’re sure Abu Bakr is here?” Paul asked.
Otto wiped the sweat from his ne
ck. “Yes.”
“And how many men will he have with him?”
“Maybe two dozen.”
Paul considered that. He asked himself what he was doing, but then he changed course. He wouldn’t back down. There was no way to avoid the confrontation he was clearly headed for.
“Do you have an exact position?” he asked.
Otto nodded with a grin. He patted his checkered head-cloth. “We will leave you at the entrance to the cave system.”
“No, you'll be coming with us,” Paul said.
A spider web of wrinkles formed around Otto’s bulging eyes. “I will not, I cannot. Abu Bakr will have me executed as a traitor.”
“You're coming with us. If Abu Bakr catches you alive, you're gonna be in sad shape. So you have good reason to fight hard against him, which is exactly why you're coming with us. I need an inspired man, and you said you wanted to kill him.”
“You can't do this to me!”
“Don’t try anything, or you can say your prayers now.”
Otto began cursing in anger, the muscles in his long neck protruding like ripcords. The pilot looked back at him and grinned.
“What are you smiling about?” Paul said. “You're coming, too. We're gonna need someone to scout out the bees.”
The pilot's smile vanished and he glared at Paul.
***
As the helicopter soared above the Manambolo Gorge, Paul felt a deep sadness in his soul. He had thought he'd reached a turning point in his life, where he could concern himself with helping the helpless and feeding the hungry. He wanted to leave the violence behind. But the predators didn't let up just because Paul wanted out. He figured this was the way he was destined to help the helpless. When you eliminated a terrorist, you saved his many victims without them ever knowing that they were in harm’s way. If Paul took out Abu Bakr, he stood to earn a huge bounty, but he told himself that the money was secondary. Protecting the innocent was his biggest concern. He could walk away and avoid violence, but then Abu Bakr would continue to freely kill off the miners and their wives and many, many more.
As Paul pondered his grim choice, he gazed out across the karstic landscape. Sharp tsingy pinnacles stabbed the sky like upturned knives.