The Gems of Tsingy De Bemaraha

by Roger Weston

  “Get down,” Paul yelled.

  Everybody scrambled for cover behind a limestone knoll. Automatic fire crackled and bullets pinged off of rocks.

  “Jawara,” Paul said, “lead them ahead down the trail. It'll be dark soon. I'll stay here and hold them off.”

  “What?” Kelly said.

  “I'll cover our backside. A little return fire will slow them down considerably.”

  “No! That's crazy. Stay with us.”

  “They're too close. Get moving, Jawara.”

  Paul noticed Otto watching him in a daze. “You okay?”

  “They want to kill me,” he said, coughing. “They will have no mercy for me now. I need a gun to defend myself.”

  “Give him one,” Paul said.

  Jawara bristled with suppressed anger. “Forget it.”

  Another burst of automatic fire clattered out. Paul felt a tiny fragment of chipped rock sting his cheek. “Give it to him. Now! Get going.”

  Jawara glared at Otto for a moment, then handed him a pistol. “I'll be watching you close, raghead. Give me one excuse and you're dead meat.”

  Otto nodded. “The only person I want to kill is Abu Bakr.”

  Keeping low, they started down the trail, Devin and Otto now carrying the stretcher.

  Paul looked over the top of the knoll. He could tell that the militants were scrambling up the same ridge that they'd just climbed, but the trail ran just below the ridge top, so they had good cover. He saw a glimpse of movement here and there but nothing to shoot at. He listened to the crackling of a rock that rolled down the steep slope. Paul frowned. By the time he'd have a clear shot, they'd be less than thirty yards away.

  Not only was he going to shoot the first man he saw, but he'd shoot him at close range. He had to. They'd just killed the pilot and they'd kill the rest of them before they were through. If Paul didn't slow them, he'd be condemning Kelly and Jawara and the others to death. He waited, his pulse ticking in his ears. A man in a turban charged out from behind the ridge and ran toward him firing wildly. Paul waited for him to get closer. Twenty yards . . . fifteen . . .

  Paul squeezed the trigger. His gun jammed. “No!” he shouted. He ejected the magazine and worked the bolt, but it was too late. The militant ran up aimed his gun at Paul's face. “Drop it or die!”

  CHAPTER 48

  Paul dropped his gun and squeezed his forehead. He summoned every bit of his willpower to control himself and not allow his anger and frustration to goad him into a suicidal stunt. “No, no, no, no!” he said.

  His stomach felt as though an invisible hand were squeezing it. As he got up, he saw a man walking toward him with a deep scar on his forehead, the same man he’d fought in the house in Tetouan. Abu Bakr. He noticed that the hand that he'd dunked in the boiling soup was still bandaged. Random thoughts rushed through his head. He remembered old acquaintances that were now dead because of this man. Headlines of terrorist attacks flashed across his consciousness, and a lot of other dark memories he'd rather not have remembered.

  He recalled being sleep deprived from too many long days of working his claim and long nights fearing sleep because of the danger of raiding thugs who’d sneak onto claims and cut a prospector’s throat, as they nearly did to Ryan once. A cold feeling came over him as he remembered shooting at a man in the darkness.

  “You don't dress like a Jew assassin.” Abu Bakr said. “My son tells me you're American.”

  “He should know.”

  “He also told me that you saved his life. I thank you for that.”

  Paul nodded bitterly.

  Abu Bakr grinned. “But that’s in the past. I know who you are--Eric Smith and you have a contract on my life.”

  Paul scoffed at him. “My name is Paul Cook.”

  “Yes, the miner. I’ve heard of you, but you’re also Smith.”

  Paul shook his head. “You’re reaching and you know it.”

  “At least you’re no longer a threat to me,” Abu Bakr said. He gestured down in the direction the others had gone. “You lead us after them or you die right now.”

  Paul guessed it would be dark in another fifteen minutes.

  “Move it,” Abu Bakr said.

  Paul got up and started down the trail at a slow pace. He prayed that the others kept going. It took them close to a half hour to descend into the next gorge. By the time they got there, it was dark and Paul lost the trail.

  “We'll camp here,” Abu Bakr said. “And we'll get the rest of them at first light. They won’t get far in this death pit at night.” He turned to Paul and held up his bandaged arm. “Don't think I've forgotten what you did to me.”

  “I never forget what I have to do to men who prey on innocent people.”

  “You mean infidels?”

  “You kill innocent women and children; men just trying to make a living to support their families. You’re nothing but a cold-blooded murderer.”

  “What about my man in Portugal? You had no problem killing him.”

  “He killed himself.”

  Paul felt the weight of Abu Bakr's black eyes boring into him.

  “Yes, he was a true martyr,” he said. “Well, I’ve got you now and you’re going to help me fulfill my destiny.”

  “Destiny?”

  Abu Bakr smirked. “Yes, the profits from Lebarge’s mine will finance my ongoing operations.”

  “You mean murdering innocent people?”

  “Innocent?” Abu Bakr snorted in mockery. “No one I've killed has been innocent.”

  “How about all the hardworking miners you killed? What about their wives?”

  “I did nothing to them that they weren't already doing to the impoverished people of Madagascar. This is one of the poorest nations on earth, and those snakes were stealing their one source of wealth from them. While those foreign miners got rich, natives starved to death.”

  “Those men were helping the locals. Many of them had partnerships that provided income for their families.”

  “Yes and their partners were just as corrupt as they were. Do you know how many children are dying in Madagascar?”

  “I know you've killed a few of them yourself by murdering their only providers.”

  “Paul Cook. I don't know of any other miner with a greater reputation for ruthlessness against your fellow prospectors than you.”

  Paul cringed.

  “You’re here for the same reason I am--money. But you want it for your own pleasure. I need it to fund my objectives. I am a man of destiny.”

  “You use terror to extort millions of dollars a month in protection money from countries in the Middle East. You're no different than any other criminal.”

  Abu Bakr narrowed his eyes and spoke with a tone of malice: “I could hardly expect you—an infidel—to understand the ideology. But what you call extortion I call capitalism. I'm no different than any other capitalist except that I use my money for a righteous purpose. They squander theirs in decadence and luxury. I use mine to fund Holy War.”

  “There’s nothing holy about your war.”

  Abu Bakr’s lip curled as his dark eyes filled with rage. “You are a very stupid man. And if you don’t control your tongue, I will cut it out of your mouth.” He drew his knife and ran his fingers along the blade. “Don’t forget that.” He started to leave, but then turned and glared into Paul’s eyes and said, “After ten years of planning, I’m finally ready to carry out the most spectacular attack in history. I will orchestrate eleven simultaneous revenge attacks ringing the globe. Each attack will kill thousands of Westerners and exact extreme devastation. The attacks will occur simultaneously in the United Nations’ eleven most powerful countries. The world will be horrified. Evidence and claims of responsibility will indict Syrians, Iranians, Palestinians, Egyptians, Indonesians, Moroccans and others. Since the death and destruction will be so widespread, the free world will come together like never before. The United Nations will rush into an emergency special session. Anger and passions will run
so hot that the United Nations will unanimously condemn the bombings and authorize all out war across the Middle East.”

  “I already have eleven cells prepared to blow up eleven of the most sacred mosques in the Middle East. They shall carry out these attacks when the faithful overflow the mosques at afternoon prayer time. Thousands of Muslims will die. Evidence will indict the United States and Britain in a plot against the faithful. Muslims, convinced that a new crusade has begun, will unite for the first time in history. WWIII will throw the world into chaos.

  “I will then rise up from the ashes of destruction. I will lead an outraged and confused Muslim world to overthrow the weak puppet governments of the Middle East. As the Islamic world comes together, I will emerge as a new prophet and lead the unified Muslim world to worldwide Holy War.

  “Every true Muslim will sanctify himself with western blood to earn his place in paradise. All that’s left to do is secure three briefcase nukes from North Korea. True Muslims will detonate these in the capitals of France, Germany and Russia. Nothing will impede U.N. action. The gems of Tsingy de Bemaraha will provide me with the cash I’ll need. And now you will aid me in carrying out my plans.”

  “You’re a lunatic,” Paul said.

  “I am destined for greatness,” Abu Bakr said. “Tomorrow, we will go to Ryan Lebarge's mine.”

  “And how do think I’m gonna to help you?”

  Abu Bakr called over one of his men who had been starting a campfire. “Bring the American a blanket,” Abu Bakr told him in Arabic, then turned to Paul. “You can be sure that I will reward you for your assistance.” Abu Bakr retreated to a tent that some of his men had finished setting up for him. Marwan glanced over at Paul before also going in the tent.

  Paul walked over by the fire which burned near a baobab tree. Some of the militants gathered round. They spoke little with one another. A few comments were made followed by glances towards him. After a while, one of them came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Get up.”

  The man led Paul to a tent and tied his hands so tight that Paul doubted his hands would get adequate circulation. “Get in there.”

  “Just a minute,” Marwan said as he approached him for the first time since his betrayal.

  CHAPTER 49

  As Marwan approached, he avoided eye contact with Paul, focusing his gaze intensely on the guard. Sweat beaded on his forehead. A drop of the shiny liquid ran down his eyebrow. He looked back over his shoulder and then gruffly told the guard to go set up a tent.

  Paul strained to control his anger.

  “I'm sorry that I betrayed you,” Marwan said, looking at Paul. “I was told that I must lure the enemy into a trap. I did as my grandmother told me, but you saved my life. Now my father has murdered my Grandmother Dailia. You are not my enemy. I must go now, but after they've gone to sleep, tell your guard you must urinate.” He gestured with a slight nod of his head. “Go over that way, out of sight.” With that he turned and walked over to where the guard was setting up his tent. Marwan scolded him for something, then went to work on the tent himself. The guard, looking bitter with resentment, picked up his submachine gun and hiked back over to Paul.

  “Get in your tent now,” the man said.

  Paul obeyed. As he lay there, his hands became numb from lack of circulation. After awhile somebody unzipped the tent and threw a blanket in. Paul used his teeth and his feet to spread it over him. He lay for a long time, occasionally glancing through the mosquito netting to see if the men had all gone to sleep. When they finally had, he allowed another couple of hours before he sat up. “Pssst.”

  The guard, who was sitting against a rock looked over, but didn't move.

  “Pssst,” Paul repeated.

  The guard came over and kneeled by the tent door, looked in through the mosquito netting. Paul told him the situation.

  The man nodded and unzipped the mosquito netting. Paul climbed out and boldly started over toward the treed area that Marwan had indicated.

  The guard grabbed his arm. “This way,” he said.

  “I have to hurry,” Paul said, not slowing down.

  The man hissed, but followed him. With only the moonlight, he headed beyond the edge of camp toward a stand of trees. When he started climbing over some rugged rocks, the man grabbed his arm and jerked him back.

  “Here,” the man said, visibly agitated.

  “Look, man, I’m getting sick.”

  The guard looked back at the camp, then said, “Hurry up.”

  The rocks were only waist high, and Paul climbed over them with ease. He walked thirty or forty yards to the stand of trees, then said, “Untie my hands.”

  The guard went to work on his hands, but the knot was so tight that he struggled with it.

  Paul heard a scuffle of swift foot movements. A twig snapped. The guard let go of him and made a grotesque sound. Paul turned around in time to see blood flow from the slash across his throat. Marwan kept his mouth covered as he lowered the struggling terrorist to the ground. Marwan lay on him until he quit struggling. Then he removed his hand from the dead man's mouth and got up. “Take his gun.”

  Paul held out his wrists.

  Marwan cut his hands loose, and Paul got the submachine gun off of his former guard, feeling blood on the shoulder strap.

  “Get out of here,” Marwan said. “Now, I've saved your life. But if my father catches you again, there will be nothing more I can do for you. They will blame this on your friends.”

  Paul nodded. He glanced down at the twisted form on the ground. “You've taken a great risk for me.”

  “You are my friend.” Marwan handed him a flashlight. “Don't get caught again.”

  “Come with me.”

  “The next time I see you,” Marwan said, “I will kill you.” He turned and moved surreptitiously back to camp.

  Paul walked in the direction the trail had gone, careful not to make any noise. After he got beyond the stand of trees, the vegetation thinned out and he moved faster. The strange tsingy formations appeared even more unworldly in the moonlight. He found what he thought was the trail and followed it up the side of the gorge, but he came to impassable terrain, a wall of sharp pinnacles and ridges. He hated to turn back and hike down into the gorge. He was concerned that they might have noticed the guard was missing and put out a team to hunt him down. The gorge wasn't big enough for him to elude them for long. But he had no choice.

  Back in the gorge, he found himself hiking along cliffs again and failing to pick up the trail. Then his worse fears materialized. Voices carried from a few hundred yards away. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was clear they had sent out a search party. Someone had woken and noticed the missing guard. Paul hoped that Marwan hadn't been implicated, but since he had promised to kill Paul at next opportunity, he couldn’t be especially concerned about him.

  Paul backtracked to within a couple hundred yards of the camp. He saw shapes of men with flashlights searching the gorge. The men were checking every hole and every nook in the rocks. Two search parties covered two sides of the gorge. Following the trail again, Paul came to a steep cliff. He knew they would find him soon. He almost started along the cliff as he'd done before, but saw the flashlights in that direction, no more than a couple hundred yards away. After he'd searched for a few minutes, he returned to the end of the trail.

  At this point he got down on his knees and prayed for help. He opened his eyes and sat on his heels for a couple of minutes. Then he noticed something he hadn't seen before. About ten feet away, a little outcropping seam in the limestone cliff, no more than five or six inches wide, ran from the ground, up the side of the cliff to a rough, covered area. He hoped this wasn't going to be another dead end, because early morning light was already beginning to creep over the gorge. A little while longer and they'd be able to spot him climbing on the rocks above.

  As soon as he started side-stepping up this crease, he felt pangs of fear stab at him. He doubted that Kelly and the
others could have taken this route while carrying the stretcher. But they'd gotten out of there somehow and this was more likely than anything else he'd seen. It would have been hard for them, but he decided that it was possible.

  As he edged up the side of the cliff, he watched the flashlights of the two search parties. From opposite sides of the gorge, they closed in on the trailhead below like the claws of a scorpion. If this was a dead-end, he was in serious trouble. When he'd climbed a good twenty feet above the level of the trailhead, the little outcropped seam along the cliff angled down toward the cliff a bit. He guessed that in the daylight this would make it appear from below that the seam played out, when it actually widened to over a foot. He climbed higher and higher. Below he watched the search parties meet at the trailhead and linger. He hoped they wouldn't spot the hidden trail—if that's what it really was. They flashed their lights up on the cliff, but he was too high for them to spot. Yet the darkness was playing out quickly. A few more minutes and they'd be able to see him without flashlights.

  When he got to the rough, shaded area, the cliff gave way to an area of steep limestone slope. He hiked up this slope to where he once again came to an impassable cliff. He'd run out of places to go, the trail had played out. With light beginning to penetrate the darkness, he slowly hiked down the far side of the slope. He passed a hole, a little nook where the slope met the cliff, which he thought he might be able to hide in if necessary. He stuck his head in the hole. It was big enough to hide in.

  As he continued along the cliff, down the other side of the slope, he heard shouting in the gorge below. His heart kicked into high gear, and his breathing deepened. A shot rang out and he heard a bullet hit the rocks below him. They'd spotted him! He backtracked to the nook in the rocks as they continued taking potshots at him. He wondered if Marwan was shooting.

  At least if he got into this hole they couldn't shoot him. He had to pull a couple of rocks out just to get in the gap. He squeezed in and lay on his back. Now they couldn't shoot him, but all he could do was wait for them to come and get him. As thoughts of fear and gloom threatened to overwhelm him, he got a sense of space he hadn't noticed when he looked in from the outside. He realized that the ceiling gave way to a natural shaft. He sat up and began climbing through this shaft which, once he got up into it, leveled out enough to crawl upward on his hands and knees. After about ten feet, the shaft got bigger and bigger until he found himself standing up and hiking through another cave.