‘I have to go, Cantara. I believe Tom Bradshaw and his geologists are in critical danger.’
‘That’s why I’ll be driving. You’re still delusional from the snake bite. Move over.’
* * *
There was still an hour till dawn when the headlights of the Sirius dimmed and the battery display indicated five per cent capacity.
‘We should stop and rest or the entire electronic system will fail,’ said Cantara. She stifled a yawn as she navigated the car along the lip of a sandy precipice. The car slewed close to the edge as a section of the track crumbled and dropped fifty metres into the yawning chasm to their left.
‘Once we’re past the crevasse, we’ll pull over and rest till sunrise,’ Sam said. He massaged her slender neck then let his arm drape around her shoulders. Cantara navigated the car beyond the crevasse and pulled the Sirius off the track. She drove up a sandy rise and positioned the solar-powered vehicle towards the east so it would catch the first rays of sunlight in the morning.
‘Lie down in the back seat,’ Sam said to Cantara as she turned off the engine. ‘I’ll take over the driving when the sun comes up.’ He leapt out of the car, feeling energised despite his long night. The pre-dawn air was cold and invigorating. He opened the boot and rummaged through the contents. It had been equipped for desert trials and there was an array of camping gear and survival equipment packed into the boot. He looked to see if there was a weapon or any other defensive device but could only find a shovel and a flare gun, which he brought into the car’s main cabin. He returned to the boot, pulled out a lightweight sleeping bag and carried it the rear seat of the Sirius. He was surprised to see Cantara had already climbed into the back and was curled up asleep. Sam stood and watched her for a while. She looked exhausted and vulnerable.
It amazed him that until now, she had always looked polished and in control. Her enthusiasm and moral certainty was infectious among the workers and when she exhorted them to greater efforts, they responded with dedication and loyalty. She had surprised him with her keen business sense and abundance of energy, but he was still nervous what would happen to the Sirius project when he was forced to leave Egypt. He felt guilty he had not yet told her about Daingerfield’s phone call and wretched he had not tried harder to dissuade her family from taking on a project that could only lead to financial ruin. Worst of all, he hated the idea of having to leave her behind in a month’s time.
Cantara stirred as he looked at her. ‘I’m cold, Sam,’ she muttered. She shivered and drew her legs close to her chest. Sam climbed into the rear seat next to her, and placed a folded-up jacket under her head before settling himself by her feet. He unzipped the sleeping bag and placed it over her like a blanket. Cantara smiled and stretched out so her stone-cold feet rested on his lap under the sleeping bag. Sam massaged them to warm them up, and convey his feelings of deep affection.
‘Do you think Tom Bradshaw and the other geologists are in real danger?’ she said.
‘I’m hoping when we arrive they will wonder what all the fuss is about, but I can’t ignore my premonition and I’m concerned they haven’t radioed in for twenty-four hours. The Sahara is not a place to take unnecessary risks.’
‘I guess you’re right, Sam.’ Cantara turned over and within seconds had fallen into a deep sleep. Sam leaned across and kissed her on the cheek before lying back and waiting for dawn.
* * *
The first rays of the Saharan sun appeared from the east and turned the strange rock formations that surrounded them into discernible geographical features. The night stars faded from view and a panorama of red hues adorned the horizon. The sky transformed from red to orange and then yellow to herald the arrival of another scorching Saharan day.
Sam watched the computer screen in the centre console. The battery icon had registered two per cent capacity before the screen had faded to black. Sam agonised he had damaged the motherboard and it would fail to bring the vehicle’s electronic systems back to life. If that were the case, the strengthening sunlight that drenched the car’s experimental photovoltaic paint would not be converted into an electric current and the engine would be deprived of its power source. It would be a long walk home in the hot desert sun.
Ten minutes later, the sun burned off the last traces of morning dew and its heat penetrated the glass cabin of the Sirius. With each passing minute, his level of anxiety increased. As he was about to despair, the computer burst into life and performed a system check on the car. One by one, the car’s electronic systems sprang to life as power flooded in from the solar regulator. Sam watched the battery indicator reach five per cent, seven per cent, and then ten. The gentle whine of the air conditioning sounded like music to Sam’s ears as the computer decided the cabin needed cooling.
‘All is forgiven, Colin Jenkins,’ he said to himself as he marvelled at the technical brilliance of his chief designer. He pushed the ignition button and soft green lights illuminated the dashboard. He heard no sound from the electric engine but a surge of power rippled through the car. He pushed the gear lever into ‘drive’ and released the handbrake, allowing the car to roll forward. Cantara grunted in her sleep behind him, but Sam decided to let her sleep on in the back seat. He drove forward slowly until he had mastered the art of driving over deep, shifting sand, and then opened the throttle to speed them towards the Nefertari well.
* * *
The desert simmered at forty degrees centigrade as the battle-hardened battalion of rebel extremists planned their ambush. It was the perfect killing ground. A low sandstone ridge to the north bottled up the enemy combatants and prevented escape. In the foreground, strange, mushroom-like rock formations and deep natural hollows provided perfect cover for the infantry fighters in the front line. The battalion’s scouts had already radioed in the presence of a strange, noiseless silver vehicle that was approaching along the rough desert track at a furious speed. The vehicle was expected at the killing zone in fifteen minutes.
Jamal expected that a convoy of government troops would be supporting the silver car and he briefed his men not to open fire until all enemy combatants were contained within the trap. Two hundred of his best fighters were hidden among the hollows and rock formations that surrounded the geologists’ encampment, while one hundred troops were held in reserve two kilometres back. Jamal had been surprised at the non-existent security at the encampment, and his men were hungry for further bloodletting. Jamal had ordered four of the geologists’ mutilated bodies to be displayed on the outer perimeter of the encampment to draw in the occupants of the strange silver car. He prayed that God would indeed deliver a convoy of the vile dictator’s troops to his trap, and he would grant the rebels a notable victory.
Jack tapped Jamal on the shoulder. ‘We should join the guys on the front line. The silver car’s coming.’
Jamal shook his head. ‘I cannot direct the battle from there. A general’s place is with the reserve.’
‘There won’t be a battle. The dictator’s army won’t come.’
‘I can feel it in my blood. The approaching oil workers in the silver car would not come this far into the desert without military support. Today we will be granted a glorious victory and southern Egypt will be ours. We will establish a caliphate and true believers will flock to join our earthly paradise.’
‘I must get closer to the track,’ Jack said. ‘I can’t get a clean shot from here.’
‘Stay here, my brother. Allah will guide your bullet. But do not fire until I give you the signal.’
‘There’s a strong wind gusting from the south. It will affect my aim and the distance is too far,’ Jack insisted.
‘That’s a risk I am prepared to take.’
Jack nodded his head in acknowledgement of Jamal’s authority and unpacked his Dragunov. His sniper’s bullet would signal the start of the battle. If he succeeded in killing the driver of the silver car from a distance of two kilometres, it would add to his formidable reputation. He wiped the rifle with a rag
and attached the telescopic sights to the mounting rails. He picked up the magazine and checked the ammunition. The magazine was full, but he noticed his rounds had been replaced with an inferior North Korean variety with soft primers. He cursed as he realised someone had pilfered his precious sniper’s rounds, and he considered swapping them with the spares he kept in his bandolier.
‘The silver car is close,’ Jamal said. ‘I can see its dust track. You must prepare yourself quickly.’ Jack hurried to his position and made adjustments to his telescopic sights for distance and tailwind. He cleared his mind of all other thoughts and prepared himself for the kill.
* * *
Sam boosted the air conditioning unit to counter the furnace-like temperatures and made a mental note to tell Jenkins to increase the unit’s capacity. The steering wheel jumped in his hands and Sam had to fight to keep the Sirius from slewing off the rock-strewn camel track. He glanced over to his left and noticed a dark line on the southern horizon. Could be an approaching desert storm? he wondered. The terrain had become craggy and a large rocky bluff jutted up from the desert floor to his right, forming a formidable sandstone barrier that stretched westwards for the next few kilometres. Sam slowed as the track deteriorated further. He reached behind him and woke Cantara.
‘You better put your seat belt on. We’re getting close and there’s a storm brewing.’
Cantara stretched and then climbed into the passenger seat next to Sam. She looked out of the window to the south. ‘How odd. It looks like a khamsin, but we don’t usually get them this time of year.’
‘I think I can see the encampment ahead. There’s smoke coming from the well.’
Cantara leaned over and clutched Sam’s arm. ‘Are those bodies on the encampment fence?’ she whispered.
Sam slowed the Sirius to walking pace as he surveyed the area, looking for signs of trouble.
‘I think we should turn around, Sam. This doesn’t look good.’
‘Tom Bradshaw or one of the other geologists might still be alive. We can’t just leave them.’
‘I can see at least four bodies and there’s no sign of movement in the camp. Let’s get out of here and radio for help from somewhere safer,’ said Cantara.
‘There should be five in the camp. Someone might still be alive. We can be in and out in five minutes.’
Cantara scanned the desert looking for signs of rebel activity. Everything looked peaceful. ‘I’ll give you three minutes and then we must get out of here.’
Sam nodded and increased the car’s speed. He drove through the gap in the rudimentary wooden fence the geologists had erected around the two portable cabins, and parked the Sirius in the central area between the burnt-out remains of two Land Rovers and the smoking ruins of the old well head. The wind had picked up and sand was lashing at the car windows. Sam grabbed his keffiyeh and wrapped it around his face so only his sunglasses were showing.
‘I’ll turn the car around in case we need to make a quick exit while you check the cabins,’ said Cantara.
Sam stepped out of the car and into the stifling heat. The wind tugged at his clothing and he gripped his keffiyeh to stop it unravelling. He walked towards the mutilated bodies that were slumped over the wooden fence. Three had bullet holes in the back of their skulls and one had his throat cut. A swarm of flies buzzed around their bodies. Sam had to fight to stop himself from gagging. He shook his head at Cantara to let her know they were beyond help.
He walked to the research cabin and peered in through a broken window. Another body was slumped across a desk and blood had pooled over a series of charts and drawings. Sam walked up the steps to the cabin door and pushed on the handle. The door swung open and Sam hesitated before walking through. In the far corner of the cabin he saw the body of the young geologist Tom Bradshaw. Half his head had been blown off by a bullet fired from close range. He was still clutching a satellite phone in his right hand and a sheaf of papers lay scattered on the floor around his chair. Droplets of blood were splattered across the papers. The temperature in the cabin was like a furnace and the place was thick with buzzing insects. Sam scooped up the sheaf of papers and stuffed them into a large pocket of his khaki trousers.
He looked out of the window and saw Cantara manoeuvring the Sirius around so it faced the gap in the wooden fence, then he looked southwards towards the approaching storm. Sam stared open-mouthed at the massive wall of rolling sand that was heading towards them like a desert tsunami. They had ten minutes at the most before the monster storm engulfed them. Then Sam saw the glint of polished metal from behind one of the strange rock formations that littered the landscape near the encampment.
‘My God!’ Sam bolted out of the cabin towards the Sirius.
CHAPTER 18
‘I’ll ’ave one clean shot and I must take it now,’ Jack said to Jamal as he stared at the keffiyeh-clad figure through his telescopic sights. He made a minute adjustment to the sights to allow for the hot wind that was buffeting them from behind. He cursed as fine sand flew into the precision-machined components of his Dragunov rifle.
Jamal heard the first howl of the khamsin from behind him and sand whipped into his exposed flesh, forcing him to cover his nose and mouth with his keffiyeh. He turned to face the direction from which the wind was coming. He gasped as he saw the sky had turned blood orange and a massive, hundred-metre-high wall of flailing sand was approaching fast. The wall was boiling and angry and he realised his reserve troops had less than five minutes to take cover before the sand and wind would strip the flesh from their bones.
‘Kill the oilman and then we must take cover.’
Jack steadied his breath and pulled the trigger of the Dragunov, readying himself for its recoil. But instead of the familiar ‘crack’, he heard a dull metallic ‘clink’ as the round jammed. He tore off the magazine as his target hurried towards the silver car. He slapped the body of the rifle into the palm of his hand and tried to dislodge the jammed round from the receiver. On the third slap, the North Korean round fell into his hand. He knew the combination of a high-powered sniper’s rifle and inferior ammunition was a dangerous mix, especially if it involved the softer metal primer casing at the round’s base. Jack re-attached the magazine and shouldered the Dragunov. In one swift movement, he aimed and fired at the target’s head through the swirling dust as the man stepped into the passenger seat of the silver car.
Once again, the rifle malfunctioned, but this time from the result of a squib load. The bullet travelled two thirds of the way up the barrel, but only a fraction of the gunpowder had detonated. The bullet jammed against the gritty mixture of gun oil and fine sand particles that had soiled the barrel. Sand had also fouled the firing pin mechanism, causing it to protrude from the bolt face. The bolt recoiled from the misfire at half its usual force, but it was sufficient to re-load the next round from the semi-automatic’s magazine.
Jack realised his rifle was about to ‘slam fire’, and lifted his finger from the trigger. But it was too late. The bolt crashed into the soft primer of the newly chambered round with its jammed firing pin still protruding. The second bullet fired and exploded into the first, causing the whole semi-automatic cycle to be repeated. Within half a second, the Dragunov had discharged its entire magazine into the jammed barrel, causing the weapon to explode. The Dragunov disintegrated and the wooden stock cartwheeled from Jack’s shoulder, slamming into the side of his head like a baseball bat. Jack collapsed unconscious into the soft sand as blood poured from a gaping wound in his head.
* * *
Sam threw himself into the Sirius at the staccato sound of a semi-automatic rifle discharging in the distance. Cantara depressed the accelerator and the wheels spun in the soft sand before gaining purchase. Sand and stones flew in all directions as the car lurched forward towards the gap in the wooden fence.
Bullets flew overhead as dozens of rebel troops appeared from behind the rock formations and from natural hollows in the desert floor. More and more camouflaged fighters swa
rmed from their hidden positions and Sam realised their situation was hopeless.
The firing ceased as a team of four men with an RPG-7 anti-tank rocket launcher stepped onto the track one hundred metres ahead. ‘Shit!’ Sam stared in horror as the corporal holding the weapon aimed and then pulled the trigger.
‘Hold on!’ Cantara spun the steering wheel clockwise and threw the Sirius into the blustery crosswind as the rocket exploded five metres to their left. Dirt and debris showered the car and one of the passenger-side tyres ruptured. The side glass next to Sam shattered and his ears rang from the explosion. The Sirius snaked out of control and Cantara battled to keep it from colliding with a mushroom-shaped rock formation at the side of the track. Centimetres from the three-metre-high rock, the Sirius ground to a halt. Sam watched as the team of four men reloaded their rocket launcher and pointed it at them once again. They were sitting ducks.
‘Cantara, get out of the car!’ Sam yelled.
But it was too late. They heard a ‘whoosh’ like an express train, but Sam stared in amazement as the team with the rocket launcher disappeared under a fireball and the air suddenly filled with Apache attack helicopters. More rockets were fired from the air and bullets rained on the front-line rebel soldiers, who were exposed and vulnerable in the open desert terrain. The Egyptian army helicopters attacked the rebel fighters with a fury that knew no bounds. After a decade of impotence during which the government pilots and gunners had watched their countrymen and loved ones suffer a series of murderous terrorist attacks, the gloves were off. Rebels died where they stood and fleeing soldiers were pursued and cut down with ruthless precision. A sixth helicopter hovered above Sam and Cantara, not willing to land while bullets sliced through the air. Meanwhile, the approaching khamsin rolled ever closer, engulfing everything in its path. A solitary black-clad figure stared at them from the open doorway of the helicopter ten metres above the Sirius and clipped a makeshift harness to the end of a sturdy rope. The figure signalled to an unseen winch operator within the belly of the helicopter and launched herself out of the doorway at the end of the rope. Dozens of bullets whizzed around the vulnerable rescuer, but she landed on the ground within a few metres of Sam and Cantara.
The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3) Page 13