by S. L. Menear
Lance and Pete exchanged conspiratorial glances before Lance turned to me.
“Sam, you know we think the world of you.” He hesitated. “Pete and I have talked this over and agree you should call the chief pilot and arrange for someone to replace you in Dubai. If we were the only ones involved, we’d tell you to hang tight, but it’s not right to put the passengers and cabin crew at risk.”
Pete hastened to add, “We’re worried about you. Seems like a lot of bad people are out to get you. Let Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scottish protect you in his castle until you get a handle on who’s after you and why.”
“Guys, I owe you an apology. I never should’ve allowed this to go so far, but the actors insisted I stay on the trip, and I was eager to learn more about my connection to the artifact and the pendant. It’s like a powerful force is driving me. Sorry, I’ll call Jeff now.”
I called Chief Pilot Jeff Rowlin’s office on my cell.
Jeff’s secretary, Ruth, answered. “Sam, Jeff had to renew his carrier landing qualifications on a ship in the Mediterranean. He’s a fighter pilot in the Navy Reserve and will be gone for a week. Can someone else help you?”
“Um, no, I’ll talk to him later. No biggie. Have a nice day, Ruth.”
I glanced from Lance to Pete. “Jeff’s on an aircraft carrier in the Med for landing re-quals. I’d rather not get into a complicated story with his secretary or crew scheduling. Better to call in sick in Dubai. We’ll have three days there, plenty of time to send a replacement captain.”
Lance nodded. “That’ll work. Now let’s focus on keeping you safe until we get to Dubai.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” I ran my index finger over the trident affixed to the gold pendant and avoided touching the diamond pyramid that had stopped glowing. “I wonder who this was meant for.”
“Judging by what’s happened, I’d say you.” Lance slipped his right hand under the pendant hanging from my neck to study it.
A jolt of energy shot through me when he touched my skin. I shivered and our eyes locked. Damn.
Focused on the brochure, Pete missed our inappropriate moment. “Well, at least we won’t have to contend with the usual high-pressure salesmen in the Petra souvenir shops, Bedouins selling trinkets, and camel jockeys selling rides. The king ordered the shops closed. He’s keeping everyone out of Petra to ensure our security.”
“Thank God for small favors. Have the king’s guards arrived?” Lance glanced outside.
“I see soldiers standing by the bus. I hope that’s not all of them.” I counted eight.
A soldier dressed in a crisp uniform adorned with gold braid and medals approached our table. “Excuse me, I am looking for Captain Starr.” He looked at Lance and Pete.
“I’m Captain Starr. What can I do for you?”
He lingered on Lance and Pete for confirmation that I was indeed the captain. They grinned and nodded.
“Uh, Captain Starr, I am Captain Mustafa of the Royal Guard. I have been assigned to provide security for your group in Petra. How many people are on the tour?”
“Two flight attendants, two copilots, and I will accompany the three celebrities and their photographer. The rest of their entourage and two flight attendants will remain in Aqaba.” I handed him a list of everyone going on the bus. “How many soldiers are coming with us?”
“You will have eight of Jordan’s finest Royal Guards.” Captain Mustafa glanced at the list. “You may board the bus now.” He strode back to his men.
Lance frowned. “What are the chances those pretty boys in their fancy uniforms have ever seen real combat?”
“The Royal Guards are considered the most professional soldiers in the Jordanian Armed Forces.” Pete shook his head. “But it looks like they’re expecting a cake walk with plenty of photo ops.”
“They have MP7 submachine guns and Browning sidearms. If things go south, we may have to borrow them.” Lance slid his chair back and stood.
Pete and I stood as Carlene strolled up in knee-high riding boots, tight breeches, a low-cut top, and a pith helmet, as if she dressed for a safari movie.
Lance gave her the once-over. “I hope those boots are comfortable because we’ll be walking a lot today.”
“Don’t you worry your handsome self none, sweet cheeks. These boots are custom made and soft as a baby’s bottom.” Carlene slid between Lance and Pete, reached behind them, and gave their buns a playful squeeze. “Feel free to reciprocate.” She giggled.
I picked up my shoulder bag and headed for the bus. Inside, Jack was seated with Inga, the Swedish flight attendant. Hal, the photographer, sat beside Tawnee.
Rod waved and patted the seat next to him. “Hey, Captain! Ready for a fun trip?” He raised a bubbling orange juice. “Care for a mimosa? It’s made with Cristal.”
“No, thank you, I need a clear mind in case we encounter any surprises today.” I stowed my bag in the hat rack and sat next to Rod.
I heard loud giggling as Carlene boarded with Lance and Pete.
A white-coated waiter stopped by my seat. “Would madam like a beverage? We’ll have hot croissants ready in a moment.”
“Evian water, please.” I saw the tour guide board when the waiter walked away.
Captain Mustafa checked that everyone was aboard before sitting in the right front seat. “Driver, you may proceed,” he said in a loud, commanding voice.
The tour guide keyed the microphone. “The bus ride is approximately one and a half hours. There are two lavatories in the back behind the galley. A full brunch will be served. Also, snacks, picnic dinners, and two liters of water have been packed in individual backpacks. It is important to keep hydrated while walking. I will pass out the backpacks when we arrive at Petra. Relax and enjoy the trip.” He sat opposite Captain Mustafa.
I texted Ross: We’re on the bus on the way to Petra. Eight soldiers from the Royal Guard are aboard. Petra has been closed to vendors and other visitors. I’ll contact you when we get back to the hotel. Miss you.
Rod entertained me with jokes and descriptions of scenes from his new action movie as we drove on the desert highway north to the ancient city that had been carved into solid rock two thousand years ago.
“The movie ends when my badass cop character runs out of bullets and lays some kung fu on the bad guys,” Rod said. “Jack and I rescue Carlene, who plays the president’s daughter. She’s strapped to a nuclear bomb that Jack defuses with two seconds left on the timer, saving Los Angeles from a fiery end. Cool, huh?”
“Way cool.” I gave him a high five, thinking he must be a great actor because he was nothing like his character in the movie.
It was 11:30 in the morning when we arrived at the legendary entrance to Petra.
I shoved my handbag into the backpack the guide gave me and slipped it over my shoulders. He gathered us in a semi-circle while Captain Mustafa sent two soldiers to check the entrance path.
“We will enter Petra through a long, narrow gorge that slices through the mountain.” The guide pointed at where the soldiers had entered.
“It is called the Siq. You will notice that it slants gently downward as it curves through the beautiful, rose-colored sandstone. Take your time and enjoy the lovely tableau of natural images on the towering walls. We will proceed as soon as Captain Mustafa gives us permission,” the guide said.
Lance leaned in and whispered, “Would you believe neither of those dickwads looked up when they entered the Siq?”
“I noticed. Forget about the colorful patterns along the way. Let’s hurry our people through the choke point. They can admire the massive façade of the Treasury after we exit the gorge. We’ll be in an open area where we can scan the rocks.”
I looked up at the imposing mountain standing sentinel over the Siq. It was an ideal place for attackers to look down on unsuspecting tourists and launch an ambush.
The advance soldiers trotted out of the entrance and assured their captain all was well. Mustafa waved us forw
ard as he led the way with soldiers walking in front and behind us.
The gorge was dark and silent. Faint light penetrated from the narrow opening high overhead.
Carlene’s snarky Texan accent echoed off the rock walls. “Ooh, it’s dark and creepy. Stay close, honey buns.” She latched onto Lance’s arm.
The group proceeded slowly, frequently stopping to study the colorful designs that flowed over the rock walls. Hal took lots of flash photos.
Tawnee squeezed Pete’s arm. “It’s so dark. Hope there’s no snakes or scorpions on this long trail.”
Pete glanced up and answered in a loud voice. “No, but we’d better hurry along before a giant camel spider drops down on us. I heard they have webs up high stretched between the walls where we can’t see them.”
Women within earshot started a stampede, dragging the men with them. We passed through the Siq in record time. Kudos, Pete.
The soldiers rushed to retake the lead when Carlene and Tawnee pushed past them with Lance and Pete. Hal stopped shooting pictures to join the rush.
Rod jogged beside me. He kept looking up for spiders while I searched for snipers.
Jack tapped him on the back. “Rod, why are we running?”
“A shitload of big-ass camel spiders are up in webs, waiting to drop on us. Could be hundreds of ’em. We got to get outta here!” His voice raised two octaves.
Inga and Jack bolted around us and left us at the tail end. Two soldiers lagged about fifty yards behind us in a fast walk.
Rod grabbed my hand and pulled me into a run. “Hurry! Stragglers are always the first to die!”
It was all I could do to keep up with Rod’s long legs. That man could turn on the speed. We burst into the sun-drenched clearing and gasped for breath.
The magnificent mausoleum known as the Treasury towered before us. Visions of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade filled my head. I pulled a water bottle out of my backpack and took a long drink.
The guide caught his breath and looked at our group like we were from Mars. “You certainly are a lively group, but you must pace yourselves, or you’ll be too tired to complete the tour. And drink plenty of water. The desert air is quite dehydrating.” He wiped his brow.
“Our first stop in the ancient necropolis is this tomb believed to be the resting place of a Nabatean king. It is called the Treasury because the giant urn at the top was rumored to be full of gold coins. Bedouins who fired bullets at it eventually realized it was made of solid rock. Visitors are not allowed inside the Treasury, but since this is a special VIP tour, you may enter.” He led the group up the steps.
Lance and Pete slipped away from Carlene and Tawnee and stood beside me. They shot annoyed glances at the guards.
“Those guards are focused on watching the women. They’re about as useless as tits on my daddy’s prize bull.” Lance shook his head.
“We should each stand near a soldier throughout the day so we can grab a weapon if we need one.” I turned to Pete. “Brilliant tactic with the camel-spider BS.”
Pete grinned. “Whatever works. It got us out of the Siq in a hurry.” He looked around. “There are hundreds of places to hide in this town. Germans with guns could be anywhere.”
“Pete’s right. I don’t think an entire regiment could defend us here. The enemy would have too many options. They could easily ambush us almost anywhere inside Petra with all the narrow paths, caves, open tombs, cliffs, and gorges. I have a bad feeling about this.” Lance scanned the necropolis.
I nodded. “Captain Mustafa isn’t about to accept suggestions from us. If we tell him we don’t feel safe here and want to leave, he’ll take it as an insult.”
Pete turned to Lance. “Sam’s right. We’re stuck here for the day. No way will the soldiers lose face by letting us call the shots.”
“I don’t have a cell signal, so I assume the emergency signal on my watch won’t work either. Not that it matters. Ross told me the SEALs and SAS don’t have teams in Jordan. We’re on our own.”
“Then let’s get this show on the road and hope for the best.” Lance walked into the Treasury.
After inspecting the cool interior, we followed the guide outside and walked along the Street of Façades. I looked from side to side, expecting men to jump out from the dark tombs. The awe-inspiring beauty of the ancient city was eclipsed by my growing sense of danger.
Carlene strolled up, clutching Lance’s hand. “This place is more awesome than the little Grand Canyon in southwestern Texas.”
I faced her. “Thanks again for helping us out at the Taj. Can I count on you if those Germans show up here?”
Carlene’s smile evaporated. She glanced around with a look of concern. “Do you really think they might come here? Why would they do that?” She looked up at Lance.
Lance’s facial expression was all business. “Same reason as last time, whatever that was. The soldiers aren’t here for show, but they may as well be. If men like the ones who attacked us in Agra try again here, we might have to fend for ourselves. We could use an experienced shooter.”
“Darlin’, I don’t have a weapon, do you?” She glanced from Lance to me.
“Our plan is to stick close to the soldiers and borrow their weapons if necessary. I know it sounds lame, but we don’t have a lot of options. These fancy boys don’t exactly inspire confidence.” I nodded toward three soldiers leering at the pretty flight attendants.
Tawnee and Pete joined us as we continued through the vast site, posing for photos along the way.
After five hours of touring the necropolis and posing for pictures, our group reached the wide-open temple area in the central part of the city. We waited for an hour as Hal shot more pictures there.
Finally, the guide led us to tables and benches.
“We’ll stop here for a nice picnic dinner. Your meals are in your backpacks.” The guide pulled off his backpack and sat on a bench.
The group settled down at the tables, and Hal snapped pictures of everyone eating and chatting while I stepped away to find one of the chemical toilets. I used one among the rocks on a curving path near the picnic area.
When I exited the toilet, I heard the staccato blasts of automatic weapons reverberating off the towering mountains.
Earlier, Lance whispered to Carlene, “Maybe we should’ve sat with the soldiers. They’re at the outermost tables where their weapons are beyond our reach.” He caught Pete’s eye and nodded at the Royal Guard.
“Relax, sugar, I don’t think anyone will bother us way out here.” Carlene patted his knee.
While the soldiers were occupied pulling food from their backpacks, commandos sneaked in from the rocks behind them.
Lance looked up from his meal too late. “Look out! Get under the tables!” He pulled Carlene down and crouched over her.
The intruders fired their MP7s into the back of the Royal Guards’ heads before they had a chance to respond. In seconds, all the Jordanian soldiers were dead.
Pete and Tawnee ducked under a table. Jack, Inga, and Rod followed their lead. The tour guide panicked and tried to run away, screaming in his native tongue. His head exploded in a hail of bullets.
Hal, in the midst of snapping photos, made the mistake of pointing the camera at the attackers. He was shot before his finger could press the button.
Tawnee screamed and rushed to help Hal. A dark-haired beauty, she fell dead beside him with a bullet in her forehead.
Silence descended upon the group. Nobody moved. The desert air hung heavy with fear.
Men speaking German to each other interrupted the morbid stillness.
“Come out slowly, hands on heads,” a man said in a heavy German accent.
The tour group eased out from under the stone tables. Five men in desert combat fatigues with Kevlar vests pointed automatic weapons at everyone. The commandos removed plastic zip ties from their cargo pockets and secured their prisoners.
The leader scanned the stunned group and focused on blond-haired Inga. “A
re you Captain Starr? Answer or be killed by Black Sun.”
Inga shook with fright. “No, she, uh, st-stepped away to the toilet.”
“Which toilet?” The leader glared at her.
“I, uh, I don’t know. I think she went that way.” Inga nodded to her right.
The leader turned to one of his men. “Find her.”
Nine
Hidden in the rocks, I watched the bloody scene in horror. Eleven dead, including one from my crew. I had to do something. I saw the leader send a man in my direction.
I need his weapons.
The element of surprise was my best ally, so I perched on a boulder where I could jump on him when he rounded the corner. I lifted a heavy rock that required two hands.
When the German commando walked past my hiding place, I pounced on him from behind and smashed his head. The sickening sound of his skull cracking open made me cringe.
Bone shards and brains splattered the rock as he landed on his face. Blood spread around his head like a crimson halo.
I took a few deep breaths and swallowed the bile rising from my stomach. Mike’s account of the first time he killed someone during a SEAL mission flashed in my head. “Taking a human life changed me forever.”
Now I understood what he meant. Although I was justified, this act would haunt me. I didn’t have the luxury of contemplation. Time was critical.
I clipped his pistol holster to my belt at my right hip and his sheathed knife on my left. After slipping the MP7 strap over my shoulder, I dragged the body behind the rocks and covered the blood-soaked sand.
Someone would come looking for us. I returned to my vantage point and saw three men fanning out for a search while the fourth guarded the group.
My plan was to create a diversion so I could run in and rescue my people.
Someone else did it for me.
I turned around and found two Germans flanking me, their weapons ready to fire.
Two loud shots echoed through the canyon.
The men fell backward with massive bullet holes in their heads. I grabbed their submachine guns and another knife and ran for cover.