by J. R. Rain
Chapter Thirty-six
Throughout that morning, Faye Roberts had been secured to a wooden post within a small workroom, surrounded by what appeared to be explosives. Before noon, she was led to a massive snow-covered rock to relieve herself. The boulder reeked of urine. She covered her nose with the arm of her sleeve and tried to go. But she couldn’t, especially with the young soldier casting sidelong glances at her. She gave up.
“Did you get an eyeful, asshole?” she asked, passing him.
She was led to Omar’s tent. The emir sat behind his massive oak desk studying what appeared to be aerial photographs of a city. Upon closer inspection she saw that it was Istanbul. The light from his small electric lamp cast deep shadows in the hollows of his sunken cheeks. As usual, the big bodyguard stood silently off to the side, ignoring her completely and staring straight ahead, although Faye knew that that was just an illusion. She sensed the bodyguard was aware of her every movement. Omar looked up from the photographs and forced a smile. “Perhaps you’re wondering why I’ve summoned you to my tent, Professor Roberts?”
“To apologize and release us.”
He grinned. “Your spirit is admirable. However, Professor Al Sayid has requested your assistance.”
She shook her head. “And why should I help him?”
“If you are uncooperative, he has been given orders to have you killed. Or, perhaps, given to my brother.”
“You’re an animal.”
The Arab leaned back a little and studied Faye. He crossed his arms in an apparent attempt to keep himself warm. “To aid Al Sayid, we had employed another archaeologist from Riyadh.” Omar paused. “That archaeologist is dead. Or, more accurately, I had him killed.”
“Why?”
“I suspected he was less than trustworthy. However, his work is now incomplete. And that’s where you come in, professor Roberts. You will complete his project. I will expect to see results shortly, as the report shall coincide with the destruction of Istanbul, which shall be in a matter of days.”
“And then what?”
“You will return to Riyadh with me, to join my harem. There, you will be forgotten. Or at least as good as dead.”
“I would rather die.”
“That can be arranged, too, although that would be such a waste.”
The emir motioned and Farid opened the tent flap and a guard stepped in. The guard reached for Faye. She shrugged him off. “What about my father and Sam?” she demanded.
The emir sighed. “Perhaps you should be more concerned with your own welfare,” he said simply.
“What will happen to them?”
Omar’s eyes were expressionless, like slivers of coal, the eyes of a predator. “They will be killed, of course.”
* * *
She was led from the emir’s tent to a much smaller tent in the center of camp, designed to sleep one on either wing. Instead of bunks there were two metal fold-out tables piled with folders, notebooks, and printouts. Even a laptop computer. In short, it looked like her small office at USC. Minus the clean, private bathroom.
Al Sayid was there. The little Arabic professor was comparing two latex samples through a jeweler’s eyepiece. The professor stood and reached for her hand. Despite herself, she let him take it. He led her around the fold-out table and to a wooden stool. He eased her down and spread the samples before her.
“I hope you are being treated well.”
“I’m in no mood for formalities,” she said, then added, “other than formally kicking Omar’s royal ass.”
“He’s a bit insane, admittedly. Rather single-minded in his obsession. I keep my distance from him, and he allows me to search for the ark.” He changed the subject, pointing to the latex samples before her. “I’m well aware of your work in the field of paleo-linguistics, professor. Your father himself was highly regarded. Unfortunately, these glyphs are beyond even his expertise.” He paused. “I’m no expert. I need your help. I have a fair idea what’s being discussed here, but not the specifics.”
“What is it that you want?”
The little professor’s eyes narrowed. His pupils shrank to tiny black pinholes. “You will interpret these glyphs, Miss Roberts. And quickly. We are rapidly losing time.” He checked his watch. “As much as I would like to nose around and watch you work, I have other tasks to oversee. I am surrounded by fools.”
“What about food?”
“I will have some delivered.” He paused and stared at her coldly. “I have been given full liberty to do with you as I wish. Do not test me.” With that he went outside, leaving her alone.
* * *
A Kurdish soldier named Razu returned with food. Bread, cheese and even wine. She drank the wine in one shot. Faye decided that Razu was entirely too serious. And he gripped his weapon too tightly for her comfort. Difficult working conditions at best.
Throughout the day, she thought often of Sam and her father. Were they okay? Was Wally frightened out of his skin yet?
She worked far into the night. As the hours passed, the wind slapped against the tent with more regularity. Faye didn’t notice the wind, or the cold, or even that she was starving. As always, she was absorbed completely in her work—even when it wasn’t her work. Ultimately, an exhausted Razu left Faye alone with another guard sitting just inside the tent’s entrance.
On the laptop, she worked on her report. The sound of her typing could be heard throughout camp until the early hours of morning.
Chapter Thirty-seven
I had been sleeping fitfully when I detected another presence in the cave: the whisper of boots, the sound of easy breathing, the swish of clothing. I opened my eyes and turned my head, but I could see little. The fire, however, had dwindled to little more than a tired smoldering.
I could smell the intruder: a mixture of sweat and alcohol, both in moderate portions. I had just begun to sit up when a hand fell heavily across my shoulder. If I wasn’t so tough, I might have yelped like a puppy.
“Come,” said the voice of Farid Bastian.
Dusting sand from my face, I followed the big man across the cave and into the black tunnel. The Arab wore a dark robe and a matching headcloth, held tight by a black cord. He swept the powerful flashlight methodically from side to side as we moved through the tunnel. When Farid finally stopped and faced me I saw that he was weaponless. However, Farid himself was weapon enough.
He held out a cigarette, which I quickly accepted. He lit a match and I leaned into it, puffing my cigarette to life. He lit his own, and we could have been two high school seniors sneaking a smoke in the boy’s room.
“How’s the girl?” I asked in Arabic.
“She is fine,” he answered calmly. “The emir will not touch her. That part of him has died. And his brother keeps his distance, for now.”
“Does the emir know you are here?”
“He knows only that I’m checking on the prisoners.” He grinned and caught my eyes. “That would be you.”
“Thanks, I almost forgot.”
We smoked contentedly. After a short while, Farid said, “The girl has proven herself invaluable to the professor, at least for the time being.”
“Why are you here, Farid?” I asked pointedly.
“Because I am going to kill you in the morning.”
I sucked in air around the cigarette. “How? A gunshot to the head? A shove over a cliff?”
“Come daylight, I will methodically shoot the three of you, claiming that you attempted to kill the emir. The soldiers will not question it. Your bodies will be dumped into the Ahora Gorge.”
“And we’ll be gone forever. Problem solved, and his secret is preserved.” I inhaled deeply, and looked at the big man.
We were silent. The light of Farid’s flashlight splashed on the far wall. I finished my cigarette and dropped it into the sand and watched it smolder until it died.
“And what of Faye?” I asked.
Farid shrugged. “She will return with us to Riyadh, to join the re
st of his harem. There are ways of making women, especially American women, disappear. She will never escape, and she will be as good as dead.”
“And a play thing for the Saudi royal princes,” I said.
Farid shrugged.
“And why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“I do not wish to kill you,” he said.
“But you will if you have to?”
“Yes.”
“Do you enjoy killing?” I asked.
I knew Farid Bastian was an ex-Saudi soldier, trained in their special forces. Killing was no stranger to the big man. He said, “I receive little pleasure in killing another man.”
I sighed and scratched the stubble at my jaw. “Thanks for the hot tip, big guy, but what am I to do about it?”
“I come to give you fair warning,” he said, “And I come to give you this.”
He removed an automatic pistol from within the folds of his robe. Then he handed me a fistful of bullets. I stuck the pistol and the bullets into the pockets of my jacket.
“Outside are three of the emir’s most trusted guards,” said Farid.
“One for each of us?” I said.
“No. Three for you.” Farid inhaled and his chest expanded out like a great sail catching the wind. “I trust, my friend, that you will be gone when I come to kill you in the morning.”
“I’d hate to spoil your day.”
Farid led the way back to the cave, then I watched him disappear into the tunnel, his shoulders impossibly wide, sweeping his flashlight before him.
Darkness descended around me once again.
* * *
I sat alone before the small mound on the east side of the cave and held the cold pistol in my hands.
I had buried Liz Cayman with my own hands, with my own snow shovel. I had dug with manic intensity, sweat pouring from my body. And when the grave was six feet deep, I had eased Liz’s lifeless body down into the pit. The blood had been washed from her face and her crushed skull was hidden behind a tangle of black hair. Lying at the bottom of her grave, she looked beautiful and peaceful. I folded her hands across her chest because it had seemed the thing to do. It was hardest watching her disappear under each shovelful of dirt. Mountain climbers have a tradition of burying their dead on the mountains responsible for their deaths. Ararat is no different.
I thought of Omar and his madness and gripped the pistol reassuringly in my hand. Somewhere the wind blew and ruffled my hair and I closed my eyes and leaned forward and pressed my forehead into the cold dirt mound that was Liz’s grave.
Chapter Thirty-eight
I woke the others and told them the bad news. Wally gaped at his watch, which was a testament to its manufacturers that it still worked. “My God, that’s in five hours! What are we going to do?”
“Figure a way out of here,” I said.
“And the big fellow gave you a gun?” said the professor calmly, rubbing his jaw and nodding. I wondered if anything ruffled the old man’s feathers. “Rather sporting of him.”
“Rather,” I said.
“Do you intend to kill the guards?” Caesar asked matter-of-factly, as if the idea intrigued him.
“A shoot-out would be my last resort. Not only are we out-numbered, their guns are bigger. I think Farid provided the gun as an edge, nothing more.”
“But maybe we can shoot all three,” said Wally quickly, looking from Caesar to myself as if he had just expounded the greatest idea in the history of ideas. The kid was losing it. But who could blame him. Execution wasn’t in his course prerequisite. “I’m a pretty good shot, you know, hunting with my .22 rifle.”
“Actually,” I said. “I have another idea.”
* * *
I studied the cave-in. The wall was less dense further up, but the climb up was a treacherous one, which is why the others had not attempted it before. As I studied the wall, looking for a likely route up, Wally paced and ran both his hands through his unruly hair, muttering to himself. Apparently, he was from the shoot ‘em up school, raised on Rambo and Commando movies. Caesar, however, was intrigued and watched me with an arched eyebrow.
I hooked the adze of the ice ax onto my belt and gripped a protruding rock above me, and stepped up onto the wall. I searched for another handhold, found one, and took another step up. I did this again and again, as smaller rocks broke free and showered the others below in a storm of dirt and debris. Soon I was thirty feet above the floor, my head brushing the cobwebbed ceiling.
I removed the titanium ax from my belt. Using my free hand, I shoved the ax’s sharp-pointed shaft between two smaller rocks. As I pounded the shaft deep, my right foot suddenly slipped and I swung briefly out into space, dangling by one hand like a black gibbon in the rainforests of Borneo. I grunted and reached out with my toes until I found secure footing. A fall from here wouldn’t kill me, but two broken legs would make for a difficult escape.
I gripped the adze and began applying pressure. The rock shifted reluctantly. When it did, I shoved the shaft deeper into the wedge and reapplied my efforts.
I looked at my watch. Four hours until dawn.
Pausing for breath, I looked down. The kid was pacing in a small circle, leaving behind Sasquatchian footprints in the soft sand. Caesar gave me the two thumbs-up sign, grinning. You’d think the old guy was having the time of his life.
I brought my knees up and kicked the shaft. The rock tilted. Dust sifted down. I shouted for the others to stand aside. I kicked again and again, until finally the rock popped out and tumbled down the wall with enough noise to wake the dead and landed with a thud in the sand, creating a small dirt mushroom cloud.
I re-positioned myself and shoved the adze between the next two rocks. Again, I swung my legs up and kicked the shaft with the heels of my boots. Almost immediately the rock broke loose and plummeted to the cave floor below. I was just beginning to think that maybe the pendulum of luck was swinging our way when I heard a noise coming from the tunnel.
* * *
Two guards stood at the entrance to the cave, one of them holding a flashlight steady on me, while the other swept his around the cave. Both were carrying their semi-automatic weapons at their hips, ready for immediate use.
The one holding the light on me said in Arabic, “What are you doing?”
I climbed down the wall. “I was advised by the emir’s bodyguard that we needed immediate results, and so we are working well into the night.”
The guard stepped closer, moving with a limp. As he walked, he kept his beam in my eyes, perhaps to disorient me, perhaps to be an asshole. Perhaps both. After a lot of limping, he finally stood before me.
“Are you sure that is all he told you?” he asked, flashing the light from one eye to the next.
“I’m sure,” I said.
Bum leg and all, he punched me in the stomach, a swift movement that gave me only a fraction of a second to tighten my abdominal muscles. I sank to my knees, sucking air. He stood over me and I expected the stock of his rifle to come crashing down between my shoulders. Instead, his scuffed boots turned away in the soft sand.
“Just make sure that is all you’re doing, merkep,” he said over his shoulder.
I could have shot them both in the back. But, then, that wouldn’t have been very sporting of me. With the guards gone, and my breathing back to normal, I resumed work thirty feet above the cave floor.
And just before dawn, with Wally keeping me posted on the time, I pulled free a final basketball-sized rock and was greeted with something truly wonderful: a cool draft of air.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I thrust the torch through the opening; beyond, the darkness retreated reluctantly. I was greeted by a refreshing wind that smelled faintly of mildew and dirt and something very old and crypt-like. This side of the cave-in was empty save for a dozen or so large rocks scattered across the sandy floor. The far wall was solid and forbidding, and one thing was painfully clear: there was no way out.
But then where was the
source of the cool air?
I slithered through the small opening and, with the torch between my teeth like Fido playing a burning game of fetch, I climbed down the far wall. Once on firm ground, I followed the source of wind. I moved slowly over the sandy floor, boots whispering over the sand, eyes alert for anything.
The far wall came to flickering life as I approached, each fissure and crack emerging from the shadows. The flame danced crazily in my hand, awakened by a breeze whose source was still frustratingly unknown.
I swept the torch near the base of the wall, searching the shadows that crawled to life. The flame whipped crazily in my hand. The tunnel had to be here—
There! Near the floor, was a small, dark tunnel. I hurried back.
* * *
I guided the professor up the rock wall. The few times he faltered, I gripped the fabric of his jacket and hauled him up. All in all, he was a fit man, needing little help.
Wally Krispin was a different story. The kid had the coordination of a newborn. I helped him each step of the way. His bony knees and elbows stuck out every which way, like a human pin cushion. After twenty long minutes, the kid made it up and slithered on his belly through the opening.
Voices suddenly erupted from within the tunnel. Many voices, speaking excitedly.
Dawn.
“They’re coming for us.”
I plunged through the small opening.
* * *
Thirty feet above the floor, Wally was waiting for me, eyes wide with fear. “I-I don’t know how to get down, Sam.”
But when angry voices erupted in the cave behind us, Wally Krispin suddenly bolted, scrabbling down the side of the wall like a spider with an extra leg. Halfway down, he jumped without reservation, hitting the soft sand hard, skidding on his face. He got up, spitting out sand and raking his hair with his fingers. Luckily, nothing seemed broken.
I tossed the torch down to the waiting professor. Caesar caught it neatly by the wooden shaft. I knew we couldn’t have done that again if we tried. Before climbing down, I kicked rocks back into the small opening, plugging our escape route. It wasn’t much, but at least it would slow them down.