“Look. This situation could go really bad both ways. But if you give me the book, we’ll all walk away.”
“What makes this book so damned valuable?”
“The book of Nostradamus tells us the future. You know the future and you know what will happen with the stock market, lotto, you name it, the book has the answers – a man without morals could do very well with such a book. I’ve had a hard life, but no more. Now I want to get paid. I get the book, or the girl dies.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that…”
“This isn’t between you and me. So fuck off!”
“But I think I can make it between the two of us. Because, although I don’t know anything about Nostradamus and this stupid book everyone keeps talking about, I’m pretty certain I came across it earlier. Do you want it?”
“I’ve already told you, the girl dies if I don’t get the book.”
“Well. We can’t have that now, can we?” The smaller of the two divers reached into a satchel he was carrying and withdrew a leather and brass codex.
Zara stared at it. Damn it. Please don’t give it to him!
The soldier loosened his grip at the sight of the book. “It’s good to see you’ve decided to play ball.”
“Now what?”
“Now you hand me the book and then go about whatever it is you were doing out here.”
The smaller of the two divers grinned. “Okay. Sure.”
She saw the book spinning through the air. A four hundred year old document written by Michel De Nostradamus and now some idiot was throwing it through the air. It landed in the water behind her.
The pressure on her throat relaxed, as her captor tried to catch the book. In the process, she was able to lean down just enough to reach her butterfly knife. She opened the knife and in one single smooth transition, sent the blade straight between her captor’s 4th and 5th intercostal space in a powerful upwards motion. The blade severed his aortic arch. It was a death sentence that would take place in a matter of seconds.
The man tried to scream, but just couldn’t get the air out. She withdrew the knife, and blood spurted out through the open wound with the force of a jet engine. Zara felt the pressure around her throat go limp and the massive man fall onto her back. She rolled onto her side and the dead weight dropped into the now reddish water.
She raced towards the spot where the book had struck the water. Its heavy brass codex dragged it under the water like a stone. She dived down after it, but quickly realized she would need the dive equipment to reach it. The book had already sunk to the bottom. By the time she reached it, the book would most likely be destroyed.
Zara surfaced and walked towards the two treasure hunters. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
The shorter of the two treasure hunters backed away as she charged at him. “Yeah, we just saved your life for a second time today.”
She stopped at the bank of the oasis without saying another word. She washed the blood off the blade of her knife and carefully folded the butterfly edges in on themselves, so the blade was no longer visible.
The shorter of the treasure hunters grinned. “I’m not so certain I’d do it a third time, though.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sam looked at her. She was extremely beautiful, and he would have considered her quite stunning if she wasn’t so angry. She had a dark olive complexion. It was her natural skin tone, and not caused by months spent under the harsh rays of the sun. At a guess, Sam figured she had Egyptian ancestry, although she spoke English with a tinge of French in her accent.
She had lustrous black hair, emerald-hazel eyes, long dark lashes, and high cheek bones that gave her face a regal appearance. He’d noticed her small bud of a mouth was quick to smile after he’d questioned whether he’d go to the effort of saving her life for a third time. She held herself with poise, and a sense of authority reserved for those of noble birth or born into wealth. Those who believed in their heart, they were better than others. She wore a blue akhebay, the loose fitting robe which protected everything below the shoulders of a nomadic woman, and most commonly worn by the Tuareg people of the Saharan desert. But he was willing to bet the outcome of the rebellion in the DRC, there was no way she’d spent her life in the desert. Her dark skin was unblemished, her hands looked clean and her sandals were made by the high tech hiking clothing company, Gore-Tex.
She appeared indifferent to the copious amounts of dark red blood which stained her wet robes. It made him wonder if perhaps she wasn’t so high and mighty as he’d first expected. He noticed she quickly pocketed the butterfly knife, and was now frantically searching her dead captor. Unable to locate whatever it was she was after, she shuffled to the edge of the oasis and tried to climb out.
“Are you all right?” he asked offering his hand to help her up.
She refused his gesture and stood to her feet on her own. “I’m fine. I just wished you hadn’t thrown my life’s work into the water.”
“Don’t worry, we didn’t,” Sam replied.
“I saw you throw the brass covered codex into the oasis,” she said.
Sam shrugged. “That was a six hundred year old book filled with original maps of the region. We bought it to help find what we were looking for.”
“You were looking for the ancient Golden City of the Garamantes, weren’t you?”
“Yes. We’ve been following the maps and notes of early explorers in the region.”
“And did you have any luck?”
“No. It would appear the Golden City of the Garamantes is a myth.”
“I could have told you that. The Garamantes built many cities in the Sahara, but none of them this far south and none of them filled with gold.” Her voice was confident and imperious. Her eyes darted between Tom and Sam. Then she spotted the backpack Sam had found earlier. It was lying on the edge of the water. She quickly pulled it out and frantically emptied it. She stood close to him, meeting him eye to eye and challenged him. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?” Sam asked.
“My book!” She walked around the oasis, moving towards the next corpse and started searching. “If you’ve stolen it I swear to God I’ll kill you both.”
“I’m sorry. Let’s start again. My name’s Sam Reilly, and this is Tom Bower. What’s your name?”
She ignored his question and persisted, “Where did you hide it?”
In an instant Sam realized he was wrong about her. She wasn’t born into nobility or wealth. Her sense of authority stemmed from a background in leadership. Although, who she lead, he had no idea.
“Do you mean, a leather bound, brass binder codex?”
Her eyes showed instant recognition. “Where is it? What have you done to it?”
Sam smiled and pointed to the sand dune further along. “It’s buried in the sand.”
“So you did take it!”
“No. I merely buried it for safe keeping – whatever it is. I figured anything these guys were willing to kill to get their hands on, should probably be kept from them.”
She looked at where he’d buried the book and said nothing. She then walked up the next sand dune. She immediately spotted where the sand had recently been turned over and used her hands to dig the codex free.
Sam turned to face Tom, who was grinning in fascination. “Well, what do you make of that?”
“I don’t think she likes you, Sam.”
“No. Too bad. But from what I’ve seen so far, I can’t say I’m too fond of her either.”
They followed her, and watched as she found the leather bound book and shook off the sand. Once confident it was dry and free of any sand, she undid the latch and confirmed the pages were still there. She smiled. It wasn’t quite a model’s smile. Instead it was definitely something more empress-like. It portrayed her relief, but also showed that she was in command of the situation.
She latched the codex and turned to face him again. “Now. Where are the camels? We need to get o
ut of here!”
Sam put his hands in his pockets and sighed. “Well. About that. I’m afraid one of the camels took a bullet to its head in the crossfire and the others got spooked and ran off.”
She spat on the ground. “Fools! How could you let them get away?”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said without hiding the sarcasm from his voice. “I was a little busy at the time – trying to save your life again!”
She ignored him and walked back towards where the camels had been. She found her green headdress and wrapped it around her head and face, leaving just enough room to see out. She picked up a large plastic water container and placed it in her carry pack, and then headed south, further into the Erg of Bilma.
“Where the hell are you going?” Sam yelled.
She turned for a moment and looked to the north. A giant sand cloud was visible several miles back. Sam thought it was either a small sand storm or a legion of rebels on camelback. “I need to get away – before the rest of his men arrive.”
Sam turned to Tom who was already focusing his binoculars on the sand storm. “Tell me that’s not what she thinks it is!”
Tom’s jaw went rigid. “At a guess I’d say at least five hundred men on camel. Maybe five miles back. It could be closer to a thousand.”
“Ah, Christ…” Sam swore and then picked up the two remaining carry bags he’d taken off the camels earlier in the day to set up camp. He and Tom quickly donned their cooling suits, wrapping their nomadic robes over the top. Sam grabbed his full water bottle and sand goggles. He checked the remaining Uzi. Its chamber was empty. There were no bullets left in its magazine and the spares were kept in the remaining pack, which had still been attached to the camels that had run into the desert. The second Uzi had been thrown into the water by one of the soldiers. Tom handed him an AK-47 he’d stolen from one of the dead men. Sam checked – the magazine was full.
“I found five spare magazines for that, too,” Tom said.
“Thanks.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
Sam turned to face south, where two light footprints lead deeper into the Erg of Bilma. “Now we follow the strangest woman I’ve met for a long time.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Adebowale heard the sound of roaring water fighting its way through the tunnel. The strength of the noise was getting louder. It was driven by the unimaginable pressures from above as the torrent charged through the narrow passages and warrens of the mine with the energy of a tsunami. Compared to the approaching onslaught, Adebowale’s massive and athletic structure appeared weak and fragile. There was nowhere to run. Given a ten minute head start, the water would reach him well before he could ever escape. There was nothing for it, and yet he tried to run.
He always did.
Every time it was exactly the same. He felt the burning sensation in his legs and arms as the release of adrenaline stimulated his fight or flight response. He’d played college football in the US as a quarterback and despite his massive frame was capable of moving quickly when he wanted. He felt the tendons of his calves, designed for short bursts and sprints, propel him like a racecar. It felt good. Like maybe this time he would make it.
The pitch of the churning water increased and he imagined his death at any moment. Despite his speed, he felt like he was running through mud. With each movement his legs were being slowed as though an invisible coil was restraining them.
Ahead, the passage split into two directions. Left and right. Adebowale chose left. Somehow it felt correct. The narrow tunnel had a distinct incline to it, which meant he was gaining elevation. He’d made the right choice! The only way to outrun the water, was to rise above it.
The tunnel appeared dark ahead. The dimly lit lights that lined the shaft looked like they’d suddenly been cut off. He continued running at full speed in a way that only an athlete could and then he stopped. Directly in front of him, a large cave-in had blocked his progression.
He’d run out of places to escape! He turned and watched as the water raced toward him with lethal finality. In an instant, and like last time, Adebowale realized he’d been here before. And like every other time before that, the water struck him with such force he lost consciousness before his mind could even register the sensation of the cold water on his skin.
He woke up, struggling to breathe. His chest pounding, and his lungs stung. Sweat dripped from his blood drained skin. Adebowale looked up at the sun. The pain lasted longer than usual this time. He still felt difficulty breathing, and his tongue felt dry and cracked. His right shoulder throbbed.
He’d had another dream.
It made Adebowale feel good. For once he was glad of the visions which had cursed for as long as he could remember. It reassured him that he was going to die in a place very different to the one he was now trapped.
He tried to move his arms again, see if there was any more give than last time – before he’d passed out. The restraints had been well placed. Although the rope bound his wrists, and allowed him to move his hands, they were too far apart for him to reach with his fingers. He tried to bend his knees and adjust his position, but even they had been bound so well that he’d been forced to remain standing since his injury.
They had shot him three times in his chest. The bullets, he guessed, had pierced just above his right lung, narrowly avoiding killing him. The shots had been targeted there on purpose. It had never been his enemy’s intention to let him die a quick death. Instead, he’d been left to die beneath the heat of the sun – the Sahara’s most deadly weapon. If dehydration didn’t kill him today or tomorrow, his wound would fester and send him into a delirium filled with the nightmares of his future.
He looked at the sun and laughed. The heat was going to be particularly bad today. A person in good health would be lucky to survive until sunset, but someone with his injuries would certainly die. He wasn’t afraid. He’d seen his death and it wasn’t today. The laugh became louder. The insane rant of a man who’d discovered the benefit of knowing the precise circumstance of your death was that, until that time, he was immortal.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It took Sam nearly fifteen minutes to catch up with the woman whose life he’d just saved. He’d followed her tracks at a pace between a fast walk and a jog and then slowed to a pace just above a walk to match hers. She paid little attention to him. Tom trailed behind, like the tortoise and the hare.
Confident, slow and steady was going to be the only way to walk across the desert, Sam wondered how long she could keep up like this, knowing it would be a death sentence for her once the sun reached overhead. He and Tom still had their experimental DARPA cooling suits, but she had nothing but her robes. The town of Bilma was another forty miles south. They might actually reach it, but he doubted she would if she kept moving at such a high pace.
He said, “Hello. Let’s start again. My name’s Sam Reilly and my friend trailing behind is Tom Bower. What’s your name?”
“Zara Delacroix.” Her eyes never left the horizon. “Doctor Delacroix.”
“Medical, or of Philosophy?” Sam asked.
“Philosophy. Archeology. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” Sam smiled. “What’s your story?”
She kept walking and said nothing. Her face was barely visible because of the finely wrapped green headdress. From what he could see, her jaw was hardened with determination and her eyes fixed on the horizon.
“Hey, I just saved your life!” Sam persisted.
“No you didn’t!” Her eyes turned on him, without pausing in her stride. “You postponed my death by a day or so. Nothing more.”
“Why? Who’s coming for you?”
She remained silent, focused and intent.
“We can help defend you,” Sam said, holding out the AK-47 he’d stolen from one of the dead men. “Just tell me what’s going on?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t bother wasting your energy carrying the AK-47.”
“Why not
?”
“If they catch up with us, we’re dead. No matter what weapons we have. There’s too many of them. Close to a thousand I’d guess. Maybe only five hundred will reach us in time, but that will be sufficient.” She spoke good English, with a heavy French accent.
“Who are they?” Sam asked.
She shrugged. “Mercenaries, nomadic tribes, rebels from any number of Africa’s discontent nations, who can say? He will have placed a massive bounty on the return of the book I’m carrying. There will be enough gold capable of making any man a master. And all of these men want to be their own master.”
“Do you mean, General Ngige?” Sam asked.
She nodded. “That’s the one.”
“The current rebel leader who appears to have staged the most successful military coup in the DRC’s history?”
“Yeah. He came over here with an army of mercenaries from throughout Africa to steal a book I’ve spent my life searching for. Although why he’s suddenly discovered a newfound interest in archeology beats me.”
He kept pace with her and said nothing.
“General Ngige was in the group of men who tried to kill me back there at the oasis. You must have killed him when you saved my life.” She spoke matter-of-factly, without any tone of appreciation or hint of gratitude. “You’re lucky you did. I’ve heard that he was probably one of the greatest military strategists of our time. He commanded loyalty from his soldiers that bordered on religious fanaticism. In exchange he looked after them well. They were well funded, well trained, and all of his men were offered land once they won the war.”
“You know a lot about him?” Sam asked. “If you’ve been in the Saharan desert for some time searching for this book, I’m surprised you know so much about what’s going on in the Democratic Republic of Congo.”
“I have a large following myself.” Again, she said it as a statement, not as a boast. “People have flocked from all over Africa to help me search for this book. One of them came from the Kingdom of Zaire, before it became the DRC. He lost everything in the coup during the early nineties, and has spent the last thirty years planning on returning with an army. He keeps me well informed. Believe me when I say, you’re extremely lucky to have killed Ngige when you had the chance. If he was still alive, I would recommend killing yourself now before he captures you, which inevitably, he would do.”
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 2 Page 60