Kestrel, McCoy, and six native riders kept on up the cleft until the temple, El—Khazna, burst upon them unexpectedly. The sheer beauty and mystery of the place kept them silent. They watched the changing colors of the ancient temple as it became red under the sun.
Something within them stirred as they tried to grasp the significance of the centuries that had raced by since unknown men had cameoed out this temple to an unknown deity. What could the mute figures on its face tell of the past and the present, and of the ancient city of Petra that was lost to man for a thousand years?
They passed the theater that had been constructed in the days of the Romans, and the ruins on the temple, Qasr el Bint, that was once the castle of Pharaoh's daughter.
They were silent, as men will be when they are with their thoughts, as they entered the crumpled ruins of the ancient city. At first sight it looked as though they were within a blind pocket with two ranges of sandstone mountains on the right and the left, and ancient walls to the north and south.
But nature had cracked an entrance to the east through Es Siq and to the west by the Wadi es Siyagh.
They searched the amphitheater and tombs and temples of the city, studied the great high place of sacrifice on the Zibb Atuf through glasses. They stood at the base of the highest mountain in Petra, Umm el Biyara, and tried to find the ancient stairway that made the flat-topped fortress accessible to man.
They turned their glasses on the Holy of Holies, the top of Jebel Harun-the Moslem shrine of Aaron. They knew that within the mosque was the only Dushara still in use, except. the black stone of the Kaaba in Mecca. They knew that the site is so sacred that no non-Moslem is allowed to enter or even approach its holy precincts, so they turned their glasses away.
“It seems incredible that we can find only tracks,” Kestrel said. “They would have to stop and rest the camels unless they killed them and took the cargo on fresh camels. What did they do with the riders they killed?”
“Probably threw them into the gorges of the Wadi Musa,” McCoy said. “But they couldn't get out of here with camels unless they went out through Es Siq. '“The Wadi es Siyagh is impassable to caravans now.”
“You think they're still in here?”
“I don't know” McCoy answered. “I don't know where they could be unless they are up there on Jebel Harun, the Moslem shrine. And they couldn't get camels up there.”
“Nor would they dare,” Kestrel said. “An army of a thousand hostile Bedouins would come out of the hills if they attempted to defile the sacred image of Dushara.” “That's true,” McCoy said. “I think our best bet is to comb the place from the air. You may have a report from the three planes you ordered out.”
“We'll go back to Ma'an and leave a small garrison in Es Siq,” Kestrel said. “We're going to have trouble, McCoy. Hell is going to pop around here. I want to get into the rooms of young Douglas in Ma'an and see what I can find. There may be a clue there.”
COMMANDER KESTREL puckered his brow as he read the letter he had found in James Douglas' room. He had gone through Douglas' effects thoroughly, without finding a single thing that gave any clue to his death, until he found that letter.
DEAR BILL:
I don't know whether you will receive this before you leave China. I got your letter yesterday, and I can't tell you how appreciative I am.
But first let me wish you luck in China. I hope you get an order from the Nanking government for a couple of hundred planes. Good luck to you on that score!
As I told you in my last letter there are queer things going on here. The natives are restless and our Intelligence can't seem to get to the base of the thing. Eight of our fighters were stolen off the Royal Air Force field” Sabotage has been committed again and again. The whole thing remains a mystery. Then I was framed and stripped of my pips and wings and drummed off the field in disgrace.
You say in your letter that you will pick me up on your way back from China. You speak of flying from Nanking to Barnes Field, New York, as though you were going for an evening stroll!
Just one thing: I must clear my name before I leave here. I am going to do that, or die trying. I know you will understand how I feel about this. Our wing commander-Kestrel-is beside himself. There is treachery and danger, in the very air. You can almost see it. I know more about it than I can tell you in a letter. When you arrive here I will tell you what I know and, perhaps, you will help me unravel the thing.
I had always wanted to come to Arabia-"the land of mystery and romance.” The mystery is still left, but not the romance.
I can't tell you how this thing is burning inside me, Bill.
I ——-
There was a lump in Kestrel's throat as he came to the point where Douglas had stopped writing. He could picture young Douglas writing it, ready to pour out his soul to relieve his feelings. He wondered if a man could write a letter like that and still be guilty. He doubted it. Yet, stolen articles had been found in Douglas' rooms. He wondered for the first time if, as Douglas had claimed, he had been framed.
What, he asked himself, did Douglas know that he, Kestrel, didn't know? Was that the reason his dead body had been found in Es Siq?
He shook his head, angrily, as his thoughts' jumped from Douglas to Bill Barnes. Barnes was coming to Ma'an!
The thought struck him like a bludgeon. Perhaps, because of Douglas, Barnes would help him untangle the threads that were binding him tighter and tighter. He stuck the letter in his pocket and started for his office. He determined to call a conference of his flight officers immediately.
KESTREL frowned as he gazed at the faces of the men before him. McCoy of the camels; McCardell of the medical; Kestrel's adjutant, Creighton; Group Commanders Braddock and Hector; six squadron commanders and a bevy of flight officers. Kestrel's eyes stopped their wandering momentarily as they fell on the huge bulk of a man with a thatch of sandy hair and a scar that ran from temple to chin, then wandered on to the pink-faced man with pig-like eyes who sat beside him. The curious intentness of their faces startled him for a moment and he tried to remember their names. They flashed through his mind — MacTavish and Sneed.
He leaned forward and raised a hand for silence.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “you no doubt have an idea as to why I have called this conference. But let me impress upon you that you have no inkling of the seriousness of the situation confronting us. “I think it is best if I am frank with you. I was in receipt today of a communication from Sir Ronald, high commissioner of Trans-Jordan. He points out to me in no uncertain words that the Arabs in Palestine, Trans-Jordan, and Arabia are preparing to revolt.
“Some faction has aroused them. Trans-Jordan seems to be the center of their activities.
“Sir Ronald goes on to say that he knows we must constantly keep an eye on developments in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea and that we are in no position to withstand an Arab revolt with conditions as they are all over the world. We must nip the thing in the bud.”
Kestrel stopped speaking, cleared his throat and ran his anxious eyes over the men before him.
“Anyway, that puts it up to us. I've known that something was brewing from the reports I have had from our intelligence men scattered over this area. Now I know why we had eight planes stolen from under our noses, and why others have been damaged. Also, I know why a half dozen caravans have mysteriously disappeared within the past few months. The goods those caravans ” Carried can be traded for guns and bullets. The sacking, of those caravans helps build up the illusion in the minds of the fanatical Bedouins that all the desert and anything that moves on it belongs to them.”
Kestrel raised one hand and shook a finger at his men. His face was suffused with color and his eyes were spitting fire.
“Gentlemen,” he went on, his voice rising, “whoever secured those eight planes from our field could not have done so without help from inside the field. Some place among us there are traitors. We must find them. I thought we had found the beginning when we
convicted James Douglas of being a common thief and drummed him off the field.
“Now I am not so sure. You all know we found his body in Es Siq this morning. The two bullets we dug out of him came from a British army automatic!
“We have been able to find no trace of the caravan that was waylaid and confiscated in whole last night. But we do know that such a caravan went into Es Siq last night. I have checked with Jerusalem and found that the caravan carried riches beyond estimate, pearls and l black coral from the Persian Gulf. That caravan went into Petra, but never came out just as others have disappeared in the same mysterious manner.
“The same organization that looted our field looted those caravans, with help from some one inside our own lines. Douglas was killed with a British bullet. He was left there for a reason. Perhaps it was as a warning to us. That we will find out in due time.
“When we went through Douglas' effects to-day I found a letter he had been writing to Bill Barnes, the world-famous American. He had evidently written to Barnes telling him of his degradation with our forces. Barnes listened to his plea and offered him a place with his organization. That was probably due to the influence of Hassfurther, Barnes' chief of staff. He flew with Douglas' older brother in a British squadron during the World War.
“Barnes is on his way here now. He is coming to pick up Douglas on his way home from a business transaction in China.”
“Sir,” Group Commander Hector said, “what has Barnes to do with us?”
“I'm coming to that,” Kestrel said. “You know our situation here. You know that any overt act on our part will have the Arabs on us, slitting our throats. We must keep an eye on the situation at Alexandria and Port Said constantly: —”
“It is possible that we may interest Barnes in our plight because of his interest in young Douglas. He does not know Douglas is dead. From what I have heard of him he is a man of action and one who gets results. He may be able to track down the source of the theft of our planes and the murder and disappearance of those half dozen caravans. We must be ready to cooperate with him in every way possible.
“And, gentlemen, we must track down the traitors that are within our midst. Check all of your men. Keep an eye on them. No one is above suspicion. I do not wish to have this wing of the Royal Air Force a disgrace to the finest air corps in the world!”
“When,” Group Commander Hector asked, “will Barnes arrive here?”
“To-night sometime,” Kestrel replied. “I have been in touch with the airport at Bagdad, after checking back on his route as far as Calcutta. He will follow the regular air route over the Hamad Desert.”
“He is alone?” Hector asked.
'He is flying his Silver Lancer,” Kestrel said. “Hassfurther, Gleason, and Sanders are with him, flying the famous Snorters.”
III-PREPARATIONS
GROUP COMMANDER HECTOR threw off his belt and tunic and sat down in an easy-chair in .his quarters. He was a big man with iron-gray hair and a round, inscrutable face. He sat, now, as immobile as a stone Buddha, staring straight ahead of him;
He called, “Come in,” as a low knock sounded on his door. He didn't speak to MacTavish and Sneed as they came in the door. Instead, he stared at them as he had been staring straight ahead a few minutes before. Even the huge MacTavish fidgeted under his gaze.
Finally, Hector spoke. “You carried out my orders?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Sneed answered. “Our men are on the way. But there is one thing I wanted to mention to you, sir. The men are frightened.”
“Frightened!” Hector roared. “They'll be more than frightened if they don't carry out your orders.”
“They're nervous about Kestrel,” MacTavish said gruffly. “They know what the British government can do to a man.”
“You're a fine pair,” Hector sneered. He pointed a long finger at them. “Drum into their heads that they don't have to be nervous about the British unless they go yellow and talk. Get it through their heads they're in this thing now. There isn't any turning back. I'd drive it into their heads if it wasn't dangerous for me to be seen talking to them.
“Make 'em understand that they have everything to gain. None of us is in this for glory. With Serj el Said on the throne of Arabia and Trans-Jordan, the British won't be able to touch us. And he'll be there. The British haven't time to stop and fight an Arab revolt with half the world ready to go to war. We're the ones on the inside. We'll get the cream. Make your men understand that.”
“Are you sure you can trust Serj el Said?” MacTavish asked. “When I— when Douglas was shot last night Serj el Said said, “You'll be one less Englishman for me to cope with.'“
So you're getting nervous, too, eh?” Hector sneered. Again he pointed his finger. “Listen! I have Serj el Said tied to me the same way I have you tied. I could put both of you in a military prison for the rest of your lives. I could do the same with him. You, in turn, have the same hold on your men if you carried out my instructions as I told you to carry them out.
“Don't forget that I have you just where I want you. And don't think I won't turn on the pressure if I think it necessary.”
“What about yourself?” MacTavish asked. “Do you think you can get out clean if some, one talks?”
Hector came out of his chair like a thing on springs. His face was purple as he roared at MacTavish.
“Say 'Sir' when 'you speak to me, you swine!” he shouted.
“Sh-h!” Sneed said, stepping between the two men. “We'll get no place shouting at one another. I think it's time we got under way. Our men have already gone. We'll report to Serj el Said at Petra.”
His right elbow prodded MacTavish in the side as he finished speaking. MacTavish tried to twist his ugly face into a smile, and half succeeded.
“Sneed is right, sir,” he said. “You can depend on my loyalty, sir. All three of us are tense. You know things are going to crack wide open quite soon. It's getting inside me.”
“I understand, MacTavish,” Hector grunted. “But keep in mind that there must always be one leader, and to remain leader he must crush opposition without mercy.
“I'm depending on you two to keep your men lined up. When we're ready to strike, things will have to work with the precision of a machine. There can't be any slips. I'm tying up the loose ends now so that there won't be any Slips. A lot depends on your success tonight. You mustn't fail. You'll have the advantage of a surprise attack and superior numbers.
“Carry on with your assignment!”
“MacTavish and Sneed saluted smartly and took their leave. Hector threw his J big hulk into the same easy-chair and again stared straight ahead of him, as immobile as a stone Buddha.
AS the two dark forms of MacTavish and Sneed slunk out of the officers' quarters on the Royal Air Force field, Wing Commander Norton Kestrel sat in his own quarters, staring at his adjutant as though he could not believe what the man had just told him. .
His sunken eyes and lined cheeks gave mute evidence of the fact that he had not had sleep for over thirty-six hours. His twitching face was pale beneath its coat of tan.
“You're sure of this, Creighton?” Kestrel whispered.
“Positive,” Creighton answered. “Two of our Beersheba spies just made a report to me. They are thoroughly reliable. The Bedouins are gathering in tribes.”
“But what Moslem would dare to mutilate the Dushara?” Kestrel asked, his voice stunned. “If the natives believe we did it, the lives of non-Moslems will not be worth a farthing. If we start using an air patrol above the mosque on Jebel Harun it will only add to the natives' conviction that we have c tried to enter the Holy of Holies.”
“I'll get word through to Amman, Jerusalem, and Mecca,” the adjutant said. “The natives will strike when their leader tells them he is ready.”
“We will have to evacuate all women and children and double all guards,” Kestrel said, pulling at his haggard face. “I'll issue general orders, immediately. Then I must have some sleep. Barnes wil
l be here sometime before morning. I wish to see him the minute he arrives.”
IV-OUT OF THE NIGHT
THE PROPS of the three Snorters and the silver bullet that was the Lancer were ticking over slowly as Bill Barnes came out of the administration, building of the airport at Bagdad. The goggled, white-helmeted heads of “Shorty” Hassfurther, Bill's chief of staff, “Red” Gleason, and young “Sandy” Sanders, the youngest of Bill's little squadron of aces, jutted above the rim of their yellow-and-black-and-red amphibians.
They were waiting, impatiently, for Bill to signal the dispatch tower. Luggage, ammunition, emergency equipment in the tails, and fuel had been carefully checked.
Shorty Hassfurther, that blue-eyed broad-faced veteran of a thousand battles in the air, wanted to be on his way to the Royal Air Force field at Ma'an. He wanted to see and talk to James Douglas, the brother of an old War-time pal. He had seen young James a half dozen times in England since his brother r had been killed. And once, young Douglas had spent a couple of weeks with him on Barnes Field, Long Island.
A strong bond of friendship had been forged between Douglas, Bill Barnes, and Shorty Hassfurther during those two weeks. They had been horrified, then angry when they learned that Douglas had been cashiered from the Royal Air Force. Now they wanted to get to him to prove that their friendship was something more than empty words.
Bill Barnes' bronzed face became grim and a little tense as he studied the scudding black clouds racing across the sky. A vision of that night two years before when he and young Sandy had been caught by a sand storm over the Syrian Desert flashed through his mind. Then he shook his head angrily and raised his hand above his head. The dispatch tower acknowledged.
The twin Diesels in Red Gleason's Snorter roared. A signal flashed and the big amphibian rolled forward. It streaked down the runway into the wind. The tail came up. The earth faded away beneath it and the' spinning landing wheels described an arc as the bracing members folded and swung up into their wells. Red took the thundering ship upward in tight spirals to level off at five thousand feet. The wind screamed along the streamlined fuselage as Shorty Hassfurther and young Sandy kicked their ships into the wind and joined him.
The Blood-Red Road to Petra Page 2