Sheba

by Jack Higgins

  Cunningham laughed shortly. “Until a week ago I slept in one of the tents under guard. I tried to make a run for it one night, but I’m afraid I didn’t get very far. Since then, I’ve been back in the well.”

  “Sounds lousy,” Kane said.

  Cunningham shrugged. “At least it’s dry. I shouldn’t imagine there’s been any water in the damned thing for a thousand years or more.” He got to his feet and stretched. “We’d better get started. Muller can be surprisingly nasty if he doesn’t think enough work’s been done.”

  He picked up the spot lamp and led the way into the passage. It was perhaps sixty or seventy feet long and sloped downwards. At the far end, Jamal was filling a basket, the blade of his shovel flashing in the lamplight. There was barely enough room for two men to work side-by-side. Jamal turned at the sound of the approach, Kane slapped him on the shoulder, and the Somali went back to his digging.

  “As you can see, conditions aren’t too good,” Cunningham said.

  Kane examined the walls closely with one of the lamps and frowned. “I’ve excavated rock tombs in the mountains around Shabwa, but I’ve never come across one with an entrance like this.”

  Cunningham nodded. “I think Muller is barking up the wrong tree. He doesn’t even know the temple was constructed by Balquis, Queen of Sheba.”

  “That’s the one comforting thing I’ve heard today,” Kane told him. “But I must say I’d like to know where this damned tunnel leads myself.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Cunningham said, handing him a shovel.

  Kane paused only to strip to the waist and then he moved in beside the Somali and started to dig.

  In Berlin at Tirpitz Ufer, Canaris was working at his desk when Ritter came in. “I’ve just heard from Skiros,” Ritter said.

  The Admiral sat back. “Everything on schedule?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What happens to Romero and his friends after they leave the Catalina?”

  “They’ll be picked up by a member of our Egyptian bureau and driven straight to Italian territory.”

  “Excellent.” Canaris smiled. “Not long now, Hans.”

  “No, Herr Admiral.”

  “Carry on,” Canaris said and Ritter went out.

  12

  THE MOON HAD RISEN OVER THE RIM OF THE GORGE and the valley was filled with its eerie radiance, when Muller had them taken down to the encampment. Emerging from the cave, Kane stretched to ease his tired muscles and paused at the sight of the temple, bathed in moonlight. It looked incredibly beautiful and awe-inspiring, but the guards apparently felt otherwise. The muzzle of a rifle dug painfully into his back and he was urged on down the slope.

  It was quiet in the valley, and the shadows and loneliness moved in from the desert as they passed between the tents and entered the trees. Somewhere, a camel coughed and an Arab stood knee-deep in the pool and washed himself, pausing to watch curiously as they passed.

  On the other side of the trees they halted beside a small horseshoe of rock, which surrounded a round, black hole, perhaps five feet in diameter. A heavy rope was secured to a nearby palm tree, and one of the guards picked up the free end and tossed it down into the darkness.

  Cunningham went down first, straddling the rope, holding it tightly between his hands and walking backwards over the rim of the hole. When the Somali had followed him, Muller turned to Kane and spread his hands in a characteristic gesture. “I am sorry about this, my friend, but Skiros insists. He considers you to be a very resourceful man.”

  “Save your breath,” Kane said coldly. He picked up the rope without another word and began the descent.

  The shaft had been hewn roughly from solid rock and his feet gripped the sides easily. He paused once and looked up at the stars gleaming in the round opening, and then all at once they seemed very far away, and beneath him there was a slight movement.

  Hands reached out for his feet, guiding him down as the shaft widened, and he dropped into soft sand. As he picked himself up, the rope disappeared into the darkness above, brushing against his face. The sensation was so unpleasant that he moved back sharply and bumped into someone.

  “Stay where you are,” Cunningham said. “They usually send down a basket with food in it.” A moment later he grunted in satisfaction. “Got it!” He took Kane by the elbow. “Six careful paces and you’ll find the wall.”

  Kane moved through the darkness, hands outstretched, until his fingers brushed on stone. He sat down, back against the wall, aware that Jamal was beside him, and Cunningham shared out the food. When they had finished eating, they discussed the situation.

  “Have you ever tried to get out?” Kane said.

  Cunningham got to his feet. “If it were daylight I could show you. The shaft widens about five feet above our heads. If it were not for that, there might be a chance of scaling the main shaft. It’s narrow enough and the walls are of roughly hewn stone.”

  Kane fumbled in his shirt pocket and took out a book of matches. As the first one flared, he held it high above his head. Cunningham was right. The bottom of the shaft widened considerably. The match burned his fingers and he dropped it with a muffled curse.

  He turned to Cunningham. “I suppose you know we’re living on borrowed time. We’ve got one more day at the most. Frankly, we’ve got two choices. We either get out of this hole or die.”

  “I’m with you there,” Cunningham said, “but how the hell do we manage it?”

  Kane moved across to Jamal, squatted in front of him, and started to speak, slowly and clearly in Arabic. When he had finished, the big Somali squeezed his shoulder to indicate that he had understood and got to his feet.

  Kane turned to Cunningham. “Jamal is so incredibly strong he might be able to push me high enough into that shaft to get some kind of grip in the narrow part. I’ll climb on to his shoulders and I want you to stand behind to steady me.”

  “It’s worth a try, I suppose,” Cunningham said.

  Jamal stood beneath the shaft and Kane scrambled up on to his shoulders. Very carefully he pushed himself erect and raised his hands above his head. They just reached inside the shaft.

  “Now!” he said in Arabic and Jamal’s great hands moved under his feet, lifting him bodily into the air.

  Kane clawed desperately for a grip. Panic moved inside him as the Somali’s arms started to tremble, and then his hands fastened into a crack in the rock, and he heaved desperately. A moment later, he was securely wedged in the shaft, his back against one side, his feet against the other.

  He worked his way steadily upwards, pausing every so often for a rest. The rough stonework dug painfully into his back, but he hung on grimly, and gradually the opening of the shaft increased in size until he was resting a foot or so beneath the rim.

  He quickly pulled himself over the edge and crawled toward the rope. At that precise moment, two Bedouins appeared from amongst the palm trees and stood in a patch of moonlight a few feet away from the shaft, talking idly.

  He had flattened himself into the sand at the first sound. Now he carefully inched forward into the shadows and worked his way into the trees. For the moment, there was nothing he could do for Cunningham and Jamal. The two Bedouins were armed and one carried a rifle crooked in his arm. It would be impossible to tackle both of them.

  He got to his feet and walked quietly away through the palm trees toward the encampment. As he approached, he could hear singing. The Bedouins were squatting round a great, flaring fire and several of them danced together, weaving an intricate pattern in and out of the firelight. One man played on a herd boy’s pipe, another beat monotonously on a small skin drum. The rest sat cross-legged in a circle, clapping their hands in time to the music and swaying their bodies rhythmically.

  He skirted the fire, keeping to the shadows, and moved in among the tents. The first two he examined were empty and he by-passed the largest one.

  Two guards stood before a tent on the far side of the encampment. He c
ircled round behind and crawled into the shadows at the base of the tent. He could hear movement inside, and then Ruth Cunningham murmured something he couldn’t quite catch and Marie replied.

  He gently slackened one of the guy ropes and lifted the bottom edge of the tent a couple of inches. By lying flat on the ground, he could just see inside.

  Marie was sitting on a sleeping bag, her back only six inches from him, and Ruth Cunningham was nearer the entrance.

  Kane said softly, “Marie, don’t look round. Tell Ruth to keep on talking.”

  Marie’s shoulders stiffened under the thin material of her shirt and then she leaned forward and spoke softly to the other girl. Ruth Cunningham gave a startled gasp and then she seemed to get control of herself. She started to talk loudly, discussing what had happened and speculating on the future.

  Marie stretched full-length on her sleeping bag and half-turned her head so that she looked directly at Kane. Their mouths were only three or four inches apart.

  “I can’t do anything at the moment, I’m not armed,” he said. “How are they treating you?”

  “So far, all right, but I’m not happy about the way Selim stares at Ruth. He looks as if he has the worst of all possible intentions.”

  Kane tried to sound reassuring. “We’ll have to do something about that. I’ve got to rejoin the others now. Whatever happens, don’t worry. With any luck we should be back here in an hour to get you out.” He started to move away and paused. “Tell Ruth her husband is fit and well.”

  Marie’s hand slid under the edge of the tent and caressed his face gently. Her eyes were like dark water, full of dangerous currents that seemed to draw him in. He raised the edge of the tent a little more and she pushed her face toward him until their lips met. It was no kiss of passion—it was the kiss of a woman who loves deeply and tenderly, with every fiber of her being. For a moment, his hand tightened over hers and then he moved away quickly.

  As he advanced cautiously through the trees toward the well-shaft, he heard someone coming toward him. He dropped flat on his face behind a tree and waited. One of the men he had seen earlier walked past him, so close that Kane could have touched the hem of his robe.

  When he reached the edge of the trees, he could see the remaining Bedouin standing by the mouth of the shaft. The man had no rifle, and Kane waited until he turned to look along the valley, and moved soundlessly across the sand.

  The Bedouin stood no chance. One arm encircled his throat, effectively choking back his cry of fear as Kane relentlessly applied pressure. For a moment or two, the man struggled and then his body went limp. Kane dragged him across to the trees and left him lying in the shadows.

  The rope was still lying coiled by the tree to which it was attached. Kane tossed it down the shaft and called softly, “Get up here as fast as you can.”

  He waited, eyes anxiously probing the trees toward the camp. Within a few moments, Cunningham was by his side and then Jamal.

  They moved into the trees and Kane quickly explained the situation.

  “The two women are under guard in one of the tents. The way I see it, there isn’t much point in trying to take over the camp without weapons. I suggest we make for the cave where Skiros stores his arms. There’s also a radio there. If we can’t raise Mukalla or Aden, we can probably reach Jordan.”

  “Sounds like the most sensible course to me,” Cunningham said.

  Kane explained rapidly to Jamal in Arabic and moved off through the trees toward the encampment. They skirted the fire, round which most of the Bedouins were still singing and dancing, and crawled through the camp, keeping close to the ground.

  As they passed the rear of the largest tent, Kane paused as Muller’s voice sounded clearly on the night air. He touched Cunningham lightly on one shoulder and moved closer to the tent.

  Skiros was speaking now and he sounded pleased with himself. “I’m glad I got in touch with headquarters on the radio,” he said. “It was fortunate also that I was able to contact Romero. They’ll arrive tonight.”

  “But I can’t see the point,” Muller said.

  Skiros sighed. “You are really incredibly stupid, Muller. Our work here is finished. As I told Kane earlier, I’m sure we’re safe for a month at least, but life has a perverse habit of playing strange tricks on a man. That’s why we’re going to take this unique opportunity of flying out in the Catalina. We’ll all go to Egypt together, Muller. Cheer up. You’ll be part of history.”

  “What about the prisoners?” Selim interrupted.

  Kane could almost see the indifferent smile on Skiros’s fat face. “I’ll leave you to take care of the men. The women will go with us in the Catalina.”

  “But you promised the Cunningham woman to me,” Selim said angrily.

  “I’ve changed my mind since then,” Skiros said and his voice was cold. “Don’t let us forget who is running things here. You can find yourself another woman.”

  “What will happen to them?” Muller said.

  “I really couldn’t say,” Skiros told him. “I look upon the Perret woman as a personal challenge. Making her see reason will be a pleasure.”

  Somewhere in the distance a faint humming sounded on the night air and Skiros got to his feet. “There is the plane, gentlemen. Right on time. Take the women down to the truck, Selim. Muller and I will join you there.”

  Cunningham moved suddenly, but Kane grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him back to the ground. “Don’t be a damned fool,” he whispered into his ear.

  They crawled out through the encampment and melted into the shadows. As Kane led the way up the steep slope to the base of the cliff, Cunningham said, “What the hell are we going to do now?”

  “There’s only one thing we can do,” Kane told him. “Stop that plane, but we’ve got to move fast.”

  They walked quietly along the stone ramp and cautiously approached the mouth of the cave which contained the arms. A lone Arab lounged against the rock, rifle carelessly slung over his back. He was singing a sad, monotonous herding song, his eyes staring up at the stars.

  Kane pressed Jamal on the shoulder and the huge Somali moved silently. The song ended abruptly on a high note. There was a sudden cracking sound as if a dry branch had been snapped and Jamal lowered the dead man to the ground.

  The cave was in darkness and Kane struck a match as he led the way in. There was a large spot lamp standing on top of the radio, and he quickly switched it on and turned to the cases of arms.

  There were only a few left. The first two he examined were packed with rifles, but the third contained submachine guns. A further search disclosed a box filled with circular, hundred-round clips. Kane handed Cunningham and the Somali two clips each.

  “What about the radio?” Cunningham said.

  Kane shook his head as he loaded his weapon. “No time for that now.”

  As they went outside, there was the sound of an engine and a truck moved away toward the temple and the outlet to the desert. Kane cursed and started to run down the slope.

  Most of the Bedouins were still gathered around the fire, and he moved quickly through the shadows toward the other end of the encampment.

  The truck in which they had arrived that morning was standing on the edge of the tents in brilliant moonlight. He said quietly to Cunningham, “She’s ours. You take the wheel and drive like you’ve never driven before.”

  They moved out of the shadows and scrambled in. As Cunningham pressed the starter, there was a sudden shrill cry from behind. Kane turned as several Bedouins ran forward. He raised his submachine gun and fired a quick burst and they scattered into the darkness. At the same moment, Cunningham took the truck away on a burst of speed.

  As they topped the rise in front of the temple and hurtled toward the entrance to the gorge, the Catalina roared overhead, undercarriage and flaps down as it pointed for a landing on the flat plain outside.

  “Give it everything you’ve got,” Kane cried and Cunningham pressed his foot flat on the
boards. The truck bounced over the rock-strewn surface of the valley and he fought for control and then they were out in the open and chasing the plane.

  Over on their right and clearly visible in the moonlight was the other truck. As they approached, Kane could clearly see Selim sitting in the rear, Skiros and Muller in front.

  Skiros’s face was contorted with anger and he shouted something over his shoulder to the Arab. As they drew abreast, Selim raised a rifle and fired. Skiros swung the other truck toward them and Selim fired again. Kane ducked as the windscreen shattered and Cunningham jerked the wheel desperately to one side and they skidded round in a complete circle.

  For the moment they were safe and able to concentrate on the plane which was starting to touch down. As Romero applied his brakes, dust and sand rose into the night in a great cloud.

  Sitting in the second pilot’s seat Noval turned and grabbed Romero’s shoulder. “There’s a firefight going on out there. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Give me a chance for God’s sake,” Romero said and boosted power.

  Kane glanced back and saw that the other truck was overtaking them fast, and Cunningham swung the wheel in a half-circle that took them into the center of the great dust cloud that was the plane’s wake.

  For several moments they drove blind, choking and coughing, heads lowered against the stinging particles, and then the Englishman swung the wheel again and they shot out into the moonlight.

  The Catalina was now taxing toward the valley entrance at twenty or thirty miles an hour. Cunningham jerked the wheel, spinning the truck, and a moment later they were driving on a parallel course.

  Cunningham moved closer and Kane and Jamal stood up and started to pour a concentrated fire into the plane at point-blank range. Kane could see Romero high up in the nose of the aircraft, the dim light from the instrument panel illuminating his face. He raised his submachine gun and fired several times into the cabin. Romero ducked out of sight and the tail of the plane slewed round in a great arc, throwing a cloud of sand into the air.