The Emerald Scepter

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Well done, Hawk. Didn’t know if she was going to make it.”

  Hawkins grunted his thanks and walked across to the other side of the ridge past the tall boulder used to anchor the cable. The rocky ground sloped down at a gradual angle for several hundred feet to a dry stream bed about half the size of the one they had been on. But clear of rock slides.

  Calvin tossed the nylon line down to Abby. She handed the free end to Rashid, told him to tie it round his chest and to start climbing.

  “I can’t do it,” he said.

  “You have to do it or I’ll leave you here alone,” she said.

  “But I’m your guide. You can’t leave me.”

  “Try me,” she said, reaching for the line.

  He saw that she was serious and wrapped the rope around his chest. He began to climb, only to lose his balance. The men at the other end of the rope had no choice but to drag him up the hill on his belly.

  The rope came down again. Abby held onto it and expertly walked her way up. She took a perverse pleasure seeing the front of Rashid’s clothes were torn and soiled with dirt.

  She grinned at the scowling guide. “I told you that you could do it.”

  She went over to where Hawkins stood, peering through a pair of binoculars.

  “Pardon me for doubting you,” Abby said. “You were great.”

  Hawkins handed over his glasses. “That may have been the easy part. The area we saw on the map looks a little different up close and personal.”

  Abby raised the binoculars and her eyes swept the parched maze of deep fissures and gullies spread out before them.

  “Dear God,” she whispered. “This must rank with the worst places in the world.”

  He put his arm around her and said, “Look on the bright side.”

  “What bright side?”

  “At least there won’t be any traffic jams.”

  Hawkins was forced to eat his words as their journey progressed. There was no traffic, but they had to navigate a bewildering labyrinth of intersecting gullies and washes that ate up precious time.

  “Damn!” Abby said. “I’m starting to feel like a lab rat in a maze!”

  “You just read my mind.” Hawkins had taken over the driving while Abby navigated. He steered around a pothole big enough to swallow the city of Chicago.

  The corners of Abby’s lush mouth tweaked up in a bemused smile. “My psychic talents must be a hold-over from our married days.”

  “You could actually read my mind back then?”

  “It’s a talent wives develop. They can read their husbands like a book.”

  “My mind must have been like a Stephen King novel. Hope I didn’t give you any nightmares.”

  “God, no, Matt! That was the problem. Toward the end, I never knew what you were thinking.”

  “Neither did I.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was dusk when they popped out of the maze two hours later.

  They exited the river system and were at the edge of the coastal plain. Hawkins called a halt among a cluster of car-size boulders that would shield the light from their campfire and offer a good defensive position if necessary. He inspected the vehicle’s side and rear racks. Some of the containers had shifted position from the constant jostling.

  “We’ll stay here for the night and move out at dawn,” Hawkins said. “What’s the quartermaster serving for dinner?”

  “We are in for a treat, monsieur,” Calvin said.

  He opened a box labeled Meal, Ready-To Eat, the operational food ration for the U.S. military, and passed out the packages inside. The MREs were warmed up in water-activated flameless heaters. Soon the fragrance of beef stew and spaghetti floated on the night air. There was little conversation as the famished travelers devoured their dinner.

  Rashid sat apart from the others. As he ate his dinner he thought about how he would carry out his assignment. He had deliberately led the group into the river bed, thinking that it would be a good place to kill his companions and dispose of their bodies. He had their trust initially, but their mocking tone showed that they were more wary of him now.

  He burned with a simmering anger that could only be extinguished by killing the two men. The hell with Murphy’s order to make Abby’s death a quick one. He would take his time with the woman, before putting an end to her life, too. His anger was stoked as he listened to their murmurings and laughter, adding fuel to the fire burning in his gut and loins.

  Hawkins broke away from the others, who split up and disappeared between boulders on opposite sides of the campfire. He came over and said, “We’re organizing the watch, and could use your help, Rashid. Calvin and Abby will take the first two-hour shift while we get some rest. Then it’ll be our turn.”

  Rashid could have shouted with joy. They thought he was simply an incompetent guide. Soon they would learn he was a competent assassin.

  “Yes, of course,” Rashid said. “I would be glad to help. Perhaps I can make amends for my errors.”

  “No hard feelings, Rashid. An op wouldn’t be an op if something didn’t go wrong.”

  Hawkins had to move some of the supplies off the cargo racks to get at the sleeping bags. He stacked them neatly in a pile, planning to reload the buggy in daylight. He came back and tossed a sleeping bag to Rashid. Then he stretched another bag on the ground near the fire, zipped himself into it and was soon fast asleep.

  When Abby’s shift was over, she tapped Hawkins on the shoulder to wake him up. He crawled out into the cold night air. She slid into the sleeping bag.

  “Thanks for warming it up for me, Matt.” She zipped it shut and closed her eyes.

  Calvin roused Rashid and took his place in the bag. “See you in two hours,” he said.

  Hawkins walked around a boulder and told Rashid to keep his eyes open and his ears cocked. He gave him a light stick and told him to wave it if he needed help. Then he walked back to where Abby had been standing watch. He found a rock roughly the size and shape of a sofa to lean against. It was better than standing, but not so comfortable that he would fall asleep on it.

  His thick mane of hair was no match for the cold. He pulled a woolen cap down on his head. The stars were popping out of the heavens like rhinestones on velvet. He used to call the sight Broadway Sky back in his navy days. He always had a hard time reconciling the celestial beauty above his head with the death and destruction on earth.

  He began to work out the plans for the next day. They would get underway at first light and should make it to the shores of the lake by mid-day. They would send the submersible down to sniff around, and follow up with a dive the next morning.

  The following day they would come home, treasure or not.

  A half hour passed and he saw a luminescent blue blur. Rashid had cracked the light stick and was waving it.

  Hawkins blinked his flashlight and started toward the guide’s position, walking in a wide circle around the sleeping bags so as not to disturb their occupants.

  As he neared the guide, Hawkins whispered, “What’s up, Rashid?”

  “I thought I heard something moving.”

  Hawkins guessed that the guide had been spooked by a rabbit, but he drew his pistol, stepped past him and squinted into the darkness, his ears attuned to the slightest sound. He heard nothing. Not even the buzz of insects.

  “Where?” he said.

  “Off to the left,” the guide’s voice rasped in his ear. “There it is. Again. Closer.”

  Hawkins leaned slightly forward and moved his finger onto the trigger.

  “I don’t—”

  Something hard slammed into the right side of his head and a nova blossomed before his eyes. The blow might have killed him if it had not been softened by the wool cap and if he had not shifted position a second before he was struck. As he sank to his knees he heard a lou
d explosion and his arm jerked backwards.

  He blacked out, but the shards of pain stabbing his head shocked him back to consciousness. He heard Calvin, then Abby’s voice sounding as if their mouths were full of cotton. He opened his eyes and saw a pale oval that transformed into Abby’s face as his vision cleared. She was cradling his head in her lap.

  “Matt. Are you all right? Talk to me, for godsakes!”

  Hawkins reached up and removed the cap. His fingers slightly touched the tender skin and his skull felt as if it was cracked. He struggled to sit up.

  “Feels like someone dropped a house on my head, but I’m okay. Rashid sucker-punched me with a rock. Where is the sneaky bastard?”

  “Gone. Cal’s after him.”

  They whirled at the sound of the DPV’s engine turning over and barking into life, followed by gunshots. Then came the whine of spinning tires and the engine noise began to recede.

  A flashlight bobbed in the darkness and footsteps pounded toward them.

  “Sonofabitch stole the buggy!” Calvin shouted with breathless anger. “Fired in the air, but he kept on going. You okay, Hawk?”

  “Nothing a new skull wouldn’t cure.”

  Calvin and Abby helped him to his feet where he stood on shaky legs. He was angry for not following his instincts where Rashid was concerned. The guide had taken off with the submersible and dive gear, most of their survival equipment and a cache of weapons.

  “How did you know I was in trouble?” he said.

  Abby handed him his pistol. “We heard a shot and came running. I found this on the ground.”

  She handed over his pistol. The barrel was still warm.

  “I must have fired it by accident. Damn. I don’t look forward to telling the navy that their million dollar submersible got ripped off.”

  “Cheer up, Hawk, They’ll never believe you.”

  “Did he get the satellite phone?”

  “Yep. On the buggy.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll go. After Rashid. The DPV’s tire tracks will lead us right to him.”

  “He’s got a huge head start on us, and spare cans of fuel to keep him going,” Abby said. “We’ll never catch up with him.”

  “Never say never,” Hawkins said. He led them to the supplies he’d stacked earlier and showed them the fuel containers.

  Calvin laughed. “Rashid’s going to be pissed when he runs out of gas.”

  “He’s still got enough fuel to put some miles between us. He’ll expect us to wait until light to get moving, but we’ll leave now.”

  Abby said, “You need some first aid before we go anywhere, Matt.”

  The first aid consisted of a couple of aspirin, a compress to hold the swelling down and a bandage and tape. While Abby nursed Hawkins, Calvin packed water, food and weapons. They walked to the edge of the campsite where the dune buggy had been parked, and began to follow the faint tread marks in the rocky soil.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Cait was much too excited to sleep. She woke up an hour before dawn, showered and got dressed in a long-sleeve tan cotton shirt, matching cargo slacks and hiking boots. Then she inventoried the contents of her duffle bag to make sure she had her digital camera, flashlight, batteries and notebook. She followed the scent of coffee through the quiet house to the kitchen. There was a fresh pot on the stove and a plate of pastry on the table. Leaning on the plate was an envelope with her name written on it. The note inside said:

  “My apologies. I can’t join you for breakfast. My men will show you the ruins. Best of luck. Looking forward to hearing about your explorations. A.”

  She tucked the folded note into her shirt pocket. Amir might be a drug lord, but the old rogue was a considerate host. After a quick breakfast of coffee and pastry, Cait filled a couple of canteens with cold water and went back to her room to collect the duffle. She pulled on a wind-breaker, tucked her hair under a Georgetown University baseball cap and stepped out the front door to wait for her ride.

  It was still dark outside, and the temperature was in the forties, although once the sun rose, its heat would quickly vanquish the lingering cold of the night. The village was stirring with life. A pair of operatic roosters had begun a duet, setting off a chain reaction of barking dogs that triggered a wailing chorus of hungry babies.

  The guttural rumble of a powerful engine echoed off the walls of the closely-built houses, drowning out the morning concert. Amir’s Cadillac touring car drove up to the front of the house and stopped at Cait’s feet.

  The car’s canvas top was folded down despite the cool air. Two bearded men sat in the front seat of the seven-passenger car. The driver was one of Amir’s top lieutenants. His name was Ghatool which meant tulip in Pashto, but with his squat, troll-like physique, fierce beard and hard eyes, he was as unlike a flower as anyone could be.

  The name would have more suited the handsome young man who sat in the passenger seat, his hand clutching a rifle. His name was Baht and despite his movie star good looks, his delicate features could not disguise the Afghan toughness that comes from growing up in an environment that punishes weakness.

  Baht got out of the car, still holding his rifle and stored her bag in the car’s trunk. Then he motioned for her to get in back and resumed his seat riding shotgun. Moments later, the car passed through the gates of the compound. The Cadillac’s headlights stabbed the inky darkness as the car sped along the road between Amir’s agricultural fields, then into open country, maintaining a steady pace for around fifteen minutes until it slowed to turn off onto a rutted track.

  As she rode in the back seat with the air blowing in her face, Cait felt like an Oriental potentate off to inspect her vast holdings. She thought it interesting that Amir had assigned his most trusted men to the routine errand of taking his guest to visit the ruins. The gesture reaffirmed the tie that had developed since she had saved the warlord’s granddaughter from choking.

  The stars faded from the heavens as a golden eye peeked between gaps in the shark-tooth mountain range and the sky shifted to purple and blue. Once the sun rose above the peaks, it was as if a thousand flood lamps had been switched on.

  Cait slipped on her sunglasses and took in the passing scenery. They had left the relatively flat lands of the flood plain behind and the track threaded its way through a series of linked valleys that separated low hills covered with scrub brush. The big balloon tires allowed the Cadillac to move with relative ease over the uneven ground.

  Ghatool eased off the gas pedal as they rounded a bend and pointed through the windshield.

  “Look, Dr. Cait.”

  It would have been impossible to miss the high crenellated walls of the citadel that rose from the earth about a quarter mile ahead. Ghatool stopped the car and they all got out. Ghatool knelt on one knee and scraped away a patch of dirt. Cait bent close to look at what he was uncovering and saw pavement stones close together.

  “A road!” she said.

  “Yes, yes. A road.” He stood, bared his horse-toothed grin and extended his arms. “Wide.”

  Cait walked to her right until she came to the edge of the paving and did the same thing to her left. The roadway would have been at least twenty feet wide.

  “Very wide,” she said. She walked a short distance further where the ground sloped down to a dry wash that ran more or less parallel to the road and past the ruins.

  Ghatool made a motion as if he were drinking.

  “Water,” Cait said. “A river.”

  It made perfect sense. The ancient settlements along the Silk Road were usually situated near springs or a river. Ghatool nodded and said something in Pashto to his friend, who smiled and gave Cait a thumb’s up. They got back in the car and drove toward the high arched gate, unaware that they were being closely watched by unfriendly eyes.

  Rashid lay on his belly behind a bush on the opposite side o
f the wash, peering through a pair of Steiner navy SEAL binoculars he had found in Calvin’s stash. He focused the lenses on the two men, pausing to let his gaze linger on their weapons, and then moved on to Cait, taking in her easy, feminine stride.

  Rashid seethed with anger for botching the attempt to murder Hawkins and his friends. He had planned to incapacitate Hawkins with a blow to the head and silently dispatch him with a knife. Then he’d kill the sleeping Calvin and deal with Abby. He had looked forward to hearing the insolent woman beg for her life before he killed her. The theft of the dune buggy and its valuable cargo had assuaged his rage, that is, until the vehicle ran out of gas.

  He couldn’t believe the turn his luck had taken. The touring car was a gift from God, he thought. He spread his thick lips in a yellow-tooth smile. He crawled backwards until he was sure he couldn’t be seen, then rose to his feet and walked over to the dune buggy, which was hidden behind a cluster of rocks.

  His original plan after killing Hawkins and his friends was to head for a village where he could sell his stolen goods. When he’d run out of gas, he had gathered up water and food and struck out on foot through the rugged countryside, pondering his dim prospects with each step, until he heard the sound of a car engine. He ducked behind a rock and saw the Cadillac pass by. He had followed the touring car on a parallel path, keeping out of view, until they came to the ruins.

  Rashid had little interest in a bunch of old stones. He stowed the binoculars and pulled out Calvin’s rifle with the sound suppressor.

  He loaded the rifle, tucked a few extra shells in his pocket, and set off on a circuitous route that would take him to the ruins unseen.

  Cait asked Ghatool to stop the car so she could use her camera. She stood on her seat and snapped off photos of the fort’s gateway, picturing the image on the cover of the book she was outlining in her head. The title would go under the tall pointed arch of the opening, which had been built twelve feet high to allow for the passage of camels. She’d be sure to include her two colorful companions in the author photo on the back cover.