The Emerald Scepter

by Paul Kemprecos

  She finished taking pictures and Ghatool drove through the gateway. In the fort’s heyday, armed guards would have stood at the long-gone wooden gate doors, vetting weary travelers and directing them to the fort keeper who would have assessed them a fee before passing them on to others who would require more payments for lodging and supplies.

  The car entered a square courtyard around two hundred feet across. Archways lined three sides of the quadrangle, creating a shaded arcade for vendors to display their wares. Behind some of the galleries would be rooms for travelers and warehouses for their goods. At the center of the open space was a three-story, square building that probably housed the fort keeper and served as an administrative or possibly religious center.

  Rather than get into a time-consuming search of the cloisters, Cait decided to concentrate on the building. Ghatool parked near a circular dry fountain around ten feet across. They all got out and Baht retrieved Cait’s duffle bag and slung it onto his shoulder.

  He followed Cait who walked around the tower taking photos of every side. The structure was perfectly square. Most of the plaster exterior had fallen off to expose the huge blocks used in construction. There were narrow vertical windows, the frames beveled to allow archers a clear shot in any direction. The windows on the third story were horizontal. She came back to the front of the building and got a flashlight from the duffle.

  “I’m going inside to look around,” she said.

  Ghatool said something in Pashto to his friend, then he sat down on the short flight of steps that led to the entryway and crossed his rifle across his knees. With Baht leading the way, Cait climbed the steps to the doorway and flicked the flashlight on as she stepped across the threshold into the cool dark interior.

  She swept the beam around the room and saw a miniature version of the outside fountain in the center of the chamber. Caravan leaders would be brought in to the reception area to sit around the fountain and refresh themselves while negotiating various fees.

  A flight of cleverly-designed winding stone stairs was tucked into a corner. With Baht trailing like a devoted puppy, she climbed the stairway to the second level, which was similar to the first except for the absence of a fountain. She walked around the perimeter, her boots leaving tracks in a layer of dust that looked as if it had been undisturbed for centuries. The chamber would have housed the money-counters and scribes who tallied and recorded the flow of cash that the caravans brought in.

  Baht silently watched her, an expression of curiosity on his face.

  Cait reached into a pocket then pantomimed dropping imaginary coins into her palm. She described a circle with her index finger.

  “Money,” Baht said.

  “Yes. Big money.”

  “Like Amir.”

  She laughed and said, “Yes. Like Amir.”

  Another corner stairway led to the third level. The reason for the horizontal windows visible from the outside was to allow space for the walls to be used for display. The openings had been placed so that the shafts of lights coming in from four directions fell on the opposite interior walls.

  She stood in the center of the room and pivoted on her heel. What she saw was simply stunning.

  She was standing in an ancient map room.

  Cait clicked on her flashlight and slowly swept its beam around the room. Her heart ratcheted up several beats. This was not any map, but a detailed rendering, spread out over four panels, of the old Silk routes. The colors had faded through the centuries, but the details were clear.

  Like most ancient examples of cartography, the proportions were out of whack, but the shape of the continents was reasonably accurate. The physical features, such as mountains, deserts and rivers, were well represented.

  She walked along the walls, tracing the thousands of miles from China to the Holy land. East of China was a sliver of India, and to the west was a blue crescent, representing the eastern corner of the Mediterranean, whose ports were the jump-off for the maritime route to Rome.

  The three major routes were marked with a heavy line and the branches in thinner red lines. Only major city names were identified, written in Latin and Chinese. Trading posts were represented by numerous blue dots. Some had palm trees that marked an oasis, or a drawing of a crenellated wall showing the presence of a fortified caravan stop.

  The only flaw was a rectangular section of bare stones a couple of feet wide and high between China and Afghanistan. Rows of chisel marks showed that someone had methodically obliterated that part of the map from the record. The floor in front of the marred wall was covered with scattered pieces of plaster.

  Cait spent several minutes making a photographic record before she tore herself away from the maps. With Baht following, she climbed to the top of the tower into the blinding sunlight. They were standing on an observation platform that offered views for miles in every direction. Any daylight threat could have been discerned, but more likely it was used to watch for approaching caravans.

  As a historian, Cait had long been impressed at the ingenuity of the ancients. Without benefit of computers or powerful machines, they had managed to erect monuments that had stood for hundreds, even thousands of years. But there was another sphere in which the ancients overcame their limitations. She was standing on a formidable example of human cooperation and organization. The tower and the surrounding fortress enabled the existence of an international commercial enterprise. Caravans were tended to and protected, money exchanged, and goods passed across entire continents.

  They went back down to the map room and Cait began to take more pictures. Baht cocked his head as if he were listening, and said something in Pashto, but Cait was so absorbed with her task that she only half-heard him before he disappeared down the stairway, leaving her alone. She continued with her work, unaware of the ugly danger that lurked nearby.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rashid had entered the fort through a breach in a crumbling wall and was standing in the shadows of the arcade behind a stone pillar, where he could see the heavy-set man sitting on a stone bench next to the tower entrance. The man’s rifle rested on his lap and he appeared to be dozing.

  Rashid considered his options. If he attempted to cross the courtyard to get to the touring car, the man might wake up or someone inside the tower could see him through a window. He was pondering his move when the woman and the other man popped into view at the top of the tower.

  They walked along the side of the observation platform closest to him and disappeared from his line of sight. He gambled that they would stay on the roof for a few moments and brought the rifle to his shoulder. He trained the cross-hairs of the telescopic sight on the sleeping man. He tried for a killing shot to the heart, but in his haste he aimed low.

  The gun coughed softly and a millisecond later the man stiffened and his eyes popped open in surprise. His face contorted in pain and he brought his hands to his abdomen.

  Rashid cursed. Damn. He’d gut shot his target. He aimed again, but his target stood, took a few steps and turned toward the door. Rashid put a second bullet between the man’s shoulder blades. With superhuman effort, the fatally wounded man managed to call out something before he collapsed and died.

  Rashid bided his time until the younger man soon appeared in the doorway, knelt by the dead man’s side, and then looked up, a stricken expression on his face. He swept the courtyard with his eyes, then stood and brought his rifle to his shoulder, searching for a target, unaware that he had already become one. Rashid killed Baht with a single shot to the heart.

  As Baht fell on top of his friend, Rashid emerged from hiding and quickly crossed to the tower door. He checked the car and found the keys in the ignition. He could have gotten in the car at that point and driven off, but his blood was up. He stepped over the warm bodies and entered the tower to look for his next victim.

  Cait was shooting pictures madly, as if in a tranc
e.

  When she had all the photos she needed, she came back to the damaged wall and knelt by the pile of plaster fragments. She got a Coleman LED camp light from her duffle, which Baht had left behind, and began to examine the pieces one-by-one.

  Most of the shards were blank or had squiggles representing roads or mountains drawn on them. But then she found one with letters printed on it:

  PRES

  She took her hat off and placed it upside down on the floor to use as a receptacle for other pieces that might have writing on them. She found a few more and guessed that they were place names, but she almost fainted with excitement when she found a fragment that said:

  OH

  Could it be? She placed the fragments side by side and with her finger drew the missing letters in the dust.

  PRESTER JOHN

  She was staring at the words when she heard a footfall behind her.

  Without looking, she said: “Hi Baht. Can you give me a hand with this?”

  When there was no answer, she turned her head and saw standing in the dimness not Baht, but a stranger who had a squat physique. He was around six feet away and held a rifle with an oddly-shaped barrel in the crook of his arm.

  “Who are you?” Cait said.

  “A traveler in need,” said Rashid.

  Cait reached for the camp light and slowly got to her feet. She raised the lantern high and in its pale blue light she could see the hungry eyes of a predator staring at her like a lion watching a gazelle. She wondered how this creep got past Baht and Ghatool. A frisson of fear went through her as she realized there was only one way that could have happened.

  As if reading her thoughts, the man said, “Both your friends are dead. If you cooperate I may let you live.”

  Cait knew exactly what sort of cooperation he had in mind, and her revulsion at the prospect pumped up her courage.

  “All right. Just don’t kill me,” she said, having no trouble injecting a nervous tremor into her voice. He took a couple of steps closer. When he got in range, she swung the lantern by its handle, aiming for the head. He was quicker than she expected and fended off the attack with his brawny forearm.

  Cait dropped the lantern and tried to duck past him, but his hand shot out with the speed of a striking cobra and he grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her to him. One arm wrapped around her neck and the other still held his rifle.

  She snapped her head back into his nose, eliciting a yell and a satisfying crunch of cartilage, but her triumph was short-lived. He ignored the blood streaming from his ruined nose, spun her around and cuffed her cheek with a bear-like swipe of his open hand.

  She was temporarily dazed from the blow and stopped fighting long enough for him to slam her shoulder blades against the wall. Then he reached down to the back of her knees so that she slipped down to a sitting position. The impact knocked the wind out of her. His hands grabbed her ankles and pulled again until she was stretched out on the floor.

  Cait’s hand groped along the floor, searching for the flashlight she had placed near the wall, but it found a metal object instead. She wrapped her fingers around the object and brought it up, aiming for her attacker’s eyes. He was too quick, jerking his head back so the sharp end of the metal only raked his cheek. There was a cry of pain and she tried to roll aside and away, but he caught her arm with his left hand and punched her in the jaw, this time using his fist rather than his hand.

  Rashid wiped the blood away from his face. His right hand slid along his belt and his fingers closed on the handle of the three-inch knife hidden in the buckle. Cait was dazed but still awake. Her eyes were fixed on the blade. Good, Rashid thought. She will see what is coming. He ripped open the front of her shirt, placed the knife-point above her breasts and moved it back and forth with just enough pressure to draw a bead of blood. Then he froze as he felt a metallic pressure at the base of his skull. A male voice said:

  “Fun’s over, Rashid.”

  Rashid couldn’t believe his ears.

  Hawkins.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I followed a bad smell. Now get up. Slowly. Hands in the air.”

  Hawkins pulled the gun away from Rashid’s skull and stepped back out of reach. Rashid slowly stood, palming the knife as he reached for the ceiling.

  “That’s better. Now step aside,” Hawkins ordered.

  Rashid did as he was told. He saw Hawkins moving in from the left to tend to the woman. He still had his pistol leveled at Rashid’s mid-section, but he took his eye off the man for a second as he extended his hand toward Cait. Rashid tensed, ready to swivel and slash the short blade across Hawkins’ exposed throat.

  Cait’s eyes were open and staring. She yelled a warning.

  “He’s got a knife!”

  Hawkins saw the glint of metal as the knife began its arc. He fired instinctively without aiming. The bullet shattered Rashid’s sternum and the knife flew from his hand and clattered to the floor. Cait rolled out of the away to avoid the man’s crashing body. She lay on her side, staring at Rashid’s vacant eyes, then with Hawkins’ help, she stood on shaky legs. Hawkins stepped over to examine the dead man so as to give Cait a moment of modesty to reassemble her clothes, then turned back and said:

  “Are you okay, Dr. Everson?”

  Cait was surprised to hear the man say her name. “Yes. You know me?”

  “Only by your work. My name is Matt Hawkins. I stopped by Georgetown hoping to invite you to dinner so we could talk about maritime silk routes. It was quite a surprise to find you here.”

  “I’m very glad that you did.”

  “Me, too. Now we can talk about that dinner.”

  Cait stared at Hawkins. “Dinner,” she said in a dead voice.

  “That must sound a bit crazy.”

  “A little bit.”

  “No rush. I was talking about a future date, and different place, of course.”

  She studied the handsome, dark-complexioned face and wondered who this person was who had found her in one of the most remote places on earth, rescued her at risk to his own life, killed a man in the process and asked her out on a date. She realized that his lighthearted patter was aimed at trying to keep her from going into shock.

  “You seem to know a lot more about me than I know about you, Mr. Hawkins. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “That’s a long story. I’d be glad to explain after we tend to your injuries.”

  “That might be a good idea.” She touched her swollen jaw with her fingers and winced in pain, then glanced at Rashid, who lay face up. “I’m glad you killed that bastard.”

  Hawkins would have liked to have kept Rashid alive long enough to find out why he’d tried to kill him, but he couldn’t blame Dr. Everson for her hard feelings.

  “From the looks of his face, you got a head start.”

  Cait started to reply to his comment, but said instead, “I’m a bit dizzy. Maybe I should get some air.”

  Hawkins nodded, and took her by the arm as they made their way down to the first level. Cait gasped when she saw the bodies of Baht and Ghatool lying on the threshold, but Hawkins had more immediate concerns he had to deal with.

  As he stepped into the open, he saw Calvin and Abby face down on the courtyard.

  The muzzles of six automatic rifles were pointed at his heart.

  Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he heard someone bark an order. Hawkins knew enough Pashto to understand the words.

  “Kill him!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Minutes before, Amir had driven though the front gates of the fort behind the wheel of a UAZ-469, the Russian equivalent of the American Jeep. Riding beside him was an armed guard; two more guards sat in the back.

  Following close behind and protecting the smaller vehicle, was a BTR-152, a personnel ca
rrier shielded with five tons of armor. Six more guards rode on the open top of the carrier where they were well-positioned to unleash a lethal wave of automatic gunfire in any direction. Both vehicles had been left behind during the Russian army’s retreat from Afghanistan and had been restored to their original condition by the skilled mechanics who kept his fleet of trucks running.

  He had wound up his latest negotiating session, with an Iranian middleman, earlier than expected and had decided to surprise Cait and visit her at the ruins. He’d been glad she’d taken his bait and prolonged her stay. His daughter and granddaughter adored her, but he was fond of her as well. Her quick intelligence and pluck reminded him of his late wife, who had attained a college degree despite the odds for an Afghan woman.

  The half-grin on his lips as he anticipated her surprise changed to a deep frown when he saw the man and woman standing over the bodies of his men at the entrance of the tower building.

  He hit the brakes and got out of the vehicle with amazing agility, despite his age and bad leg. He waved his cane to signal his guards from their vehicles. They went over to the man and relieved him of his weapon. The woman was unarmed. Amir’s men forced the strangers face down onto the ground. Amir warned that they would be shot if they moved and ordered one of his men to check out the bodies. The man confirmed that the dead men were Ghatool and Baht and said they had been shot.

  Amir seethed with anger at the murder of his two most trusted men. His unbridled fury was uncharacteristic of the drug lord, who took pride in his coolness. He told four guards to split off from the others and search the arcade. The other guards stood in a line in front of the tower doorway with orders to shoot the first person who emerged.

  That’s when Hawkins appeared.