The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1)

by Richard Turner

Scott began to become agitated. Being a spectator galled at him, but he knew Sarik was right…they had to wait.

  Pasha stepped off the train and looked up and down the length of the train. He turned to leave, when his man searching the far end of the train jumped off the train and ran to join him. With a shake of his head, Pasha knew their search had proven futile. Walking down the platform, he was beginning to wonder if Duval had his facts wrong, when he noticed another train at the far end of the station, sitting quietly in the dark. With a loud whistle, he called his men over to him. Drawing his pistol, Pasha grinned to himself. Climbing down off the platform onto the rocky ground, he began to walk towards the train.

  “Crap,” said Scott under his breath when he saw the thugs turn towards their train. Gray and Thomas were still inside the carriage and would be killed or captured before too long if they didn’t do something.

  Turning to Sarik, Scott said, “ I’m going to draw their attention. You find a way to help Gray and Thomas.”

  “That’s your plan?” asked Sarik incredulously.

  “You got anything better?”

  “No, but I’m coming with you,” said Sarik before ordering his son and Mustapha to hurry their help along.

  Moving quickly through the shadows, like thieves in the night, Scott and Sarik moved to an adjoining building that had a good view of their train carriage. Although dark, Scott could see four or five men making their way towards their carriage. Raising his pistol, Scott took aim and then fired off two quick shots towards Pasha’s men. One man spun on his heels and dropped to the ground; the others dove for cover.

  Gray heard the shots, stood up and instantly ran to the closed door. Peering outside, he saw the body of a man lying on the ground. Others were running about looking for cover from an unseen attacker.

  “Is someone shooting out there?” asked Thomas, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  Gray nodded his head. “Looks like we got company out there and I think the colonel may have just shot one of em.”

  Instantly, Thomas threw a dirty red woolen blanket of his body, jumped up and walked over to his closed wooden crate. Opening the closed hasps, Thomas reached inside, grabbed a cavalry carbine, and tossed it to Gray.

  Cocking the lever action of his Spencer repeating carbine, Gray loaded a round in the breech.

  Thomas, weapon in hand, joined him.

  With a grin, Gray looked over at Thomas and said, “On three.”

  Thomas cocked his arming lever and nodded his head.

  Stepping over to the closed sliding door on the carriage, Gray looked over at Thomas; there was no hint of fear in his eyes.

  Gray counted down, “Three…two…one.”

  Pasha heard the shots, ducked his head down, and then swore aloud as one of his men crumpled to the tracks with a hole blasted through his side. Running for cover, he fired off a quick shot. It was dark. Pasha could not be sure where their attacker was. Seeing his men cowering behind the train station’s upraised platform, he spat on the ground and then tried to cajole his men to return fire. He called them cowards, sons of whores and worse, yet they refused to move. Realizing that he had to do something, Pasha stood up, walked over, grabbed the man nearest to him by the collar, and dragged him out into the open with him.

  Suddenly, the sound of a carriage door being flung open, surprised Pasha. Turning to look, he saw two men standing there, rifles in their hands. Before he could even call out a warning, a withering fire erupted from the carriage door. Men dropped where they were.

  Pasha let go of the frightened thug’s collar and threw himself up onto the train platform, quickly rolling out of sight of the men cutting down his remaining killers.

  Gray and Thomas fired until their carbines’ seven-round magazines were empty. Like a scythe through wheat, the thugs fell under their accurate and merciless fusillade.

  As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

  The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air.

  Looking out into the dark, Gray counted six bodies lying dead on the ground in front of the carriage. Dropping to one knee, he quickly loaded a tube magazine into the butt of his carbine. With a loud click from his cocking lever, Gray slammed home a bullet.

  Thomas dragged their heavy wooden crate to the open door. Grabbing an end, Gray helped Thomas pull the box from the carriage.

  “What do you think?” asked Thomas, looking over at the other train.

  Seeing the same thing, Gray nodded his head. At the double, both men began running as fast they could towards the waiting train, the heavy wooden box swaying between them.

  Scott and Sarik heard the gunfire. It sounded like a platoon of men had just opened up all at once. With a grin, Scott now knew what his companions’ secret was: they had brought additional firepower.

  Scott nudged Sarik. “Come on, let’s see if Gray and Thomas still need a hand,” said Scott.

  Sarik nodded his head and fell in behind Scott.

  They had just stepped up on the platform when Scott saw his men making a run for the other train in the distance. Suddenly, Scott saw a man step out of the shadows, his pistol trained on Thomas.

  A shot rang out, startling Scott. Looking over, he saw Sarik standing there, his pistol smoking. Further, down the platform, Scott saw the man who had been aiming at Thomas lying on the ground, wounded.

  With his pistol fixed on his foe, Sarik walked towards the wounded man. He could see that his shot had hit him in his stomach. Blood trailed behind Pasha as he tried to crawl away.

  Scott walked beside Sarik. Stopping just short of Pasha, Scott saw the man’s dropped pistol and kicked it off the platform out into the dark.

  Pasha heard footsteps approaching. Rolling over he looked up and swore, gritting his teeth when he recognized the face of a man he had sworn many times in the past to kill.

  Seeing the look on Pasha’s face, Sarik smiled. “Ah, my dear Pasha, I see that you still remember me,” said Sarik as if he were talking to an old friend. “It has been too long since you were last in Constantinople.”

  “I see you still don’t know which side you should work for,” said Pasha through clenched bloody teeth. The pain in his stomach was excruciating. It felt like a hot poker had been jammed inside his gut and was twisting his innards.

  Sarik shook his head. “It is far more profitable to deal with people who are going to pay me than to be dead,” Sarik said before firing off a shot straight between Pasha’s eyes.

  “What was that all about?” asked Scott.

  “Just saying goodbye,” replied Sarik, placing his pistol in his belt.

  The sound of someone running in the dark made Scott turn on his heels, his pistol aimed at the intruder.

  “Don’t shoot,” said Sarik, grabbing Scott’s shoulder. A moment later, Sarik’s son emerged out of the shadows.

  Seeing Scott pointing his pistol at him, the boy came to a sudden stop.

  Sarik and his son spoke.

  Tapping Scott on the shoulder, Sarik pointed over at the other train. “My son says it will be leaving soon. Your men are safely aboard. Mustapha and a couple of his men have made sure that we won’t be interrupted during our journey,” explained Sarik.

  Scott was not sure he wanted to know what arrangements had been made on their behalf; he was just relieved to hear that they would be safe for at least a few more days. Following Sarik and his son, Scott joined Gray and Thomas in the back of a carriage hauling clothes and mining supplies to the east.

  After a few hearty hugs and handshakes with his equally large relatives, Sarik climbed aboard the carriage, closing the door behind him. He found an open spot beside Scott and with a grunt, he dropped his meaty frame down on the floor. Letting out a deep breath, Sarik reached over, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a long swig. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Sarik looked over at Scott.

  “My cousin has arranged for the authorities to find Pasha and his men alongside the other train. It will look like a robbery gone bad,�
�� said Sarik with a wink.

  “Will they buy it?” asked Scott.

  “Oh yes, the local Gendarmerie Commander is Mustapha’s wife’s cousin. Trust me, the story will be accepted no questions asked,” Sarik said, smiling.

  Scott shook his head and sat back wondering if there was someone not somehow connected to Sarik and his family in Turkey.

  Chapter 32

  Karl Wollf’s Train

  The tension in the room was palpable.

  Karl Wollf paced back and forth, like a tiger being held in a cage far too small for its size. He cursed Turkey. The few trains they had working were woefully inadequate to support his needs. It had taken nearly two days to move his train, car by car across the Bosphorus by ship until it was re-assembled on the far side of the straits. Now news had arrived that Duval had lost contact with his agents in Ankara. Wollf was positive that it could not be an accident. Scott had to have been there, and now they had lost him once again. He could not wait to take out his wrath on Duval. His incompetent men were supposed to find and trail Scott, not allow themselves to be killed by the meddlesome American.

  Someone knocked on the closed door.

  “What?” snapped Karl irritably.

  The door opened; it was his sister.

  Karl ground his teeth; the last thing he needed was his sister gloating over his latest misfortune.

  Seeing the agitation etched on Karl’s face, Viktoria forced a smile and then walked into the carriage. Grabbing one of her brother’s crystal decanters, Viktoria poured herself a tall glass of Scotch before taking a seat.

  “Viktoria now isn’t the time,” said Karl, trying to remain civil, knowing that she would want to fight with him.

  With a snap of her head, Viktoria downed the glass and then poured herself another one. “I’m not here to fight with you today, Karl,” said Viktoria disarmingly. “I came to tell you that the line through Ankara has been cleared of all normal traffic. The Council has applied the necessary pressure to the local governor, and we now have an unobstructed passage all the way to the east. It will shave at least thirty-six hours off our current schedule.”

  Karl looked over at his sister. She had a Cheshire cat-like grin on her face. She wasn’t telling him everything. Sitting down across from her, he poured himself a drink and then sat back in his chair, waiting for his sister to tell him what she was hiding.

  “What are you not telling me?” asked Karl.

  Viktoria raised her eyebrows, toying with her brother as she did when they were children. She always knew how to get under her brother’s skin and today was no exception.

  “There is only one train ahead of us…its destination is the town of Dogubayzit, at the base of the Ararat Mountains,” said Viktoria. “We both know that Scott is on board that train, so once it arrives, I suggest we ask the local authorities to keep an eye on him for us.”

  “How will that help us?” asked Karl, not following his sister’s logic.

  “So far, my dear brother, your man Duval and his handpicked men have spectacularly failed at every opportunity presented to them to stop Scott. This time we have the people who live there trail him until we arrive. After that, we simply join them and follow him until he leads us to the Grail.”

  “Perhaps,” muttered Karl.

  “Trust me; it’s the only way this can work. Either the Americans are playing dumb or they truly do not know the resting place of the Grail. Scott, however, is hell-bent on finding it, so I say we let him,” said Viktoria, finishing off her drink.

  With a snap of his fingers, Karl summoned his secretary and passed on Viktoria’s plan to have the local authorities trail Scott until they arrived.

  Clicking his heels together, the secretary left to have the message sent down the line, hoping to catch Duval before he mucked things up again.

  “What is it, Kate?” asked Professor O’Sullivan. His heart ached seeing his daughter forlornly looking out the window at the passing countryside.

  Kate turned her head slightly. “Sorry, father, I haven’t been good company recently,” said Kate, standing up and walking over beside her father, who sat at his desk with his books and papers scattered all about. His wound had stopped bleeding, but Kate still changed his dressing daily to prevent it from becoming infected.

  Lovingly, Professor O’Sullivan placed his hand on Kate’s. “This man you told me about, Colonel Scott, you’re worried about him. I can see it written all over your face.”

  “Yes, father, I am worried,” replied Kate. “He’s unlike any man I have ever met in my life. He won’t give in, no matter what happens. He’ll give up his life if he has to.”

  O’Sullivan looked into his daughter’s emerald-green eyes and then squeezed her hand. She looked so much like her late mother when she was young, and he had seen that look before.

  “Well, this Colonel Scott sounds like a solid fellow, even if he is a Yankee,” said O’Sullivan, trying to lighten the mood between them.

  Kate pulled her hand free and hit her father across his arm. “If they were all like him, we never would have left the north for Virginia, or at the very least, I never would have,” exclaimed Kate.

  O’Sullivan looked over nervously at the closed door to their carriage and then back over at Kate. “Have you told our jailers anything other than the Grail waits to be found somewhere in the Ararat Mountains?” asked O’Sullivan.

  “No, I know nothing else.”

  “Well, my dear I think that it is high time that we come to the only logical conclusion available to us. The Holy Grail was taken from Constantinople and placed inside the Ark resting somewhere on top of Mount Ararat,” said her father reverently, a hand resting on the worn, blue leather-bound copy of his late wife’s Bible.

  Kate stared at her father for a second. “Father, we’ve talked about this many times before and we both agreed that the story of Noah and the Ark was a parable, a story to teach people to be good to one another or face the consequences of their actions.”

  O’Sullivan nodded his head in agreement. “My dear, I would have agreed with you before I set out on this damned foolish quest of mine, but there can be no other reason for the Grail to be taken into the Ararat Mountains.”

  “But why the Ark?”

  “The Ark is mentioned in the Bible, the Torah, and the Quran. All agree that it is a holy place, a pure place, in which evil cannot dwell, without a doubt, the perfect place to hide a religious relic in for eternity. Father Vasilliou was convinced that his predecessors would have most assuredly sent The Grail there for all eternity rather than see it fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Father, the Wolffs aren’t a pair of country bumpkins,” said Kate quietly. “If they haven’t already figured this out for themselves, they soon will.”

  “I know...I know,” said her father. “But they won’t know what we know?”

  “And what is that?”

  “Father Vasilliou believed that the Ark is somehow protected from desecration by man,” explained her father. “It’s meant to be left alone.”

  Kate sat there; her heart felt heavy in her chest. Scott was headed into danger, one he had no idea how to deal with.

  O’Sullivan saw the fear in Kate’s eyes and gently tapped her hand. “The best we can do is dig through these books and see what we can learn,” said O’Sullivan positively. “If we can find out what awaits the good colonel, then perhaps somehow we can help him.”

  Chapter 33

  Dogubayzit, Turkey

  It was a hot and humid day. Dark clouds were already building in the east. A storm was coming.

  Scott patiently waited with Gray and Thomas under the shade of an olive tree on the outskirts of Dogubazit, while Sarik and his son went into town to buy the supplies they would need to climb the mountain. In the distance, towering over the lush green countryside, was Mount Ararat, its peak still covered in snow. Scott judged it to be over fifteen thousand feet up to the top of the mountain. He had never climbed anything over six thousand
feet back home. He truly was venturing into the unknown.

  They had been met earlier in the day at the small local train station by one of Sarik’s uncles, a hobbled over, white-haired gentleman who looked to Scott to be well into his eighties, if not older. With several younger men to assist him, Sarik’s uncle quickly whisked them away from prying eyes via a covered wagon that pungently smelt as if it was normally used to haul livestock to and from the market. Luckily, it was only a short trip to a walled farm located on top of a rocky hill overlooking a prominent road heading north out of Dogubazit towards Mount Ararat. It was the ideal place for a smuggler to see trouble well before it ever arrived.

  By now, Scott was convinced that Sarik’s family were involved in all aspects of skullduggery. He also did not care; none of it was his concern. He was just happy that Sarik was on his side.

  Scott pulled out a map provided to him by Sarik’s uncle and then studied the routes leading to and from the mountain. There weren’t many roads and those that did exist seemed to pass right past the mountain. Scott ripped off a piece of bread and gnawed on it while he pondered their next move. Father Vasilliou had told Scott to climb the western plateau, so that was precisely where he intended to focus their efforts.

  A loud whistle from the front gate made Scott look up; a moment later, the doors swung open and a cart pulled by two horses entered into the courtyard, its hooves echoing off the stonewalls. Sarik and his son rode together on the front bench of the cart.

  Sarik gave a friendly wave, handed the reins to his son, and then climbed off the cart. Grabbing a handkerchief, he ran it over his sweating brow. He was getting too old for this kind of nonsense. He knew he would have to look at using his son a lot more in the future. Walking over to Scott, Sarik sat down and then pulled out the list Scott had given him earlier.

  “I was able to obtain the following,” said Sarik, reading from his paper. “Clothing, boots, blankets, food, rope, axes, shovels, and dynamite,” Sarik said, stressing the explosives.