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

by Richard Turner

  “Horses and mules?” asked Scott, more than pleased at what Sarik had been able to scrounge up in such a short time.

  “Those we will borrow from my uncle,” replied Sarik. “It looks like a nasty storm is brewing,” said Sarik, looking out onto the open plain at the approaching low dark clouds.

  “Looks like it,” agreed Scott. “I guess we had all better get a good night’s sleep and then head out early in the morning.”

  Sarik looked up at the mountain in the distance, his gaze fixed on the cold white peak. “You know, Colonel, I asked around in town with some of the older merchants, and they cannot recall more than a handful of people who have ever made it to the top of Mount Ararat,” said Sarik. “And no one has ever climbed the western side, as you propose we do.”

  Scott smiled, “Then I guess we’re going to be the first to do so.”

  Sarik shook his head at Scott’s optimism. Looking back towards the mountain, a feeling of apprehension and dread seeped deep inside. Something told him that it was going to get a lot worse before they made their way back to his uncle’s home…far worse.

  At the crack of dawn, after a hearty breakfast of bread, honey, cheese, and hard-boiled eggs with plenty of thick sweet coffee, Scott mounted a gray dappled horse and nonchalantly saluted Sarik’s uncle. With a smile, the old man wished them luck. Scott gently tapped the sides of his horse and then led the remainder of the group out onto the road. Turning his horse towards the looming mountain, with some trepidation, Scott saw that the snowline had crept appreciably lower during last night’s storm.

  The air was cool and Scott’s breath hung in the air. He, like Gray and Thomas, had changed back into his uniform. He did not see the need to hide anymore. If they were going to run into their friends, they were going to do so as soldiers. Wrapping a blue woolen scarf tightly around his neck, Scott hoped he had brought enough warm clothing with him for the climb.

  Sarik and his son were riding the cart from the day before, filled with all of their supplies. Two mules were tethered to the back of the cart, their backs for now free of any load. Scott wanted them to be fresh for the long climb.

  Gray and Thomas rode behind the cart. Neither man looked comfortable on a horse. Having been at sea for most of their lives, they looked like a pair of fish out of water, sitting uncomfortably on their dark chestnut-colored mounts.

  By noon, Scott called a halt at an imposing walled castle at the base of the mountain. It looked to Scott as if it had been built at least a hundred years ago, but had fallen into disrepair over the years. Tall walls surrounded the complex. Even from the outside, a minaret could be seen rising above the walls. Suddenly, a call to prayer sounded from the minaret. Hearing the Imam, Sarik and his son crawled down from the cart, grabbed their prayer mats, and then turned towards Mecca to begin their prayers.

  Scott dismounted from his horse. Leading it by its reins, Scott walked inside the complex to look around. Aside from the Imam, who looked after the old mosque, Scott doubted that anyone else still lived inside the dilapidated fort. Feeling that he was intruding, Scott was about to leave when a voice called out. Turning his head, Scott saw an aged Imam dressed in his traditional long dark robes calling and waving to him from the entrance to the mosque. Scott smiled and waved back. With a loud holler over his shoulder, he called for Sarik to come join him in the empty courtyard.

  After a quick conversation, Sarik told Scott that the Imam had invited them all to stay for a meal. He knew Thomas and Gray would never turn down a meal, so he agreed that they would stop for one hour and one hour only.

  Inside his humble abode, the Imam boiled a pot of sweet tea, while Sarik made a light meal of dried biscuits, butter, cheese, and dates for everyone to share.

  Thomas was about to grouse about the lack of food, but saw the look in Scott’s eyes telling him to wait until later. Scott didn’t want to hear anything that might insult their host.

  The Imam’s face looked like dried leather. His beard was as white as the snow on the top of the mountain. He chatted through the entire meal. Scott doubted that he got many visitors, so he let Sarik and his son talk to their hearts’ content, even if it meant leaving a little later than he had planned. Just as the meal was wrapping up, the Imam slowly stood up and walked over to a closed kitchen cupboard. Opening it, he rummaged around in it for a moment before with a triumphant cry he pulled out an old-looking brass medallion. Shuffling over, he held the medallion in his shaking hands for Scott to see.

  Scott looked over at Sarik, not sure what to do.

  Sarik and the Imam spoke.

  “Colonel, he wants you to take this,” said Sarik. “He says it once belonged to an ancient and wise Imam. It is a good-luck charm.”

  “He knows that I’m not a Muslim, right?” said Scott under his breath.

  “Sir, he may be old, but the Imam is no fool. It is simply a gift from him to you,” replied Sarik.

  “What did you tell him?” asked Scott under his breath.

  “I told him that we were going to climb the mountain. Nothing more,” said Sarik with a smile at their host.

  The Imam smiled at Scott and then held out the medallion.

  Reaching over, Scott took the medallion from the Imam. Raising it up to his eyes, he saw that it was curved, with several small spokes coming off it. To Scott, it looked more like a key than some form of ornate jewelry. With a polite nod, Scott placed the medallion around his neck.

  Five minutes later, and with their equipment stowed, Scott tipped his hat at the Imam and then rode out of the fort. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards the slope of the mountain. He doubted they would meet anyone else as kind as the Imam before their mission was done.

  Chapter 34

  The Mountain

  A golden-brown eagle soared leisurely in the warm updrafts swirling up from the ground into the clear afternoon sky. Looking down, it spied movement, but not the kind she was hoping for. A long dark column made its way along the dusty road beneath her, but it wasn’t a potential meal. It was the only thing she feared….man. She had a couple of new mouths to feed, but today her quarry would have to wait. Man was something she knew that had to be avoided at all costs. Banking away, she dove for the safety of a rocky outcropping overlooking the valley. There she would wait, watch, and then pounce on anything stirred up by the column of men sweating under their heavy packs.

  The steady pounding of two hundred feet on the dirt path created a choking dust cloud that made already-dry throats ache for water.

  Duval sat back on in his saddle. He was riding at the head of the column with Captain Omurtak, the company commander of the soldiers marching towards the base of Mount Ararat. Duval had received a telegram earlier in the day from Karl Wollf ordering him to join the soldiers and pursue Scott into the mountains. His orders were clear. He had to follow him wherever he went and never let him get away. Although trailing by almost a day, Duval now knew exactly where Scott was heading. Several rival families, for a substantial reward of gold, had eagerly supplied the necessary information. The local battalion commander, on orders from the governor, had been more than cooperative and dispatched his best junior officer and his entire company of one hundred men to track down the brigands trying to steal priceless antiquities from Turkey.

  “How far today?” asked Duval, looking over at the young officer.

  Looking up at the mountain, Omurtak could see more clouds coming in…another storm perhaps.

  “There is an old fort perhaps five kilometers up the road from here,” said Omurtak in fluent French. “We will rest there for the night and then get going again before dawn.”

  With a nod of his head, Duval acknowledged the officer’s suggestion. No matter what the weather would be like in the morning if they wanted to catch up with Scott, they would have to push on. Not wishing to feel the wrath of Wolff’s sadistic sister should he fail, Duval turned to Omurtak and said, “Captain, we cannot afford to lose the trail of these criminals. It could rain or even snow
higher up during the night, covering their tracks. I believe that it would be wise to send ahead a squad of good soldiers to try and find the thieves’ trail and then stay with them until we can catch up.”

  Omurtak nodded. He called over his second-in-command, a teenage lieutenant, and gave the order. An hour later, when the column trudged into the fort, six men led by a sergeant who had grown up in the mountains of southern Turkey broke away from the column and then took off at the double, like a pack of hounds chasing after a fox.

  Viktoria Wollf stood on the side of the tracks, brought up her binoculars to her eyes and looked up towards the summit of Mount Ararat. She swore. It was shrouded in thick dark clouds, blocking her view. Scott had caused her family untold embarrassment and unacceptable losses in manpower, material, and most importantly he had cost them time…time that could have been used to develop and refine The Council’s next projects in Europe and the Americas. His demise would be one she would derive great pleasure from.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Karl from behind her.

  Turning, she saw her brother dressed in a light gray hunting outfit, more suited to the forests in Austria than the wide-open plains spread out all around them.

  “A little overdressed, aren’t we?” chided Viktoria.

  Karl looked down at his outfit, a puzzled look on his face. “I thought I looked quite handsome in this uniform,” pushed back Karl.

  Viktoria lightly slapped his cheek. “You never knew how to dress for the hunt,” said Viktoria, leaning against the side of the train carriage. Her eyes turned back towards the mountain. She wished that it was her, not Karl’s lackey, Duval, up there hunting down Scott. Viktoria knew she could do it, but The Council’s orders had been quite specific, allowing only her brother to take risks...to get his hands dirty. It was an outdated code and one that needed to be brought into the nineteenth century, thought Viktoria. Something that perhaps she could change when she met The Council after they had the Grail.

  In the distance, a light flashed at the base of the hill.

  “What was that?” asked Viktoria, trying to see where the light came from.

  Karl’s eyes lit up. “It’s a message from Duval.”

  A minute later, another station closer by retransmitted the flashing message, immediately written down by a Turkish Army Signals detachment waiting beside the train. The soldiers were using heliographs, instruments that reflected the sun’s light to send letters like Morse code. A skilled operator could send messages for miles, as long as the sun cooperated and there was a clear line of sight. Quickly transcribing the message in French, a teenage officer ran the note to Karl’s secretary, who read the note over and then handed it to his patron.

  Karl took the note from his secretary, Johann, and read it over.

  “What does it say?” asked Viktoria impatiently.

  “Duval and the Turkish soldiers are stopping for the night at an abandoned old fort. He has sent a detachment ahead to pick up Scott’s trail,” replied Karl.

  “Then what…we are too far away to do anything when the time comes?” protested Viktoria. “We should have gone with them and not sat here on the side of the train tracks wasting precious time.”

  Karl shook his head at his sister’s never-ending pessimism. “Don’t worry, Viktoria, when the time comes we will be there when the Grail is found.”

  Viktoria stepped forward. “And just how do you propose we do that….fly?”

  Karl smiled. “You’ll see my dear sister…you’ll see.”

  With a huff, Viktoria left her brother alone on the side of the tracks.

  A flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a loud roar of thunder, told Karl that another storm had arrived. Smiling to himself, he knew that the storm would be twenty times worse where Scott and his party were.

  Chapter 35

  The Mountain

  A freezing cold rain had been coming down throughout the night. Sleep on the side of the rocky mountain was uncomfortable and fitful at best. At dawn, the clouds still hung on the mountainside like a wet gray blanket, reducing visibility to a few yards and making the rocky path leading up to the summit slick and dangerous underfoot.

  After leaving the Imam, Scott and his party tried to put as much distance as they could behind them before night fell. Leaving their horses and cart with an aged farmer who lived with a few goats in his tiny home for safekeeping, they trudged upwards until the sun began to dip below the horizon. Finding a hanging rocky ledge to take shelter under, they bedded down for the night. It wasn’t a moment too soon as the clouds quickly moved in and engulfed the mountain. All around them, a loud and violent lightning storm raged, spooking their donkeys. Sarik, not wanting to lose them, had to hobble the beasts to stop them from running off every time the roaring thunder erupted around them.

  Scott had never heard thunder so loud in his entire life. It reminded him of the sound of the massed guns at Antietam; it was a sound he had tried to put out of his mind, but doubted that it would ever entirely leave him.

  The smell of coffee brewing on an open fire made Scott forget for a moment where he was, but the cool, damp air and sounds of his friends snoring aloud brought him back to the here and now. Reaching over, Scott nudged Sarik a couple of times. With a loud gasp between snores, Sarik opened his eyes, pulled his brown woolen blanket over his shoulders, and sat up.

  “You are a horrible man, Colonel Scott,” said Sarik, scratching his stomach. “I was just about to be put in charge of the palace’s harem when you woke me up to this…” said Sarik, pointing out at the cold, uninviting fog all around them.

  “Sorry,” said Scott. “But didn’t they castrate the eunuchs to stop them from being interested in the harem?”

  “I am sure they would have made an exception for me,” replied Sarik with a wide smile before kicking his son in the behind to wake him up.

  Before too long, everyone was wide-awake. Quietly, they packed up their precious few personal items. Everyone had slept in their clothes, the only warmth coming from the fire and their wool blankets. Soon wood would become scarce to find so fires and warm food would become a luxury.

  Scott handed around the coffee pot while Gray made sure everyone received a couple of pieces of dried fruit, cheese, and bread. Thomas took watch with his repeater cradled inside his massive arms, making it look more like a child’s toy than a deadly weapon.

  “Sir, how long do you think it’ll take us to reach the top?” Gray asked Scott.

  “Two, perhaps three more days, if the weather holds,” said Scott, wrapping his hands around his tin cup feeling the heat from the coffee warm his cold hands.

  “If it turns bad?” Sarik queried.

  Scott looked around and smirked. “I’m not sure that it can get much worse, but if it does, we’ll just have to add on a couple more days on,” replied Scott. “It’s all academic anyway. We only have a week’s worth of food. If we haven’t found we’re looking for by the end of the third day, we’ll have to either ration our food or head back.”

  “Colonel, I’m already starving,” blurted out Thomas over his shoulder. “I can’t afford to eat less.”

  Sarik chuckled and patted his belly. “Mister Thomas and I can afford to miss a few meals. I say we push on no matter what happens.”

  Sarik looked over at Scott, his eyes gazing out into the impenetrable fog. “You agree with me, Colonel?”

  “Yes…I guess I do,” replied Scott, his mind far away, thinking about Kate.

  Sarik saw the look, smiled at the thought of youthful affection. He reached over and patted Scott’s arm. “Come on, Colonel, we have a race to win.”

  “We sure as hell aren’t gonna find the Grail sitting down,” agreed Scott as he dumped the dregs of the coffee pot on the fire. With a loud hiss, the fire went out.

  Loading up the last of their supplies onto the mules, Scott took the lead. Less than a minute later, like ghostly apparitions they disappeared into the mist.

  Sergeant Demir
placed his hand in the still warm embers of the fire. One….maybe two hours old, no more, thought Demir. Bending down, he ran his hands along several tracks in the ground, his mind seeing what was not there. “There are five of them,” announced Demir confidently to the rest of his young squad. They had trudged all through the bitter night trying to catch up with Scott; now he knew they were tantalizingly close.

  “Sergeant, a quick rest?” begged an exhausted-looking soldier, hunched over from the heavy weight on his back.

  “Ten minutes only,” replied Demir firmly. He wanted to move on, but could not afford to lose his men to exhaustion chasing down these foreign bandits. “Strip down your packs. Carry only what you need and nothing more from now on,” ordered Demir.

  With a loud collective sigh of relief, the soldiers dropped to their knees where they were and started to haul off their heavy packs, dumping out anything that they felt they did not need onto the ground. All of them were too tired to care what they left behind. They knew they would be off and running, probably not stopping before nightfall if their sergeant demanded it.

  The route meandered ever upward. What had been a navigable path soon turned into a narrow animal path; in some places it was barely wide enough for the donkeys struggling under the weight on their backs along the slippery rocks. Leaving behind the relative warmth and the green grass as they climbed, the mountain turned barren, rock, snow and ice now seemed to stretch up into the heavens.

  “Colonel,” called out Thomas from the back of the group.

  Scott raised a hand, ordering a short stop. Making his way past Sarik and his son, Scott walked over to Thomas and Gray, both looking after one animal apiece.

  “What is it Thomas?” asked Scott, wiping the sweat from his brow.