by Al Ruksenas
The Egyptian Colonel smiled. “I took my studies at Cambridge.” He let the phrase linger with the Americans.
“You know, Muhammad was driven out of Mecca and spent several years in a desert cave. That is where he received his divine revelations. As you know his inspired teachings eventually prevailed. By the time of his death in the year Six hundred thirty‐two, the entire Arabian Peninsula professed Islam,” Colonel Mahmoud proudly declared.
The American officers kept looking at the awesome structure rising seamlessly out of the mountainous outcrop as the pilot slowly circled the site.
“So, we gather that isolated redoubts scattered in the desert are not extraordinary,” Colonel Jones said.
“They have been here since antiquity,” Colonel Mahmoud replied. “Most are abandoned. Remember these coordinates were written more than sixty years ago.”
“I see,” Colonel Caine said with ironic emphasis squinting towards a barricaded courtyard in the distance below. “Except for this one.”
The officers suddenly strained to see where Caine was pointing. The structure was washed out by the sun and momentarily blended with its surroundings due to the angle of the circling helicopter. Seconds later, with sunlight behind them, the observers caught a glimpse of several figures scurrying from the courtyard into a doorway.
“Hermits?” asked Major Lee.
“Herders. Nomads. Possibly holy men on retreat. I daresay it is too isolated for permanent habitation.” Colonel Mahmoud looked at the pilot who had turned towards him from the cockpit and motioned a falling dial with his finger.
“In any event, gentlemen, we must return if we don’t want to test the desert by walking.”
The Mi 8 veered westwardly toward the helicopter in the sand and Aswan beyond. Colonel Caine gazed at the jagged, sandy outcrops below them and soon lost sight of the edifice, which melted into the receding rugged mountaintops.
“We hear there are stories circulating in the desert,” Colonel Caine said pensively. “Stories of devil cults in the wilderness.”
Mohamed Abdel Mahmoud laughed. “We are not superstitious, are we, Colonel? Of course there are stories. All kinds of stories. That is the legacy of desolate places. Stories are told by the campfire. They grow with each telling.”
Colonel Jones and Major Lee shifted their attention to the conversation.
“Most stories have some truth at the core.”
“That may be,” Colonel Mahmoud replied. “There is the Malektaus. It is much misunderstood. Many claim they are devil worshipers. Although believers—mainly a sect of Kurds in Iraq—say they worship a fallen angel who redeemed himself.”
“Yes, so we’ve heard. I’m talking about real devil worshippers, invoking diabolical forces and acting on them.”
Colonel Mahmoud laughed again. “As you know, Colonel, many people in this part of the world say that America is the ‘Great Satan’.”
Caine did not reply, but remembered the words etched in the bulkhead of the fallen helicopter—“Curse on Ame—.” It had to be a warning, he thought. Final revenge for some betrayal that befell the unfortunate flyer.
“We need to visit the site,” Caine wondered aloud.
“I’m afraid it would be complicated,” Colonel Mahmoud replied.
“I am content to think that the flyers were simply looking for some strategic outpost in the height of the Cold War. As you know this area at the time was swept by warfare, revolution, military intervention and political posturing by both East and West,” the Egyptian Colonel recited.
“Unfortunate fallout from World War Two,” Colonel Caine agreed.
“It lingers to this day, I’m afraid.”
“That’s why we have to see that place,” Colonel Caine pressed. “We’ve established that the flight was in November of Nineteen fifty‐eight. As you know, Colonel,” he flattered, “the Mi 6 was still in experimental stages at that time.”
The Egyptian Colonel nodded as if he knew.
“It was more than a routine reconnaissance mission to have that craft shipped here all the way from Russia for such a flight.”
“The proverbial camel’s nose in the tent,” Colonel Mahmoud replied laughingly.
“First an overflight, now a visit.” The Egyptian Colonel heaved a deep breath. “Very well. Due to my commitments with our joint maneuvers, I cannot spare time or resources. I can requisition a helicopter, perhaps this helicopter. But you will be on your own. And for a short time only. As far as I know you are analyzing the Mi 6 found in the desert. Can you manage?”
“Certainly,” Caine replied with questioning looks from Colonel Jones and Major Lee.
“Your persistence is persuasive,” Colonel Mahmoud acknowledged grudgingly. “It’s making me doubt the obvious.”
The helicopter flew over the wreckage site and landed a short time later at a military airfield at Aswan.
“I am ordering the pilot and craft to be at your disposal for twenty‐four hours,” Colonel Mahmoud said when they alighted. “I am also dispatching several soldiers.”
“Thanks, we could use the extra manpower.”
“Only to guard the helicopter.”
“I see,” Caine replied. “In that case, can you arrange one more thing?”
“What is that?”
“Can you arrange a secure line to Washington?”
The Egyptian Colonel looked at Caine with a sense of relief. “Now, that is an easy one.”
He pointed near a hangar where an American Humvee, modified as a communications vehicle, stood with a tall dish antenna dominating its cargo bed.
A short time later Colonel Caine was conferring with General William Bradley. He reported their progress and said there were possible new developments. He did not elaborate, but requested that General Bradley personally and secretly make arrangements with Mustafa Ali Hammad in Beirut to meet them at Aswan as soon as possible.
“So the terrorist connection on Jeannie is bearing some fruit?” General Bradley’s voice sounded enthusiastic over the line. “Some new developments through Egypt?”
“There are some new developments, sir.” Colonel Caine responded indirectly. He did not want to frustrate his General further by associating the etched words “Curse on Ame—” into the occultist scenarios he had propounded. He would save that for their return, hopefully with even more information. Persistence in that theory just now might risk curtailment of their mission.
To his relief, he heard General Bradley’s voice assure: “I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 43
The sun was disappearing over desert ridges west of the Aswan airbase when a Gulfstream G500 landed near a control tower. Its fuselage was painted gray and a small insignia on the business jet’s tail read “United States Air Force.” Colonel Caine and his small entourage walked briskly towards it as the cabin door opened into a stepped ramp.
Mustafa Ali Hammad, dressed in a khaki safari shirt and matching pants hurried down the stairs followed by his cousin, Aida, who wore an olive colored campaign shirt and matching slacks. Both wore sidearms. Behind them came two armed men dressed in camouflage fatigues and carrying back packs.
“I would normally not have come,” Hammad said with outstretched hand to Colonel Caine. “Let this be proof that women in our culture have much more influence than you give credit for.” He glanced with a smirk towards Aida who threw back her head dismissively, as if dodging his words.
Colonel Garrison Jones smiled briefly in her direction as the group exchanged cursory introductions.
“Your General Bradley urged that I come. It’s in your vain search here for your missing woman.” Hammad looked skeptically at Colonel Caine and the officers next to him. “I, myself, first thought this was an elaborate matchmaking scheme. Especially when my cousin insisted I inquire if your bronze companion is with you.”
He glanced playfully at Aida, as he continued, “When General Bradley said Colonel Jones is with you, I could not refuse his request.” Hammad smil
ed broadly at his cousin who was giving him a stern return glare. “It was a short, uneventful trip, so we thought we would take some respite from our burdens in Beirut.”
“I’m glad you can join us,” Colonel Caine said and went straight to the point: “We came upon a remote structure in the mountains—a monastery or something.” He refrained from giving details. “Our Egyptian contacts are preoccupied with joint maneuvers, but gave us some leeway in exploring it.”
“This is more than archeological curiosity,” Mustafa Ali Hammad declared and inquired in the same breath.
“We’re following up on all angles,” Colonel Jones interjected. “Including your own.”
“My own?”
“What you told us last time we met in Beirut. Malevolent cults in the desert,” Colonel Caine reminded.
“I am surprised,” the shadowy militia leader replied. “These are not the kind of things that superpowers waste their time on.” Ham‐mad paused thoughtfully. “But then, perhaps I’m not surprised. We have heard about the tragedies falling upon a number of your government elite. Unexplained accidents. Technology fails to find answers.”
“We came upon some information,” Caine generalized. “We would appreciate your perspective. We have a helicopter at our disposal.”
“You mean, now?” Hammad asked dubiously. “I told you during your last adventure here, I avoid going into the desert at night.”
“We’ll be flying, not trekking. Besides, Colonel Mahmoud gave us little time.”
Hammad turned to Aida who had a determined look, while his two companions were expressionless. He could not lose face. “Your General Bradley is getting deeper into my debt,” Hammad declared with resignation.
The American officers led them to the waiting Mi 8 where the pilot and three Egyptian soldiers were already inside. After silent nods of introduction the party settled into bench seats along the bulkhead of the cargo area. Soon the helicopter was heading towards the coordinates locating the monastery on the mountain.
A bright moon illuminated the desert with a bluish sheen that outlined the darker profiles of the mountains ahead.
“What are you proposing to do?” Hammad asked Colonel Caine who was sitting next to him.
“We fly in for a visit,” Caine said tentatively, hoping the practiced militiaman would offer any concrete alternative.
Mustafa Ali Hammad nodded his head in thought. “And what do you take this place to be?” he finally asked.
“It’s supposed to be a monastery or some hostel for traveling nomads,” Caine responded, but not convinced himself. “That’s what Colonel Mahmoud concluded.”
“I see.”
“He didn’t seem too curious about the place,” Major Michael Lee interspersed from a bench on the opposite bulkhead.
Colonel Garrison Jones next to him was looking with playful eyes across to Aida who sat next to her cousin with a reserved expression on her face. Her raven hair tied into a bun added to her determined demeanor.
“Live and let live,” Hammad responded. “These desolate areas are ruled by clans and have their own boundaries. Maybe your Egyptian Colonel is looking the other way in an area where there is no central authority. To admit knowing about it means you have to care about it.”
“That’s precisely the kind of area that breeds trouble,” Caine declared.
Hammad’s expression indicated agreement.
Almost an hour later the helicopter arrived at the coordinates and flew just above the deep canyon leading to the edifice. The dark walls of the canyon were outlined starkly against the moon‐bathed blue of the night and seemed like a pathway of approach.
As the helicopter neared the center of the fortress high above the courtyard a beam of amber light suddenly shot skyward.
“Veer off! Veer off!” shouted Hammad in Arabic.
The apprehensive Egyptian pilot eagerly complied, banking the large helicopter upward and sharply to his left. The momentum pressed the passengers on one side into the bulkhead behind them, and pulled those on the other onto their safety belts. Aida’s belt was not fully secure and she tumbled directly across the cargo floor into a startled Colonel Jones’ embrace. He held her tightly until the pilot leveled the craft while heading it around a crest behind the monastery.
Colonel Jones and Aida fixed their eyes on each other, then he gently eased her onto the bench next to him. She did not resist when he helped her latch into another safety harness.
“What was that?” Major Lee was exclaiming.
Colonel Caine looked knowingly at Mustafa Ali Hammad. “Yeah! What was it?”
“We have to land out of sight,” Hammad declared.
“Tell the pilot!” Caine directed and Hammad repeated the command in Arabic.
With everyone straining to see, the pilot steered around the mountain behind the abbey. He saw a ridge outlined by the light of the moon on the blind side of the redoubt. Faintly visible pinpricks of light from several places along the ridge contrasted sharply with the night. A narrow flat outcrop extended from the ridge. On the other side, unseen, was the fortress. The outcrop seemed hewn by hand and was likely a material staging area during ancient construction of the monastery.
“Find somewhere behind the canyon!” Colonel Caine ordered. His words were simultaneously repeated by Hammad and Colonel Jones in Arabic.
“I speak English!” the pilot said huffily. “Don’t confuse me at a time like this! Too many chiefs!”
He cleared the canyon and looked for level ground beyond. Several miles farther he spotted a sandy alcove and gingerly settled the helicopter down.
“Strange light piercing the sky!” Hammad said tensely “The stories speak of it, but no one could ever find it! People have disappeared here!”
“So, we can’t knock on the door as weary travelers?” Colonel Jones said with grim humor.
“We have to see what’s going on,” Colonel Caine said, remembering the words etched in the bulkhead of the downed helicopter.
“I agree,” Mustafa Ali Hammad declared to the surprise of the American officers.
They looked expectantly at the wiry militia leader.
“This is beyond mercenary services. This could be the source. The source of our troubles. We could end them.”
“I take it you know how,” Caine offered, looking at the bleak mountain canyon in the distance. “The place is a fortress.”
“All of them were. The walls and buildings were above ground. But they had elaborate underground tunnels and caves. For protection, for escape—from the heat, as much as from enemies—and for secure water supplies from underground streams.”
“That’s helpful,” Caine said sarcastically.
“Those points of light on the ridge—they are likely air holes,” Hammad said. “There is activity in chambers underground.”
“Accesible?” Colonel Jones wondered.
“They were excavated by hand, so there have to be footholds,” Hammad continued. “The problem is they are too high and rugged for swift climbing and a helicopter drop would give us away.”
Colonel Caine pondered awhile and looked to his partner. Colonel Jones knew what he was thinking. “This helicopter was requisitioned from the joint maneuvers,” he said. “It should have contingency equipment.”
“It should,” Caine answered.
They retreated to the back of the cargo area. Minutes later they emerged with two parachute packs. “This might do it,” Colonel Caine said. “We parachute to the outcrop—check out the air shafts—head down the ridge and meet you at the helicopter.”
“That way there’s minimal risk,” Colonel Jones explained. “Everyone wait out of sight with the helicopter until we come back.”
“I want to see what’s there myself,” Mustafa Ali Hammad declared. “I hope we didn’t fly from Beirut on a moment’s notice for nothing. Besides, gentlemen”—he looked to Caine and Jones—“who else gives credence to your unusual theories?”
“Did you ever use a parachut
e?” Caine replied.
“No. But I have seen tandem jumps with parachutes. It seems like a sport.”
“You’ve been very helpful to us,” Caine conceded. “I suppose we can’t refuse.”
“Besides, you know the architecture,” Colonel Jones added. “That could come in handy.”
“I will go with my cousin!” Aida declared defiantly.
“We are playing this by ear,” Jones said with a smile to his fellow officer.
“All right, all right,” Caine replied impatiently. Then with a drawl he murmured: “Now who would you want to be strapped to?”