The Sahara Legacy

by Ernest Dempsey

  Another man stepped up. Johnson was a younger guy—mid-twenties—but his reddish beard made him look ten years older.

  “Retrieve my box for me,” Dufort ordered.

  Johnson swallowed hard. He stared down at the dead man at Dufort’s feet and then at the squashed spider. His hesitation was noted by the Frenchman.

  “Those spiders don’t come in groups, Johnson. It’s unlikely there’s another one inside. You’ll be fine.”

  Johnson frowned and moved uneasily toward the crevice. He stopped near the rock and paused. Then he looked inside, inspecting the hole to make sure there weren’t any other surprises.

  Dufort and the rest of the men waited and watched as Johnson unclipped his flashlight and pointed it into the hole. He checked and rechecked before twisting his body sideways and sticking his hand into the cavity.

  His fingers slid across the edge of the box, and he snatched it quickly. He yanked the object as hard and fast as he could, terrified there might be another spider inside the hole.

  The narrow box came loose and slid out of the recess. The surface scraped the sides of the crack, but Johnson didn’t care. He set the stone container down on the ground and took a step back.

  Dufort grabbed the case from Cody’s hand and laid it down next to the stone box. He took a knee and ran his finger along the symbol carved into the top. It was a circle with a four-point cross in the center.

  He stared at the lid for nearly a minute, forgetting about the men standing around him and the dead guy a few feet away. He even let himself lose track of his concern over Sean Wyatt. He had the third stone. Now, nothing would stand in his way.

  He lifted the lid and stared down into the container. Within it lay a medallion made from white gold. A green gem that looked much like an emerald was embedded in the center.

  Dufort left the amulet where it was for a moment and turned to his left. He unlatched the case and opened it, exposing the other two medallions and the tablets.

  Suddenly, the two medallions in the case began vibrating. A high-pitched sound rang in the men’s ears, and they dropped their weapons to cover their heads.

  “What is that?” Cody winced as he spoke. He stared down at the amulet in the stone box. It shook as if the ground beneath it trembled.

  Dufort leaned closer, unafraid of the bizarre occurrence. He picked up the third medallion and held it high. The sun sparkled off the precious metal. A green hue appeared on the ground beyond the box as the light passed through the emerald.

  The rest of the men stepped back, confused and terrified.

  “Sir, maybe you should put that back.”

  “Don’t you see, Cody? The stones are meant to be together. There is a power at play here that no science book can explain.”

  “Yeah, and I’m not so sure that power is a good thing.”

  “Nonsense,” Dufort said. “These are a divine gift to humanity, lost for centuries—millennia, even. There is nothing to fear.”

  Cody wasn’t convinced. He took another cautious step back along with all the other men.

  Dufort picked up the other medallions and set them in the stone box. Then he placed the third one on the tablets in the place where the third blank appeared in the text. Reverently, he turned the jewel over onto its face to reveal the next clue. He traced the ancient script with his finger as he read the entire passage.

  “What…what does it say?” Cody asked, still standing several yards back.

  “To the east where kings meet gods in the shadow of the pharaoh, a fallen prince sits on his empty throne.”

  Cody’s eyebrows stitched together. A perplexed scowl crossed his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dufort drew in a deep breath through his nose and then exhaled as he turned his head side to side. He let a grin crease his lips despite his frustration. “I have no idea.”

  He closed the stone box and handed it over to one of the men standing next to Cody. Then he placed the first two stones inside the case, closed it, and passed it to Cody, who took it reluctantly.

  “Relax, Cody. These relics won’t harm you. Quite the opposite, in fact. They were designed to lead us to a place where immortality is attainable. Soon, we will be invincible and have more resources than we ever imagined.”

  The crazy talk about eternal life was a hard sell to the younger man. He didn’t buy into the mystical mumbo jumbo—although he had to admit that what just happened with the stones was pretty incredible and terrifying all at once.

  The resources part, however, was what Cody wanted. Dufort had promised him and his men a vast treasure with a value in the billions. He and the others would never have to work again. No more babysitting rich kids or running security for wealthy businessmen looking to exploit danger-ridden countries. With his portion of the treasure, Cody would disappear—probably to a remote tropical beach in the South Pacific or maybe Senegal. Not many tourists knew about the west coast of Africa, although he wasn’t picky. Pretty much any beach would work so long as the drinks flowed and they were brought by someone young and beautiful.

  “We’ll need to do a bit more research,” Dufort said. “Unfortunately, a good internet connection isn’t available in this part of the world. We’ll need to go somewhere that will have at least a Second World connection.”

  Cody was puzzled. They had more than enough equipment back at the camp. “I don’t understand. Why don’t we just use the satellite links? We can get online from here. The generators have plenty of fuel. What’s the problem?”

  Dufort stuffed the emerald-encrusted medallion into a pocket and forced a patient grin onto his face. “The problem, my dear Cody, is that satellite links are a fairly unique signature. Only a small percentage of people in the entire world have access to that sort of thing. Usually, they’re in the military. We, however, are a private enterprise, which means if we get online with one of those things, someone is going to notice.”

  Dufort didn’t have to say who. Cody and his men already knew. Some of them had worked for the various intelligence agencies around the world. One guy in particular had been given a job at the NSA before he decided to quit and make more money as a mercenary.

  There was, however, a problem with Dufort’s paranoid theory.

  “For someone to track us, they’d have to have been alerted. I doubt anyone is watching this area for a SAT link to get thrown up. Who would have told them?”

  Dufort shook his head. For all his skills as a killer and an enforcer, Cody wasn’t the smartest person. He was brilliant when it came to tactics, strategy, in-the-field sort of stuff, but he lacked a good deal of common sense.

  “Remember what I said earlier, Cody?”

  “Which part?”

  “Sean Wyatt,” Dufort said. “He’s still out there, remember? And he’s the type to cover all the bases. So, do us all a favor, and stay off the internet until we can get to a place where there are lots of people. Okay?”

  Cody’s face flushed red. “Very well, sir.” He turned to the rest of the men, still blushing from the embarrassment. “Let’s roll out. Pack up everything.”

  The men trotted away, heading back to the camp they’d set up the night before among the giant stone columns.

  “I’m going to go help the men, sir,” Cody said and started to turn away.

  “Good. And keep an eye out. I get the sense we’re being watched.”

  “Watched?” Cody started to ask who would be watching, but he didn’t have to. He knew who his boss was talking about and decided to skip the crazy.

  “I’ll put an extra man on guard,” Cody said and jogged away.

  Dufort watched him until he’d run around an opening in the rocks and disappeared. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the medallion. He held it high in the air, letting the sunlight catch the gem in the middle and once more splash a greenish hue across the rocks and sand.

  He sighed with satisfaction. Soon, he would have control of everything.

  Chapter 25
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  Bardaï

  Sean crouched as low as he could, staying behind the truck until the guard turned and started pacing back the other way.

  He looked over his shoulder. Tommy, Adriana, and Hank were all perched at the top of a huge rock jutting out of the ground. They watched as Sean darted between bushes, thin trees, and outcroppings of boulders as he approached Dufort’s camp.

  He knew Dufort would have guards stationed. Sean also knew that Dufort wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was out of the picture yet. They’d done this little dance before, which was why Sean decided to change the tune.

  Dufort would be expecting some kind of a brute-force attack, or at the very least an ambush. That expectation was why the Frenchman had placed men at the entrance into the sacred ground where the columns stood like tall stone guardians.

  Lucky for Sean, he found another way in—several ways, actually. He knew Dufort would use as many men as he could to hurry the process of finding the third medallion. That meant he couldn’t cover every entry point.

  So Sean used an oldie but goodie tactic and flanked Dufort’s camp and came in from the east. He encountered two guards using a standard patrol movement. It was easy enough to time when the men would be looking the other way and when they’d be coming back around. Once Sean figured that part out, getting into the main section of the camp was a piece of cake.

  As soon as the shepherd boy gave him Dufort’s description the night before, Sean came up with a plan. Figuring the Frenchman would anticipate some kind of ambush, Sean and Sid ripped out the transponder from the helicopter and broke it down into the smallest possible form they could without sacrificing signal and power. The latter was the least of their problems. Sean could jack the makeshift homing beacon into one of Dufort’s trucks and hook it right into a power supply.

  Tracking it, however, would be another issue. He didn’t have anything on hand that could be made into a sort of monitor, which meant he was going to have to outsource that task to someone else.

  The plan was to put the transponder on a truck and then follow from a safe distance until they reached a place with a cell signal. From there, Sean would call Emily and see if she could get a read on where Dufort was headed.

  It wasn’t an easy plan, but it was the best he could do with limited resources and time.

  He unconsciously reached up with one hand and felt the device strapped to his chest inside his shirt to make sure it was still attached and in one piece, as if he couldn’t feel the heavy hunk of metal and wires hanging from his skin.

  The guard turned to the left and disappeared behind a tent.

  Now was his chance.

  Sean stood up and risked a quick peek over the truck’s hood. No sign of the guard or any of the other men in Dufort’s regiment. He reached for the door handle and pulled. Sean knew better than to expect the door to open right away, but he couldn’t help himself. After all, why in the world would the mercenaries lock their doors? They were out in the middle of nowhere.

  Unless they were afraid of the locals coming around and stealing some of their gear. Or maybe it wasn’t the locals Dufort was worried about.

  Sean sighed and ducked back down just as the guard reappeared around the other end of the tent. The guy had been looking the other way but could have just as easily turned his head and spotted Sean.

  There was no backup plan. While his friends acted as spotters high on the cliffs a few hundred yards away, they were well out of range with their weapons. The only thing they could offer in the way of assistance would be as a diversionary attack. They could fire their weapons to draw the guards’ attention, but it was unlikely Tommy and the others would be able to take anyone down. It would be a challenge for an expert sniper equipped with a .50-caliber rifle at that range, much less the smaller weapons Sean’s friends carried.

  The roving guard disappeared again, this time behind a huge boulder in the middle of the camp. Sean seized the opportunity and dashed over to one of the other trucks parked a few feet away. He slid to a stop in a patch of gravel and pressed his back against the tailgate. He panted for air and then glanced around the back of the vehicle. The two guards were at the intersecting point of their routes and passed each other. The first guard proceeded down his path, getting farther away with every step. Now the second guard was coming Sean’s way, which meant Sean would have to work fast.

  He slipped around to the driver’s side of the truck and pulled the handle. Dang it, he thought. It was locked, too.

  Only one left.

  He stole another look around the front end of the truck. The second patrol was behind one of the tents. Sean took off and ran the ten steps to the last vehicle. He tucked in behind it just as the guard reappeared and started curving his pattern back around toward the entrance to the campsite.

  Sean sidestepped around the back-left quarter panel and eased his way over to the driver side door. He watched the path he knew the guard would take as his fingers felt their way up to the door handle. He pulled the latch, but once again nothing happened.

  Why on earth would these guys lock all the doors?

  It was a pointless question and one to which there was no answer. Wondering why didn’t help the current situation. Sean was going to have to go with Plan B.

  The guard turned to his right and started marching toward the trucks. Within seconds, Sean would be in plain sight if the guy diverted his gaze.

  Sean didn’t wait for that to happen. He dropped to the ground behind the tire and waited. His fingers gripped his pistol tightly as he waited with his back against the wheel. If he engaged the enemy, the entire plan would be shot. Dufort would be alerted to his presence, reinforcements would flood the camp, and Sean would be up against odds even he couldn’t overcome.

  His muscles tensed, and he leaned over onto his forearm. The rocky soil dug into his skin, but he ignored the pain, keeping most of his body off the ground so he could crane his neck and see the oncoming guard. The man’s torso and face were blocked by the truck’s undercarriage. He was visible from the waist down, though, and Sean watched patiently as the guy meandered in his direction. When the guard vanished behind the front right wheel, Sean carefully swung one leg around and then the other, careful not to kick any rocks or make a sound. Even the slightest noise would cause the patrol to raise an alarm.

  Sean lowered himself to the ground and rolled just as the guard’s boots appeared on the other side of the truck, mere feet away from where Sean had been crouching just a moment before.

  Sean watched as the guard took ten more steps, spun around, and paused. He’d seen him and the other guy do the exact same thing several times while trying to figure out their patrol’s timing. The guard was too close to see Sean underneath the truck, but if he moved out of his usual path—even just a couple of feet—the jig would be up and Sean would be exposed at point blank range.

  He looked up and realized that under the chassis there were several places he could use as handholds. He deftly rolled onto his back, stuffed his pistol into his belt, and grabbed the metal bars next to the drive shaft. Then he raised one foot, planted it on a bar going across the center of the truck’s underbelly, and pulled himself up.

  His muscles strained to hold him in place, but Sean didn’t give in. He squeezed as hard as he could while keeping his head bent back in order to see the guard’s boots.

  The man started to walk back down his path when something caused him to stop and reroute.

  Sweat rolled down Sean’s head, and his forearms bulged. His muscles screamed for relief, but he gave none. The guard walked around to the passenger side of the truck and stopped again. Sean watched as the man bent down and picked up a cigarette butt from the rocks. If the guy even twitched to the right, he’d see the former government agent hanging under the truck and shoot him on sight.

  Fortunately, the guard straightened up and started back down his path. Sean slowly lowered his body back to the ground. As soon as his tailbone hit dirt, he let go of
the chassis and let his head fall. He clenched his fingers over and over again to get the blood flowing normally through his arms.

  That was too close, he thought.

  He looked back up at the underside of the truck’s motor and found what he wanted. These particular military vehicles featured an enormous amount of space between the frame, body walls, and engine. They were designed that way to allow for easy maintenance or repair work.

  In his early years, Sean had spent enough time working on Japanese cars to appreciate an open design when he saw one. He’d owned a beat-up Japanese hatchback in high school and soon learned that the cars made over there were designed to last a long time, not be tinkered with by an amateur.

  The oil filter was almost impossible to reach without being double jointed, and switching out spark plugs was equally as challenging.

  This truck, however, had tons of space to work. The only problem was Sean didn’t have a lot of time.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wire cutters he’d taken from the helicopter tool kit. Finding the battery from the underside of the truck was difficult, but thanks to the open motor setup, Sean managed to locate it quickly above his head and to the right.

  Next, he traced the wires running to the distributor, spark plugs, and other areas of the motor until he found the ones he needed. The transponder only needed a little juice, which meant the lines running to the truck’s headlights would be perfect. The only problem with that was that the lights would have to be turned on for it to work. That meant tracking the vehicle at night was the only option since older trucks didn’t have automatic daytime running lights. Of course, some people turned their lights on in the day as a safety precaution, so it was possible he could get lucky. Sean knew the device wouldn’t provide any resistance to the current so there would be no dimming effect to the beams that might draw suspicion.

  He took a quick look out from under the passenger side to make sure the other guard hadn’t returned yet and then shoved the wire cutters up into the array of lines and hoses. Carefully, he pinched his chosen wire with the two blades and then pulled it toward the truck’s rear. Squeeze the cutters too hard, and the wire would be severed. If that happened, the truck’s headlight would go out, and then there could be trouble. A driver would notice that, and if he didn’t one of the other men in Dufort’s little army certainly would.