Blood and Sand

by Matthew James

  “There was a fourth elder too, but he had a falling out—if you will—with his brothers. He didn’t want to use their special talents for constructive purposes.”

  “What did he want?” I ask.

  “We think he wanted unlimited power and dominion over every living thing on Earth, but we aren’t exactly sure.”

  “Yikes,” I say.

  “Yep, bad dude.”

  “You said they were brothers, all four of them?” Dad asks.

  “Yes, but we aren’t sure if they were actually lineal brothers or blood-brothers, like in a secret sect kind of way.”

  “Wait a sec, back up Kane. How do you even know that there is anything there to begin with?” I ask. I understand the severity of the situation and that there are others looking for it besides us. The one thing I’m not quite sure of is…

  “Have there been other expeditions to Algeria in the past,” I continue. “Maybe covert ones that only a select few know about?”

  Kane straightens a little. That’s all I need to know. Yes there has.

  “What happened on those other expeditions?” I ask.

  “Expedition.”

  “What?” I ask not understanding.

  “Expedition. As in only one other mission was conducted in the area.”

  “Why only one?” Dad asks.

  “Because, the eight men who went in never came back, they literally just disappeared off the radar, like the sand just swallowed them up. They each had a GPS unit on them and they all failed. The brass back home just chalked up the loss to a huge sand storm that blew through the area around the time they arrived on location.”

  “Just like the one that uncovered our dig,” Dad says staring blankly out the window of the plane.

  “That’s what some of the egg-heads back home think too. They think your little site is the same entrance our team tried and failed to find. The difference between now and eight years ago is that we have better tech and better personnel involved.”

  “How are we better equipped than special forces soldiers that died out here?” I ask.

  “Those men were just that, soldiers. They weren’t versed in the science or history that is involved here. They see a target and engage. You guys are the most learned men alive in this field right now. Uncle Sam, along with some other very influential people, want you to succeed. They do not want Zero to acquire whatever waits for us beneath the sands of the Sahara.”

  “Like our own potential deaths?” I ask.

  “If it comes to it, yes,” counters Kane.

  “We aren’t soldiers!” I boom. I’m not angry at Kane, just the deadly situation we’ve been thrown into. We have no proper training, nor the want to put ourselves in the line of fire.

  “All we are going to find out there in the burning desert is,” I point out my window, “sand…blood and sand.”

  14

  We are greeted by a burst of unrelenting heat as we exit our flying limo, but mercifully, we are prepared for it. Kane has been ordered to accompany us and has outfitted us with a backpack water device. It’s a very streamlined bundle that kind of reminds me of a North Face Borealis hikers pack—it even has the North Face logo on it so it looks genuine. Sticking out of its top is an auto-closing water valve that only opens when sucked on, a nice touch so you don’t get sand in it.

  The bottom half of the rucksack has its usual storage compartment like a normal bag. The only major difference in our packs versus someone else’s is that they are designed to accommodate the Glock 17 9mm handgun, and its three spare magazines neatly inside. The real kicker with these bags, the Tactical-Backpack or Tac-Pac as Kane calls them, is that you can conveniently draw your already loaded weapon from a Velcro-style pocket on the side. So there is no need for a holster.

  Even Kane has his dual Eagles tucked away. His is customized so he can draw both at once, one from each side. Rambo eat your heart out.

  “Do we really need the guns?” I had asked earlier.

  “Do you want to be as unprepared as before if we run into some of the psycho brigade again?” Kane replied.

  He got me there. And no…I don’t.

  He continued, “You got severely lucky in Algiers, Hank. If we come across more people from Zero, I doubt there will only be a small group of them this time.”

  We enter through the rear of the airport with a grind of sliding doors, the screech of metal-on-metal snapping me back into the now.

  It isn’t as organized as it was in Algiers, but on the bright side, there are fewer terrorists, which can’t be a bad thing, I suppose.

  Kane leads the way through security, flashing his credentials. The local airport police stationed here give Kane a wide-eyed glance and step aside. I can’t tell if both officers were intimidated by the man’s ID or by his sheer mass. Probably both, I decide.

  Five minutes later we exit the airport and walk out to the pick-up area out front which is basically a parking lot.

  “Ah, Omar my boy!” Dad yells.

  A young man climbs out of a Land Rover and heads our way. He is of average height and build and maybe around 25 years old. Dad strolls towards the newcomer and embraces him.

  “Can we trust this guy?” Kane asks.

  I glance over and see him with his hand in his pack—no doubt clutching the hand grip of his gun. I step towards him and bend down, pretending to tie my shoe.

  “I don’t know,” I say not looking up. “I’ve never met him before, but he comes highly recommended from some colleagues back in the States.” I stand, “Dad seems to trust him. Just keep an eye on him, okay?”

  Kane nods and joins Dad over by the car. It feels weird telling a “company man” what to do but, he is pretty much our own private security. The thought of this six-foot-six war machine as my own personal muscle makes me smile and puts a little pep in my step, making me forget about the heat for a second. Okay, maybe half a second.

  I sigh, wiping away a bead of sweat from my face, and join the rest of our party mumbling, “We might as well get the introductions over with.”

  I step up next to Kane as he reaches out and shakes Omar’s hand, “Hi, the name’s Kane…Dr. Jeremy Kane.”

  Both Dad and I quickly glance over to the big man, doing a double take. Dang, his name really is Kane. I could have sworn he was lying in the hospital room when I asked him. He notices our attention and gives us a wink. Omar is too busy wincing from the pain of the vice grip crushing his much smaller hand to notice our reactions.

  Kane mercifully releases the slighter man, steps aside, and slaps me hard on the back, “And this is the legendary Hank Boyd, Dr. Boyd’s son.”

  I groan. Kane is laying on the act pretty thick.

  Omar grimaces and flexes his hand. Before he looks my way, he gives Kane a venomous look. He turns, “Yes, Mr. Boyd, your father has told me much about you.”

  He used the word Mr. like it’s an insult. I return the favor.

  “I see you’ve met Dr. Kane, he is in charge of security for my father and me. Is that going to be a problem, Mr. Jafari?”

  Omar cranes his eyes up at the man, who could easily be a foot taller and over a hundred pounds heavier than him. It’s as if J.J. Watt and Rob Gronkowski had a baby. Seriously, Kane is a monster. I think the smaller man’s bladder is doing a little tap dance number right now because he’s sweating…a lot, even in this heat. Kane gives him a mischievous grin and gives him a wink of his own. It’s a look that says, “Please, try me. I dare you.”

  Omar turns quickly, losing the battle of wits and faces dad, “Right this way Dr. Boyd, my car is fully fueled and ready to take you into town.” He climbs into the dust covered S.U.V. and shuts the driver side door, out of ear shot.

  Dad turns and gives us a disapproving look.

  “What?” I ask, but it’s Kane that continues.

  “We need to see how he reacts when threatened. You may trust this man, but I don’t.” The look in his eyes is as intense as starring down a Great White. “If you wa
nt me to keep you and your son alive then I need to operate under my own measures. We have no idea who we can trust. As of right now he is in my grey-zone. You two…” He points to us, “Are in my white-zone.”

  “And Zero?” I ask.

  “They are in my black-zone, also known as my shit list. You don’t want to be on that. It generally ends badly.”

  I laugh and give his shoulder a slap of my own, “I bet.”

  Dad climbs into the front passenger seat while Kane and I open our respective back passenger doors. Before we climb in I look over the roof at Kane, “So, Dr. Jeremy Kane, is it?”

  He looks up at me with a shrug and a grin, “I have a PhD in bullshit, but, yes the name really is Jeremy.” I nod and we climb in. We buckle up as Omar pulls out onto what passes for the main highway.

  I extend my hand to Kane and say, “Nice to meet you, Jeremy.”

  Kane does the same, “You too, Harrison.” I wince, not in pain, but at the use of my birth name, immediately regretting my attempt at being a smartass.

  Omar pulls us into the left lane and quickly accelerates to 60 miles per hour. It’s a relatively short 30 minute drive from the Djanet airport to the small town outside the site. The A.C. is blowing hard and feels incredible in this brutal heat. I tip my head back and shut my eyes. But, before I nod off I get a nudge in the side. I look over at Kane.

  “Watch this,” he whispers. He pulls out the biggest bullet I’ve ever seen. Must be one of his 50 caliber rounds, I think. He taps on my dad’s shoulder, “Here Dr. Boyd, take a look at this.”

  Dad nonchalantly takes the object without noticing it. Then, I hear him gasp and he turns and looks back at us.

  “What’s this?” he asks. He holds the bullet up for everyone to see, including Omar, who glances in his rearview mirror.

  “This, Dr. Boyd,” Kane plucks the huge round from Dad’s fingers and removes one of his Desert Eagles from his pack, ejects the magazine and inserts the bullet. He glances up and notices Omar staring at him, eyes wide.

  Kane slams the magazine back in hard; with more force than needed I’m sure, though he gets the desired effect. Omar noticeably flinches and the Land Rover swerves just a hair to the right.

  Kane holds the intimidating weapon up and says, “This is what happens when someone screws with me.”

  15

  He stepped out from inside a home on the corner of the small street facing the open desert, lifting a phone to his ear. He had to cup his hand around the mouth piece in order for the caller to hear him over the howling wind.

  “Have they arrived, Whitten?”

  Tommy ‘Razor’ Whitten rolled his eyes at the shear disrespect his employer had for him and the other people in their organization. The only reason any of them continued to put up with him was because the pay was good…and that the man gave everyone the creeps. If any of the stories were true about the man known as Wolf, then they had the right to be.

  Tommy just hoped this job was over soon and that he could get back to his home in San Diego, where the weather was always perfect. Not like this place, he thought to himself. He hated the heat.

  The people who hired Wolf and his team were a mystery to him, very suspicious for sure, but they paid and that’s all that mattered.

  “Yes they have, just now,” Tommy replied. He could see a black, weather-worn SUV pulling in from his vantage point further down the street.

  “Do they have transportation waiting for them?”

  “No, they will have to travel on foot and so will we. There aren’t any vehicles allowed in the park. If we try to break that law we may bring more attention to ourselves then we would like.”

  “I agree. When do they leave?”

  “From what our man said they plan on leaving immediately, sir.”

  “Alright then,” replied the caller.

  “Do we proceed as scheduled?” Tommy asked.

  There was a pause, causing an uncomfortable silence.

  “Sir, you there? Wolf, you copy?”

  “I’m here, I’m here,” replied Wolf sounding annoyed.

  “We shouldn’t have an issue with them. It’s just the one man that may cause a problem, a government agent escort.”

  “Ah, yes. The one they call Kane, I know this one. A formidable man for sure, but as you said, it’s just one man. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Tommy could hear the threat in his voice when he said shouldn’t, meaning something bad would happen to those who failed him.

  “I’m sending you—“

  A door slammed nearby.

  Tommy hid behind a low fence, peaking out just enough to see the tall, well-formed woman step out of a nearby home waving her hand towards the incoming vehicle. His eyes lingered on her a little longer, like a lion on its prey, before turning his attention back to the conversation.

  He backed away and rounded the rear of the house, out of sight. Now in the protection of the shadows behind the “procured” home, Tommy stood straight and lifted the phone back to his ear.

  He could hear an angry and concerned voice on the other end. The concern wasn’t for his own well-being, Tommy knew, but for the mission. At the end of the day he and his fellow team were expendable in the eyes of the Wolf should things go sour.

  “No, nothings the matter, my apologies. There was interference on my end.” The sight of the stunning blonde was still burned into the back of his retinas. It took everything in him to remove the image of the woman from his memory and refocus on the task at hand.

  Then he remembered where they left off.

  “How many are you sending?”

  When he heard the number of men coming to back him up he was shocked…and a little put off. He didn’t need that much help. Did Wolf have no faith in him? The answer was pretty obvious.

  “That many? Is it necessary?” He immediately regretted questioning his field commander.

  “It would be wise for you not to question my decision making, Mr. Whitten.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. When can we expect them?” Tommy asked with a quiver.

  “Six hours,” Wolf said, back to his naturally calm, unnerving tone. “Your back up will arrive in six hours.”

  They ended the conversation without another word, just a click and the Wolf was gone.

  Tommy leaned against the home’s siding and slid down to the ground. He rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes…thinking.

  Man, I hate working for this guy. He could intimidate a T-Rex.

  Getting some of his resolve back and feeling like he was just castrated, he then stood and brushed off his pants, rolling his neck.

  Okay, six hours it is.

  Tommy strode by the shed in the backyard, entering the small home. Inside the shed, which housed yard equipment and other various objects, were bodies of the two people who lived there, or should he say…used to live there.

  16

  We are staying in a quaint village, on the border of Djanet, about ten minutes from the site. Omar knows the husband and wife that we are bunking with. They seem to be very pleasant people. He said we can trust them, that they house travelers regularly. It’s a consistent source of income for the couple and common practice for some of the town’s residents.

  We have to pay them $100 a night, but to them it’s more like $1,000 a night. But hey, we’re on government funds now, what the hell do I care. Still, it would have been nice to have the quality of a $100 a night hotel…or at least a free continental breakfast, but c’est la vie.

  Plus, seeing how these people live is heartbreaking. They reside in a cozy little ranch-style home on the edge of town with a herd of sheep in their backyard and absolutely nothing else. There is very little the home is furnished with that isn’t used daily. At least we can help them, if only a little.

  Now, when I said the dig site was ten minutes away…I meant by car. Unfortunately, this is a nature preserve, so no driving unless it’s an emergency. I guess us not wanting to sweat any more than w
e have to doesn’t count to the authorities. Also, Dad really doesn’t want to tread any more than we already have on the land. Something about erosion and not leaving a footprint and yadda, yadda, yadda. So, we’re walking. I actually don’t mind though, the hike gives me time to think.

  We quickly stopped in, paid the couple for the week, and unloaded some of our gear we wouldn’t need at the physical site. The wide-eyed look at handing over hundreds of dollars to this couple made me smile a little. They graciously thanked us and left us to ourselves, knowing we are in a hurry. We exit the home and get on our way, just me and my thought and-

  “This is such bullshit!”

  I’m rudely interrupted from my day dreaming. I glance over at Kane and see him wiping his face down with a very damp handkerchief.

  “Is that hankie soaked because of your face or did you dump water on it?” I ask.

  He wrings it out and says, “All me babe, all me.”

  “How can one man perspire so much?” Omar asks looking appalled.

  “I’m from Montana—Big Sky Country. It gets hot for like two weeks out of the year there and never like this. But this?” Kane waves his hand in the air motioning to the landscape around him. “This is friggin’ torture.” He puts his hat back on, “Look, all I’m saying is that no one said there was going to be a 30 minute trek through the desert.”

  I glance up at his head.

  “Is that a fedora?” I ask.

  Kane looks at me and gives me a sheepish grin.

  “I couldn’t help it. When I found out I was being reassigned here I had to pack one. Plus, I’ve always fancied me some Indiana Jones.”

  Aw crap, I think. I close my eyes and shake my head, visibly embarrassed.

  “Funny you should say that, Kane,” My dad adds on. “Harrison was named after Dr. Jones himself—or rather the actor who portrays him.”

  I hear an excited gasp and look over to see Kane smiling ear-to-ear. He claps his hands together saying, “That is so awesome!” Then a look of epiphany forms on his face and he gives me a grin of his own. “You know how cliché it is that you yourself are an archaeologist, right?”