The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  The Angel of Death had come and gone and not one person had seen or heard anything.

  * * *

  The mess steward, Grandee, and several other crewmen had been organizing carefully packed canned goods and dried meats for the expedition and had wandered quite close to the captain’s cabin. The men went about their work silently and efficiently and not one of them heard a sound coming from the darkened cabin. Six hundred feet away on the train siding where the chartered train awaited its American passengers, Gray Dog stood on the roof of the second-to-last car and looked around through the now-swirling fog. It was the same as before the three prisoners had been murdered. The night had become still and preternaturally silent. Gray Dog heard the men loading the supplies and the Comanche even heard several marines cursing their luck at dice by the tracks, but nothing coming from the distant Yorktown. Gray Dog sat back and knew that darkness had raised its presence once more, and he also knew men had already died this night.

  * * *

  As the small paddle-wheeled ferry tied up next to the large French warship, Dumas, John Henry led the procession from the boat. The colonel was only slightly put out that Taylor had went gone of his way to embarrass the sultan’s Immortal, but deep down was secretly pleased.

  As they made their way down the gangplank it was Jackson who summed the evening up.

  “Not to belabor the point, Colonel, but I think the sultan has had his large ears bent about what our true intent may be and has had a slight change of mind in his welcoming pageantry.”

  “I concur,” Claire said as they gained the fog-enshrouded dock. “He fully expected one or the other of the combatants to die a horrible death. He fully expected either you or Colonel Taylor to be the example.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t have been of more assistance to the sultan,” Taylor said, and even Claire had to stifle her chuckle behind a gloved hand.

  “If that’s the case, our return trip may get a little dicey,” John Henry said as he started to put on his helmet but then scoffed at placing the thing on his head. He shoved it under his arm instead.

  “The Yorktown will have to make a speed run for the Black Sea, but I think she can make the rendezvous on time. If you’re still allowing only five days for any recovery efforts.”

  “Yes, I figure it will take the Turks or anyone else at least that long to get any substantial force to the area before we either have what we came for, or have failed miserably.”

  “You have yet to inform Professor Ollafson of your restricted time frame, Colonel. He will not be pleased.”

  John Henry slowed his pace and waited long enough for Claire to catch up. “Madame, we did not inform Professor Ollafson because he does not need to know. You know because I refuse to excuse ourselves and locate to a more discreet area for speaking purposes. Now you know. Just as I must know how you know that Frenchman. You and he seem to be familiar at the very least.” Thomas stopped to make sure that Claire understood the seriousness of his accusation. Jessy, Jackson, and McDonald had stopped also and wondered what it was that the colonel had seen to prompt him to throw so much mistrust at Claire.

  “I … I just wanted to know why he did what he did. This mission is not warlike in nature, so why spy? The mountain range has been there for eons and has never been thought of as a significant place by any government, so why now? Is it because the Americans are interested, or is it something else?”

  John Henry didn’t respond to her explanation. He simply continued looking at her beautiful face before turning and making his way down the dock toward the Yorktown and the waiting train.

  They were stopped by a man running their way. It was a marine corporal who slid to a halt in the fog and then saluted Captain Jackson.

  “What’s happened?” Jackson said immediately.

  “Sir, we’ve had murder onboard, and Professor Ollafson may be very ill; his heart, maybe, we don’t know.”

  “When?” John Henry asked as he saw that the boy was terrified.

  “Twenty minutes ago, sir. But that’s not all. We found pieces of men strewn about the captain’s cabin. We don’t know how many, or who, but they have been slaughtered like cattle, sir.”

  “Our men?” Jackson asked as he started heading for his ship. The others hustled to catch up.

  “No, sir, our personnel are all accounted for. Lieutenant Parnell took a count after Professor Ollafson collapsed.”

  “The Indian?” Jackson asked without a guilty look back at Thomas.

  “On the train the entire night. He never went close to the Yorktown, Captain.”

  As they approached the ship they failed to see a single man slip away into the fog. Renaud had heard all he needed to on the failure of his men and their mission to recover the artifacts. He knew the Americans had caught and killed them. The stakes had just been raised.

  “Let’s get that train fired up and get the hell out of here,” John Henry said as they arrived to see the men all standing around on the dock. The talk was rampant about what had happened not once, but twice inside of closed areas of the Yorktown. Thomas knew if they didn’t get moving he would lose the men before they ever started this fanciful flight of hide and seek.

  “Lieutenant Parnell!”

  The marine officer appeared out of the thick fog and saluted the captain. “Sir,” he said.

  “Instruct the men to board the train. We depart immediately. Keep the Confederate prisoners separated from their brethren, not as much as fifteen men per car. I want armed marines at each exit at all times. Inform Lieutenant Anderson to see me for departure orders for Yorktown. I have an addendum to his mission parameters. After that he must get to the Black Sea rendezvous as quickly as possible. The men of the first section will be arriving in the east in about two days and they will start making their way south soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Parnell said enthusiastically, excited to be on the move and not stuck on the slaughterhouse that the Yorktown had become.

  “And this is the reward we get after I upheld the honor of the nation?” Taylor said with a smirk. “You treat my men as a very untrustworthy lot.”

  “Trust has yet to be earned. Almost, but no cigar for the moment,” John Henry said as he spied the figure of Gray Dog on top of the second-to-last car. He turned and saw his old friend and brother-in-law staring at him. “It may not be just mistrust, Jessy. It seems something may be traveling with us who doesn’t want this mission to succeed.”

  “You mean someone, don’t you, Colonel?” Claire asked as she slowly removed her large hat and veil.

  John Henry looked at each expectant face in turn. He settled on Claire as he explained.

  “I really don’t know what it is I mean, but I believe you may, Miss Richelieu, and when we get aboard that train I want to know everything you do about what that Angelic Script means—and I do mean everything.”

  Claire watched as the others made their way to the ship and train that awaited them. They vanished inside the thick veil of fog and she was alone.

  The woman who sided with both the French and the British in this matter knew that she could no longer hide the truth from Colonel Thomas and the others. She would have to explain just what darkness they were really heading for in the east. There a mountain awaited, and her experience at both spying and world history told her they were headed to a spot on the map that had been forsaken to mankind. The curse she had made them aware of was something that frightened her far more than the specter of getting caught spying for foreign nations.

  Claire knew the Angel of Death watched over that black mountain known as Ararat in the east.

  * * *

  As the last of the supplies were loaded and the prisoners and marines were onboard the train, John Henry was informed by the navy watch commander that a carriage was coming down the dock in a hurry. Thomas turned to Jackson with a wishful thought. Captain Jackson popped open his pocketwatch and looked at the time. He shook his head negatively.

  “We still have the last of the mes
s equipment to load, unless you want to start this little foray into the wilds without adequate food?”

  Thomas pursed his lips, almost tempted to say, “To hell with it. Move the train before whoever this is stops us.” He peered into the dense fog surrounding the train and the dock six hundred feet away. He heard the carriage come to a stop and a voice filled with authority order several things unloaded. Then he heard an American-accented voice call out.

  “Permission to come aboard?”

  Before Jackson could answer, a young midshipman raced to the quarterdeck with a piece of paper. He handed it to Jackson, who read the note. He whistled and then passed it to John Henry.

  “You’re going to absolutely adore this one,” Jackson said as he nodded at the young sailor. “Permission granted, sir!” Jackson called into the fog and the boarding ramp below.

  “Damn, what now?” John Henry asked as he crumpled up the hastily written note.

  Two men came up the boarding ramp followed by Jackson’s dock watchmen carrying several large trunks. The larger of the two men advanced to the quarterdeck. He was heavily mustachioed and had sideburns extending to his jawline. The man looked as stern of visage as Secretary Stanton himself. He removed a black top hat and used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from the band.

  “Mr. Ambassador, we’re sorry to have missed you at our welcoming ceremony.” Jackson held out a gloved hand. It was ignored.

  “If I’d been there, I assure you the diplomatic ruckus you stirred up never would have happened.” The large man turned to face the questioning look on Thomas’s face. “You have made a hell of a mess for me to clean up, Colonel.”

  “Apologies, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Yes, I have had quite enough apologizing for the time being, thank you. Gentlemen, I received a communiqué from President Lincoln this morning, and thus I was sent on an errand and thus I missed your entrance at the palace. This is Mr. Daniel Perlmutter, an assistant to Mr. Mathew Brady. The president has sent Mr. Perlmutter here to document anything you find,” the ambassador said as he reached into his pocket and brought out a sealed envelope. He handed it over to John Henry.

  Thomas looked at the large man from Pennsylvania and then raised his brows.

  “Your orders have been changed, Colonel, which is why they sent a ship after your small fleet to get Mr. Perlmutter here in time. You are not to bring back any artifact recovered on Ottoman Empire soil.”

  “What in the hell are we even here for?” Jackson protested.

  Thomas opened the letter from his friend. He leaned into the nearest lamp to read the tight scrawl of Lincoln’s handwriting.

  “Document only. It seems we are to discover, document, and then claim American provenance to the world.”

  “I’m an educated man, but just what in the hell does that mean?” Jackson asked as he turned and saw the last of the mess kitchen being lowered to the dock for its transfer to the train.

  “It means we find it, take a few photographs, and then get the hell out of here.” Thomas looked relieved to a point. “Which suits me to the ground.”

  “What about recovery?” the naval officer asked, incredulous.

  “There will be no recovery of the vessel. The engineering alone would be too difficult for the time frame involved. The president now knows that the European powers have discovered your true intent in the eastern mountain range.” The ambassador had one more item for Thomas. He pulled two smaller pieces of paper from his coat pocket. “These are two receipts. This one”—he handed it to John Henry—“is for the purchase of one hundred and sixteen horses from the Black Sea Trading Company. They will have the animals waiting for your men once they arrive at the end of the line. This one is for one hundred and sixty-one horses and saddles from the same company that will meet you at the town of Talise, fifty-six miles from Ararat as the crow flies. And I must say, these two purchases nearly broke the embassy petty-cash box. There you have it.”

  “Why so many mounts when we are no longer to recover the artifact?”

  “Perhaps the president still thinks you may have to leave this place posthaste. I am afraid your guess is as good as mine on that front, Colonel.”

  John Henry looked from the receipts in his hand to Jackson, who was slowly shaking his head. Thomas decided to let the matter drop for now. Instead he turned to the newest addition to his mission of fools.

  “Welcome, Mr. Perlmutter,” Thomas said as he gestured for his equipment to be loaded onto the train. The men turned and with his trunks in hand made their way back to the dock and the hidden train beyond.

  “Thank you, sir,” the young man with wire-rimmed glasses said as he held out his hand to the colonel. John Henry ignored it and the boy lowered his soft fingers.

  “What am I supposed to be photographing?”

  The ambassador tilted his head and then laughed as he placed an old newspaper in John Henry’s hand. He then turned away and laughed heartily all the way down the loading ramp.

  “Good luck, gentlemen, especially since you’ll have half of the European powers out to either stop you, or steal what it is you find.” The ambassador stopped halfway down and then turned and through the swirling fog he had his last say. “Out there, gentlemen, the rules of conduct may be a little lacking in civility, so may I suggest you play the same way. After all, what could happen? War?” He placed his top hat on his head as he started to laugh once more and then vanished.

  “What in the hell has changed since we left home?” Jackson wondered aloud.

  John Henry opened the newspaper and scanned the week-old headline of the New York Herald.

  Sherman Burns Atlanta to the Ground! Rbt. E. Lee Surrounded at Richmond, Military Campaigns in West Winding Down.

  “The war is almost over and our European friends are a little worried about a growing power in the west.”

  “Who?” Perlmutter asked as he was given a foul look by Jackson.

  “The United States, and they figure to stop us. Put us in back in our place, so to speak.”

  Both men looked at John Henry, who handed the Herald over to the captain.

  “Well, since we don’t have to dig anything out of solid ice, we may stand a chance of getting out of this alive,” Jackson said as he perused the headlines. “Can’t say that I want to be the one to inform Professor Ollafson his mission has been curtailed.” He handed the paper to Jessy, who looked at the type and frowned as he read. He turned away and John Henry saw his shoulders slump in sorrow over his drowning nation.

  John Henry walked to the ship’s railing and stared out at the fog. He watched the last of the marines disappearing into the swirling mist as they moved operations to the train.

  “Now all we have to do is find out what it is that’s killing people right in front of us without being seen,” Thomas said.

  “Excuse me, killing?” the twenty-year-old Perlmutter asked a little nervously. “And what are we digging in around in ice for?”

  Jackson saw that John Henry was going to remain silent, so he took the boy in the brand-new suit, obviously purchased through the Sears and Roebuck catalogue, and guided him to the boarding ramp just like a father explaining the facts of life to a confused son.

  “I take it you have not been briefed on our mission here?”

  “No, Mr. Brady just threw me this suit, gave me some old equipment, and sent me to the New York docks. The next thing I know I’m here, and I don’t even know where here is.”

  “Well, let me ask you a question instead, my boy,” Jackson started. “Do you read your Bible?”

  “Not in a few years, no.”

  “I think maybe you’d better brush up on it a little in the next two days.”

  “What parts?” Perlmutter asked nervously.

  “Genesis would be good for openers; the story of Noah, to be more precise.”

  John Henry heard them speaking but his mind was on just how he would gather evidence of a mysterious ship on a mountaintop, and then his only duty would be to
get these men home alive. The news of the war made him more determined to do just that.

  The Civil War was winding down. Now they would have to survive the peace, but would the rest of the world allow them to do that?

  Thomas knew he had a lot of questions he needed answered, and he knew whom to go to for those answers.

  Claire Richelieu.

  15

  The train departed for the east an hour later. The wind of the passing cars had just settled when four men came running up the dock from the shore side of the city. It was Renaud, and he had three Turkish policemen with him.

  The American warship was empty of supplies and passengers. The first mate of the Yorktown had been afraid something like this would happen, so he wanted to greet the visitors off of American territory, which the Yorktown was, just in case there was some unpleasantness.

  The young lieutenant waited patiently for the men to approach. The three Turks looked as if they had been awakened from a nap and were irritated at the Frenchman. The lieutenant heard the last few words and with his limited French understood. The small man who had been tossed from the Yorktown three days before was giving a description of his three men and was pointing at the ship.

  “May I be of assistance to you gentlemen?” the naval officer asked as he stood ramrod straight by the foot of the boarding ramp.

  The first policeman, dressed in a black uniform complete with a bright red fez with golden tassel, stepped up to confront the American.

  “This man reports that his friends went aboard your ship and have yet to return. We would like you to produce them, please.”

  The young American looked at the three officers and then at the French spy, Renaud.

  “Three men. Are these men Americans?” the lieutenant asked innocently. As he spoke, the gangway was lifted and then slowly swung over to the boarding side of Yorktown. They all heard her heavy lines being cast off.

  The colonel had inspected the cabin where they had discovered the bodies of the three men. There had been no time to make the dead men vanish, nor to clean the cabin thoroughly, so Colonel Thomas had ordered it closed off until the ship made open sea.