by Kevin Tinto
While Kajir and his brothers tended to the horses, Hawar lit two Whisperlite stoves and hydrated several packages of freeze-dried stew. He spoke in Kurd to Bazi, who nodded, and ran toward one of the military-green, canvas bags they’d packed onto the horses. He unzipped the bag, laid a blanket down on the rock, and then began pulling one automatic weapon, after another, out of the bag.
“We rest today and wait for darkness, Mr. Jack. Then my sons will lead you up Ararat. Past the Parrott Glacier to the Western Plateau. At the Western Plateau, there is another protected spot you can rest. It is a half-day climb from there to the spring.” He put his arm around his youngest son. “Bazi and I will wait here with the horses for your return.” He placed a hand to his ear. “Have you heard them? Turkish helicopters, searching below. Does anyone know that you are here, Mr. Jack?”
Jack hesitated. “Is there any other reason they’d be searching the mountain?”
“It could be an exercise.” Hawar shook his head. “But I think not.”
This can’t be a coincidence, Jack thought but didn’t say. “The helicopters won’t search much above 14,000 feet. Once we reach the Western Plateau, we can climb nonstop. Does Kajir know the way to the spring?”
Hawar nodded. “He has not seen it, but I have told him how to find it.”
Jack pulled one of the handheld GPS units out of his parka. “At least the GPS units are working. Hopefully, we won’t need them.”
“God willing,” Hawar said.
✽✽✽
Jack woke to the sound of the Whisperlite stoves burning fuel under high pressure. On one stove, Kajir brewed tea, while on the other he was cooking up ‘murtuga’, a Kurd breakfast staple of eggs scrambled with butter and flour. Bazi ran over to Jack, dropped on his knees and handed him a steaming cup of traditional Kurd tea brewed with cinnamon and a sizable helping of sugar.
After two sips of the strong tea, Jack felt his energy level rising. He climbed out of the mummy bag and dressed in his climbing gear, sans the traditional Kurd clothing. They were far enough up the mountain it was unlikely they’d run into anyone, especially during the winter, and they’d start the climb under the cover of darkness.
Regardless, both Kajir and Camir were already sporting automatic AK-47’s on a shoulder strap. They didn’t expect to see anyone on the mountain, but open carry of automatic weapons was a deterrent to any unexpected casual and/or inquisitive conversation. Anyone who saw them coming would quickly disappear. Even after a chance encounter, Jack, Kajir and Camir would be long gone off the mountain and Jack headed back toward Cappadocia, before someone could round up a large enough gang necessary to take on the young Kurds armed with automatic weapons.
After Jack dressed, he walked over to the stoves, where he put his hands down near the flame to warm them. Hawar squatted near the stoves, helping Kajir dole out helpings of the egg, flour and butter combination. “God has given you the gift of a perfect day, Mr. Jack. The weather is clear, the stars bright and the winds have stopped—for now.”
✽✽✽
After several hours working up through the rock, still traveling on ancient trails that led toward the Western Plateau they hit the base of the glacier. Jack dropped his gear to the ice. He said, “Crampons, ice axes and harnesses…from this point on, no one goes anywhere without crampons and an ice axe.”
Kajir pointed out the Cehennem Dare glacier.
Jack nodded and gave a low whistle. “You live at the base of one of the most magnificent mountains in the world.”
“We are blessed by God, Mr. Jack.”
Jack, Kajir, and Camir pushed on through the icy winds, each laden with nearly 50 pounds of gear, not including the AK-47 automatic rifles each of the brothers had slung across his chest.
The sunrise might have been the best Jack had ever seen. The icy winter winds and bone-chilling cold was every bit the match for Everest at the worst of times. The fact they were climbing through 14,000 feet, not 25,000, was a life-saver. The air was thick enough to cut with a knife, compared to the 8,000 meter world-class peaks. Beyond having a whole lot more air to breathe, the extra oxygen molecules in each breath kept a body a whole lot warmer than the thin air at hyper-altitudes.
Kajir stopped and waited for Jack. “The Western Plateau,” the young Kurd said, pointing out a false summit several hundred meters in the distance.
Jack nodded, sipping from a water bottle he’d stuffed inside his parka. “How far to camp?”
“Twenty minutes, no more.”
“A cavern?”
“Not so much, Mr. Jack.”
Jack swore under his breath. He was cold, exhausted and second-guessing his desire to get out of Washington DC. Staff Sergeant Carlson mixing endless cocktails while he sat in front of the fireplace, in the clubhouse, had never sounded so good as it did right now.
Chapter 40
Kajir’s “not so much” description of the cavern turned out to be understatement. The ‘cavern’ turned out to be a rock shelf cutting four meters back under the glacier, the ceiling a mere meter in height. Even so, it felt every bit as good as a five-star resort hotel as Jack unslung the pack and crawled under the overhang, tugging his backpack in behind him.
Kajir and Camir followed Jack, chattering in Kurdish and clearly enjoying the climb way more than Jack was. Youth. A reminder he might be getting too old for these off-the-cuff, high-altitude trips in the middle of winter.
Jack pulled the GPS from his pocket, slid back out to the entrance to the cavern so he could get satellite signal. The small device did its calculations and gave him a distance to Jacob’s Well: slightly less than six kilometers. Jack logged the magnetic bearing in case the GPS satellite dropped off. Back under the overhang, he glanced at his watch. It was still at least three hours until sunrise, and they needed rest.
He told Kajir and Camir to take a load off, they’d rest for six hours. Kajir was delighted. Jack caught something about how, if it were Hawar leading the trip, they’d get an hour of rest and a horse whip across the back of the neck if they failed to move at his command.
“Soup, Mr. Jack?” Kajir scooped air toward his mouth.
“Yes, please.”
Camir pulled out the beat up Whisperlite and succeeded in lighting the cantankerous stove. Kajir slid out from underneath the overhang and stuffed a two-quart, dented aluminum pot well above the rim with packed snow and ice. Minutes later, after several more cups of ice went into the pot, all three were sipping reconstituted chicken noodle soup.
“The soup?” Camir asked Jack. “Very good?”
Jack grinned. “Hot soup on the side of a mountain after a brutal day climbing—better than the best restaurant meal in Ankara.”
The two young Kurds smiled and again began chatting in Kurdish. Jack was in mountaineering paradise. Stuffed under a rock overhang, the sound of winds howling outside, the Hubble-like view of the sky, the Milky Way, so bright and thick, it appeared like a solid band bisecting the heavens above. The jet-like sound of a Whisperlite burning gas under high pressure, the warm feel of the steam, and the aroma of the hot soup.
Jack zipped up his parka, pulled a black, wool hat down over his eyes and rested his head on his backpack. He was asleep in less than thirty seconds.
✽✽✽
“God has blessed us with another fortunate day, Mr. Jack.”
Kajir pulled the Kurdish-style hat down over his forehead, almost to his eyes, keeping as much of the wind out of his face as possible.
Jack had awakened to find the Whisperlite hissing again, and a pot of hot water steaming. Kajir was making tea. He handed a mug to Jack, after adding what looked like a half-cup of sugar to the tea. The winds had moderated, and the sun was already well above the mountain. A near-perfect day. They were high enough up on Ararat, there was no need to continue on in the dark. If all went as planned, they’d be at the location of the hot spring in the afternoon. By the time they got down to the Western Plateau it would be dark again. They’d continue on down
in the dark, right back to the cavern where hopefully, Hawar had hot soup and tea brewing on the stoves when they arrived.
If it went as planned, they’d find Jacob’s Well, Jack would rig up his GoPro cameras and two underwater lights on the custom mount made to Jack’s specifications. He’d sink a line down into the hot spring and drop the Go-Pros down to around 50 meters, the maximum depth and pressure the camera cases could withstand. He had one Go-Pro set to video straight down, and with the clarity of the water it should easily see to the bottom of the well at two-hundred feet. The other GoPro would shoot horizontal. That way he’d cover video straight down, and also at a 90-degree angle from the line. The two GoPro’s offered redundancy. He’s used the GoPro enough to know how easy it was to hit the start button, see a blinking red light, then inadvertently hold the start button again, shutting the camera down. He as determined to shoot a few minutes of GoPro, then get the hell off the mountain. He pulled the GPS out of the jacket; it still held signal.
So far, a near-perfect day indeed.
The resumed their hike fully rested, hydrated, and in good spirits. When the GPS indicated they were within a thousand meters of the coordinates provided by Jacob Badger, he signaled for Kajir and Camir to stop.
“We’re close, Jack said.
Kajir looked at the mountain, using his hands to frame the mountain against points on the horizon. He nodded in agreement. “We will go ahead and see if we can locate it.”
“Thanks,” Jack said. “But don’t go swimming until I get there.”
Kajir grinned and then took off up the mountain in a jog, Camir right behind him, both disappearing from sight in a flash.
Youth, once again, bares its ugly head. Jack drew a deep breath, turned, and looked back to the Western Plateau, then turned again to see the East summit and the actual Summit of Mt. Ararat.
No peaks to bag today, he thought, wistfully.
Jack got underway again, climbing solo for an hour in Kajir and Camir’s crampon tracks. He had just stopped for a breather and to sip a mouthful of water, when the two Kurds appeared upslope, running down toward him, their AK-47s, unslung and in firing position.
What the hell? Jack thought. This can’t be good.
When the brothers approached within fifty meters Jack saw they were excited and spooked. Eyes opened wide, they swept weapons left and right.
Kajir spoke, while Camir continued scanning the horizon with his rifle barrel. “Mr. Jack. We found the spring!” He bent over and sucked several deep breaths, gassed from the thin air, the excitement, and the sprint down the glacier. Kajir rattled off in Kurdish at Camir, who continuing to sweeping the horizon with his weapon.
“Easy, Kajir, Jack said. “Tell me what you found.”
“The spring! We found it. But, Mr. Jack, someone, perhaps soldiers, have been there!”
Jack felt his own head going into swivel mode, looking for signs they were about to be attacked. “How long ago?”
Kajir shook his head. “Very soon ago. There is equipment—you will see.…”
✽✽✽
Jack stared down at Jacob’s Well. The three-inch frozen ice cap over the spring had been cut with a task-specific, Husqvarna ice saw. That was a good sign. If the waters had been cold, the ice would be far thicker—perhaps meters thick at this altitude. The Husqvarna lay alongside other gear, scattered haphazardly around the perimeter of the hot spring. A Honeywell Dura winch, normally painted bright yellow, repainted in desert camouflage, had been dragged away from the spring, then disassembled, before being tossed aside.
“Only Israelis have apparatus this….” Kajir struggled for the words in English.
“Brand-new equipment,” Jack said.
“Yes!” Kajir said, scanning the horizon.
Jack studied the gear. Whoever had been here had left in a hurry and not bothered to clean up the site—even going as far as dumping the gear into the spring to cover their tracks.
A flash of light emanating from a chunk of cut ice caught his attention. Jack pulled the ice away, exposing a small aluminum cylinder. It was painted white, with the words, DILUENT, circling the cylinder in bold red block letters
Kajir walked over as Jack picked the cylinder off the ice and spun it.
“What is that, Mr. Jack?”
“A cylinder of gas that’s used in what’s called a Rebreather. A sophisticated type of SCUBA equipment used by Special Operations Commandos—Navy SEALS in particular.”
“American commandos searching for the Ark, Mr. Jack?”
Jack shook his head. “No worries there. I know for a fact they weren’t searching for the Ark.” Jack glanced around the site. “Explore the area. Look for anything that might identify the nationality: uniforms, weapons, writing. Have Camir keep watch for unwanted visitors.”
Kajir began digging through the scattered gear while Jack did the same. Pulling up the leftover gear, searching empty gear bags for a uniform, flag, cigarette, lighter—anything that would give them a clue who had already explored the spring.
Jack had rummaged without success when he decided to circle back to the Honeywell. If they’d brought anything up, it would have been near the Honeywell.
Two gear bags had been tossed to the side. The first one was empty; he tossed it aside. The second had something inside—something that had been salvaged from the bottom of Jacob’s Well.
The remains of David Samuelson….
Chapter 41
Leah opened her eyes to a mosaic of light, sounds, and aromas. It took minutes before her vision focused enough that she was able to recognize K’aalógii. The girl’s face stared down at Leah while her hands gently brushed back her hair.
She opened her mouth to speak, but instead, she was wracked with a cough that felt like she’d hacked up a quadrant of her right lung. When the fit subsided and she opened her eyes again, two faces were staring down on her.
“Welcome back to the living,” Garrett said, his relief evident in both his voice and countenance. “You were dead when Appanoose carried you out of the lodge.”
Leah could barely whisper. “Dead? What are you talking about?”
“When he carried you out of the sweat lodge, you weren’t breathing and didn’t appear to have a heartbeat. I wanted to do CPR, but the Ancients held me back while Appanoose put you down by the fire and revived you like he’d expected it to happen.”
Leah tried to sit up, but her upper body felt like it was weighted down with a hundred pounds of rock. She dropped right back down on the blanket and surveyed her surroundings. She was lying under the mesa overhang, on a bed of pine and blankets, with several more stacked on top of her. She lay between two mounds of hot rocks, the same as those used during for the sweat lodge rituals. Heat radiated off the stones, warming the air around her to create beads of sweat on her forehead.
Sunlight penetrated the overhang, and from the angle of the light, Leah figured it had to be morning. She’d gone into the sweat lodge sometime during the middle of the night, so she’d been unconscious for several hours.
At least.
“How long was I in the sweat lodge?” she croaked.
“I’d say three, maybe four hours,” Garrett said. “I tried to intervene several times but they held me back every time.”
“You must be exhausted,” Leah said. “Staying up all night, wondering if I was going to make it.”
“The lodge wasn’t last night, Leah. You’ve been in a coma for more than seventy-two hours.”
The shock, and then effort trying to respond to Garrett, triggered another fit of coughing. Suddenly, her mind was flooded with memories of the sweat lodge and what she’d experienced with Appanoose. The shock gave her a burst of strength.
She reached out and grabbed Garrett’s forearm. “I saw it all, Garrett. The Ancients, the reason for their capture, the complex, the mountains, two suns in the sky….” Leah drew a deep breath. ‘Oh my god, Garrett. I saw the end as well…it’s all our fault…we’ve ruined everything.”
Before she could continue, Garrett took her hand gently in his. “I know why you saw all those visions. There’s no need to panic.”
“No need to panic?” This time she managed to keep the coughing down to a few hacks. “You have to believe me when I tell you, Appanoose showed me everything. The Ancients. They weren’t part of some random science experiment. They’re colonists—destined to settle on another planet. By removing them from stasis, we’ve set in motion the destruction of Antarctica, maybe even the entire planet. We have to return them to Antarctica. We have to do it now.” She had to stop, this coughing fit so intense that she thought she might pass out.
Garrett nodded as she spoke, his only expression a look of quiet concern. “Appanoose showed me why you were unconscious for days—I’ve been a pain in his ass, to say the least.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not listening to me!”
“Leah—Appanoose dosed you with a hallucinogen.”
Leah dropped her head back onto the blanket. The peyote cocktail, the heat, the chanting. “It seemed so real,” she said, relieved that it might have all been just a drug-induced series of high-definition hallucinations. “That was the doozy of bad trips,” she said, managing a faint smile. “Oh, crap. I was supposed to check in with Gordon. He’s gonna think I blew him off.”
Garrett looked grim. “You can’t feel any guilt about that. In fact, I went to grab the satellite phone, to arrange a medical evacuation—checked where we stashed it at the bottom of the green gear bag—and it was gone. So I made for the quad—figured I’d get to somewhere I could make a call, but after about thirty steps I felt cold steel on my neck. When I was able to turn around, I found old ‘Noose’ standing there, that military blade out, telling me in pretty clear language what would happen to me if I tried leaving the Settlement.”