Chapter 54
Later...
Standing in the open door, Yusuf watched the two soldiers limp away, down the corridor. The Yankee turned around, shifted his pack to the other shoulder, and looked back. Yusuf read the anxiety in his face, his stance, and waved to reassure him.
This man was Da'reek Raheen's "son," in all but blood... the one whom he'd risked all to save.... Yet this "Indy-Neeck" was Da'reek's protector... his brother... his suda'i-bro
, his blood brother... and, in some ways, also his father. The young man shook his head at the complexity of it all... despite the age differences, friends beyond the meaning of the word. He hoped that one day Allah would bless him with such a friendship.He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the sleeping man. The American had told them things... about Da'reek Raheen... about the work they did... the tribe to which they belonged... the way God used him to do his will... the gifts he had been given in return... and what those gifts had cost him... and how much he had been wounded in body and mind.
The other soldier, the red-haired man, even as he had translated the words, had obviously not believed what he was saying. Yusuf could tell by his tone of voice, some of the words he had chosen, the way he had refused to look anyone in the eye, but Yusuf believed. Da'reek was a mystic... a ruhani... "like a Sufi pir"... Ibn Sikander had told him.... Therefore, he had never doubted it.
He returned to sit by the other man. He was a little afraid of him... but that was something he'd keep to himself. He imagined the reactions of his friends. They would mock him for being afraid of a vulnerable, sick man. But Da'reek was not an ordinary man.... He had watched him commune with his God on a freezing hilltop one winter night.... This man could see the future... know what was in another man's mind. He had seen how he had tried to save Masruq. Yusuf did not understand such things. He'd leave that to the mullahs.... They were not the ways of a warrior.... Yet this man was that as well. He'd seen him lead in battle, had seen him kill. He had taken revenge on the man who had hurt his "son", and he had delivered a death blow where Masruq had failed.
"Nick... is that you?" Derek moaned.
"Da'reek... drink... OK?" Yusuf asked, as he leaned forward, offering a glass of water.
"No." A listless arm, thrown feverishly up, knocked the glass from his hand. It flew across the room and shattered into pieces. "Nick... hot... so hot." He then suddenly shuddered; his teeth chattered.
Yusuf was not deterred. He poured another glass. "Da'reek.... Water.... Drink." He placed it against the other man's cracked lips and poured. Water ran through his beard and pooled on his chest, but some of it was swallowed down. Good, Yusuf thought. The red-haired man had said Da'reek must have water... tea... soup... to heal him.
The older man struggled to sit up. Yusuf put his hands on Derek's shoulders, firmly pushed him back down onto the bed, and held him still. He felt the heat rise through his palms.
"Snow...." The young Afghan reached into the bucket of melting snow and laid handfuls on the precept's neck and chest.
"Nick?" Derek gasped in exhaustion. "Hot.... Cold.... Where?..." He rolled back and forth on the small bed in restless, aimless movement. "God!" he cried. "Please... not forsake me.... Nick!"
What's he saying, the boy wondered. He calls for the Yankee. "He's gone.... I will have to do, Da'reek," he said in Arabic. He realized that in this state the precept would probably not understand, but he wanted him to know he was not alone. He hesitated for a second, then took hold of the other man's hand. "If you see into men's hearts... even if you don't know what I'm saying... you can feel I'm here... Insha'allah.... I want to help you.... Know me... Da'reek Raheen.... I am here.... I am your friend too."
the Tunnels...
The two soldiers rested, leaning against the cool, rock wall, eating the "packed lunch" Yusuf had given them. They had been wandering the dimly lit, rock-cut corridors for hours, following what they hoped was a different route to the labs that they'd found the day before.
"Where's the map?" Nick asked, washing down his last bite of dried fruit with a swig of water. He glanced up and down the cool, shadowy caverns, then up at the ceiling. He felt the weight of the mountain bear down upon him. "How could anyone live and work down here for very long at a time?" he wondered aloud. "It's so damned depressing."
"Ummm...." Ginge, his mouth full, handed over the plan, now heavily marked with his own additions. He gestured with his head towards a brightly lit corridor. "We should check that one out next.... It's got better lighting... dropped ceilings.... It's all built in... not made to fit the tunnels... the doors are wood grain... with spaces for fancy name plates."
"Top brass?..." Nick suggested with interest. "Sure as hell haven't found anything else today.... Could be some hardware in there, I 'spose.... We can make Derek's check."
* * *
A few minutes later, they cracked open the door of the first room. "Pay dirt!" said Ginge. "Looks like a Comms Room... computers... fax machines... radio."
Nick sat before the computers. "Amazing how big these suckers were just fifteen years ago. I'll bet a Palm Pilot could do the work of this whole, friggin' room," he commented as he loosened the screws that held the computer's carcass.
"Dammit!" he swore as he pulled off the front panel. "They've been stripped of hard drives... of anything likely to be 'interesting'."
"Still," the Brit commented, "it's damned impressive stuff.... Whatever these guys were up to, they got the best the old USSR had to offer."
While Nick painstakingly took the hardware to pieces, looking for Derek's numbers, Ginge searched the room. "They've got quite a few VCRs... old, top-loader, industrial models," he said. "Maybe they had their own little pirating business going."
"Have they been stripped?"
"Nah...." Ginge considered. "They'd have taken stuff that'd compromise security... the portable and useful. I doubt these would qualify," he said, checking each one. "Hey!... There's still a tape in this bottom one... down here in the corner." He ejected the tape and studied the handwritten label. "Bugger!... Wish my Russian was better.... Could be porn... or something more interesting.
"No TV dammit!" he said, looking around. "Bloody weird... to have a bunch of VCRs and nothing to watch them on.... Still worth taking this along... just in case." He tucked the tape into his pack, then glanced towards the computers, now lying in bits on the desks.... "Any AI-86?"
"Nope," Nick replied, "which means we'll probably never know why we were looking.... OK," he sighed wearily, "we've exhausted this room.... Let's keep going."
"Hang on.... Where's this lead... the loo?..." Ginge opened a narrow, internal door and found himself in a dark, confined space. He whistled softly. "Take a look at this... surveillance kit... banks of monitors.... The whole place has been dismantled." He crouched down to examine the hundreds of torn cables. "Dammit... they're all ripped out.... It'd take hours to make sense out of this rat's nest."
"None of the cameras we've seen are working anyway," Nick dismissed the find. "Leave it.... We've got other priorities."
"I'll bet they were connected to those VCRs too.... Maybe I can cobble something together to watch this tape," Ginge mused.
The SEAL shrugged impatiently. "Whatever.... Let's keep going."
"Half a mo'," the corporal objected. "I'm taking this one."
"Jesus!... What're you gonna do?... Lug the damned thing around on your back?" Nick asked in frustration. "Just unhook it and leave it. We can send Yusuf back for it."
Derek's Room...
Yusuf climbed to his feet, rolled up his small prayer rug, and laid it on the footlocker at the end of Derek's bed. "Allah, forgive me," he muttered, "if I have faced the wrong direction or prayed at the wrong hour. I know that in your benevolent wisdom, you will look kindly on the attempt."
The youth hated this place. It was like being in a prison without windows or doors. The soldiers had taken Da'reek's watch and compass, so now he had no way of knowing when the hours of prayer fell nor which way Mecca lay. The cave entrance had faced southeast, but inside it was a maze... and he could not leave Da'reek's side. He berated himself for not having had the foresight to mark the direction of Mecca when he had the chance.
Even in the midst of his prayers, when he should have been focused... centered... he had been distracted, impatient for the two men to return. He paced back and forth, then opened the door of the small room to freshen the air.... He sniffed.... This was not good air... it smelled old, of oil and machines. He needed the clean air... outside. His head ached for it.
The precept had been awake for awhile and Yusuf had finally managed to get him to take some soup, which he had promptly thrown up. Da'reek had been upset by this... had obviously felt shame, and Yusuf had been unable to console him... other than to keep telling him it was "OK."
He heard the horses, stamping, snorting in irritation, and knew they needed food and water, but his charge was restless, talking in his sleep... in a language that was different than before. If he was dreaming, they were dreadful dreams.
He was worried about Da'reek. "Merciful Allah... give rest to this worthy man, your servant, though he be 'of the Book'," Yusuf murmured. "Give me the wisdom to care for him, though I have not the knowledge." As conscientious as any critical care nurse, he changed the dressing on Derek's shoulder. He had changed it often to maintain a constant warmth on the wounds to draw out the poison, but there was now so much pus that it stank.... It frightened him.
The Afghan returned to sit by the bed. He remembered that evening in Uti's cave. It had been a lifetime ago... he had been a mere boy then. He began to sing. Da'reek had liked the song then... perhaps his voice would offer comfort... would help him to drift into a real sleep.
the Tunnels...
Ginge glanced over at his companion. Nick was obviously no longer in the mood for cheery conversation nor questions about anything. The more exhausted they became, the more the silence of the place wore on them both... and the tale Nick had told earlier in the day made it all the worse. As they trudged down the long corridor to the labs, the Brit couldn't free his mind from the conflict that was battling against itself. Christ!... No wonder Indy didn't want to talk.... He'd said enough.... That shit he'd come out with... fighting demons... Derek starting fires with his mind... seeing the future... ESP... parallel universes and time slips.... The SAS man understood secrecy... things kept back for security's sake... being 'economical' with the truth... but when he thought about it, he wondered if Indy was taking him for a fool.
In his profession, the SAS man was used to death... to secrecy.... It went with the territory. If Indy and Derek were CIA... spooks... whatever... why make up these fantasies?... Yet he trusted the SEAL.... He was a bloody good soldier... and Derek!... Bollocks!... Could there be something to all this, he hesitantly wondered.... "Ghosts!... Jesus!" he murmured under his breath.
At last, they reached the laboratories and stopped outside a large, wooden door. Nick spoke for the first time in more than an hour. "We missed this one last time."
Ginge nodded. Pushing open the door, they found themselves in another store room, stacked with pallets loaded with bulging, cloth sacks.
"Some of this don't smell so sweet," Ginge muttered. Pulling his knife from his boot top, he slashed open one that contained something vegetable, but it had turned to moldy dust. He scooped up a handful and sniffed it. "Alfalfa," he announced.
Nick found another stack, bearing a logo circling the picture of a sheep. He cut the sack open and found dried pellets inside. Rubbing some between his hands, he followed the corporal's example and sniffed, cautiously. "These seem OK... must be one hundred percent preservatives."
"Great!... All the sheep food we want," Ginge said with sarcasm.
"The horses might eat this stuff," Nick suggested. "And there's some wheels for your prize back in the Comms Room," he added, pointing to a flat-bed cart. "We can load a few sacks of this on it, then pick up your VCR and monitor on the way back home."
"Fair enough," Ginge conceded. "There's nothing else here.... Let's press on."
* * *
The pair retraced their steps of the prior day... back through the labs. They halted briefly to disembowel a computer and once again check for Derek's number. Again nothing... and nothing left that might provide information. "The parts they took with them might have had AI-86, for all we know," said the SEAL. "Derek and his damned wild goose chases."
Eventually, they found themselves outside a heavy, steel door. Nick had always declared that he was the most "unpsychic" person on the face of the earth, but this door sent chills racing down his spine. Ginge, too, must have felt something. As his hand reached for the red button that would open the door, he stopped. The two soldiers stood, frozen for a minute or more.
Finally, they looked at each other. "What the hell?... Let's do it," Nick said.
Ginge swallowed hard, nodded, then pressed the button. The door didn't open. They heard a noisy, metallic clanking, then a mechanical whirl, followed by the pumping sound of an air compressor. At last, as the vault-like door began to slowly swing aside, the noise grew louder. The pair stepped warily inside. They thought to escape, as the door closed behind them, and the room grew silent.
"What the fuck was all that?" Ginge looked around, puzzled. "Bugger!... It's cold!"
"I think the room was sealed, air-tight." Nick looked over at a large, stainless steel bench shoved against the wall. On it sat several large, brushed aluminum cubes, with porthole windows.
The pair exchanged nervous glances, and then walked over to peer inside the containers. "Glass bottles... vials," Ginge called out.
"Same here," Nick agreed, checking the furthest of the cubes. "Kept refrigerated... in an air-tight, vacuum sealed room.... Bet this is nasty shit."
"Look at this," Ginge called, as he pulled open another vacuum sealed, stainless steel door. "It's like a test chamber," he said, pointing to open-ended pipes that protruded from the walls. "God... it's huge." His voice echoed against the bare concrete. "They tested this stuff on more than mice!"
"The sheep?" Nick suggested. "Poor bastards." He shook off a cold chill as he gazed around the room, which seemed to smell of death and terror. Was it his own imagination, he wondered... a memory of the hell in which they had found Derek?
"Let's hope it was only sheep," Ginge muttered uneasily.
Derek's Room...
Yusuf was now truly afraid; his stomach quivered and cramped with a panic he'd never before known. Da'reek Raheen was sick... perhaps, dying. The boy once again felt his head, his neck, his chest. His skin seemed unbearably hot. An odor of something, an unidentifiable rankness, infused the sweat that poured from his body and saturated his hair and beard. He no longer alternated with bouts of shivering. The young man had used up all his snow and ice trying to cool his patient. He needed more, but couldn't risk leaving him alone.
If he should die... while in his... Yusuf bin Mika'il al-Faris'... care.... This was shameful... a dishonor... but the Afghan didn't know what to do. "Try to get him to drink some water," he muttered to himself. "Please... Da'reek... drink... good... water."
The older man twisted his head aside. The water went everywhere but between his lips. "Fire...," he muttered. Fear echoed through the exhaustion. "Gott!... No!... I can't do this thing...."
"Again those words.... What does he mean?" Yusuf asked himself and Allah. He calls upon his God... upon You, O Benevolent One, but what of the rest?... Not the Yankee's name... not the redhead's... "I don't know what you want, Da'reek...." The young man shook his head in despair. "...and you don't know what I just said."
"Noooo!" Derek screamed, bolting upright, panting heavily, terror written on his face. Yusuf tried to push him back down, but the precept fought him. The two wrestled on the cot. Yusuf could not believe how strong the older man was. They tumbled onto the floor, where they lay in a tangle of limbs.
Frantic, Yusuf looked around for anything that might help. Derek seemed stunned, exhausted.... For the moment, he lay still. The Afghan snatched a cover from the bed and wrapped it around the other man... round and round he bound him. Like a spider does a fly, he thought.
Suddenly, transparent blue and orange flames danced above the concrete floor, but quickly died away.
Grabbing his gun, the young man ran from the room. He fired twice into the cavern's black depths, praying that the bullets would flatten themselves against the stone ceiling that lay hidden somewhere up in the darkness. The sounds of the shots were deafening. They reverberated, merged, grew in volume, and finally rolled away like thunder down the spider's web of tunnels. The horses screamed in panic. Yusuf put his hands over his ears and prayed that the soldiers had heard his message... had understood... and would return quickly.
The young man listened for the horses, heard them settle, then hurried back into
the room, where he dropped to the floor. Derek, too, had panicked at the sound of the
shots. Wrapped in his white cocoon, unable to move, his eyes wild with confusion, he
had wriggled part way under the bed. "No... it's OK.... It's OK," Yusuf cooed in his
limited English. "I shoot.... Bang!... Bang!" Grasping the other man's
hand, eased him out from beneath the bed and he held him tightly. "Shhh...," he
murmured. "Indy-Neeck come... Insha'allah!".... He'll know what to do.
Please, God!
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