Chapter 62
the Next Day...
Derek turned back, smiled, and waved to Yusuf as the boy headed towards the horses. The youngster paused to watch their departure, but returned neither the smile nor the wave. The precept had grown inordinately fond of the young man and, though he had pretended otherwise, he was fairly certain they would not meet again. Yusuf's pleas echoed in the precept's memory. "Please, don't go!... If you do this thing, you will not return!" Yet honor and obligation had been inbred in the R'om people. He would have accompanied them had they asked, for Da'reek Raheen's care and protection had been a duty laid upon him by the Rumi-Khan.
Instead, all three men had tried to calm him, and had stressed how important a job it was to wait for them... to guard the entrance... and to tend the horses, which were vital, as the youngster well knew, for they were transportation... escape... in a very rugged, dangerous land. Derek had then deeply apologized for leaving such a young warrior to face this heavy task alone. Ruffled, anxious feathers of honor had been soothed, but not the feeling that doom awaited his friends, particularly Da'reek Raheen. Yusuf had listened attentively as Ginge had explained their plan. He had accepted it with an ambivalent nod. Afterwards, he had helped them raid the Soviet stores for whatever they might need. The trip below would be in terrain more unknown than that of the moon.
They had told him that they would travel into the mountain for three days, then... successful or not... they would return. He was not to worry if they had not returned by the seventh or eighth day. They could probably make their supplies stretch at least that long. Under no circumstances was he to follow them. If, however, they had not returned by the tenth day, Yusuf was to take the horses and supplies and return to ibn Sikander. Derek had given him the GPS transponder and had elicited an oath from the boy. Upon Yusuf's own honor and that of his clan and his tribe, he was to tell no one, not even the Rumi-Khan, about the secret place inside the mountain nor the magic of the hologram. As far as anyone was concerned, he had parted ways with the foreigners after Masruq had died in the minefield. They had planned on joining their comrades and Derek had given him his release. Secrecy alone would protect the R'om... and secrecy might keep the Shuravi caves... and the temple... hidden. Only when Sloan or Kincaid came in person, seeking the spy-chip, was he to tell them everything and stress upon them that the cave must be destroyed without delay and without exploration. The precept had given him several letters which he was to give only to Sloan or Kincaid and had assured him that they would listen to him and trust him.
Ginge glanced back and shook his head in frustration. "Come on, then," he snapped at the other two men. "If we're doin' this, let's get a fuckin' move on!"
Saying nothing, Nick nodded. The SAS man was on a knife's edge and there was no sense in pushing him.
"Borou bekheir!"
Yusuf called. "Khoda hafiz!" His voice echoed down the corridor and finally died away far ahead."God protect you and his blessings be upon you too, my friend," Derek murmured. He then waved again and swung around, wincing as he shifted the burden of his pack. It had been a very long time since he'd had to carry such weight himself. "Let's go, gentlemen," he said, taking the lead.
Hours Later...
Already weary, the small group paused, while Ginge examined his map. "OK," he announced. "Here's the city limits... the end of the explorations and the Ruskies' lighting system.... Now, it's just that old map and whatever trail your lady-friend might have left."
"Here be dragons," Derek muttered quietly. His flashlight's beam was swallowed by the darkness ahead.
"What?" Ginge met the hazel eyes.
"Dragons...," the older man explained. "In the old days... when sailors had uncharted areas on their maps... they marked the location by writing, 'Here be dragons.'"
"And are we gonna find 'em?" Ginge demanded. "Fuckin' dragons... demons... or whatever."
Nick caught the slight raise of Derek's eyebrow. "Wouldn't be surprised," the SEAL said, managing a weak smile. "Let's eat... rest here for a while... take advantage of the last of the lights." He hadn't missed the exhaustion written over his friend's face. He swung his pack to the floor, then turned to help the precept off with his. "We don't know what the terrain is up ahead... even the mapped territory... or how much ground we've got to cover in that map's blank space, but I'm bettin' neither one's going to be a brisk walk in the park."
"We should press on," Derek replied, once more peering into the blackness. From now on they would be relying upon their flashlights and the light sticks the Soviets had so kindly provided.
"No." Ginge studied their faces, agreed with Nick, and dropped his load from his shoulders. "We're all buggered.... My feet are killin' me and Indy's can't be much better.... I'll make some tea," he said, as he pulled the small camp stove from his pack. "Now, I'm soundin' like the bloody kid," he grumbled, filling the kettle with water from his canteen.
Several hours later, Ginge held his green, glowing light stick high and peered into the gaping pit at their feet. "Shit!... We could'a gone straight to 'ell.... Indy?... You got your torch?... These bloody, Russian, light things ain't worth shit when you need a beam."
"Sure," the SEAL replied, unclipping his flashlight from his belt and handing it to the soldier.
The Brit passed his rifle to Nick, then, using his cane, edged cautiously forward along a three-foot-wide ledge, trying see the tunnel that must lay beyond the hole. A minute later, he backed off. "This is hard going," he commented. "The rock's slick... like grease... and slopes downward... towards the pit.... I can't see a bloody thing on the other side." When back on firm ground, he turned around to face the others. "We need to rope up.... I'll take point.... Dutch... you're next.... Indy... you're the anchor."
Nodding, the SEAL uncoiled his rope and passed one end to the soldier, who looped it about Derek's waist. Ginge read the uncertainty in the older man's eyes. "What!... Fuck it!... Derek!... This is my area.... I may not be a fuckin' genius... and I can't say I've ever got on first name terms with any 'demons'... but I know what the 'ell I'm doin'."
"Sss...orry...," the precept stammered, glancing quickly away.
Nick looked over at his friend. He tried to read his face, made eerie by the green glow, but Derek shifted away from him.
"I know that, Ginge," the older man continued. "It was... 'unpleasant' memories.... That's all." He lifted his arms high so the soldier could complete his job. The claustrophobic closeness of the tunnel... the dank, stale air... the darkness... then the final straw... the rope... binding him.... Jesus!... Would he ever be free of West?... Even simple things twisted themselves in his mind and resurrected the monster.
Ginge studied the earnest face. He felt the truth there... and the difficulty of the admission. Remembering the scarred body, he could only guess at what the older man had been through. "S'OK," he accepted the apology, then turned to Nick. "Indy... I'll give myself about five metres.... Give yourself 'bout the same... and pray this hole ain't twenty-five metres wide."
The precept took advantage of the momentary halt to check the map and scan through Marina's notes. He clipped the glowing, plastic tube onto his pack's shoulder strap and pulled his small flashlight from his pocket, then scanned the damp walls. The intense beam illuminated the scientist's white, painted arrow.
"On track so far.... She went this way," Nick noted, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You OK?... We can take another rest, if you want.... This is gonna be hell on the legs."
"I'm fine.... Worry about yourselves," Derek replied. "The map shows a fairly large chamber ahead.... We can stop there for a while."
The SEAL nodded once more. He and Ginge exchanged relieved glances.... Derek was at least being sensible... pacing himself... being realistic about his strength. "Wonder how deep it is," Nick said, almost as an afterthought... to break the tension. He dropped a rock, which they heard strike the walls. Long seconds passed before a distant splash echoed up from the abyss.
"Watch it!" Ginge's gap-toothed grin shone an iridescent green. "You'll wake the Balrog!"
"The what?" Nick asked in confusion.
"The Balrog.... You know... Lord of the Rings.... All that stuff!" He read the disbelief on their faces. "What?... You guys can have your ghoulies and ghosties... at least give me the fuckin' Balrogs!"
"Ri...ght," Nick replied slowly... a little baffled... as he turned to Derek. "Come on, Gandalf, let's get our asses in gear!"
"Bugger... I'm knackered," Ginge announced, as they reached the chamber detailed on Derek's map. He laid his rifle on the rock floor, then dropped his pack and shed the rest of his fifty pounds worth of gear.
Nick exhaled wearily, closed his eyes for a moment, then shone his flashlight around the walls. "OK... I guess this is home for now." He swept the beam of light towards the precept. "You OK?"
Derek shielded his eyes from the light. "Apart from sudden blindness," he muttered, ungraciously.
Ginge stifled a grin. "Jesus!... He can be a bad tempered bastard," he hissed at the SEAL.
"At times!" Nick whispered back. "I'll put the sleeping bags over there.... The floor's higher.... It's not so wet."
"I'll make a start on supper," Ginge volunteered.
The precept seemed not to hear. With the light stick in hand, he found Marina's next arrow, then laid his hand upon the wall. Both soldiers watched as he stood silently for a moment, seeming to listen to what the cold, bare rock had to say.
"Derek...," Nick softly called. When his friend suddenly turned at his voice, he asked, "Did you 'see' something?"
"No...," the precept responded. He reached up and slowly ran a finger along a crevice. "There's just fear here... and anticipation... and water.... We must be very near an underground source.... I wish we'd find a spring, so we could refill. Perhaps, we should have tried back at that chasm." He returned to the small circle of light the others had created, slipped his pack from his back, and gently worked his aching shoulder. "How many light sticks did we bring?" he asked, looking at the additional six-inch tube stuck into the top of Nick's pack. Four were now burning.
"Tea... guys." Ginge rose from his camp stove with three, steaming mugs. "I'll have supper for us in 'alf a mo'."
"We're OK on the lights," Nick assured his friend. "After we found them and all the climbing gear in the quartermaster's stores, we tested them. They last anywhere from six to twelve hours. So, we figured three per day per person for ten days... and brought a hundred... to give us extra."
"Good thing they're little buggers," said Ginge, joining them. "I'd hate to be lugging the equivalent in torch batteries... what with all this other shit... or worse yet... doin' this by flamin' torch light." He grinned at his own pun. "I'm just surprised they still work."
Nick took two of the full cups from the Brit and passed one to the precept.
"Thanks," Derek murmured, sipping the hot liquid as he once more extracted his map, Marina's notes, and the penlight from his pack. He spread them out across a sleeping bag and played the white beam over the papers. "I just hope to Gott that gap isn't a hundred miles long," he said, rubbing his stubbled chin. "As the crow flies, that blank area might only be a couple of miles... but in a cave system with ups and downs... tunnels snaking around, Gott knows how far it could be.... Still... the fact that people got in there and got back out has to indicate a reasonable amount of time."
"How do we know they got back out?" asked Ginge.
Derek and Nick looked at each other, then at the Brit.
"Somebody drew the map," Nick explained, as Ginge's face grew to match his hair.
* * *
Ginge balanced three plates of thick stew on one arm and held the hot teakettle in the other hand. "Duty at the 'Dog and Duck'," he chuckled, to explain his waitering skills, as he handed his load off to his companions, then sank down onto his sleeping bag. The three men eagerly devoured the food in silence.
"Wish I had me CD player," the Brit announced. "This quiet is bloody awful." He then belched loudly and laughed, "Oy!... Better than a fuckin' fart in this tomb.... Anybody want seconds?"
Nick extended his cleaned plate to Ginge, but Derek shook his head. "I think I've had quite enough, thank you" he stated.
A minute later, Ginge limped back with two, refilled plates and a bottle of vodka stuck under his arm. "I figure a slug each night won't do any harm... for medicinal purposes... 'fore we do our doctorin'." The bottle was passed round and each man took a deep swig.
"So... Lord of the Rings... who'da thunk it?" Nick teased.
"What?... That I read it?" the Brit retorted.
"That you've read anything."
Ginge smiled... a little sadly. "Me old mum used to read it to me.... She loved that book... 'specially Arwen and Galadriel.... I 'spose it got her away from the pots and pans and the drunken sailors," he quietly added.
"So...," Nick mused, "if Derek's Gandalf.... Who're you, Limey?"
"Not one o' them fuckin' 'obbits with their 'airy feet... not like you... you're Sam," Ginge replied. "Maybe I'm Strider... you know... Aragorn in disguise... or Boromir?"
"Or Gollum," the quiet, Dutch accent suggested, slyly.
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