Chapter 30
Legacy Camp
The heat in the tent had become almost unbearable, but it was nothing compared
to what one felt when one stepped into the sun. Kym sat at the table with her head
resting on her folded arms... dozing. William had resumed his pacing... five steps one
way, five steps back. It was now one-thirty... four and a half hours since Johnny and
Derek had set down at Al-Taj.
Finally, the precept pulled his chair out and sat down in front of the radio.
Skimming through the bands, he picked up an airliner on it's way to Johannesburg...
then a RAF pilot requesting landing clearance on the USS Lexington, on station in the
Mediterranean... some Arabic chatter from God knows where. He had hoped they'd
be out of there by now, but, in truth, considering the delicacy of the matter and the
codes of Arab hospitality, they had anticipated as much as six to seven hours.
Suddenly, the radio screeched.
"Derek!" Kym screamed as her sleep shattered. Disoriented, she said, "What
was that? I've heard it before."
"Of course, you have, my dear," said Sloan, dreading another emotional
outburst, yet unwilling to back away from it... Derek's wife or not, he might just
strangle her yet. "It's only the radio." He twisted the dial.
"I know what it is," she countered. Kym was quiet for a moment. "It reminds
me of something... in my dreams," she whispered. "My nightmares!"
"Seems to be a common problem with the Raynes," William commented. "Is
Derek rubbing off on you already?"
She'd take that as a compliment... to be called a Rayne. "Derek's in trouble,"
said Kym.
Fearing the truth of the statement, the precept responded, "Derek's always in
trouble.... It's not in his nature to avoid it, so you'd better get used to it."
The radio blasted out another screech. Kym jumped. "Oh, my God! It's the
scream in my nightmare," she cried. "Derek's scream." She grabbed Sloan's arm.
"Listen to me! My dream... we have to go now!" Oh, no, oh, no! Kym wailed
inwardly. If anything happens to him... take me! My life isn't worth anything!
Bewildered, William looked up. "Calm down, my dear," he urged. "What are
you talking about? First, we don't know that anything's wrong. Second, Al-Kufrah is
hours away."
"Don't 'my dear' me! I am not ten years old," Kym's tone rose toward panic.
"I dreamed Derek was hurt... so much blood... screaming. We've got to go... now!"
Texturing his voice to sooth, Sloan explained, "Kym... we know nothing.
Johnny's with Derek... if something goes wrong, we'd hear... even if it's only radio
chatter from the terrorists." He was trying to convince himself as well. Damn Christina
for planting that wretched poem in his mind... and damn Derek for his damned mystical moods.
Slowly, he continued, "Kym... it may all be a dream brought on by the tension
and anxiety. Derek will tell you that your emotions influence your dreams... and how
you interpret them." Suddenly he noticed that her gaze had become distant...
unfocused... was it with vision or memory? "Kymberlee?" he asked.
"They're killing him slowly... breaking fingers one at a time... blood
everywhere... he's screaming." Kym's voice was almost too taut to permit sound. She
continued in a hoarse whisper, "The person doing this is a monster... he says he wants
to know... but he drinks in the pain... the longer, more excruciating... the better."
The precept slammed the lid on his rising emotions... his own growing panic...
his worst fear... the fear of being able to do nothing. "Kym... is this happening now?"
He shook the woman to force her attention. "Or is this something from your
nightmare?"
"I don't know!" Kym screamed, "I don't know!"
Sloan reached into his memories of what Derek had said about visions and
dreams. He had no knowledge of such things himself and had always, rather proudly,
stated that he didn't have a psychic bone in his body... just a hard head. "Kymberlee...
calm down," he said. "What would Derek tell you to do to focus? You're not using
your 'Sight'... you're letting your terror dominate it."
He couldn't believe that Bruce Gardner had allowed the girl to go untrained. He
understood that the Gardners' psi-talents were more erratic... wilder... more empathic
than Derek's, but this was inexcusable. Bruce had babied this girl her entire life, and
then had expected her to make a suitable mate for Derek Rayne. Unbelievable!
Both Derek and Ingrid had spent much of their lives learning the facets of their
abilities, which were among the strongest the Legacy had ever seen. They had learned
to manipulate and to interpret their "Sight." Kym, however, seemed completely
unschooled, and, therefore, any dream or vision had to be suspect.
"Kym!" he exclaimed as he pulled her to her feet to give her a hard shake.
"Focus! You're not helping Derek... or yourself?"
Suddenly the radio whistled again, then Johnny's voice cut in. "Guys... if you
can hear me... it's getting rocky here," he shouted over indistinct background noises
that might have been shots and an explosion. "We're bugging out... as soon as I can
get to Derek."
"Shit! Johnny!" yelled Sloan as he pressed down on the microphone's transmit
button. "Johnny! Come in... come in!"
"Mayday! Mayday!" came the soldier's calm voice. "Trouble... we're getting
out as soon as I find Der...." The signal ended in static, then silence.
Kym grabbed the microphone from William's hand. "Johnny! Answer us!" she
cried.
The precept snatched it back and proceeded to carefully adjust the dials. He
picked up some excited Arabic voices. "Kym... what are they saying?"
She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and listened for a moment. "I think they
are Libyan military... they're confused. They think it's a possible incursion from Chad
or Egypt."
William played with the radio's knobs. "Johnny... Helicopter seven-three-two...
come in.... Nothing!" He pushed the microphone away in disgust.
Kym had slumped onto the chair, where she buried her face in her hands and
wept.
"Did you see anything about Johnny?"
Without looking up, she shook her head no.
"OK... I still think your dream may have been just that," Sloan stated. "Or
overly influenced by your emotions. Can you relate anything we've just heard... other
than that sound... to anything in your dreams? I need to know."
"No," Kym admitted. "But, I know they're in trouble."
William have a half-hearted, humorless chuckle. "I know they're in trouble,
too," he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "There's not much we can do without
knowing more." He shook his head at the desperation of the situation. There would
likely be nothing they could do, even if they did know more.
"William," whispered Kym as she raised her head, allowing the precept to see
the fear. "Johnny's not with Derek." Her vision could be a vision of that moment, and
they both knew it.
"It scares the hell out of me, too... that they've separated... but Johnny would
have picked a rendezvous point where they'd meet. Can you give me anything, Kym?"
Kym felt his eyes leveled on her... staring as if to say, Well? "I'm not Derek,"
she snapped. "I can't give you clairvoyance on demand... but it won't matter if they
have a rendezvous." She placed a trembling hand over her eyes. "Derek won't be
there," she said with quiet bitterness and resolution. Derek wasn't coming home to her.
"Johnny'll find him," the precept assured her. "That's his world... and he's very
good at what he does." He halted, then hesitantly resumed, "As a human being he may
sometimes fall short, but as a soldier... never."
"Focus... Kym... try."
< < + > >
Al-Taj Complex
As soon as Boyle popped the helicopter over the administration building, he
sprayed its roof with bullets, taking out the two men who had rushed to the gun
emplacement. Within seconds he was hovering over the north end of the camp. "Shit,
Derek! Where are you?" he cursed as he searched the ground and buildings beneath.
A bluish smoke rose above the well site. Beside the entrance lay a body clothed
in desert camouflage fatigues. He was low enough to see the blood soaking into the
sand. Finally he spotted a figure, dressed in white, crouched behind stacked fuel
barrels off to the left. Derek had been going for the communications center, but had
gotten himself trapped when the commotion at the well had stirred up a hornets' nest.
Below Johnny saw hardened, well trained soldiers carrying on a methodical
search. The major dipped the chopper to starboard and sprayed the area with gunfire.
He couldn't neutralize those closest to Derek and the fuel dump, but he could draw
their attention and their fire.
He watched Derek squeeze off a shot to down one of the two men closest to
him, then launch himself from between the steel drums and careen into the second
man. He saw his friend slam his gun across the man's face with all the force of his own
weight behind it. "Good boy!" he said to himself. Derek was remembering, and using,
the hand-to-hand training the major had insisted he learn and practice. The precept
made a grab for the terrorist's weapon, but had to scramble and dodge away as a
fusillade of bullets zinged by and smacked the ground around him.
Shit! He's limping, Johnny realized. He managed to reload and again sprayed
the perimeter. Boyle was drawing fire on himself, but before he set down everyone was
either going to be dead or have their friggin' heads down. From the corner of his eye, he saw
Derek fling himself into the sand, like a base runner diving for home, and roll beneath a
truck. He could see sparks fly where bullets struck the vehicle's steel body. The
chassis dropped as the tires were flattened.
"Derek!" he screamed, though he knew his friend could never hear him. At last,
he watched as the precept slid out from beneath the truck and waved him in.
When the helicopter was about ten feet off the ground, Derek tossed his empty
weapon aside, shoved himself away from the truck, and ran zigzagging across the open
ground. Boyle pushed open the door and tipped the aircraft in Derek's direction. The
young precept made a leap for the skids, grasped the open door, and hauled himself in.
Instantly, Johnny shoved the cyclic forward and pulled up on the collective. The thrust
forced them back into their seats as Derek fought to buckle himself in. The major arced
the chopper away from the camp. They both heard bullets pound the helicopter's side
and bottom
"Get on the radio!" yelled Johnny. "Radio Sloan... it's the only chance we'll get.
I think we're losing fuel.... We won't make it... and we can't stay with the chopper...
it'll be a target."
Derek nodded and reached for his headset. "Mayday! William!" he shouted.
< < + > >
Legacy Camp
Derek's voice suddenly exploded from the radio. "Mayday! William!" he
shouted. "If you can read... both OK." Static crackled, intermittently disrupting the
transmission. "Tanit's for real... repeat: Tanit is for real... on the deck... ibamus
septentriones...."
Kym grasped Sloan's hand and pressed his thumb down on the transmit button.
"Derek!" she cried. "Are you all right?"
"...losing fuel," he gasped. They could hear the excitement in his voice.
"...estimate triginta... temporis momenta... will stick to heading til quinquaginta...
then angle toward you... won't be able to stay with chopper... too big a target, Johnny
says." Static, then silence followed.
"Helicopter seven-three-two... come in... come in," William called. "Derek!
Come in!"
"Well," he sighed as he set the microphone down, "at least we know they're
alive, together, and apparently in one piece... but once they go down, we've got to get
to them. There'll be hell to pay, but I've got to call London," he said to himself. "Get
them to get us some ariel surveillance and another chopper." He paused to glance at
the time and to think. It was going on three... five more hours of daylight and desert
heat... followed by the chill of the night. He shut his eyes and sadly shook his head. "If
we get the chopper at dawn, we'll only have a few hours to find them."
"What do you mean... a few hours?" asked Kym.
"This is the Sahara Desert, in case you haven't noticed. It's over a hundred
degrees out there and it'll be over a hundred tomorrow. At midday it could be a
hundred and twenty plus. They'll have no shade and maybe no water," he explained.
"Tonight, dressed as they were, they'll be cold."
Her mind no longer functioning, Kym grabbed at the precept's sleeve. "We have
to get them!" she wept. "We have to go now! Derek needs us!"
"Kymberlee... it's called a sand sea for a reason," said Sloan. "There's no way
we can help them at the moment... it's too far... it's too big. The only way we can get
to them is by chopper... Jesus... even with the exact headings, it'd be like looking for
a needle in a haystack.... Clever boy... your husband," he added as an afterthought.
"He gave the headings and times in Latin for the benefit of our multilingual terrorists...
Dutch sounds too much like English," he chuckled. "Let's hope the IRA chaps weren't
listening... or weren't brought up with church Latin."
"Latin? What are you talking about?... Don't you understand? This is my fault,"
she wailed, nearing hysteria. "I should have tried harder to keep him here... to keep
him safe. Why did you let him go?" Weak kneed, she sank to the floor.
"I had no choice," William said. "Derek was right... he had the way in."
Suddenly, he realized he was still clutching Derek's ring. He gazed down at the lapis
lazuli set, then dropped it into his shirt pocket and buttoned the flap.
"Why did you let him go? Why is this happening to me again?"
"Kym!" the precept shouted. "I don't have time to deal with your hysteria... I
have to call London." He knelt to face the distraught woman, then calmly continued,
"We need to be prepared... go fill as many water containers as you can find... check
through the medical kit... and get some rest." He had to give her something to do. He
had to get her out of the tent so that he could make his call to the Ruling House.
"Be prepared?" she asked. Why wouldn't her hands quit shaking? "For Christ's
sake... I know what you're thinking! Give the child something to do so she won't
realize they're probably already dead."
"OK... Kym... gloves off," William said firmly. "Dream or no dream, Derek and
Johnny are in big trouble out there. Frankly, they'd be more likely to survive if the
terrorists caught them." It was the truth... the vastness of those dunes terrified him. He
didn't see how they could find them in time. "If they're out in that desert for much
more than a day... with no water... afoot... in this heat...." He couldn't finish the
sentence. "I'm going to get a chopper here," he promised, "but there'll be no way to
begin a search before tomorrow morning... even then... we'll have to search at low
altitudes to avoid Libyan radar, which will limit our scope."
Gently, Sloan grasped Kym's hands to help her to her feet. "Go do what I told
you... gather what supplies you can to be ready... get some rest... you'll need it... it's
all we can do for the moment... and, for God's sake, drink some water.... Derek needs
you up to your full abilities." He could read the blankness behind her eyes... terror was
overlying a total lack of comprehension.
"I can't rest now!" She tore herself away from his grip. "Since you're going to
sit here on your ass, I'm taking a Rover and going to meet them." Kym turned and
started for the door.
The precept grabbed her arm and swung her about to face him. "Kymberlee
Rayne! Stop this!" he shouted. "Use your brains for something more than ranting! Do
as I say!"
Abruptly, she slapped him across the face. "You bastard!" she hissed. She
wished she could slap him again and again... she wanted to make him bleed... she truly
did.
Sloan yanked her over to the table, then calmed himself. Evenly, he said,
"Kym... look at this map... we're here." He pointed to a spot just east of the Libyan
border. They're going to come down somewhere here." He marked a spot northeast
of Al-Kufrah. "If you step outside this tent and look around... you'll see what they're
going to land in... it's the same from here to there... and about one hundred thirty miles
of it. Coming across Egypt on a caravan trail that could handle trucks we couldn't even
manage one hundred miles a day."
William heard Kym sniff as she looked down at the immense tan and blank
white areas on the chart. Her mind was beginning to function again. "We don't know
their heading... we don't know their airspeed... and when Derek said fifty... we don't
know if he meant kilometers, statute miles, or nautical miles."
"Damn you," she whispered, "...and damn the Legacy."
"Go get some rest," Sloan urged. "Let me do this... it's what we can do." He
took a deep breath and sank into his chair, then pulled the microphone toward him. As
Kym slowly turned to leave, he reached around to stop her. "Kym... Derek and Johnny
will have to hang on for us... it's up to them... how obstinate and lucky they can be...
but you know how stubborn Derek is... and Johnny's as tough as they come," he
assured her, trying to convince himself at the same time. "It's up to them, Kym," he
repeated. "They have to hang on for us. Go do what you can... get some rest... and say
a prayer or two." ...to God and every saint and angel in heaven, he silently concluded.
< < + > >
Libyan Desert
Once the chaos had subsided and he was merely occupied with nursing the
wounded chopper as far as he could, Johnny stole a sideways glance at Derek. He
didn't like what he saw. "Here!" he said, pulling a handkerchief from one of his
pockets. "Your head's still bleeding. Are you all right?"
The younger man took the white cloth and pressed it to his brow for a moment
or two. "I'm OK," he replied, still out of breath. "How about you... anything but your
shoulder? Is it bad?"
"Just took some skin," the soldier said. "What the hell happened?"
"Tanit's real... she's feeding," Derek explained. "But we can beat her... she's
still all illusion." He twisted in his seat to reach for the pack behind Johnny's seat, but
had to steady himself on the major's shoulder as his world momentarily reeled. He
dropped his head and covered his eyes with his hand. The battle with Tanit and the
fight to escape afterwards had taken everything he had.
Johnny glance over at him again. "You OK?" he asked once more. Derek's face
had gone ashen and the major could feel the hand on his shoulder tremble.
Derek took a deep breath. "Just a second," he said. "Let me think." Finally, he
opened his eyes and stretched for the pack. "I need to take a look at your arm."
"No... Derek," said Boyle. "Talk to me about Tanit, then rest... while you can.
My scratch will keep."
The precept leaned against the seat. "She feeds upon terror and manipulates
through hate... she doesn't seem too interested in other emotions. I think, if I can
distract her, you and William should be able to get to the altar and destroy the
symbol... that's her link.... I don't know how to destroy it, but I could feel her fear...
so I know it's vulnerable." Again Derek stretched to grasp the pack.
"Derek... no," said the major firmly. "You rest. That's an order."
"An order?" His eyebrow would have risen, but for the puffy bruise above. As it was, it barely twitched.
"Yes," the major commanded. "Rest... now! It won't be long til we have to set
down... then... there'll be no more rest."
Derek chuckled. "Until we're dead. I hate to admit it... I think our goose is
cooked, or soon will be."
| CHAPTER 31 |
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