Chapter 31
Libyan Desert
Johnny quickly searched through the chopper for whatever they might be able
to use. He tossed aside the Ingram. He hated to lose the machine gun, but he was out
of ammunition for it anyway. He found a blanket and threw it out the door, then
handed the first aid kit and two canteens to Derek... he realized he'd been a fool not
to have loaded more... his mistake would probably kill them. He pulled his pack from
behind the seat, then jumped down.
"Take off your shirt," Derek ordered as he searched through the first aid kit for
antibiotic cream and a sterile pad... everything was in Arabic.
"Later," said the major. "We've got to get away from here... just in case they
had us on radar."
"Now," the precept insisted. "It'll just take a minute."
Johnny surrendered and stripped off his cargo vest and shirt to reveal a deep,
three-inch gash on his shoulder that was still seeping blood. Derek handed him a small
bottle of alcohol, which he poured over the wound.
"Shit!" the soldier exclaimed. "Burns like hell."
Derek snipped a piece of gauze off a roll and patted Johnny's arm dry. He then
tore open a large sterile pad and efficiently squeezed the tube of ointment over it.
"Hope this is what I think it is," he said as he placed it on Johnny's arm. "Hold it
there." Quickly, he cut off more gauze and three long strips of tape.
"You're getting pretty good at this," Boyle commented as Derek finished
binding his arm.
"Had a good teacher," the younger man replied.
Picking up the remaining gauze, Johnny handed it to Derek. "Here," he said.
"Wrap this around your shoes and pants... like old army puttees... it'll help keep the
sand out.... It's what you get for 'dressing the part'."
"But we'll need the gauze for your arm," Derek protested.
"My arm's fine," said Johnny. "You need to be able to walk without being
crippled by blisters in a few hours. How's your leg?" The soldier dumped his pack's
contents onto the sand, then emptied his vest and pants pockets of what little
ammunition remained... odds were they weren't going to need it, but he decided to
keep the Beretta anyway.
As Derek wrapped his ankles, Johnny rapidly sorted through the pile. The
canvas pack he'd leave behind... everything could go into his vest and pants pockets...
in went his compass, utility knife, the Beretta's clips, what medical supplies remained,
the flashlight, the dry rations he always carried, and a dozen small miscellaneous items
that he knew could save their lives.
"Derek... give me your jacket," the major said as he removed his cap and pulled
off his T-shirt, "... and get the chopper's flashlight and the map." He slipped his shirt
and vest back on, then cut the jersey into as large a rectangle as he could manage. This
he placed over his head and slapped his "Giants" cap on over it. Quickly he ripped the
lining from Derek's jacket and tossed the garment back to the precept. He cut the
fabric into a square. "Put this on," he ordered. "Do it the way the Arabs do... and cover
your face. We'll fry anyway, but it'll help."
Through the silence, off in the distance, they could hear the thump-thump of
another helicopter's blades.
"Come on," said the major as he handed Derek one of the canteens. "I don't
know why we're doing this... cause we're up shit crick for sure... no way can we make
it back to camp and, odds are, they ain't going to find us. We'd have had an easier
death back there at Al-Kufrah."
"We have to try," said the precept. "Besides, who in the Legacy was ever
promised an easy death?"
* * *
Less than two hours later, both men were beginning to feel the sapping effects
of the sun. The heat blasted back into their faces from the blistering dunes that
encircled them on all sides. As their eyes burned, their sight blurred. Their skin
tightened across their cheek bones and they could feel the moisture being drawn from
their bodies. The very air seared their throats and lungs.
"Johnny," said Derek as he pulled the fabric away from his face, "I've got to
stop." He bent over and rested his hands on his knees. "Just for a minute... dizzy."
"Can you keep going for a while?" the soldier asked. He unscrewed his
canteen's cap and took a small sip, then offered it to his friend. "I'd like to be farther
away before we rest."
The precept nodded as he took a tiny swallow, then handed the canteen back to
Boyle. "Are we still on course?"
Johnny pulled out his compass. "We're fine... I promise I won't take us in
circles."
* * *
As the sun sank lower in the west, the dunes cast shadows across their
serpentine canyons. Johnny knew that soon the heat would dissipate into cloudless
skies and they would face the chill of a desert night. Finally, he saw what he had been
hoping to find... a small outcropping of rock protruded from the mountains of sand.
The rock would be uncomfortable, but it would hold the heat longer.
"Let's stop," he said, turning back to Derek who had lagged a few yards behind.
"That's the best place I've seen." He pointed toward the rocks. "I don't know if the
moon'll give us enough light tonight to let us keep going."
Derek stumbled over to the crags and let himself drop. Johnny followed suit.
After a while the major rummaged through his vest pockets to pull out the packets of
dry rations. "Now or later?" he asked his precept.
The younger man opened his eyes. "Later," he replied.
< < + > >
Legacy Base Camp
As darkness began to settle across the desert, William Sloan sat beside the
radio... waiting... spinning Derek's ring on the table again and again. It had been over
three hours since he had contacted London House. Vice-Precept Emily Liu had taken
his call. She had told him that she would convene an emergency session of the Ruling
Council and that he should expect to hear from the Ruling Precept by midnight GMT.
So now he waited... and spun the ring.
Jesus! How had this all happened? He laid his glasses aside and rubbed his eyes,
then rested his head on his arms. His stomach growled, but how could he eat with his
friends lost out there in that immensity... thirsty, hungry, cold, and most likely dying?
This was all his fault. How had he let it come to this? "I should have stopped it,"
he murmured to himself. Stopped it and referred the matter to London. Maybe he
should have trusted Derek's original plan? Let his friend go to Libya alone.
Time passed at a snail's pace. Finally, the precept pushed himself to his feet and
walked to the door. Every joint ached. He pushed aside the flap to look into the
darkness. "Damn you, Derek," he said. He glanced toward Derek and Kym's tent...
dim light shone through the canvas. He wondered if Kym had cried herself to sleep.
Is this what his friend had foreseen... the vision that had inspired Derek's odd, mystical
mood? Was this Christina's warning? ...in a sacrifice of fire and pain. Thus be the
fate of Derek Rayne. Was that death in the vast, burning Sahara?
In his mind he rehearsed his call to Barbara... Barbara? It's William... I lost
Derek. He had to chuckle... "lost" was too literal. Dammit!... he'd broken the one
promise he'd sworn to give his life not to break.
Suddenly the radio's squeal pierced the silence. William hurried to reach for the
microphone. He delicately adjusted the dial to clean up the signal.
"Come in," he said, "this is Sloan."
"Mr. Sloan," came the voice of Fernando San Perdamo, the Ruling Precept.
"This is a fiasco... we all expected more of you... and I might add that your career is
in serious jeopardy."
"My career! At the moment I don't give a damn about my career," William
retorted. "My best friend is going to die out there in that hell if I don't get some help."
The voice from London, reeking of European academia, remained quietly firm.
"If you recall, sir, you were strongly urged to refrain from developing a personal
relationship with Derek Rayne."
"How could I not?" he asked.
"Nevertheless...," Señor San Perdamo continued, "your decisions have been
very ill-advised... if you had informed London House of a mission so politically
involved, we would have forbid your risking him... of all people... considering his
potential and rather high public profile. We would have found another way to deal with
the Al-Kufrah situation... and we would have had research. You went in there blind,
sir... blind!
The Spaniard paused. "You may expect a data transmission at zero five hundred
hours, Greenwich Mean Time," he added succinctly.
Sloan felt panic rising. "But that'll be seven a.m. here... the sun will have been
up for over two hours."
"I'm sorry... but governments are not at our beck and call. Perhaps you could
do better with Mr. Kincaid, which is another matter that will have to be discussed at
a later date." Sloan could hear the suppressed venom in the RP's voice when he
mentioned the former Legacy member's name. "I sincerely hope, Mr. Sloan, that your
judgement improves. Otherwise, you career options will be somewhat limited. Perhaps,
that renegade will be kind enough to give you a job."
"Damn the career options," William spat, "and damn you, too."
"Cairo is sending you another helicopter... try not to lose this one. It should
reach you by four a.m. your time. I think you need to face the fact that Dr. Rayne and
Major Boyle are probably already dead. In which case, your services will no longer be
required by the Legacy.
"Do you wish us to notify Mrs. Rayne and Mrs. Boyle?"
"No," replied Sloan. "It's senseless to worry them without more information.
When we know more, I'll call them. It's my responsibility."
"Bueno," said the man in London. "Tell the younger Mrs. Rayne that we shall
be praying with her." The transmission abruptly ended.
< < + > >
Libyan Desert
"Kym, honey... calm down," Derek murmured in his dreams.
Ever the light sleeper, Johnny awoke immediately. He felt for his friend. They
had been sharing the blanket, but now the former soldier had it all. In his sleep, Derek
had rolled away. The major, now wide awake and reasonably rested, spread the
blanket over the young precept. He decided to let him sleep a while longer. The waning
moon had just begun to rise... it would be an hour or so before it would cast enough
light for them to find their way amidst the sandy canyons.
"Kym... shhhh... it's only a nightmare," said Derek. "Whatever you see," he
mumbled, "it's only your emotions... fears... invading your dreams... shhh... I
promise."
Johnny felt like he was eavesdropping on a private conversation, but he didn't
want to wake Derek. He needed the rest, even a fitful rest, too badly.
"Kym... no," said the precept. "I have to go." Suddenly, he screamed, "No!" His
breathing became ragged. "Can't think about Kym.... Focus!... Concentrate!... I am
Piers Myndersten.... Tanit musn't know anything else," he mumbled. "Must not let my
mind weaken. Focus!"
"Derek," whispered the major as he gave his friend a gentle shake. "Wake up."
This sort of sleep wasn't going to do him any good.
"Tanit... get out of my mind!" Derek cried.
"Derek?"
"No!... I will not be yours.... My soul will not feed you."
"Derek! Wake up!" Johnny felt as though an invisible hand had shoved him
backwards. Startled, he sat down hard, but pushed himself up immediately. Was his
own exhausted mind playing tricks or beginning to short-circuit itself?
"No!" the precept screamed. "The Legacy shut you away before. You will not
have me... I am a Legacy precept... I am Derek Rayne." Suddenly he bolted awake,
unable to catch his breath.
"Derek? Are you all right?" the soldier asked.
"Yes... nightmare." He shivered and Johnny draped the blanket around his
shoulders. "Johnny... I'm sorry. This is all my fault," he explained. "You shouldn't be
here. I felt Tanit, but I couldn't keep myself hidden... I let my mind wander to Kym for
just a second... Tanit found me. I couldn't keep her out of my mind."
"It's OK," said the major, pulling the rations packs from his pocket. "We might
as well get it over with and eat these now. By then the moon'll be high enough to let
us move. We need to cover ground while it's cool," he added as he tore a packet open
and handed it to his friend.
< < + > >
Legacy Camp
Kym lay quietly inside the tent that she had once shared with Derek. The young
woman stretched out on the cot. The cot that she and Derek had held each other in and
consummated their love, perhaps for the final time.
"It might have well as been a million years ago," Kym whispered as she felt hot
tears begin to stream down her face. Suddenly she was sure that she would never see
her husband alive again. "Damn you, Derek! Why do you do this to me? Why for once,
wasn't my love enough? Why did you have to chase after William and Johnny? Why
couldn't you have just stayed with me? I love you!"
All at once Kym felt something stir inside her. She clasped her hands over her
body. "What's going on?" she asked aloud, in a hushed tone, just to hear her own
voice. "A life inside of me?" She realized that it wasn't impossible. Still it didn't feel
like something alive. It felt like a part of her had died. "Derek," Kym wailed, knowing
that it might be all too true.
Without him, life was pointless. William was wrong. She didn't care about the
money, the fame or the power. In fact, Kym would be the first one to fight the power.
There were few things that mattered to her: family, friends, love.
"Derek," Kym said to the husband that could hear her. "I know that everything
in your world ranks above me, but I don't know why. Why can't you just love me? I
love you more than anything on the world."
Kym rolled over and buried her face in Derek's pillow. It still smelled like him.
She wept.
| CHAPTER 32 |
| E-mail: Dubricus | CONTENTS | E-mail: Selena |
