Chapter 35
Legacy Base Camp
In the growing heat of midmorning, Derek pulled his leather pack from beneath
his bed. He unbuckled and opened its pockets, then dumped the contents on the
blanket. Quickly sorting through, he tossed most of the items back in. He had allowed
himself all day yesterday to rest and recuperate from his desert ordeal and his
confrontation with Tanit. Awakening from his deep sleep around noon, he had eaten,
drunk, slept again, then eaten and drunk again. By evening he had told Sloan as much
of his experience with Tanit as he cared to, but he knew that the elder precept was
certain that there was more to it. Later, he had finally tested his wobbly legs and had
been disappointed to discover that he was weaker and sorer than he would have liked,
but he'd manage... somehow. This morning he had allowed himself to rest late, but
now it was time to move... time to get on with the job.
"Sweetie," said Kym as she stepped into the tent with a bowl of soup in her
hand. "What are you doing?" she asked, surprised to see him up, shaved, and dressed.
"You should be resting... in bed." She sighed in aggravation... the man wouldn't stop.
"I'm fine," he replied without turning. "I'm just getting a few things together."
He reached across the bed to pick up a handgun and ammunition that lay atop a crate.
The young precept ejected the clip, checked it, and slid it back into the Beretta's
handle.
Kym heard it click home. "Why?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer.
"...and you're not fine.... For Christ's sake... you look like you're about to fall over."
Derek double checked the gun's safety, then dropped it, along with the spare
clips, into the haversack. "What did you do with my knife... after you got it back from
William?" he asked as he plucked a flashlight from its nail on the tent's center post.
"Derek... talk to me," his wife demanded, stepping around the cots to face him.
She had to stop him. If she didn't, something very bad could... no, probably would
happen.
He didn't look up at her. "I'm going with William and Johnny," he replied,
hooking the torch on one of the bag's clips. "We're leaving in about an hour.... You'll
be OK with Omar and Ali here. The chopper will be fixed in a few more days." Again
he reached over to the crate for a small bottle of salt tablets and a canteen. Pouring
several of the little pills into his hand, he downed them with a sip of water. His wife
saw him wince as the canteen's mouth brushed his lips. He tossed the bottle into the
bag along with everything else and closed the leather flap. "If all goes well, we'll be
back in three days or so."
"Oh, well," Kym bristled with sarcasm, "now I see why you need a gun... with
those two menaces." Gently, she grasped his hands to prevent his packing. "Derek,"
she said quietly, "look at me. You can't really think you're going?... You're not well
yet."
Her husband pulled his hands away, then reached for his shaving kit, which he
had just used. Opening it, he pulled out his razor and a few other odd items and slid
them into the pack's side pocket. "Where did you put my knife?" he repeated, ignoring
her questions.
Kym's panic was surging, but she weighed it down with a steely calmness that
was rapidly fading. "Honey, heat stroke's nothing to play with.... You know that." She
looked into his hazel eyes, now predominately brown... a sure sign that he didn't feel
as well as he pretended... and reached up to brush a lock of dark hair away from the
purple bruise above his eye.
"There it is," he said, spotting the red handle lying next to the medical kit. He
turned away to retrieve the pocket knife.
"Derek... this is stupid," said Kym, her voice now rising in fearful frustration.
"Wait a few days." How, she wondered, could this man be so stubborn and still be
alive?
Derek slipped the knife into his hip pocket and bent to buckle the last strap on
his bag. Straightening, he turned to his wife and said, "We don't have a few days.
Tanit is growing more powerful. If she reaches her 'becoming' we may not be able to
stop her. She could literally gain control of a terrorist army."
The precept realized that he, himself, was the very thing that the goddess wanted
to complete her transformation, but he feared that without his presence to distract her
his friends were doomed to fail in their attempt to destroy her earthly link. Weakened
though he was, he hoped that he'd be able to dig deeply enough to resist her pull.... If
he couldn't... there were always options.
Kym interrupted his thoughts. "Then let Johnny and William go... you've done
enough," she pleaded.
"I can't let them go alone. I'm the one who's been inside her temple... seen the
altar." As he bent to return his shaving kit to its place under the bed a slight wave of
vertigo and nausea washed through him. Kym saw his hand tremble and watched as
he sat a little too quickly on the bed.
"Liefje," he continued, "I love you, but I have a duty... as precept. You were
born to the Legacy... you know what that means."
Kym's fear and anger swelled beyond control. "Don't say that!" she shouted.
"You make it sound like the Legacy owns me.... I know what it's like... my father's
a precept."
"Yes," Derek said softly. He pushed his weakness aside. "...a great one. You
know that a precept has a greater duty than anyone else." Slowly rising, he brushed her
cheek with his still cracked, dry lips. "I have to go... they're waiting."
"Derek," responded Kym, pounding a soft control into her voice, "I am asking
you, as your wife, to stay and rest." She reached up to grasp his arms to push him back
down onto the bed. "Please, lie down." Her fingertips knew that "I'm fine" for the lie
it was.
"I will not abandon my friends" was the firm reply.
Beneath the finality of it, Kym felt her husband sway. "But you will abandon
your wife?" she countered, trying another tack. "You have a duty as a husband too."
"I have to go," said Derek as he reverted to his tactic of non-discussion... a ploy
always fallen back upon when a topic displeased him. He picked up his pack and
started for the open door.
Kym snatched at his shirt sleeve... not married a year and she was already on to
that trick. "And what if you get sick out there? You'd be a burden to your friends," she
reasoned.
"I'm fine," he insisted. The truth was, that with another surge of
lightheadedness, Derek was beginning to realize that he was far from fine, but he knew
he could muddle through... just like always.
Kym blocked his way. "This Legacy will kill you," she stated flatly, then added,
"like father... like son."
Derek sighed, choosing to ignore the comment about his father. He grasped her
shoulders to move her aside. "Kym," he explained, "I have an obligation to fulfill... to
Johnny as his precept... to William as my friend and colleague... to the Legacy as a
member... and to God... to protect the innocent."
"You are just like your father," his wife cried, "but I will not be like your
mother."
The precept pushed by her. "I am not like my father," he said bitterly. "My
father was obsessed.... He owed no loyalty to anything but his own obsession."
"And you owe no loyalty to anything but this goddamned Legacy!"
Somehow, Derek had to make Kym understand. "I took an oath... Kym...," he
sighed. "We're soldiers in a war against evil.... I was called to this war a very long
time ago. Do you want me to desert the field of battle... to abandon my comrades?"
Kym brushed the tears from her eyes. "I want you to live... Derek. You took
another oath... on that damned sword of yours... to love, honor, and cherish for all the
days of your life."
"I do love and cherish you... more than anything," he said, brushing his fingers
across her cheek, "but you'll be safe here. William and Johnny need me."
"...to go into battle when you can scarcely walk?" Kym pulled away from his
touch. "You're just as insane as Winston Rayne was... more so."
"My father did what he thought he had to do," Derek said, ducking through the
door as he walked from the tent.
"...and got killed doing it!" Kym yelled, following him out. "You're going to
leave me, aren't you? Just like he left your mother.... I suppose I should be thankful that
we don't have any children," she added with venom.
Suddenly she saw her husband stagger and bump the pole that held up the tent's
awning. Quickly, he dropped his pack and reached out for a nearby water drum to
steady himself. Kym grasped his elbow and took some of his weight. "Don't do this,
Derek... don't become him," she begged.
The precept looked down into her green eyes. "I don't intend to," he promised,
"but I have to go, Kym.... It's what I do."
"And some things never change," she responded sadly.
* * *
While Johnny, Daud, and Ali continued to load water and gasoline into the two
Land Rovers, Sloan studied the topographical map spread across the hood. He
removed his straw hat and wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve as Safwad tried to
explain in his thickly accented, half-remembered English that the route that led
southwest from the caravan trail into Libya and the Al-Kufrah depression was a poor
one... a difficult one to follow because of all of the side tracks created by both the
military and oil companies. Though he had once known it very well, he had not
traveled this route for many years... not since his youth, when he had first gone to
Egypt to seek work just after World War II. Always since, he and other tribesmen who
traveled to their more industrialized neighbor had taken the road southeast into Sudan
then back up along the Nile.
"That is how we will go home when this is all over," he said. "After you leave
with the helicopter, we will take the trucks and automobiles and follow this trail south
across Giff Kebir to Al-Awenat... then we will pretend to come in from Sudan to take
the road back northwest to Al-Jawf... and home. We thank you for your generosity,"
he added, "beyond the pay... the remaining supplies will give us much money and the
vehicles will allow us to start our own trucking business." The native smiled a nearly
toothless, but proud smile. "I understand from the last message I had from my wife that
my youngest son, Akim, is becoming an accomplished chauffeur."
"We have a saying," cautioned the precept. "Don't count your chickens before
they hatch."
Wrinkling his brow, Safwad considered the statement for a moment, then said,
"I do not understand. You would be counting eggs before they hatched... not
chickens."
Sloan thought to explain further, but Kym's voice caught his attention. He
looked up as he heard her shout at Derek, "You're going to leave me, aren't you?" He
started to turn his attention back to Safwad and the map, but saw the young precept
stumble and catch himself on the tent pole, then with his wife's help lean against the
water barrels that sat beneath the awning.
"Derek... are you all right?" William asked as he walked toward the couple. He
caught a snatch of Kym's plea, "don't become him," and guessed that Winston was
the topic. "Dammit," he mumbled to himself... as if Derek's health and the mission
wasn't enough to worry about.
"Fine," was the younger man's patent response. "Just tired.... Let's get going,"
he said, but swayed as he bent to grab his bag by its straps.
Both Kym and William steadied him. "I think you'd better stay here.... Come
on, I'll help you back to bed," said the senior precept. He knew his calm tone had
failed to cover his disappointment. "I'm assuming you brought your sack of love toys,"
he joked from the corner of his mouth.
As she followed the two men into the tent Kym's heart skipped a beat in joy...
she had won.
"William, am I turning into my father?" Derek asked quietly.
The older man paused, unsure of his response. "It can be avoided," he said
finally as he lowered his friend to his bed.
Derek realized that, like Kym, William Sloan had seen his father in him. He sat
in silence for a moment. "William," he said hesitantly as he looked up at his mentor,
"I'll stay.... The way I feel... I honestly could collapse on you out there... but...
somewhere, I have to draw the line. I won't do to Kym what my father did to my
mother... to our family." He pausedd and released a deep, grieving sigh. "This is the
line. I won't do it to my family."
The elder precept sank to the bed to sit beside his friend. He pulled a folded
envelope from his shirt pocket. "Derek... if I don't make it back, will you give this to
Patty... and tell her she was in my final thoughts."
"Kym...." Derek started to push himself to his feet.
The young woman saw and felt her husband waver at the thought that his friend
was going into danger and he was not. Stepping forward, she placed her hands on his
shoulders and firmly pressed him back down. "Derek, honey... lay down," she said
emphatically. "You need to rest. I'll stay with you," she added in a proprietary tone.
Kym turned toward Sloan and said firmly, "Good luck, William. Derek and I
will keep you and Johnny in our prayers." She took the letter from the precept's fingers
and slipped it into her own pocket. "We'll see you in a couple of days," she said as the
older man rose and she ushered him from the tent.
* * *
"No, no! Ali!" shouted Boyle. "The ammunition and explosives get divided
between the two Rovers... not all in one." When he turned to place his M-16 into the back
of one of the vehicles, he saw a downcast William Sloan walking toward him.
"Where's Derek?" Johnny asked with concern.
"Not coming."
"Is he OK? Should I go...." He started around the car, heading for Derek's tent.
"No!" the precept said harshly. "He's weak, but he's OK... I think. Come on...
let's go. Did you manage to drain the acid out of that battery?"
"Sure," he replied absently. Perplexed, the former soldier looked back at
Derek's tent. "Wait... Sloan... what's going on?"
William walked slowly around the Rover. "He decided to stay... said he wasn't
feeling well, but I think he'd have been all right if he could have crawled in the back
of one of the Rovers and slept as much as possible on the way," he quietly explained.
Suddenly, he slammed the fender with his fist. "Goddamn her!" he swore. "You
warned me. She played the Winston Rayne card. She's screwed his head on backwards
now.... Then had the gall to take my letter to Patty when I tried to give it to Derek and
escorted me out... like a goddamned vacuum salesman!"
"Maybe... Derek's really not up to it, and knows it," Johnny suggested. "After
all... he was one sick boy... and we still don't know what happened with Tanit."
The precept was still fuming. "Well, we're sure as hell going to find out soon
enough, aren't we?" he said, bitterness filling his voice. "Come on... round up Safwad
and Daud... and let's get going. I want to be within striking range by dark... and try to
go in during noon prayers tomorrow," he added as he set his hat squarely on his head,
then climbed behind the Land Rover's wheel.
| CHAPTER 36 |
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