Chapter 37
As-Sahra' al-Libiya'
As he wrestled the steering wheel and fought with stick shift, battling to get the
Jeep through yet another patch of wretched trail, Derek was beginning to doubt the
wisdom of his pursuit. Instead of gaining ground on his friends, he feared he might be
losing it. Twice yesterday he had gotten off on the wrong route and had to backtrack. He had failed to catch them by dark as he had hoped. Today the Jeep had overheated
once already. Still, he reasoned, Sloan and the others had to be enduring their own
delays.
The young precept reached out for them... there was nothing. Perhaps, the
stresses that had drained him the past few days had impaired his "Sight" as well.
Always before, however, illness and exhaustion had tended to diminish his barriers and
leave him more open to psychic impressions. Still weak and sometimes dizzy and
nauseous, he knew that he'd be even less of a match for the goddess than he had
been the other day, but he feared what might happen if they were forced to confront
Tanit without the benefit of his presence... and the distraction it would provide. He had
to keep going.
He glanced at his watch... already past ten. He knew Johnny wanted to go in
during the midday heat. He'd keep pushing... he had to be close.
< < + > >
Legacy Camp
"William... come in... Rover convoy... come in," Kymberlee repeated for the
thousandth time. Nothing... static. She ran her hand through her hair in tired
desperation. "Come on, damn you, Sloan... answer me."
"Mrs. Rayne," said Captain Hamdi.
Startled, Kym jumped... she hadn't heard him enter. She turned in her chair to
look at the stocky, middle-aged pilot.
"It will do no good," he said as he wiped his greasy hands on a rag, "and each
of your transmissions endangers us. Though Mr. Sloan and Major Boyle cannot pick
up your calls, others can."
"I don't care if it endangers us," Kym said harshly. "I've got to let them know
that Derek is following them."
"It's futile, ma'am," he explained. "Radio waves travel in a straight line. Your
antenna isn't tall enough... neither is theirs... and atmospheric conditions are not
conducive to bouncing a signal. Your only hope is that they might pick up one of your
broadcasts, if by chance their radio is on, when they happen to crest a dune... at just the moment you transmit. However, from what your native friends said, the trail remains low lying,
winding its way down wadis and between dunes, for nearly the entire way.
"I'm sorry," he said with sincerity as he turned to leave.
Kym flipped off the transmitter... partly in anger, partly in frustration, partly in
terror. "Derek," she whimpered, "I didn't mean it... please come back so that I can tell
you that I didn't mean it." She tried to reach out with her mind to tell him this, but her
sorrowful cries were met with dead air... nothing... no sense of him... no vibrations through
the universe.
She fingered the gold cross at her throat as she stared down at her hand and the
rings upon her finger... her wedding ring and the crescent ring that she would always
think of as "Derek's ring." That gold band with the blue stone felt more a part of him than
the wedding band ever would.
"Holy Mother," she prayed, "help him... keep him safe... bring him back to me.
Please... don't let my visions be real."
< < + > >
As-Sahra' al-Libiya'
In the growing heat, Derek's mind wandered to Kym. Had he lost her? Was he
becoming his father? No... he could make no other choice. Their lives were in danger...
hers was not. He had not made a decision based upon obsession, but upon duty,
obligation, and priorities. Come what may... this was the only honorable option. If the
case was reversed... if Kym was in danger and his friends were not... he would choose
her... if both were in danger, he would choose the most vulnerable, whether the love
of his life or his closest friends in the world. If he was in danger, William and Johnny
would be there for him... no matter the cost... as he knew Kym would. No second
doubts... no other option.
< < + > >
Al-Kufrah
The blistering heat burned Johnny Boyle's chest as he crept up through the
sandy slope. Once at the top, he used his cap to dig away a small crevice in which to
lie... no prominent black dot of a head protruding above the smooth line of the dune's
crest... offering a perfect target.
For more than an hour he lay in the sun, studying the movements in the complex
below. Heat waves, casting a bluish tint, rose from the desert floor to blur everything
within sight. His binoculars became hot to the touch... no matter. He listened to the
muezzin's call to midday devotions and watched the various training groups disburse
to prayer or to siestas. Finally the only person in sight was the single armed guard
posted at the well's mouth, the entrance to Tanit's lair. A smile flicked across his thin
lips at the thought of the last guard he'd seen posted there... a man lying dead in his
own blood. Derek was an apt pupil... coldly efficient when the need arose. He should
have asked his precept for the details... it wouldn't have been an easy kill. Derek,
dragging himself out of that hole, would have been at a distinct disadvantage to a
soldier alerted by smoke and gunfire. He'd have to ask when they got back.
Finally, he slid down through the sand to where Sloan, Safwad, and Daud
waited in the shade of a canvas tarp they had thrown up between the two vehicles.
"Well?" said the precept as Boyle shook sand out of his shirt.
"Now's the time," he replied. "I don't get it, though... I don't like it...
everything's too normal... like nothing happened the other day." Hesitating, Johnny
began to pace. The others watched in silence. After a moment he said, "It stinks of a
trap.... Your call Sloan."
William responded with out pause. "Got to do it."
"OK," said Boyle, "the guard at the temple is the problem. He can see for a
hundred yards in all directions.
"We do that," said Daud, grinning and patting the spot where the old service
revolver lay concealed. "You wait here... ten minutes... then come."
"Quietly... for Christ's sake," said Johnny.
"You should not take the name of a prophet in vain," said Safwad. "But, then,
perhaps it was not in vain." He smiled his toothless smile as he opened his caftan to
reveal a long, curved Bedouin dagger.
Sloan chuckled under his breath. "Kincaid knew what he was doing when he
sent you two."
The old man smiled again. "The Englishman said you were honorable men...
warriors who fight evil. It is our duty... before God... to fight evil wherever we find it.
Is it not?" Turning toward the major, he asked, "After we have rid the world of this
heathen, what do you wish us to do?"
Boyle rubbed his chin. "That's the tough question," he said. "If I thought we
could deal with Tanit and get out of the temple with none the wiser, I'd say stay out
of it... and we'll all just sneak away.... But I don't know what to expect down there.
Judging from what Derek went through, I have to anticipate the worst, which means
that we'll need a diversion to escape. So...." The soldier reached into the back of one
of the Rovers to pull out a small, wooden box and a blanket. "Sloan... there's a canvas
satchel behind the driver's seat in the other car.... Can you get it?"
Johnny spread the blanket out and emptied the contents of Sloan's bag... gray
cubes of plastique. He slid open the lid of the wooden box to reveal detonators, wires,
and timers. Quickly, he prepared the clay-like blocks. "Here," he said as he carefully
placed the explosives back into the canvas bag. "Safwad... you and Daud take these...
one goes on the door of the magazine.... It would be better if you could get it inside, but
don't attract attention to do it. Another goes at the fuel depot... hopefully, with most
of the vehicles parked there... you'll take out most of them... and this last one goes
wherever it will cause the most trouble on the other side of the camp.... The timers are
set to go off in sequence with the fuel dump first. Then we scramble and meet where
the trail dips into the wadi. If we're not there... don't wait."
Both Padwig tribesmen nodded with total seriousness.
"Does Daud understand?" asked Sloan. He looked over his sunglasses to study
the brothers with a hard, piercing gaze.
"He understands," replied Safwad as Daud nodded and grinned.
"Allah be with you," said Johnny, reaching up to tear off the makeshift awning.
"And with you," they said in unison as Daud started the Land Rover's engine.
< < + > >
Tanit's Lair
"God!... What's that smell?" asked Sloan as he leaned over the lip of the well to
shine his flashlight into the darkness. Quickly he reached into his pocket for his
handkerchief to cover his nose.
"Death," replied the soldier. "I don't think we need to worry about anyone alive
being down there." Johnny dragged the body of the guard off to the side and leaned
him against the Land Rover's door... a tired man taking advantage of a bit of shade.
"Remind me to send Kincaid a dozen roses when we get back... our native friends have
been worth their weight in gold. That son-of-a-bitch always did know how to pick
'em."
He checked his weapon and slung it over his shoulder, then reached
through the car's open window for his bag, which he carefully handed to the precept.
"Handle gently," he cautioned, "explosives and acid don't mix."
Sloan swallowed hard, then nodded as he slipped his arms through the
backpack's straps. "Come on," he said as he stepped onto the ladder, "let's go ring the
doorbell."
When they reached the bottom, both men flipped on their flashlights. The beams
caught the nauseating sight of two bloated corpses. Johnny stepped over for a closer
look at the purple, swollen monstrosities. "Must be the one Derek took care of and the
kid he said shot himself."
"Doesn't make sense," Sloan commented with suspicion, "no one's been back."
< < + > >
Al-Kufrah
A sound like thunder rolled through the sandy canyons. Derek stopped the Jeep
and turned off the motor. He listened as the reverberations faded into the desert's hot
stillness. A flock of startled, cawing crows attracted his attention. The young precept
pulled off his sunglasses and looked up through the windshield to search the intense
blue for the small black dots. Suddenly his ears picked up the sharp staccato of gunfire.
God... no!... It had gone wrong! He hadn't made it in time, and now his friends were
in trouble. "Godverdomme!" he cursed.
He reached for his pack. Flipping it open, Derek pulled out his handgun and the
spare clips, which he dropped into his jacket pocket. Quickly, he checked the
weapon's magazine, then cocked it, injecting the first round into the chamber... he was
ready. He laid the weapon beside him in the seat, then started the engine.
Suddenly, a bullet shattered the windshield. As the precept ducked, his foot hit
the gas pedal and the Jeep buried itself deep in the sand. His door was yanked open.
Hands grabbed at his jacket, his neck, his hair, dragging him from the car. Struggling,
he snatched the gun and rammed it under his arm into his assailant's abdomen. He
pulled the trigger. With a jump backwards, the man collapsed, pulling Derek down
with him.
As he wrestled to free himself from the dead man's grip, Derek glimpsed, in the
grayness of vision, the flash of a knife. He rolled and grabbed for the hand that held
the curved blade. Using the man's own downward momentum and weight, he
propelled his unbalanced opponent over the body of his comrade. As the man landed
face first in the sand, Derek thrust his enemy's hand toward his own chest. With the
sound of snapping bone, the blade buried itself deeply.
Above his head, bullets pinged from the side of the Jeep. Knowing it was futile,
Derek pushed himself up and ran. There was nowhere to run... only into the burning,
unending sand that he had faced before. As he scrambled up the slope, the hot earth
burned his hands. Small geysers spouted up around him as bullets zinged into the dune.
Suddenly, pain seared along the side of his neck. Derek held onto the thread of
consciousness and forced himself to keep moving. His feet sank into the drift... it was
like running through a bog... his legs seemed to founder into quicksand.
A slug caught him in his left hip, throwing him forward with an agonizing stab
of icy fire. Derek's leg crumpled. He went down. In seconds they were on him... a gun
butt to the base of his skull brought oblivion.
| CHAPTER 38 |
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