02 The Secret on Ararat (20 page)

THIRTY-FIVE

THE NEXT MORNING Murphy was sharing a mug of steaming tea with Isis while the rest of the team sat around the fire. It was all he could do not to hug her to him, but she seemed to be happy he was simply there. The high-speed trek back to camp from the glacier had been brutal, as they pushed themselves to exhaustion, not knowing what would be awaiting them. Now that they were all together again—and alive—for the first time there was a palpable sense of brotherhood.

“So who were they?” Murphy asked Bayer, realizing that, amid the euphoria of Isis’s safe return, he hadn’t inquired about the identity of the gunmen.

“PPK for sure,” Bayer replied.

Isis looked at him quizzically and Lundquist stepped in, happy to show off his knowledge of Turkish politics.

“Kurdish rebels. The Worker’s Party of Kurdistan, to be exact. They recently discovered that they can get
money for their cause by kidnapping tourists and holding them for ransom. That is most likely what they were going to do with you.”

Bayer nodded. “Exactly.”

Murphy looked thoughtful. “You’re probably right, but I want to be sure.”

Bayer looked affronted, as if Murphy was questioning whether he really had saved Isis. “What do you mean?”

“I want to examine the other bodies. See if there’s any identification.”

Bayer shook his head, as if this was typical American craziness. “Rebels, that’s all they were. What else could they be?” He got up suddenly. “But come, if you want to see them, I can take you.” He grinned. “I don’t think they will have gone anywhere in the night.”

Murphy, Valdez, and Bayer hiked down the trail until Bayer motioned them to stop and pointed into a side gulley.

“There.”

They walked to the edge and looked over. Before they even saw the bodies they heard the noise. Murphy motioned them to approach slowly. Valdez unslung his machine pistol and slipped off the safety.

They peered over the edge and Murphy gasped. A writhing, heaving mass of shaggy brown bodies was tearing at the corpses of the gunmen, the bloody remains of which were being tossed around like rags. A pack of maybe fifteen wild dogs snarled and growled as they fought for the tastiest morsels, but from the looks of the bodies, the best pickings were already gone.

“Holy—” Valdez spat and chambered a round. Bayer put a restraining hand on his arm, but it was too late. As one, the dogs pricked up their ears and turned in their direction.

Valdez shook off Bayer’s arm. “You think I’m scared of a bunch of dogs?”

“You should be,” Bayer said quietly, backing away. “These are not like dogs in your country. These are beasts.”

The wolflike dogs were now eyeing the three men hungrily and nosing the air.

“Come on,” Murphy said. “Animals that hunt in packs are basically cowards—and I’ll bet these pooches prefer their meat already dead.”

He started picking his way through the rocks and down the slope, and the dogs began to back off, snarling, snouts lowered to the ground. Reluctantly, Valdez and Bayer followed.

Valdez fired a round into the air and the dogs backed off a little farther. The three men knelt over the bodies, and while Valdez kept an eye on the dogs, Murphy sorted through the grisly remains, searching for anything that might give them a clue to the gunmen’s identity.

“Hurry,” Bayer whispered fiercely.

Valdez shot Murphy a panicked look and got to his feet. Then suddenly two dogs launched themselves out of the pack, and Murphy heard the stutter of the machine pistol as Valdez cut them down. As the bodies lay twitching at their feet, Murphy hoped that the rest of the dogs would retreat.

He was wrong. Their hunger was stronger than their fear.

With the instinct of true pack hunters, the rest of the dogs advanced as one. Bayer drew his knife from his boot, cursing the fact that he had left his pistol back at the camp. But at least he had a weapon. Murphy had nothing.

“How many rounds in that clip?” Bayer asked Valdez urgently.

“Not enough,” came the grim reply. “And I think they know it. If they rush us, we’re finished.”

“And all because of what? To see if these men are KGB?” Bayer spat.

Murphy picked up a rock and hurled it at the nearest dog, hitting it squarely in the shoulder. The dog snarled contemptuously and took a step forward. It seemed to sense the men’s fear.

Suddenly, the unexpected happened. From the other side of the gulley a tall, slim man walked slowly toward them. He was wearing a gray robe with a wide leather belt around his waist, and Murphy could see dark, piercing eyes above a ragged gray and black beard. He carried a twisted staff that was almost as tall as he was.

For a moment the three men forgot their dilemma, watching mesmerized as the man approached the dogs, half of whom had turned in his direction. The man seemed to be deciding on something, then he took a step forward and Murphy realized he was selecting the alpha male. The strange man fixed his gaze on the largest dog and the dog seemed to accept the challenge, easing itself out of the pack so that it stood alone.

It let out a fierce bark and leaped at the man’s throat.
With surprising agility he pivoted and swung the staff around, cracking the dog across the skull just as the jaws were about to close on his wrist. The dog fell to the ground but instantly snapped at the man’s ankle. But the man was too quick. He wheeled the staff in a blur of movement, and they heard a sickening crunch as it impacted. The dog lay still.

The man raised his staff again and took a step toward the pack. As if with a single thought, they turned tail and ran back down the gully, yelping as they went.

Of course
, Murphy thought.
Kill the leader
. He hadn’t been thinking straight. They watched the dogs go out of sight, Valdez keeping his machine pistol cocked in their direction. Then Murphy turned to the strange-looking man.

But he was gone.

THIRTY-SIX

MURPHY DIALED THE NUMBER on his satellite phone and waited.

“This is Vern Peterson.”

“Vern. This is Murph. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“How’s it going with you and the team?”

He hesitated. “We’ve had our share of excitement. How’s it going with you? Any news on the permission to fly over Ararat?”

“Two more days, it looks like,” said Peterson. “They have to get formal written permission from the commander in charge. He’s in Istanbul attending a meeting. They tell me he’s signed the forms and they’re on their way in a military transport, but don’t hold your breath. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Murphy knew Vern’s time in the military had given him a fatalistic attitude toward paperwork. It would happen when it would happen. But even so, there was
an edge to his voice. He wanted to be on the mountain, where the action was. That was why Murphy had spared him the details of the last couple days. It would only make Vern more frustrated.

“Don’t worry, Vern. We’ll move the supplies up to Camp Two by backpack.”

“Where’s that on the map?”

“On the East Plateau, at about thirteen thousand feet. Then we’re going to explore the area from the East Summit over to Abich Two, above the Ahora Gorge. Some of the sightings of the ark have been in this area.”

“I feel guilty, Murph. I’m staying in a nice warm hotel while you guys are freezing your tail ends off!”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll call you if there are any problems or we discover something. Keep your satellite phone charged up. And, Vern, it’s not over yet. You’ll get your fair share of the excitement.”

“Roger that!”

Murphy cut the connection.
Be careful what you wish for, Vern
, he thought to himself.
If Julie knew what was going on, she’d skewer me like a hog
.

The rest of the day Murphy and the team began the tiresome process of hauling their equipment and supplies from Camp 1 to Camp 2. The mountain was so steep that the team had to rope together and zigzag their way up the snowfield. In a couple of places the wind had drifted mounds of soft snow that they had to almost literally swim through. By the end of the three-thousand-foot climb, they were all sweating profusely, despite the cold.

Murphy looked at Isis as she scrambled onto the plateau. “How are you doing?” She nodded her head and gave a forced smile. She didn’t have enough air in her lungs to speak.

The East Plateau leveled for about two hundred yards until it began to rise again toward the summit, almost four thousand feet higher. Lundquist, Reinhold, and Bayer began to set up the camp and anchor the tents.

“I may be colder up here, but I feel safer,” Isis said to Murphy as they looked up at the majestic snowy summit, framed by an azure sky. “There’s nothing for dogs up here.”

“Except us,” Murphy said.

She laughed. “Tempting morsel though I may be, I don’t think they’d climb three thousand feet through snow and ice for the privilege.”

“More fools them,” Murphy said, and she blushed despite the chill.

Suddenly Murphy didn’t know what to say, and he was relieved when Hodson signaled that he was starting back down for a second load of supplies. Murphy gave Isis an awkward smile and turned to join Hodson.

The trip toward the East Summit began at first light to allow a full day of exploration. Murphy had everyone put on their crampons and he took the lead with Hodson behind him. Following the colonel came Bayer, Isis, and Lundquist. Professor Reinhold and Valdez brought up the rear. Whittaker was anchored to the main rope and wandered around taking his pictures as usual.

It was about 11:00
A.M.
when there was a yell as the
team was crossing a ridge near the summit. They all turned in time to see Whittaker disappear.

He had wandered toward what looked like the top of the ridge. The rest of the climbers were slightly below in a straight line. But it wasn’t the ridge. It was a cornice, and he had dropped straight through and was hanging in midair over a two-thousand-foot abyss. For once he didn’t seem to be thinking about taking pictures.

All seven climbers instantly dropped to the ground and dug their feet into the snow. The rope played out and disappeared down the hole in the snow until it went taut. Murphy yelled orders and the team all began to slowly back away from the ridge. Eventually the snow-covered head and shoulders of Whittaker appeared. They kept backing away until he was on the solid part of the ridge. Whittaker sat there for a moment, a little dazed, but soon shook himself and stood up. Then he sat back down again as his knees gave out. Hodson made a square with his fingers and a clicking sound. Whittaker looked over and scowled, then his face broke into a grin. “You still got the lens cap on, you big ape!”

After a brief break to check Whittaker over, they started up the mountain again. Soon the climb became steeper and more difficult. Valdez noticed that Reinhold was weaving to the right and left as he was climbing. His pace was slowing. Murphy went back to see what the problem was.

“Altitude sickness,” said Valdez. “He hasn’t taken in enough water. You and the team go on. We’ll catch up once he’s hydrated.”

Murphy nodded. “Just follow our tracks.”

Twenty minutes later, Valdez hooked a thirty-foot section of rope onto the professor. “You go ahead and lead,” said Valdez. “I’ll follow. Go at whatever pace is comfortable. Use your ice ax like a cane if you need to.”

A light snow had begun swirling around the two men, but the team’s tracks were still clearly visible. Reinhold turned his head into the wind and started up the steep slope. They made good progress for half an hour, then suddenly the professor took a step and the snow gave way underfoot, catching him off balance. He fell to the side, and his body began to slide, quickly gaining momentum down the slope.

“Use your ax!” yelled Valdez.

Reinhold tried desperately to turn his ax into the snow so he could dig in with the wide blade, but before he could do it he hit the end of the thirty feet of rope and it snapped tight, jerking Valdez off his feet. Now both of them were sliding down the steep slope. Valdez rolled onto his stomach and put his body weight on the ax, instantly putting the brakes on his descent.

By now Reinhold had done likewise and they both came to a gentle stop. For a full minute neither of them moved, unwilling to loosen their ice axes’ grip.

“Are you okay?” yelled Valdez.

“I think …” Reinhold took stock of his situation and realized he couldn’t feel the ground beneath his legs.

“I’m in trouble! I’m hanging over a cliff!”

Valdez shouted back. “Hold on! Don’t move! I’m gonna dig a snow seat.”

Valdez kicked one foot at a time into the snow with his crampons, then slowly began to release his weight off
his ice ax to see if his feet would hold his body weight. Nothing moved. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He began to dig a hole in the snow next to him with the ax. It had to be deep enough for him to sit in it like a bucket seat. He just hoped the snowbank was solid enough to hold the weight of both men.

When he finished, he again dug in his ice ax with a mighty blow and put his weight on it. It held. He slowly dislodged one foot and then the other and rolled into the bucket seat. Again he slowly released his weight while still holding on to the ax. Now the true test would come. Would it hold both of them?

“Valdez!” Reinhold screamed frantically. “I don’t think I can hold on much longer!”

“You can and you will,” Valdez replied.

Valdez tied a prussic knot onto the rope and then hooked it into the carabiner on his harness. He began to pull on the rope tied to the professor and slide the slack through the prussic knot for safety.

“Okay, I’m gonna pull you up!” Valdez was now yelling louder against the howl of the wind.

The professor tried to help by pulling on his ice ax. He moved up a couple of feet.

“See if you can kick your feet into the snow and stand on your crampons.”

The professor did as he was told, and they held.

“Now take out your ice ax and dig it into the snow above you and see if you can start climbing up.”

Reinhold got a new bite in the snow with the ax and began to step up the steep slope. As he pulled out one of the crampons and attempted to kick it into the snow,
the one he was standing on broke out and he fell. He dropped a couple of feet and then the rope went taut.

The full body weight of both men pulling on the rope caused the seat Valdez was sitting in to compress about six inches. Valdez was sure they were both going to go over the edge when the snow stopped compressing. It was going to hold.

Valdez could feel the numbness in his fingers from cold and the effort of holding on to the rope, but he knew he wouldn’t have to hold on for much longer. Reinhold was clawing his way nearer to the snow seat minute by minute. Just as Valdez felt the rope begin to slide through his fingers, Reinhold reached him and was able to cling on while Valdez dug another seat next to him. In another ten minutes they were sitting side by side, thirty feet above a cliff, in a snowstorm.

“You all right, Professor?”

Reinhold nodded, too exhausted to speak.

“Okay, Professor, here’s the good news. About seventy feet above us is a rock outcrop. I’m gonna climb up to it and secure a rope. Then I’ll lower a rope down to you, you hook it onto your harness, and you can climb up.”

Reinhold looked horrified. He clearly wanted to stay in their snug snow seat as long as he could, and the prospect of another climb didn’t appeal to him at all.

Valdez could see his willpower was nearly gone.

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna be pulling you. You won’t have to do nothing.”

Reinhold nodded wearily and Valdez eased himself carefully out of the snow seat and began to climb. In the driving snow, it took him twenty minutes to reach the outcrop. He took the rope out of his pack and attempted
to tie it to one of the rocks. His hands were now very cold, and he was having a hard time tying the knot with his gloves on. He put a glove finger in between his teeth and pulled the glove off. The tie was successful, but now his fingers were burning with pain. He knew frostbite was beginning to kick in, but there was no time to warm them. He put his glove back on, then tied onto the rope and lowered himself about twelve feet so he could get a better look. He began to lower the rope down to the professor.

He yelled to Reinhold, but there was no answer. The wind was too strong.

The professor was beginning to get cold just sitting in the seat. He couldn’t understand what was taking so long. Had Valdez gotten into trouble?

Then something caught Reinhold’s attention. It was a bright orange rope sliding down the slope about ten feet away from him.

The knife was gently taken from its hiding place. The hand slowly reached out and the blade lightly touched the taut rope. The orange rope exploded and disappeared. One frayed end blew frantically in the strengthening wind
.

Reinhold watched the orange rope slowly descend and then suddenly pick up speed. What was happening? Then, horrified, he saw Valdez shoot by and over the edge below, followed by a small avalanche of snow.

Reinhold’s mind was whirling. He couldn’t move, couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.
I’m going to die here
, he thought.

“Valdez! Reinhold!” Hodson yelled as loud as he could, then listened, trying to pick up any reply. But there was only the keening of the wind.

He continued down to the place where the team had left them.

Maybe the professor was too sick and they went back to camp
, he thought to himself.
I’ll go back and get the team. We should head back
.

On the way back up the trail, Hodson noticed a slight depression in the snow. As an Army Ranger he had been taught to notice anything out of the ordinary. Had someone fallen here? What if they had slipped and pulled each other down the slope roped together? He yelled their names a couple more times. Then he thought he heard a muffled cry in reply.

Hodson began to slowly move down the slope. He stopped and yelled again. It sounded like Reinhold. He looked around and spotted a cluster of rocks sticking out of the snow. He moved toward them with the thought of tying on a safety rope and lowering himself toward the sound below.

Reinhold had heard someone yelling. He cupped his hands together and yelled up toward the sound. After about ten minutes he saw a red rope descending the slope about ten feet away from him, where the orange rope had appeared.

Then he saw Hodson rappelling down the rope. A sense of peace flooded over him and he closed his eyes.

When Reinhold regained consciousness, Hodson was feeding him a glucose drink and the rest of the team were huddled around.

Murphy was the first to speak. “Where’s Valdez?”

“He’s gone,” said Hodson simply.

“What do you mean gone?”

“He died trying to save the professor.”

Murphy winced. “I don’t know what to say.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Hodson said, his voice choking with emotion. “Someone cut his rope. He was murdered.”