The Seventh Pillar (7 page)

Less than a hundred years ago downed aviators were tortured and murdered in this region. All infidels were fair game back then, but times had changed. At least Carter hoped they had.

He kept ready to reach for his pistol.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Tuareg riders towered over them on their camels. The camels stank. Carter didn’t like the way the beasts eyed him. The only camel he’d ever paid much attention to was the one on a cigarette pack. He thought about lighting one up. Not a camel, a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in four years, but he still missed it.

"Salaam Aleikum," Selena said.

The first rider looked surprised a woman would speak to him, but he returned the greeting and broke into a stream of Arabic. He addressed the men. Women’s lib wasn’t big out here.

Selena translated. "He asks why we’re here, if we came to buy salt. He says they have the finest salt, the ‘beautiful’ salt. That's the best they have, four levels down. He will offer you a very fair price. Or you would like to buy some jewelry? He’s being rude. Normally they offer tea. Tell him something."

Carter thought. He knew cave paintings had been found in the area, dating back thousands of years to when the desert had been green.

"Thank him and tell him we have heard about the Tuareg salt, the finest in the world, even across the ocean, but that is not why we have come. Tell him we heard there were paintings up here, in the caves in the mountains."

Selena translated. The rider grunted. Carter continued. "Tell him we will pay for information. We heard there might be caves near a tall pillar of rock."

The Tuareg's eyes were impenetrable, his face weathered and burned dark, unreadable behind his veil. He began speaking to his companion in the native dialect. They laughed. He turned back and spoke again in Arabic.

"He says he can tell you where the pillar is, but there are no caves. For 15,000 CFA he will tell you where it is. You cannot walk. You must take your plane, but there is no place to land."

15,000 CFA was about thirty dollars American. Cheap enough. Carter took out the money, careful not to show how much he had with him. He handed it over. The camel snorted and pulled its lips back from huge, yellow teeth. A trail of  greenish spit drooled from its mouth.

"Ask him where."

The man pointed toward the mountains and let loose a stream of Arabic. "He says it’s a day’s ride. You go up a long valley. He says the pillar is very tall, as tall or taller than the Mosque in Timbuktu, and that it is shaped like the Mosque. He says Allah put it there to remind the Tuareg of His glory. But there are no caves."

"Ask him if he’s seen anyone who’s not from around here."

A rapid exchange between the men, then more Arabic.

Selena said, "Now that the heat is going, there will be foreigners. But we are the first to come since before the heat. There was a group with trucks then, but they did not come here and they did not buy salt. He says they went south. I think he’s lying."

"Thank him. We’re done here."

A few more words and the tribesmen abruptly wheeled their camels around and rode off.

Carter wiped sweat away. "Let’s top off the fuel and get back in the air in case our new friends decide to come back. Those AKs make them boss around here."

They got the gas out and emptied the cans into the tanks. Minutes later they were airborne.

A "day’s ride" on a camel meant fifteen or twenty miles. Harmon headed in the direction the rider had pointed out. Below, the plain rose to meet the mountains. The sands gave way to stretches of gravel and rock riven with barren ravines and gullies. He spotted a wide valley and banked left to follow it. A tall, pyramid shaped rock formation stuck out at the far end.

"That’s gotta be it," Carter said. "Dead ahead."

They flew past it and circled around.

"You see anything looks like two camels?"

"Follow that long slope." Selena pointed out the canopy. "It looks like the easiest path through the mountains."

The broad, rocky slope led deeper into the foothills. They were close to the Algerian border, maybe already in Algerian airspace. They followed the rise of the slope. Harmon kept five hundred feet above the ground. The slope crested and they came over the top.

"Look." Selena pointed again. Two steep hills rose up about a half mile ahead. Their shapes were distinctive. Two camels, head to head. They flew toward them.

"Someone down there," Carter said.

"Where..." 

The canopy shattered. Something hit Carter hard. Harmon cried out and fell against the controls. Blood sprayed across the cockpit. The plane nosed down and began to turn.

Carter grabbed the stick in front of him and pulled back against Harmon's weight. The plane rose and leveled off. Bullets thudded into the wooden fuselage. A fine spray of oil streamed back from the engine.

He tried for altitude, but they were going down. He tried to keep the plane in the air. Hell, he wasn't a pilot. Just a few lessons, years ago. Carter squinted through the oil and blood coating the broken canopy. The wind tore at him. He looked for a place to set down.

Harmon was unconscious or dead. The engine made loud, hard noises. Black smoke streamed behind.

Ahead, a table top plateau rose from the valley floor, tall and isolated. The top was flat and strewn with boulders and rocks, big enough to set down if he could make it. The engine seized and died. With no power and no way to get higher, he might make the plateau. If he didn’t, they wouldn't have to worry about it.

The plane skimmed over the edge of the plateau. The wheels struck hard on the rocky ground. The shock slammed his teeth together. He stood on the brakes and watched the other side of the mesa coming up. One of the wheels hit a rock and snapped off. The wing dipped and dug into the ground. The plane corkscrewed away from the edge and came to a shuddering halt.

They were down.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Selena."

"I’m all right."

Carter reached over to Harmon and felt his neck for a pulse. Unconscious. Still alive. His shirt was covered with blood, his lap soaked in it.

"We’ve got to get out," Carter unbuckled his seat belt. "Away from the plane."

He climbed out of the cabin and stood on the angle between the wing and the fuselage. He hauled Harmon out of his seat. Dead weight, but Nick got him up and out and lowered down to the ground. Selena came after him.

Fuel leaked from the wrecked aircraft.

"Get his feet." They hurried away toward the edge of the mesa.

They set Harmon down.

"Here." Selena handed him the first aid kit. She’d grabbed it on her way out of the plane.

Joe Harmon had taken two rounds. One bullet had missed the lung and exited out the front of his chest. A ragged, bloody hole marked where the second had come out through the front of his abdomen beneath the rib cage.

Carter tried not to think much as he worked on him. Compression bandages. Antibiotic powder for infection. If those rounds had nicked an artery, Harmon would die. If he was bleeding internally, he would die. The abdominal wound would kill him for sure if they didn’t get serious help soon. A field dressing wasn't going to cut it.

Harmon's eyes fluttered. Carter didn’t like his color.

"What..."

"Don’t talk. We’re down, I’ve stopped the bleeding."

"How bad?"

"Two. Both through and through. One high, missed the lung. One low in the side and abdomen." Harmon knew what that meant.

"Mother fuckers." His voice was weak, wet.

"Don’t talk."

"The plane?"

"It’s finished. But we’ll get out. Don’t worry about it. Joe, you gotta take it easy. I’ll get you out of here."

Harmon coughed. A bubble of blood formed on his lips. "Hurts a little." The pain hadn’t really set in yet, but it would in a few moments. There was morphine in the kit. Nick took a syrette and injected it into Harmon's thigh.

"Stay awake," Nick said. "Don’t go south on me."

He looked over at the plane. There was no fire. That was a break, whoever shot them down wouldn’t see smoke and come straight to the plateau. They were certain to come, sooner or later.

"Selena, come with me. We’ve got to salvage what we can."

They approached the plane. The smell of gas made him dizzy. He didn’t think it would go up, or it would already be in flames.

"No smoking, right?"

She laughed. Nervous.

"You stay outside. I’ll hand stuff out to you."

Daylight streamed through holes riddling the fuselage. Nick tossed out the tarp and sleeping bags. The flashlights were useless. His phone was shattered. Water soaked the floor of the compartment, but three of the liter bottles were still intact. The emergency rations were reduced to a few packages of chalk-like granola bars. The gas cans were full of holes. He took the old stretcher from its straps and handed it out.

He took the Mauser rifle and ammo and passed it out to Selena. He touched his holster, felt torn leather and took out the H-K. It was useless, the frame bent where it had stopped a round. He remembered the blow to his chest in the plane. That left them with Selena's pistol and an old bolt action rifle with twelve rounds against an unknown number of enemies with automatic weapons.

Bad odds.

They moved everything over to where Harmon lay on the ground. Carter thought about the situation. He didn’t like what he was thinking. 

"How long before they find us?" Selena asked.

"I don’t know. We made maybe two or three miles from where they were. This plateau is safer than the valley floor. We’re a couple of hundred feet up. I don’t think anyone can spot us from below if we keep away from the edge."

"Then we’re safe for the moment." She wiped sweat from her forehead.

"Probably. I’m not sure anyone could get up here if they wanted to, or if we can get down. Harmon can’t be moved."

"I’m going to see if we can get help."

She took her satellite phone out of her bag.

"Shit." She held it up. A round had hit the phone. Useless.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jibril al-Bausari sat cross legged in the coolness of the shaded overhang at the entrance to the cave. Late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the seared landscape.

Bausari controlled his anger. Young men were impetuous. The plane had been too tempting a target. Three of his men were searching for wreckage and any survivors. The plane had been shot to pieces. It couldn’t have gone far.

But what if the pilot had radioed before it went down? And why, in Allah’s name, did it have to appear now? Now complicated plans might have to be changed.

His fighters were getting ready for departure. He would leave after dark. In two or three nights, God willing, he would reach the coast in Mauritania, where the next phase would get under way. 

Bausari wasn’t worried about border patrols. They were few and he could avoid or destroy them. But the American satellites might still find the truck, even at night. Once he reached the coast that would all change.

Bausari knew time was running out. Every day, the illness ate away at him. Allah tested his servants, but soon the test would be over.

Years of poor food, prison, torture, extremes of heat and cold had taken their toll. His old wounds ached. Bausari massaged the contracted, rigid fingers of his crippled left hand, a souvenir of the Muktabharat, the Egyptian secret police.

Afghanistan, Pakistan, Sudan, Libya, Iraq, Egypt, Algeria—he could no longer remember every cave, every battle, every stretch of desert sand or mountain valley. They blurred together in one endless chain of hardship and struggle. He had killed many infidels, but remembered few. Many he had never seen. God willing, there would be many more. God willing, this time he would strike such a blow that the unbelievers would tremble in fear before Allah’s righteous anger.

The cave made a perfect hiding place along the route to Mauritania. AQIM used it as a place to cache weapons and supplies, out of sight of the accursed American satellites..

AQIM hadn't known what was concealed in the cave, but Bausari had discovered the secret. He had no interest in the supplies AQIM stored there. He'd sent his men ahead to be sure the cave was secure. When he arrived he'd begun looking. The hidden chamber was found behind a heavy fall of rock. Inside had been an old, wooden box under a fragile green cloth.

Bausari had opened it and fallen to his knees in prayer and gratitude. It would be put to good use, in accordance with Allah's plan. Just as had been prophesied, it had come to light now as the end times approached. He had risked a transmission to Cairo, to tell them.

He didn't know his message had been intercepted by others.

Bausari rose painfully and stretched. Soon enough, the gates of Paradise would open and Allah would welcome his faithful servant.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The sun overwhelmed the western sky with fierce reddish light. The view from the mesa took in a vast, wind-swept space of sand and sharp rock that sloped away toward a glinting, far horizon. The light turned the landscape into a vista of stark and hostile beauty. It was still over a hundred degrees.

They rigged the tarp over two boulders, away from the edge of the plateau. Carter cut one of the sleeping bags so it could be opened up like a blanket. He put it on the stretcher. They lifted Harmon onto his makeshift bed and carried him to the improvised shade and huddled out of the sun. At least it was cooler here than on the valley floor.

"We have to ration the water," Selena said. "We need some now."

"Careful sips." Nick handed her the bottle.

She drank. He took the bottle and trickled a little into Harmon's mouth. Dangerous to give him any water, but he would die without it.

"Easy. Just a little." Harmon's forehead felt hot and dry. Carter took two sips for himself and set the bottle down.

"Depp." Harmon's voice was weak, not the voice that could shout across a crowded bar for service and get it. For a second Carter had to remember who he was supposed to be.