The Treasures of Suleiman

by The Treasures of Suleiman (retail) (epub)

  A few yards away, Kosta tightened the belt sash around the waist of his leggings. He picked up his tunic and threw it into the lake. Finally, he picked up his knife before turning to face Hundar. His face was weather-worn but his body was muscled and firm from a lifetime of rugged living. Across his hairless chest was a tattooed tugrah, the symbol of Suleiman the Magnificent.

  ‘My honour has been challenged,’ he said simply. ‘Now, it will be regained.’ He drew his blade across his chest, leaving a shallow cut that seeped blood down his torso. ‘Before this wound has healed,’ he continued, ‘my blade will open the infidel’s throat.’

  Hundar nodded.

  ‘I understand,’ he said, ‘but bring the girl back alive. I may have more questions for her.’

  ‘The time for such things is over,’ replied Kosta. ‘You have what you came for, now fate will take its course. She may live, she may die. I make no promises.’

  Hundar knew the man’s mind was set, and he focused on revenge.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘but make sure you leave no evidence, and meet us back here in a few days.’

  Without another word, Kosta replaced his knife into his waistband and ran along the track toward the Valley of Desolation.

  ‘Do you think he will catch them?’ asked Hundar.

  ‘He will catch them,’ said Abbas. ‘Of that there is no doubt.’

  ‘Right,’ said Hundar, ‘let’s get going, we have arrangements to make.’

  * * *

  India was exhausted. They had picked their way through the threat of boiling quicksand and reached the base of the cliffs without incident. Without pause, they started the steep climb and she found herself using muscles that had been almost redundant for many years. She hauled herself over the last crag and dragged herself to the nearby patch of grass offering a semblance of comfort. Brandon followed her over and sat against a tree trunk, catching his breath.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, I just need a moment to catch my breath,’ she said.

  ‘No problem,’ said Brandon as he delved into his pack for a water bottle. ‘You’ve done well,’

  ‘Do you think they fell for it?’ asked India.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Brandon. ‘There’s no way they can let us escape, there’s too much at stake.’

  ‘Do you think he’s alive?’ asked India.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Kosta.’

  ‘Oh him? Yes, I do.’

  ‘But you pushed him into the Boiling Lake.’

  ‘India, do you like soup?’

  ‘Soup? What are you on about?’

  ‘Have you noticed how the soup, no matter how hot in the centre, is always cooler around the edge of the bowl? Now, I’m no physicist, but I’m willing to bet that the same principle applies to that lake. I suspect that apart from damaged pride, he suffered nothing worse than a very hot bath.’

  India drank from the offered bottle.

  ‘So what happens next?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll wait here for a while,’ said Brandon, ‘then get over this ridge. I want to be in deep jungle before dark. I don’t care how good these Saljik are back in their own country, the jungle is a completely different environment and one that I am comfortable in. In an hour or so, it will get dark, I mean completely dark, and the one thing you don’t do in any jungle is walk around in the dark.’

  ‘Why? Are there predators around?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Brandon. ‘I took the opportunity to ask some appropriate questions of Carlos on the walk up here. No, the main thing I am worried about is falling over a cliff or even turning an ankle. I don’t think we can be far from civilisation, but it’s not worth the risk. We need to get deep into the sticks, make ourselves as comfortable as possible and hope that our little ruse worked.’

  ‘Sticks?’

  ‘Sorry, army talk for the jungle. With a bit of luck we can be out of here and in a police station by lunchtime tomorrow. Right, are you ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, standing up. ‘Take me to the “sticks”, Mr Walker, a night under the romantic Caribbean stars awaits.’

  They donned the packs and continued up the easier slope to the ridge of the mountain.

  * * *

  Kosta stopped and stared at the ground before him. Though he had been brought up in the eastern deserts, some fundamentals of tracking were the same across all environments and the absence of any tracks on a muddy path was one of them. He searched either side of the path to make sure they hadn’t just gone off track and then returned back the way he had come to see where his quarry had left the trail. Fifteen minutes later he found what he was looking for, a fresh footprint leading the wrong way. He ran back to the edge of the Valley of Desolation and scanned the mountains on either side. Immediately, he thought he saw something move far above. He crouched down to scoop some warm water from a pool and then stood up slowly as his suspicions were confirmed.

  * * *

  In the middle of the valley, the rest of the party were making their way back down. Each followed in the footsteps of the guide, but halfway through he stopped and pointed up to the crags high above.

  ‘Look,’ he said, and the whole group stared upward to see the distant figures of Brandon and India, struggling up the rock face.

  ‘Where’s your father?’ shouted Hundar.

  ‘He ran down the track,’ answered Abbas. ‘He thought they had gone that way.’

  ‘That is ridiculous,’ shouted Hundar. ‘He is supposed to be a tracker. How can he let them get away like this?’

  ‘He will make up the ground,’ said Abbas. ‘The Saljik are the best trackers in the world. They will not get away.’

  ‘They will be too far away by the time he realises,’ shouted Hundar. ‘He is nothing but a prehistoric relic, stuck in the past. Calls himself an assassin? I could do better myself.’

  Abbas started getting angry. Despite their differences, Kosta was still his father.

  ‘He will keep his promise,’ said Abbas threateningly. ‘I know my people and I know my father. Do not insult the Saljik, Hundar, for despite my estrangement, I will not sit back and listen to your insults.’

  ‘And what will you do, Abbas?’ asked Hundar with scorn in his voice. ‘Your father is not around to fight your battles now.’

  Abbas took a step toward Hundar but stopped dead in his tracks as Hundar pulled a gun.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Abbas,’ he said. ‘You outlived your usefulness a long time ago and I have only allowed you to live because of your father. Now, if your people are as good as you say, why don’t you cross the valley and bring those two back here?’

  ‘He cannot leave the path,’ said Carlos, ‘it is too dangerous.’

  ‘Those two managed it,’ snapped Hundar over his shoulder, ‘so surely the best trackers in the world can manage it.’

  ‘Tracking has nothing to do with it,’ pleaded Carlos. ‘The very ground is unstable. The whole area is based on mud pools and there is no way of knowing what is safe.’

  ‘Not my problem,’ snarled Hundar, without taking his eyes off Abbas. ‘So, what is it going to be, Saljik? Redeem your tribe’s name as assassins, or die here with a bullet in your heart?’

  Abbas knew he had no option and after a few moments’ pause, turned to face the crags across the mud fields. Slowly he stepped out, testing each step as he went. The ground felt spongy beneath his feet and he could feel the warmth through his trainers. Slowly but surely he made his way across and was almost at the far side when a movement caught his eye and his father burst from the trees at the far end of the path. Their eyes met and though no words were spoken, the fear for his son’s safety was evident in Kosta’s eyes. Silence fell throughout the valley and just as Abbas thought he was safe, the grounds beneath him give way and he sank immediately up to his waist.

  ‘Abbas,’ screamed Kosta, and without thought for his own safety, ran into the mud fields to save his son. Whether by luck or divine intervention
, he found a safe way through and threw himself to the ground at the edge of the bubbling pool, reaching out to his son’s sinking body. By now, Abbas had sunk up to his armpits and his face was contorted with fear. Kosta stretched out his arm to reach his son and their fingers touched briefly.

  ‘Abbas,’ he said, ‘take my hand.’

  ‘Father,’ said Abbas, ‘I fear it is too late, I feel the devil pulling at my legs.’

  ‘No, Abbas,’ said Kosta, ‘I will not let you go this way. Reach to me, I will pull you out.’ He renewed his efforts to reach his son and crawled part way across the mud, risking his own entrapment.

  Abbas could feel the suction pulling at his body and he knew that there was no way his father would be able to pull him out of the stinking pit. He also knew that his father would never let his hand go and would be pulled down himself rather than release his grasp. With fear in his heart he knew he could not let that happen and slowly withdrew his own outstretched arm.

  ‘Abbas, what are you doing?’ shouted Kosta. ‘Give me your hand.’

  ‘Father,’ said Abbas quietly, ‘listen to me. It is too late, my fate has been decided. I will die here, but before I do, know this. Despite our differences, I have always been proud to call you father.’

  ‘Do not go, Abbas,’ cried Kosta, with tears rolling down his face. ‘You are my son, and I will not live without you.’

  ‘You have to, Father,’ said Abbas, as he sank further. ‘Grab those lands for our people and make the Saljik proud once more.’

  ‘Abbas, no,’ cried Kosta as his son sank even more.

  ‘Tell my mother my last thoughts were for her,’ said Abbas, his own tears coursing down his face, and as his upturned head disappeared beneath the mud, a primeval roar ripped from the throat of Kosta as he screamed his pain to the heavens.

  * * *

  As they reached the top, Brandon and India heard the scream from the valley below and paused to look back the way they had come. Immediately they could see Hundar, Helga and the guide in the middle of the valley but could see no sign of either Saljik assassin. As they stared, a movement caught Brandon’s eye and he saw a bare-chested Kosta staring up at him from the base of the cliff. Their eyes met momentarily and, making his intentions perfectly clear, Kosta drew his index finger slowly across his own throat.

  Brandon wasted no more time and turned to join India scrambling carefully down the other side of the ridge.

  * * *

  India and Brandon forced themselves through the undergrowth at the edge of the Dominican jungle. As soon as they were beneath the canopy, the going got easier and Brandon picked up the pace. He knew Kosta was less than half an hour behind them and wanted to get as much distance between them as possible before it got dark. They made good progress, half running and half walking as they brushed branches from before their faces. The evening insects buzzed around their faces and they drank frequently as they ran. Finally Brandon stopped and looked up at the canopy.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘we have to go to ground. It will be dark in minutes and we don’t want to be caught out. We haven’t time to make a shelter, so will have to make do.’ He pointed at a jumble of fallen logs. ‘There,’ he said.

  ‘You have got to be joking,’ said India.

  ‘Don’t worry, there aren’t any poisonous snakes in Dominica,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Sod the snakes,’ said India, ‘what about spiders?’

  ‘Sorry India,’ said Brandon, ‘we just haven’t got the luxury of debating this. Yes, there are probably spiders, but there are also spiders in your bedroom at home. These are no different.’

  ‘You’re serious aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes – now come on. We need to get in amongst the logs and get settled before it gets dark. We don’t know how close Kosta is, so once we are there, we only speak in whispers, understood?’

  ‘Understood,’ said India, and walked over to the jumble of fallen trees. They crawled into a gap and shuffled around until they were as comfortable as possible.

  ‘It’s going to get cold, India,’ said Brandon, ‘so I suggest we cuddle up to share body heat.’

  ‘That’s the worst chat-up line I’ve ever heard,’ mumbled India, but snuggled up nevertheless.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Brandon, and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Try to get some sleep.’

  Within minutes, darkness fell as if someone had thrown a giant cloak over the whole island.

  * * *

  Brandon’s eyes flew open and he was about to react to the hand over his mouth when India’s face appeared before him.

  ‘Shhh,’ she whispered, and turned her head slowly to stare down the slope.

  The dawn’s watery light was seeping down from the canopy and at the base of the hill. Brandon could see the faint figure of a man with his eyes glued to the forest floor, walking slowly through the trees, searching for any trail they might have left.

  ‘Shit,’ whispered Brandon. ‘I wanted to be gone before the sun was fully up.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked India.

  ‘We have to move,’ said Brandon. ‘It’s only a matter of time before he picks up our trail.’ He looked across to a nearby stream, one of many that carved their way across the Dominican hills.

  ‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘if we keep low, we can remain out of sight until we reach that gulley. When we get there, we can crawl down into the valley.’

  ‘But it leads down closer to him,’ said India. ‘That’s stupid.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ said Brandon, ‘it’s standard E and E practice.’

  ‘E and E?’

  ‘Sorry, escape and evasion. Get behind the searching party as their focus will always be forward. He has already searched that area so won’t worry about going over old ground until he tracks us up here. When he realises what we have done, he’ll be after us like a greyhound, but hopefully we’ll be long gone.’

  ‘OK, let’s do it,’ said India. ‘It’s pointless waiting up here until he sniffs us out.’

  Very gently they eased their way under the largest fallen tree to their right and, using a slight ridge as cover, crawled toward the much deeper stream bed. They slid carefully down the bank like crocodiles and into a rotting sludge of mud and leaves. The smell was disgusting and though the culvert was deep enough to crouch, most of the time they had to crawl. Finally they reached the valley bottom and they paused to catch their breath.

  ‘What now?’ asked India.

  ‘If we can just make it to those next trees,’ said Brandon, ‘we may have a chance.’ They continued to crawl along the ground, but just as they reached the relative safety of the treeline, Brandon glanced back up the way they had come and saw Kosta running down the hill.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, all attempts at silence gone, ‘he’s seen us. Run, India, and don’t look back.’

  The two ran as fast as they could into the thicket, trying to avoid the thorny branches that reached for their faces, knowing that unless something drastic happened, Kosta would soon catch them up. Brandon thought quickly. He knew he had to do something and though it wasn’t ideal, finally decided on a course of action. As they reached yet another stream, he stopped running and called out to India.

  ‘India,’ he said, ‘keep running. I’ll catch you up.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she gasped.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Brandon, ‘I know what I am doing. Get over this hill and into the next valley. At the bottom, there will probably be a river. Just follow it down to the coast. This island is really small so follow the coastline and you should find civilisation really easily. Now go.’

  ‘But Brandon…’

  ‘India, go,’ snapped Brandon, ‘or you will put us at even more risk. I’ll catch you up as soon as I can.’

  India did as she was told and left Brandon scouring the forest floor for a suitable weapon. A few minutes later, he was stood behind a large tree, waiting for their pursuer. He
knew he would have one chance to implement his plan so had to make sure it was good. Finally he heard the sound of Kosta as he splashed across the stream. Brandon tensed his body and judged the sound of Kosta’s footsteps. As Kosta’s body appeared alongside the tree, Brandon stepped out and smashed the solid branch into the Arab’s face.

  The effect was instantaneous. Kosta dropped to the floor with blood pouring from a huge gash across his forehead and his nose obviously shattered. Brandon braced to hit him again but immediately saw the man was unconscious. For a moment his instinct was to try to sort out the open wound pouring blood down Kosta’s face but this was no time for sentiment, their lives were at risk, and he could see that despite the injury, Kosta was still alive. He turned and ran down the path where India had disappeared.

  * * *

  Ricardo held his breath. For the last twenty-four hours he had tracked the spoor of a forest pig. The trail had led up into the mountains and at last he could hear the grunting of the foraging animal close by. He crawled slowly forward and as he gently pulled aside the foliage to see his prey for the first time, it was all he could do to withhold a gasp. This was not an ordinary pig but a fully tusked boar. He knew that there were boar on Dominica but they were extremely rare and nobody had seen one for many years. For several minutes he lay still, watching the animal rummaging through the undergrowth with his tusks, and he knew he had to have a strategy to corner the animal. If it bolted, there was probably no way he would ever see it again.

  Finally, he decided to stay downwind of the animal for a while longer in the hope of cornering him against a cliff or in a culvert. For several hours he continued to track the boar, sometimes getting quite close but always careful to stay downwind. Finally the boar wandered into a tiny valley where a waterfall fell from the cliff edge above and into a clear, deep pool. Ricardo knew that this was it. This was his chance to take a mighty boar and earn a name for himself in the history of the Kalinago. It was now or never. He shifted his grip on his spear and was about to step out into the clearing when something unexpected happened, something so astonishing that he didn’t even notice as the boar ran straight past him in abject terror.