The Gems of Tsingy De Bemaraha

by Roger Weston

  “He was now hideously scarred, broke, all his provisions stripped from him in the middle of the desert. But he held tenaciously to his belief that success would bring him everlasting fame and this one hope kept him going when death had every right to his bones.”

  “Amazing.”

  “He made it to Timbuktu. He probably scared the children with his slashed up face. After thirteen months of hell, he was the first non-African to enter Timbuktu in modern times. The one exception was a shipwrecked American sailor who was enslaved and taken there by force. Even to this day Laing's journey amazes the Taureg.”

  “Are you sure it wasn't visions of treasure that drove him?”

  “Laing traveled with men who'd been to Timbuktu. They knew the truth. Still, Laing must have been bitterly disappointed to find Timbuktu no different than any other desert town. There was no city of gold waiting for him, no treasure source at all, unless you count sand as wealth. What drove Laing was that he believed his name would never be forgotten. It's immortality he was after.

  “He spent over a month in and around Timbuktu. The Taureg controlled the city and Laing's life was in danger every minute. He finally left under the protection of Sheikh Labeida, a religious fanatic. Due to the dangers in the desert, it is thought that Laing left two packages behind in Timbuktu, sealed with red wax, containing his precious journals, with orders that if he was killed, the packages were to be returned to Tripoli.”

  “Why would Abu Bakr be interested in Laing's journals?”

  “I didn't say that. A historian like me would kill for those papers. Back then the lost papers caused an international scandal, but today . . . No, at least it's not the details of Laing's journey that Abu Bakr is interested in.

  “You must understand what happened to Laing. On the third night, thirty miles north of Timbuktu, Sheikh Labeida and several of his men turned on Laing and hacked him to death with their swords, decapitating him. The sword blades of Labeida and his men glistened with the blood of probably the most courageous and tenacious explorer ever to penetrate Africa.” Basha paused for several moments. “Laing’s death is when all the intrigue and scandal began.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Laing's father-in-law Warrington was the British consul back in Tripoli. He blamed the Pasha for failing to use his influence to protect Laing and even became suspicious that the Pasha may have been involved in Laing's death. Warrington accused the Pasha's chief minister, D'Ghies, of having obtained Laing's papers. This was the beginning of a long and bitter battle between Britain and France over Laing's journal.”

  “Why France?”

  “They wanted the glory of sending the first modern explorer to Timbuktu. But they also found the stories of Timbuktu’s wealth irresistible.”

  “I still don't understand what this all has to do with Abu Bakr and his mother.”

  “The world has yet to see Laing’s papers. Some claimed the French explorer Callie was an imposter who never really made it to Timbuktu, but got a hold of Laing's papers and laid claim to the glory. Remember, the English and French both wanted to know the secret of Timbuktu's vast wealth. They were electrified by the myth. Labeida would have seen Laing's papers as useless. He knew that Timbuktu produced no gold. The town was just a great market where all the caravans from the north and east met those of the south and west.”

  “So you think he destroyed Laing's papers?”

  Basha cleared his throat. “The desert is a place of ancient stories that are passed on from generation to generation. One such story claims that before his death, Laing was traveling in the desert outside of Timbuktu when he happened upon a wealthy trader who was dying of a strange tropical disease he’d picked up in the south. According to the story, he was the only one present at the death of this man, who was on a long journey across Africa on the Sahara trade route. The dying man gave Laing his bag of sapphires and told him the secret location of his fabulous sapphire mine in Madagascar. But Laing never lived long enough to pass on the exact location.”

  “And Abu Bakr thinks the location of this sapphire mine was revealed in his papers.”

  Basha chuckled. “Abu Bakr and Dailia believe the mine that Laing learned about might be the same mine that Ryan Lebarge discovered—which would make it perhaps the most productive sapphire mine in the world.”

  “So Abu Bakr and Dailia are working together on this?”

  “They were at first, but they split up after some bitter disagreement about Abu Bakr’s son.”

  “You never told me why Dailia locked you up and plans to kill you.”

  “She’s an evil woman. She wants you dead; she wants me dead—so we’re in this together.”

  “Not a chance,” Paul said. “If you don’t tell me why she plans to kill you, I can’t trust you, and that means I won’t take you with me.”

  A long pause followed. “Alright,” Basha said. “I betrayed her.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “As I said, Dailia hired me to survey collections of ancient manuscripts that are held by families in Timbuktu. In one of those collections, I found Laing’s papers. The fools inherited them and didn’t even know what they had. I stole them, but Dailia found out what I did.”

  “So Dailia knows where the mine is?”

  Basha chuckled. “Before she caught onto me, I copied the page with the mine’s locations and hid the copy.”

  “Then you know where it is.”

  “Close,” Basha replied. “I know the general area as well as key landmarks.”

  “If you give the copy to me,” Paul said, “I’ll take you with me when I escape.”

  “Give it to you?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “But if it weren’t for me you’d have died.”

  “That goes both ways now.”

  “You sinner!” Basha thought about it for a minute. “Alright, you’ve got a deal.”

  Later on, the guard brought Paul a bowl of soup and a bowl of water. “Only dogs drink water out of bowls,” Paul said, but they ignored him.

  Apparently the cook used sand to season his millet soup. Paul drank the water.

  He heard Basha talking through the hole in the wall. “Try the door,” Basha said.

  “Won't the guard hear me?” Paul said.

  “When they brought you in, did you see that little building next to this one?”

  “Yes.”

  “That's where the guard is.”

  “Then what's the point in posting him here at all?”

  “He brings me soup, he checks to make sure I'm still alive, he threatens me. He's also the camp supply clerk. I think they just made him guard because his office is next door.”

  Paul tried the door and it opened. The latch had stuck due to sand blowing into the lock. He pushed it almost shut and returned to the wall to tell Basha.

  “How did they catch the last guy that tried to escape?” Paul said.

  “He was stealing supplies.”

  “Then why haven't they fixed the lock on this door?”

  “Why would they do that? We're in the middle of the Sahara desert. The sand would ruin the new lock just like it ruined the old one. Besides, they don't care about keeping them locked.”

  “Why's that?”

  “They know that your only chance of survival is to stay in your cell. Out there, the desert will kill you.”

  “Maybe they're right.”

  “Yes, but they'll kill us if we stay here.”

  “How long have you been here anyway?”

  “Almost a week.”

  “When did they burn the guy alive in here?”

  “Yesterday,” Basha said. “I can still smell the smoke over here.”

  Paul got goose-bumps on his back. The cell was one of the dingiest places he'd been, but the idea that a man was burned to death only yesterday positively gave him the creeps.

  “What about stealing a dune buggy?” Paul said.

  “Impossible.”

&nb
sp; “Why?”

  “The guard keeps the keys to the vehicles in his supply shack next door. The first couple of days I was here, they allowed me to walk freely around the camp. They never leave keys in the ignitions.”

  “Why not steal the keys?” Paul said.

  “The guard also keeps all their spare weapons in there. You want to walk in there and get shot?”

  “So what do you suggest? It was your idea to break out.”

  “We steal camels,” Basha said. “Some of the land to the east is flat and solid. The animals wouldn't even leave tracks.”

  “Without provisions, we'll die. If your friend hadn't been burned alive, chances are he'd have died of thirst.”

  “Like I said, they'll kill us if we stay here.”

  Paul opened the door a crack and looked out. No guard. He slipped out into the hall, noting that the door to Basha's cell was locked with a simple latch, no key required. He was tempted to open the cell and see what Basha looked like, but the man talked too much and Paul didn't want to increase his chances of getting caught. He walked down the hall to the exit door, which was open due to the fact that the door, which had three bullet holes in it, was off its hinges and leaning against the wall. Paul looked outside, determining that Basha was probably correct. The guard was over in the shack, keeping out of the sun.

  Back in his cell, Paul kneeled down by the eye hole. “Basha.”

  “I told you, didn't I?”

  “We'll wait until tonight.”

  “Just don't forget me.”

  “I'm going into the guard shack to get keys to a dune buggy.”

  “Are you crazy? I told you that's also the armory.”

  “You're welcome to stay behind.”

  “You know what happened to the last guy who botched an escape.”

  Paul looked at the black bed springs and the ashes on the floor beneath it. “Be ready when I come for you tonight. I'll get the keys first.”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  Paul sat down and leaned against the wall in the front corner of his cell. He closed his eyes and dozed off. Long before nightfall, gunfire woke him. He heard dune buggies and shooting and a man screamed.

  “Someone is raiding the camp,” Basha said.

  CHAPTER 37

  Paul opened the door to his cell and hurried down to the entrance. Half a dozen dune buggies with mounted guns were circling the camp, raking the tents with machine gun fire. In response, Burka-clad women and Taureg men took cover behind sandbag fortifications and returned fire with assault rifles; others strafed the dune buggies from machine gun nests.

  “Let me out,” Basha screamed from his cell. “In the name of Allah come back!”

  Paul ran to Basha’s cell and opened the door. Basha, a short stocky man with a big head and fleshy cheeks, practically fell out into the hall when the door he was leaning upon suddenly opened. He recovered his balance and threw his arms around Paul. “Oh, thank you, sir, and thank you good man. You are trustworthy and I give witness to your goodness. I--”

  “Quiet or I’ll lock you up again!” Paul pried the scholar’s arms off and pushed him back. “If you want to live, keep your mouth shut and do what I say.”

  Basha nodded.

  “Good,” Paul said. “Now, follow me.” He ran to the entrance and looked out in time to see a veiled woman lob a grenade toward an approaching dune buggy. The explosion fell short, but sent out a storm of deadly fragments. The driver spun his wheel and the dune buggy rolled, throwing the driver and gunner clear, both landing over twenty feet away. The dune buggy landed back on its wheels. From a second dune buggy, a machine gunner honed his trail of death in on the same defensive position. The bullets chewed the edge of the sandbags, and three of the robed women died in an instant. The other dune buggies continued to circle the camp and wage a gun battle against the defending Taureg and the zealous woman.

  “Let’s go,” Paul said. He ran toward the dune buggy that had rolled and now sat unmanned.

  Basha stayed right behind Paul and overtook him at the last, jumping into the passenger seat. As Paul started the engine, he couldn’t believe what he saw…Kelly was running toward him, shouting, “Paul, wait!” She jumped in the dune buggy.

  The previous driver had miraculously recovered his strength and senses enough to get up and run at Paul. Just as Paul hit the gas pedal, the man dove on top of him and tried to pull him out of the vehicle. Basha slugged the man relentlessly until he let go and fell out of the speeding dune buggy, rolling in the hot sand.

  “Thanks,” Paul said, slanting a startled glance at Kelly, then Basha. “This thing’s a mess. Got smashed in the roll, but the rear gun looks okay. Start shooting.”

  “You got it,” Basha said, climbing over his seat and manning the rear gun. At that moment a burst of gunfire hit the speeding dune buggy. Paul guessed it came from the Taureg, but he couldn’t be sure. He stuffed the pedal to the floor and the engine roared. A spout of sand flew out behind them. The dune buggy sailed across the sand and left the camp behind. Once Paul got onto the hard-packed wasteland, he sped up to ninety m.p.h.

  Another burst of gunfire slammed into the roll bars. “What’s going on?” Paul said.

  “Two strike vehicles are chasing us,” Basha said.

  “Give ‘em a lead lunch up their noses,” Paul said.

  He increased their speed to over a hundred m.p.h. Thunder crashed behind him as Basha began firing the rear machine gun. “How’s that?” he shouted, “here’s some more!” The gun roared and a couple hot shells bounced off the caging and stung Paul’s neck.

  Kelly sunk down in her seat.

  “Hold on,” Paul shouted, allowing his speed to drop below ninety. Kelly screamed. The dune buggy hit a wave in the hard-pack and the vehicle flew twenty feet before landing. It started to go into a slide, but Paul let off the accelerator and regained control. He sped back up into the nineties and looked back over his shoulder. The trailing vehicles caught air simultaneously and at the moment they landed, Basha opened fire on them. One of them got sideways at high speed and rolled like a bowling ball. Paul gave the passengers slim chance of survival. The second one kept after them.

  Something whizzed past and an explosion erupted in the hard-pack sand a hundred yards ahead of them. Paul eased the wheel to the right and debris rained on them as they passed under the fallout.

  “They’ve got a grenade launcher,” Basha said. “Let’s see how they like this.”

  He unloaded everything he had in a nonstop barrage of machine gun fire. Return fire hit their vehicle and another explosion erupted in front of them. This one detonated only fifty yards ahead, and Paul ducked behind the windshield as the vehicle passed through a cloud of toxic fire. Several fragments hit their vehicle, but it kept up its speed.

  Basha continued his machine gun assault on their pursuer, and return fire continued to hit their vehicle. Paul looked back just in time to see the following dune buggy turn sharply under heavy fire and go into a high-speed roll before exploding. But he also saw Basha sinking in his seat. Paul slowed down and stopped. He pulled Basha out of the dune buggy and laid him on the sand. Basha’s eyelids flickered as he bled from three bullet wounds to the chest. Blood bubbled out of his chest where a bullet had pierced his heart.

  “Laing’s house,” he said. “Laing’s hou--” Basha stiffened and his body quivered as life went out of him.

  “Sorry, my friend,” Paul said as he closed Basha’s eyes. Another life lost. Paul’s stomach hardened.

  “Oh, how awful.” Kelly cried. “This is all my fault.” She turned to Paul. “I’m sorry I left you. Three men trapped me as soon as I left the hotel and brought me here in a helicopter.”

  “It’s okay, Kelly. I was wrong. I never should’ve taken my eyes off you.” He paused and looked at Basha one more time and shook his head. “Come on. We have one more thing to do.”

  ***

  Abu Bakr looked over the line of twelve robe-clad woman and as many Taureg thugs. T
hey stood next to a long trench that they had dug. The trench was two-feet wide, three-feet deep and fifty long. Gloom and defeat hung on their faces. Abu Bakr slowly drank from his goatskin and nodded to his firing squad of ten men. The guns rang out, and the doomed collapsed into their graves in unison.

  “Where is Dailia?” he asked Otto, who stood at his side.

  Otto pushed the fabric of his checkered head-cloth away from his left eye and said, “She must not be here. We’ve cleared out all the tents.”

  “Are you sure?” Abu Bakr said.

  “I personally walked through every one, including the jail and the armory.”

  “Tell three of your men to bring shovels and follow us.”

  Otto did as he was told.

  Abu Bakr led the way into Dailia’s tent. He turned to Otto. “Look at the floor. Can’t you tell that it was dug up recently?”

  Otto nodded. “Clearly someone has swept the sand to smooth it out.”

  “Tell your men to start digging.”

  The three young men didn’t wait for Otto to speak before their shovels cut into the sand. They dug quickly. After only a minute, one of them said, “There’s something here. I’ve hit a hard surface.” The man poked his shovel in the hole. “It’s a metal plate.”

  Otto looked at Abu Bakr, understanding showing on his face. “Dig it out,” he said, “quickly.”

  The men threw sand and lifted the metal plate, revealing a hole just big enough for tiny Dailia to lie down in.

  “How do you like your grave, Mother?” Abu Bakr said,

  Dailia sat up. “Get your men out of my tent. How dare you attack my camp!” She started to get up.

  Abu Bakr grabbed a shovel and used it to push her back down into her hole. “I won’t have the dead rising from their graves.”

  “I know what you want,” she said. She opened her leather bag and handed a package to Abu Bakr. “There, Laing’s papers. Now, get out of here!”

  Abu Bakr flipped through the papers. “You’re very organized, mother. But you shouldn’t have turned against me. You shouldn’t have tried to turn my son against me.”