Those in Peril

by Smith, Wilbur

  ‘Cayla!’ he whispered in her ear and she stirred. ‘Wake up, Cayla.’ She opened her eyes but for a moment could not focus them. ‘Wake up, Cayla. I have come to take you home.’ Suddenly her eyes flew wide open. They seemed to fill her whole face. They were brimming with the shadows of terrible memories. She opened her mouth to scream but he whipped his hand across it, and whispered urgently,

  ‘Don’t be afraid. I am your friend. Your mother has sent me to take you home.’

  She was deafened by her fear, not understanding the words, fighting him with all her meagre strength. ‘Your mother told me you have a Bugatti Veyron which you call Mister Tortoise. Your mother is Hazel Bannock. She loves you, Cayla. Do you remember the filly she gave you for your last birthday? You named her Milk Chocolate.’ She stopped struggling and stared at him with huge eyes. ‘I am going to take my hand off your mouth now. Promise not to scream.’ She nodded and he took his hand away.

  ‘Not Milk Chocolate,’ she whispered, ‘Chocolate, just plain Chocolate.’ She began to weep, silent sobs that racked her entire body. Hector picked her up in his arms. She was light as a bird, but burning up with fever.

  ‘Come on, Cayla. I’m taking you home. Your mother is waiting for you.’ Tariq was in the doorway covering him. Hector nodded towards the corpses of the two Arabs. ‘Lock them in the cell.’ They dragged them feet first with their heads bumping and rolling on the paving, and dumped them in the middle of the cell. Hector locked the door and pocketed the key. ‘Now! Tell your cousin to get us out of this stinking place, Tariq.’

  Daliyah led them back the way they had come. At every turn Hector anticipated a challenge or a burst of gunfire. ‘This is too easy. It was never meant to be this easy. There is a shit-storm brewing. I can feel it in my guts,’ he told himself grimly. But at last he stepped out through the little door into the narrow defile and he tasted the night air from the desert. ‘Sweet as a virgin’s kiss,’ he murmured and filled his lungs with it. Cayla shivered in his arms. He carried her down to the opening of the defile where there was a clear escape route down the mountainside. He sat her down gently on the stony ground and knelt over her. Hazel had packed clean camouflage coveralls for her, a pair of canvas sneakers in her size and a pair of panties. Hector dug them out of the side pocket of his pack and, as though she were a baby, dressed her in them. He averted his eyes as he pulled up her knickers. He felt a strange paternal affection for her. But at first he had difficulty recognizing the emotion. He had never had kids of his own; he had never wanted any. His life was too full with other things. There was no space in it for kids. Now he thought this is what it must be like to have one. This was Hazel’s baby, therefore in a strange way she was also his. This sick little creature tugged at feelings deep inside him that he had never suspected existed. He found the plastic bottle in his pack, and forced her to swallow three broad-spectrum antibiotic tablets and wash them down with a swig of water from the bottle he held to her lips.

  ‘Can you walk?’ he asked her tenderly.

  ‘Yes, of course!’ She stood up, took two shaky steps and collapsed.

  ‘Good try,’ he said, ‘but you still need a little practice.’ He swept her up in his arms again and ran with her. Tariq and Daliyah were on point, and the rest of the stick backed him. On the rough track they skirted the walls until they joined the main pathway and turned directly down the hillside. The night was as quiet as though all of creation held its breath. They slowed as they entered the oasis, and moved through the palms towards where they had left Uthmann and his stick.

  Too quiet, Hector thought. Too bloody quiet. The whole place reeks with the stink of the Beast. Suddenly Tariq and Daliyah ahead of him went to ground. Tariq pulled her down with him and they dropped out of Hector’s sight as though through the trap of a scaffold. Hector went down in almost the same instant, cradling Cayla to protect her from the impact as they hit the earth.

  She whimpered and he whispered, ‘Quiet, sweetheart, quiet!’ and stared ahead as he cautiously slipped the rifle sling from his shoulder. He stared through the night scope but could make out nothing that might have alarmed Tariq. Then he saw Tariq raise his head cautiously. After a full five minutes he gave the soft fluting recognition whistle. There was no response. He turned slowly and looked back at Hector, waiting for an order.

  ‘Stay here and don’t move!’ Hector told the girl.

  ‘I’m afraid. Please don’t leave me.’

  ‘I’ll be back. I promise you.’ Then he was on his feet and running. He dropped beside Tariq, and rolled twice to throw off the aim of an enemy. The silence was heavy and fraught.

  ‘Where?’ he asked.

  ‘Beyond that palm. There is a man lying there, but he does not move.’ Hector picked up the dark shape, and watched it for minute. The shape remained still.

  ‘Cover me.’ He darted forward again. Even his flak jacket would not stop a rifle bullet at this range. He reached the dark human shape and dropped beside him. His face was turned towards Hector, and he saw it was Khaleel, one of his really good men.

  ‘Khaleel!’ he breathed but there was no response. He reached across to check his carotid artery. Khaleel’s skin was warm but there was no pulse. Then Hector felt the wetness on his fingertips. He knew what it was; in his life he had probably seen as much blood as any surgeon. With his fingertips he searched for the wound. He found it exactly where he had expected it to be, at the back of the jawbone just under the earhole. A tiny puncture; a thin very sharp blade, through the earhole and into the brain. Hector felt sick to the guts. He did not want this to be true. There was only one man he knew who could kill with such precision. He called Tariq to his side with a hand signal. He darted forward to join Hector. At a glance he spotted the blood on Hector’s fingers. Then he turned to Khaleel’s corpse and touched the wound behind his ear. He said nothing.

  ‘Find the others,’ Hector ordered. Three corpses were lying in a defensive circle looking outwards. They must have trusted their killer to let him come in so close. Each of them would have died instantly. All of them had an almost identical wound.

  ‘Where is Uthmann?’ The question was redundant, but Hector had to ask it.

  ‘He is not here. He has gone to where his heart belongs.’ Tariq looked up at the dark massif of the fortress.

  ‘You knew, Tariq. Why did you not warn me about him?’

  ‘I knew with my heart, but I did not know with my head. Would you have believed me?’ Tariq asked. Hector grimaced.

  ‘Uthmann was my brother. How could I believe you?’ Hector said, but Tariq looked away.

  ‘And now we must leave this place, before your beloved brother returns,’ Tariq said. ‘With his other brothers, the ones he truly loves but who do not love you, Hector Cross.’

  Uthmann watched Hector and Tariq move away through the palms with the woman, Daliyah, and the rest of his stick. He was angry and frustrated. Hector Cross had thrown all his carefully laid plans into turmoil. Now he had to re-evaluate his position very quickly. Sheikh Tippoo Tip and his grandson Adam were waiting for him with most of their men at the North Gate. Uthmann had promised Adam that he would deliver Hector Cross to him there. Firstly and most importantly he had to get a message to Adam, to let him know that Hector would not be walking into the trap, as they had planned, but that he had entered through another gate. They would have to close all the gates, and scour the fortress for him. Find him before he could wriggle his way out and escape into the open desert. There was only one way he could get a warning to Adam. He must take it himself. But first he must deal with the four men of his stick. He checked the dagger in its sheath strapped to his left forearm. He had made the blade from the steel of the front spring of a GM truck. It had taken many hours of filing and sanding, of heating and forging and annealing and shaping to achieve this perfection. The handle was bound with a strip of oryx hide to fit his hand. Its balance was exquisite. Its edge was sharp enough to cut down to bone with the lightest stroke, and its point could sli
p through living flesh under its own weight. He gave Hector’s group ten minutes to get well clear, then he crawled to the nearest of his men.

  ‘Khaleel, is all quiet here?’ he asked. ‘No, don’t look at me. Keep looking ahead.’ Khaleel turned his head obediently. The lobe of his right ear showed beneath the rim of his helmet. Uthmann ran the point of his blade into his ear canal and through to his brain. Khaleel sighed softly and dropped his head onto the butt of his rifle. Uthmann meticulously wiped the blade on Khaleel’s sleeve, before he crawled on to the next of his men in the circle.

  ‘Keep good watch, Faisil,’ he whispered as he reached the man’s side, and then he killed him, swiftly and quietly. The other men were lying less than thirty paces away and they heard nothing. Uthmann crawled towards them. When all four were dead Uthmann stood up and turned towards the fortress. He started to run. He climbed the path up the hillside. He had only been this way once before, but he took the left turn under the wall and ran close beside it to the North Gate. When he was still a hundred paces from the gate he began to shout a warning to the men who he knew were waiting on top of the walls.

  ‘Do not shoot! It is me, Uthmann. I am the Khan’s man. I must speak to Adam.’ There was no response and he ran on towards the gate, shouting the same warning. When he was fifty metres from the gate a blinding white light suddenly burned down catching him full in its beam. He stopped and threw up his hands to shield his eyes. A voice called down to him from the battlements.

  ‘Throw down your weapon! Raise your hands! Walk towards the gate slowly. We will shoot you if you try to escape.’ Uthmann approached the gate and it opened just before he reached it, but he was still dazzled by the beam of light and could see nothing in the darkness beyond the opening. He hesitated when he reached the threshold, but the voice called down to him, ‘Keep walking. Do not stop!’ He entered the gateway and immediately a mob of men rushed out of the darkness and beat him to his knees.

  ‘I am one of the Khan’s men.’ Uthmann covered his head with both arms. ‘I have a vital message for him. You must take me to him.’ They would have continued the beating, but at that moment an authoritative command froze them.

  ‘Leave him be! I know this man. He is one of our trusted agents.’ Uthmann climbed to his feet and made a deep obeisance to the man who strode towards him out of the shadows.

  ‘Peace be on you, Adam. Blessing and peace on your illustrious grandfather, Sheikh Khan Tippoo Tip!’

  ‘What is amiss, Uthmann? The plan was that you lead the infidel here. Where is Cross, the blaspheming assassin?’

  ‘Cross has a wild animal’s instinct for survival. At the very last moment he would not follow me. He has found a woman who knows the fortress well. He commanded me to remain without, while he went with her through a secret way to enter the walls.’ Adam stared at him.

  ‘Where is Cross now?’

  ‘Doubtless he is already within the fortress.’

  ‘Why did you not warn us before?’ Adam’s voice rose in agitation.

  ‘Because I did not know myself until a short while ago,’ Uthmann replied. ‘You must waste no time closing all the gates, then send more men to stand guard at the prisoner’s cell and others to search the citadel to find Cross.’

  ‘Come with me!’ Adam snarled at him. ‘We will go to my grandfather. However, if you have let the infidel escape with our hostage it will go hard with you, this I warn you.’ Adam lifted his robe and ran, but by the time they reached his grandfather’s council chamber he was panting wildly.

  This descendant of the Prophet is as soft as the withered dugs of an old woman, Uthmann thought contemptuously as he followed Adam into the chamber and prostrated himself at the feet of the Khan, and gabbled out his extravagant praises and wishes of eternal life for the old man.

  ‘Enough!’ Sheikh Khan rose from his cushions and towered over Uthmann. ‘Why do you tremble? Do you have a fever? Or is it that you have broken faith with me? Have you brought mine enemy to me that I may pay off the debt of blood and go peacefully to my grave, or have you allowed him to escape my vengeance? Answer me, you stinking puddle of diseased pig dung. Is the son of a Christian whore your prisoner? Or is he not?’

  ‘Mighty scourge of the infidels, I know not . . .’

  ‘You know not? Then I will make you know.’ He lashed the hippo-hide whip across Uthmann’s back. His flak jacket absorbed the blow, but Uthmann squealed and writhed as he blurted out his report. After half a dozen strokes the Khan’s ancient arm tired and he stood back. ‘Send men immediately to the cell of the Christian whore. Bring her to me. I will have her chained at my side where I can guard her myself. Go! Swiftly!’ The men he sent to fetch Cayla returned within a short space of time and cast themselves at his feet. They were gibbering with terror and the Khan’s hearing was dull, but at last he understood what they were telling him.

  ‘The infidel sow has disappeared and her guards are strangled? Are these the ravings of apes and lunatics?’ He was panting with rage and his wrinkled features had swollen and turned puce.

  ‘We should lock the gates to prevent them from escaping, and we must search the palace and find the girl and these infidels who have violated your stronghold.’ Adam had also prostrated himself. He knew well how to deflect his grandfather’s rage.

  ‘Shut the gates!’ roared the Khan. ‘Search every room in the palace. Find them and bring them to me.’ Then he turned to Adam. ‘You cannot let him escape now.’

  ‘We are wasting time here, Grandfather. Cross is not in the palace. Every minute you delay he is getting further beyond our reach. Cross has only five men with him. Uthmann killed the others. Give me your dogs, enough men and trucks and I will bring him to you.’

  ‘There is only one truck here, but it has two punctured tyres that have not yet been repaired. I have sent the other trucks and most of the men to your uncle Kamal at Gandanga Bay to man the attack boats.’

  The Khan went on, ‘But we can take my personal hunting truck. As soon as the tyres of the big truck are repaired it will follow us with the rest of the men. We will take my dogs also, and I will ride with you. I want to be in at the death when you run them down. I want to see them bleed and listen to their death squeals.’

  ‘Before we leave this oasis I must call in Hans Lategan in the helicopter to pick us up,’ Hector told Tariq, and pulled the satellite phone out of his pack. He extended the aerial and switched on the handset. Hans answered on the first ring. Hector smiled. He must have been waiting with his thumb on the button.

  ‘This is Kudu.’ Hans gave his call sign.

  ‘Stilton cheese!’ Hector replied. This was the arranged code that they had exited the fortress with Cayla and were heading for the pick-up rendezvous. Hector had considered having the helicopter hovering nearby. But the sound of the engines would have alerted the enemy to their presence.

  ‘Roger that! The Duchess is ecstatic.’ Damn Hans for that additional piece of chit-chat, Hector thought angrily. Duchess was Hazel Bannock’s code name. She was waiting at Sidi el Razig; how could she know already that Cayla had been rescued from the fortress? He dismissed the thought. The arranged pick-up point was on the far side of the northern ravine. Hans would come in from the Jig Jig airstrip and fly up the ravine until he spotted their recognition signal: another red distress flare. Hans had calculated that it would take about two hours and ten minutes to fly from Jig Jig. Hector reckoned it was approximately four miles to the southern bank of the deep ravine, or maybe a little less. Their pursuers would be riding in four-wheel-drive trucks. Although the terrain was rugged and criss-crossed with rocky outcrops and wadis, the trucks should be able to travel at least twice as fast as his small party. In her sick and starved condition Cayla weighed around one hundred pounds. He knew that under ideal conditions his men could probably reach the ravine in approximately an hour and fifty minutes. But not in darkness, not over this type of terrain, not with him having to carry Cayla. What if they unleash the dogs? He posed the question to
himself, and then answered it: To hell with the dogs!

  Tariq was watching his face, and Hector spoke aloud.

  ‘I know what you want to ask me: did I tell Uthmann that we would head north for the ravine? The answer is, no I did not. Even though he knows our exact starting point, he does not know in which direction we will run. In the dark he will not find it easy to track us down.’ He did not want to even mention the dogs. ‘So, we will waste no further time.’ He stood up. ‘All of you drink as much as you can now. We will not stop again until we hear the helicopter on its way.’ While they had been talking Hector had buckled three of the webbing belts together to make a carrying sling for Cayla. He lifted her to her feet.

  ‘Heck’s Transport and Removals Service at your command, Miss Bannock.’

  ‘Is that your real name? Heck?’ Her voice was weak and breathy.

  ‘Absolutely.’ He helped her to wriggle into the improvised sling seat, and lifted her until she was on his hips with both her legs dangling backwards. ‘Put your arms around my neck and hold fast.’ She obeyed him meekly and he ran with her, starting at less than his top speed, pacing himself to last the distance. Tariq sent two of his men ahead to find the easiest route and the other two to follow up and try to sweep out any obvious sign that they had left on the desert sand. They covered the first mile and Hector found his second wind. He lengthened his stride.

  ‘You said your name was Heck. Is that short for Hector? My mother has spoken about you. You must be Hector Cross.’

  ‘I hope she had good things to say about me.’