by Tom Hunter
“You make it sound so exciting, but I bet it’ll just be more running around like headless chickens,” observed Josh. “I mean, if we don’t know who we’re looking for, it’ll be even worse than trying to find a needle in a haystack. At least we’d know what the needle looked like. And don’t forget–we’ve only got these people’s word for it that the relic Pin made off with has all these supernatural powers. How do we know that it isn’t just a hat?”
“I suppose we don’t,” conceded Samuel. “But look at all the trouble the Bruard have gone to to retrieve it. I mean, they posed as a high ranking member of the Ministry, took a jet aircraft into the middle of the desert, hired expensive mercenaries, and used lethal force to get to the headdress’ hiding place. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t believe that there was something extremely valuable at stake and even if all the hat represents is a few million dollars, I’d still rather that wasn’t in the Bruard’s coffers, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you like the chance to get one over on them?”
Josh shrugged. “We’re talking about going up against the world’s most powerful terrorist organization. I’m not convinced that I’m up to the challenge. You talk as though we’re planning a silly schoolboy prank. We could all die and there’s no guarantee that our deaths would bring down the Bruard. What chance do we really have?”
“But it wouldn’t be us on our own,” Samuel pointed out. “We’ll have this Order on our side and who knows what resources they have? You don’t put together a setup as sophisticated like this overnight. I believe Akhenaton when he says that the Knights have been around for centuries. Rightly or wrongly, they certainly believe that the headdress has incredible abilities. While the jury might be out, I think the safest way to proceed is to assume that everyone’s right about the potential the headdress represents until we get hard evidence otherwise.”
“In a sense, none of that really matters though,” Basile put in. “Or have you all forgotten that we have responsibilities of our own? We can’t just abandon the dig site. We’ve been away for too long as it is. We’ll have to contact the Ministry, inform them of our plans and request that they send replacements for us to oversee the dig site while we’re off gallivanting around. We can’t leave until we’ve dealt with our other responsibilities.”
“Fair point,” nodded Samuel. “But how on earth are we going to explain to the Ministry what’s been going on? It’s not as though we can tell them anything about the Order, or what’s at stake here. I mean, when I go over everything we’ve been through in my head, I still think I sound like a madman and I lived though it. If someone came to me and told me the kind of story we have to tell, I’d think they needed to be committed for their own safety.”
“Don’t forget that the Bruard replaced Director Haisam as well,” Shafira reminded him. “We have no means of knowing how far the corruption has spread.”
“The Bruard can’t have gotten to everyone,” Josh countered. “What about making a list of a few officials that you can trust in various department? We could send out an email to five or six of your superiors telling them that the Bruard’s involved. You wouldn’t need to go into much detail, just say that the site needs protecting from their sabotage and they can’t all be Bruard agents. At least one of them will make sure the dig’s taken care of.”
“Good idea,” said Samuel just as Shafira shook her head and spoke.
“Bad move,” she told them. “The second you mention the Bruard, the Ministry will want to take over, and you can forget about being allowed to disappear off to track down the Order’s leader. They’ll want to interrogate all of us for everything we know. It could take months. It’ll become a matter of international urgency, and they won’t care that we have an alternative way of combating the Bruard. It’ll be official channels all the way.”
“You’re right,” Samuel sighed. “Still, I’m beginning to get an idea of how I might be able to play this. Whatever we decide, there’s no way I’m abandoning the workers at the dig site. I’m not going to leave them unprotected while we take off around the world. Even now, I’m worried about what Pin and his men might have done to them. For all we know, they’ve gone back and slaughtered every one of them. Everyone knows the Bruard hates leaving witnesses to their crimes.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t do that,” reassured Shafira before a worried frown wrinkled her forehead. “Would they?”
“The Bruard’s brutality is legendary,” Samuel reminded her. “Anything’s possible. Still, I like to think that, given all the hard work they put in to posing as Ministry officials, they wouldn’t waste that by killing people indiscriminately. It would be a huge weight off my mind to know that my archaeology team are taken care of before we go off on this quest, though. It’s not just that I’m worried about what the Bruard might do to them. I feel a certain degree of personal responsibility for allowing the Bruard to snatch the relic from under our noses. I don’t think I could bear it if they took my people too.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Basile told him. “Neither of us could do anything to stop the Bruard stealing the hat. They had guns, explosives, men, and what did we have? Nothing. I always was a lover, not a fighter. I’ve never been in a position where I needed to defend myself like that, and I hope I never will be again.”
“Go on this wild goose chase and it’s practically inevitable,” Waleed pointed out. “As for me, I’m planning on catching a ride back to civilization at the earliest possibility. What’s in this mission for me?”
“Good riddance,” muttered Josh as the others gasped in shock.
“Zut alors! You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Basile. “I thought better of you.”
“Of course I’m not serious, my friend,” smiled Waleed. “Just one of my little jokes. Of course I will be joining you on your mission. Not that you’d let me leave anyway, given everything that’s at stake and how much you all care about me.”
Josh snorted and shook his head in disgust.
“How are we going to find the leader of the Order?” Shafira asked Samuel, trying to change the subject. “From what you’ve said, we’ve got hardly any information to go on. How do you know that this isn’t just the High Marshal’s way of getting us as far away from here as possible?”
“Maybe it is,” Samuel conceded, “although in all honesty, I think that if he wanted us gone, he’d just kill us and be done with it. He seemed genuine enough when we spoke, and was most apologetic that he couldn’t help us with more information about the leader’s identity. Still, I guess that if we poke enough bees’ nests, something will fall out.”
“Ce n'est pas drôle,” complained Basile. “That’s not funny.”
“Sorry,” smiled Samuel. “In any case, we’ll be out of here soon enough. Rimon has promised to load up a skimmer with supplies for us. We’ll be allowed to leave camp in the morning. Where we go from there is up to us, but I’m going to try and track down the leader and I’d like it if you all followed me. I understand if you don’t want to come along. This is a voluntary mission only. I’m not going to force anyone to come with me.”
He gazed round at his friends and colleagues, hoping that he’d done enough to convince them to back him up.
Seventeen
Early the next morning, Samuel and his team gathered around a skimmer that had been prepared for them. Based on hovercraft technology, it had been specially adapted to fly over the desert sands at great speed, while transporting up to ten people plus their equipment. It was open to the elements, the fold-out cover that could be pulled over to give passengers some shelter long since gone.
Josh opened each outside storage locker in turn, nodding his approval at the amount of survival gear that had been crammed in. In addition, crates with further supplies had been tied to the platform at the back of the skimmer, to make the most of the space.
“I think you’ll find that you have everything you need to survive your journey comfortably,” High Marshal Rimon told them. “We are experts at c
oping with desert conditions, so you’ll find plenty of water and supplies, as well as equipment to cover every eventuality.”
“Including guns?” asked Waleed hopefully.
Rimon shook his head. “That’s the one thing you won’t find. Our Order doesn’t believe in using them, and we certainly don’t believe in giving them to others. A gun causes nothing but death and misery.”
“And crossbows don’t?” countered Waleed, as Basile shushed him, nudging him out of the way. Waleed took the hint and went to take a seat in the skimmer, choosing one in the back. Basile followed him, while Shafira made herself comfortable in the middle row. The tan colored leather upholstery was faded and worn, and Basile grimaced as he shuffled about, trying to avoid the springs that were digging into his back.
“Where’s Akhenaton?” asked Samuel, gazing around at the assembled Knights, hoping to catch a glimpse of his ally.
“I don’t know,” Rimon replied. “I was expecting him to come and say his goodbyes, but he may well have been placed on guard duty by his immediate superior as a punishment for his recent behavior. He knows better than to disobey their orders, after everything that’s happened recently. I will be sure to pass on your regards when I see him, however.”
Samuel cast another glance around at the guards, sighing in disappointment when he failed to spot Akhenaton among them. Their relationship might be a rocky one, but he would have thought that Akhenaton cared enough at least to say goodbye.
“Now, the skimmer has been fully fueled and there are a few more canisters of gas, so you should be able to get back to the dig site or, if you prefer, you can go straight to a major city,” Rimon continued. “After that, you’ll be on your own, so you’ll have to make your own way to Annaba to begin the search for our leader. May God watch over your journey and keep you safe.”
“Thank you.” Samuel reached out to clasp the High Marshal’s hand in farewell, before going to take up shotgun next to Josh. There wasn’t a better choice for driver. He was the only one with a chance of understanding the intricate controls. Josh pressed the button that fired up the engines. The skimmer’s jets extended out, and the engines ignited, lifting them off the ground so they could begin the long trek back.
“Wait!”
Samuel put a hand on the steering wheel to stop the vehicle as Akhenaton pushed his way through the throng of guards. He’d changed out of the uniform of the Order, and was wearing a pair of slacks with a button down shirt, a backpack slung over his shoulder. The only indication that he wasn’t an archaeologist was the sword slung at his side.
“You can’t leave without me,” he protested, as Josh reduced the throttle, the strider falling back down into its resting position.
“Just what we need. Even more delays,” the pilot sighed, as Akhenaton went up to the High Marshal, falling to one knee in a bow.
“High Marshal Rimon, I formally request permission to accompany Samuel and the others on their quest,” he said, remaining on his knees until Rimon tapped him on the shoulder to give him permission to stand. “As the Knight who was with Samuel when St. Augustine’s secret was uncovered, I feel that it is my duty to help them right the wrong that was done.”
“Are you sure about this?” frowned Rimon.
“I’m not afraid of danger,” Akhenaton told him.
“Your courage has never been in doubt,” Rimon replied. “But if Samuel and his friends succeed in their quest, you will be bound by the laws of our Order. This means that our leader is most likely to demand that you remain behind with him or her in accordance with the safeguarding protocol designed to protect our secrets. If you return here carrying with you knowledge of their location, that simple action could take down our entire Order. Going with these people may mean that you can never come home again.”
“I understand,” Akhenaton said, sighing and hanging his head.
“Oh come on,” complained Waleed, as Basile elbowed him to be quiet.
“What?” Waleed was taken aback. “Everyone’s going on about how urgent this mission is and now we’ve suddenly got time to sit around listen to a self-indulgent monologue?”
“Just give him a moment, Waleed.” Shafira turned around to face him. “This is a big deal for him, okay? Let him make peace with his decision.”
Waleed folded his arms and grumbled under his breath, but he fell into silence as Shafira and Basile glared at him.
At last, Akhenaton spoke again. “Believe me, High Marshal, the thought of being forever exiled breaks my heart, but I’ve spent the night in prayer and I fervently believe that it is God’s will that I remain with the group to offer them my support and help in whatever way I can to thwart the Bruard and return the relic to its rightful protectors.”
Rimon gazed at the earnest man standing before him, measuring up his words before turning to Samuel. “What say you?” he asked. “Do you accept and trust Akhenaton to join your ranks?”
“No way!” put in Waleed. “I’m not going to trust someone who had a hand in keeping us locked up in cramped conditions.”
“Shush!” Shafira whirled round, putting a hand out to shut him up, as Basile covered the mouth of the grinning thief.
Samuel turned and glared at Waleed, before facing Rimon and Akhenaton.
“Somehow it wouldn’t seem right to leave you behind,” he smiled. “You’re as much a part of the team as anyone else. Isn’t he, Waleed?”
Waleed grumbled to himself as Akhenaton climbed into the skimmer to take up an empty seat next to Shafira. Josh throttled up again, as he guided the vehicle out towards the edge of the camp and into the desert beyond.
“You know, she may not be the newest model, but this beauty handles like a dream,” he remarked to Samuel, running a hand over the dashboard. “They certainly know how to look after their vehicles. If we’d had a little more time, I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with their mechanics. I reckon they could have taught me a thing or two about engine maintenance. At this rate, we’ll be back at the dig site in no time. Let’s just hope we don’t run into any more drama. I’ve had enough of that over the past few days to last me a lifetime.”
“I know how you feel, but I’m afraid drama’s inevitable when the Bruard’s involved,” Samuel remarked. “But, we can at least relax for now. I don’t know about you, but I feel as though I could sleep for a thousand years, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
He stretched out in his seat, tipping his head back at an uncomfortable angle against the headrest before quickly falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Eighteen
Pin sat in a quiet courtyard to the south of his estate. A gentle breeze blew, making the palm tree fronds flutter lightly in the air. It was Pin’s favorite place to come when he needed space to himself to reflect and relax, and although the gardeners knew better than to intrude when he was spending time there, it was obvious that hours of detailed planning had gone into creating his very own Eden, the stunning flowers tastefully color-coordinated to complement the greenery. Venus fly traps lurked amongst the innocent blooms, as well as the distinctive leaves and blue flowers of aconite, a deadly poison. Just handling its leaves could be enough to cause total organ failure. For all its beauty, the garden was a veritable deathtrap for the unwary.
Pin was carefully cleaning an elegant handgun. The ivory handle was engraved with a motto that read ‘Welcome to the elite’, in an elaborate script that stood out against an intricate design patterning the bone.
Pin took his time to make sure that every piece of the gun was thoroughly wiped down, handling it with the kind of care usually reserved for a baby, his attention fully focused on the job at hand.
Finally satisfied that the gun was up to his standards, Pin deftly pieced it back together. Once it had been reassembled, he held it up, aiming a shot at an imaginary target and pulling the trigger with a satisfying click. He smiled at the thought of one of the enemies of the Bruard collapsing in a puddle of blood. Then, footsteps approached from behind.
“Indeed I do,” said his henchmen, coming round to stand in front of his master. “I have managed to track down Fatima to her last known whereabouts–and it’s not the United States.”
“Why am I not surprised? Do tell.” Pin gestured to Gord to keep talking.
“The last reported sighting of Fatima was in Algeria. Annaba to be precise,” Gord revealed. “From what I’ve been able to ascertain, the country’s authorities are looking for her themselves. There are rumors that behind closed doors the Algerian government are hotly questioning the United States, accusing them of kidnapping the psychic to use her powers to protect them from natural disasters and overseas enemies. All this has been deliberately kept out of the media, with neither country willing to make a more public step for fear of revealing themselves as a supporter of psychics and opening themselves up to international ridicule. Could you imagine if the US were exposed as relying on a psychic to keep themselves safe? They’d be the laughing stock of the world.
