Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery)

by Gregory House

  “Well Pete, feel free any time y’ want.”

  That hurt – he had at least got the machine to work and now they were back where they started from. Then he had a new idea or rather an old one reworked. “Have I ever told you about Bohemond of Taranto?”

  “No, who was he, another dim witted Pommie lecturer?”

  “Not even close. He was one of the leaders of the First Crusade, a cunning ruthless Sicilian Norman, who wanted to take over the Byzantine Empire.”

  “Why the hell should I be interested in him?”

  “Well Mlle Yvette, Bohemond faced a very similar problem to ours, though he had to get into a fortress quietly without his rivals realising what he was doing.”

  “And that helps us how?”

  “Bohemond had his knights distract the other crusaders with a false alarm, then bribed the commander of a tower to look the other way while his troops climbed the wall.”

  “Pete, I’m still waiting for the punch line.”

  “I suggest we use the same motivations that Bohemond employed – greed, deception and treachery.” Then he explained his plan and, even in the dim light provided by the computer screen, he could see Lampie smile.

  Chapter 39 Ruse d’Guerre

  Rex wiped the sweat off his face and put his eye back on the night vision scope. The mouth of the cave was still quiet after that last bit of movement. At this range he couldn’t tell if they’d hit anything. That was disappointing. He always preferred close up work. It gave him a certain satisfaction of a job well done.

  “Rex time check, come in, over.” The voice boomed in his ear piece and he banged his face on the rifle almost dropping it, before he’d figured out where the bloody volume control was.

  “Yuu, Rex ahhh here, Larry ahh over.”

  “Fuckin’ suckass.”

  “Come in Rex. Didn’t get that last transmission. Over.”

  Ohh shit the stupid receiver was still on! “Ahh come in Larry, just reporting all’s quiet. Over.” Rex made sure the damned thing at his shoulder was switched off this time before he let out a long, slow description of what he thought of Larry fuckin’ H. Carlew. The guy reckoned he was a fuckin’ marine, navy seal, otter type. What a load a bullshit. His mate Frenchie reckoned ol’ Larry was just a gun totin’ security guard who been tossed outta Iraq for being too stupid to keep. And as anyone knew you had to be really thick and hopeless to fail there. And now what was that arse porker doing? Well just making his life miserable with all this commando Schwarzenegger shit. Rather than watching this pair, they should be out looking for Sam and Red. That treasure, it weren’t going nowhere!

  But no they had to play at all this SAS stuff, cos it made Sergeant Larry look good for the boss. Rex wiped the sweat away from his eyes and continued to stare through the scope. A waste of time this and bloody stupid as well. He hadn’t served in any military profession like Red and Jamil, but for this job, ARMEE experience wasn’t necessary. Any fool knew you didn’t wack them till after they handed over the cash. It just wasn’t sensible. First it was that balls up at the gorge where they’d tracked the signal. Well surprise, surprise they weren’t there! Just the dumped laptop and phones and did fuckin’ Larry the marine get the blame for splitting them all up? No, shit no. Rex had to copped it all, even though he’d told that Yank they should have spread out for the search. Is that what fuckin’ Larry the wanker did? No freckin’ way. He sat on the boat, sipping icy cold beer and told them to keep going!

  Now Larry, have’n spread the shit around, decided we needed his leadership, so what does he do? He’d spotted the targets scaling this cliff and gotten all Jungle Jim and launched off guns blazing as soon as they’d poked their head out. What a tosser! Now they had to sit out here, covered in freakin’ mosquitoes the size of budgies and spiders big enough to bite your finger off and stinging ants and fuck he needed a beer!

  Perth, he should have stayed in Perth. A nice easy job, just collecting overdue loans for Slick Jeff. Lots of beer, as much pussy as he could pound and the occasional defaulter who needed reminding. A real easy life. Shit! Some animal lumbered through the bush to his left and Rex spun around, nervously trying to see if it showed up in the scope. Ahh shit, he hated the bush! Unlike Yankee Larry, he had a fine appreciation of the dangers of the Outback. He’d been a boy scout for a year or so when he was kid. The one story that stuck in his mind during that, was about the American tourist Ginger somebody. He never forgot that one, since in the photos she’d looked so freckin’ hot. Him and the rest of the troop had flogged the photo from the scout master and it had done the rounds. Well it was right here according to the story. She went for a swim not a hundred metres away and a huge old crocodile, bigger than the boat, had snapped her up. The bit were it said her body had been found without her bikini had really got their interest and led to a bit of impossible speculation.

  Something large squealed and thrashed down by the mangroves before a loud splash and Rex edged a little bit further up the hill. Frankie reckoned the crocs hunted on land as well as in the murky brown water. They quietly snuck up and…LUNGE…their prey was seized and bones snapped like twigs, before being dragged back to its lair to mature. Some of its snacks were as large as a water buffalo. That didn’t make him feel any safer.

  “HIIII, YOU DOWWN THEREEE!” The call rolled out from the cave mouth. Rex jumped in surprise as it boomed over him. Bloody echoes, it sounded damned scary.

  “HIII, WE’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS. IF WE THROW DOWN THE TREASURE, WILL YOU LET US COME DOWN? MY FRIEND’S REEALLY SICK AND I THINK SHE’LL DIE WITHOUT A DOCTOR.”

  The word TREASURE bounced off the cliff walls and reverberated through the trees. For Rex it set off a deep tingle in his crotch and he shifted uncomfortably. The two way buzzed. “Come in Rex. Come in John. This is Larry. No one speak, over!”

  “LOOK I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME. DON’T SHOOT – I’M TOSSING OUT THE FIRST BOX.”

  Rex tingled all over at that. The first box, that meant there were more! Maybe the cave was stashed full of gold and jewels and stuff just like in that pirate film. He concentrated on the view through the scope. He could see the mouth of the cave and an object tumbling out, before it landed in a smashing heap spraying little glittery disks in a fountain over the ground.

  “Shit its fuckin’ GOLD!” The voice fair screamed over the two way.

  “Shut it John! Maintain radio protocol!” Rex licked suddenly very dry lips. He noticed that Larry had also forgotten his sacred protocol. A second box popped out of the cave mouth to join its companion in glittering ruin. Then in that loathed American drawl came a shout from Rex’s left. “ANY MORE BOXES?”

  “YEAH SEVERAL BUT I CAN’T SHIFT THEM. HEY I’VE DONE MY PART. I’VE GOT TO GET HER TO A HOSPITAL!!!

  Several more boxes! Several more boxes, shit they were freakin’ rich. Rex knew a few smuggling tricks. He could walk out of this considerably better off, plus his pay from Wallace. He clicked his two way. “Larry, let ‘em down.”

  Another voice crackled over the ether. “Hell yeah Larry. We can take ‘em as prisoners back to Wallace.”

  There was a period of considered silence before the reply. “I reckons they can come on down, but you two follow my lead, ahh over.”

  “ALRIGHT TOSS THE RIFLE OUT AN’ WE’LL LET YA GO FREE!”

  A moment later a rifle shaped object clattered down the cliff face soon followed by two figures slowly descending on a rope. One was slung over the shoulder of the other. Shit the girl must have been hurt pretty bad, cos she wasn’t moving or whimpering, even when they crashed into the cliff face a few times. Pity that. From what he’d seen on the cruiser, she was a real honey – great legs all the way up an’ a set o’ tits that’d crack a man’s nuts. Just as they reached rocks at the base of the cliff, an automatic opened up from his left and the two figures jerked wildly before falling the last few feet behind the pile of rocks. Another heavy spray of bullets bounced off the rocks around the slumped bodies, then Larry leaving his
shelter, strolled towards the broken boxes. Rex bounded out after him, shaking with anger and excitement.

  “Ya fuckin’ gun happy yank arse hole. What the hell did ya do that for?”

  “Shut it Rexie. You’re an amateur! Don’t you get it – they had to go. The boss doesn’t want any witnesses!”

  “Not like that, ya could have waited!” Rex thought of those long legs and the waste of the bullet riddled body. It fuelled his rage and he stood right in front of Larry and shouted into his face. “You call me an amateur! You half arse Rambo! We got to clean up all this mess thanks to you!”

  Larry sneered and was about to answer when a funny thing happened. Larry opened his mouth and then just keeled over. As he was collapsing, two pertinent facts became apparent to Rex. The top of Yankee Larry’s head was missing and the crack of a rifle slapped over him. He dropped down behind the minimal cover of a low rock and pressed as close to the ground as he could.

  A second shot snapped to his right, and a grunt and terse curse answered an unasked question. Damn, that‘d be Johnno – how badly hit he couldn’t tell. Rex burrowed his shoulders further into the insufficient shelter of the pile of rocks. He would have cursed that stupid yank to hell and back except his mouth was desert dry with fear, then the night blazed with bright light. A huge ball of flames was heading straight for him!

  Fuck this! He had to get out of here! Rex dove to the left as the ball of fire exploded over his previous cover and scuttled towards the line of trees down hill. At five metres to safety, Rex heard the shot and felt its impact. A searing pain lanced down his right thigh. JESUS FUCCKKKIN’ CHRISTTTTT!!!! It felt like they’d ripped his leg off – worse pain that a cattle prod. Instinct took over, the same faculty that had saved him in many a brawl, and dragging the damaged leg, he clawed his way into the bush, all the while heading away from the cave and down hill.

  Rex really didn’t know how long it took to get to the water’s edge. That journey was a long passage of pain, and each inch he gained, set off the raging agony from his leg. What was the damage? Well he was past that. All that consumed him was the driving need to make it to the cruiser. He’d lost the two way in the scramble across the clearing and hadn’t tried calling out in case he brought on another probing round. He distinctly remembered several near misses as he lurched from tree to rock. Now he’d made it. Leaning against the tinny they’d hauled ashore, Rex tried to call out to the cruiser whose lights he could see three hundred metres away. Fucckk, they couldn’t hear him! His rifle was dropped back up there somewhere, so he couldn’t let off a few shots as a signal. His only chance was to get the tinny off the mud bank.

  Arriving had been easy. There had been three of them and to keep it out of reach of the tide, they’d taken the sensible action of securing the anchor to a tree and dragging the boat well up on the bank.

  Barrie, the captain of the cruiser had drilled every one on the perils of Prince Regent River. The salties were territorial;

  Don’t assume it’s safe if you can’t see one!

  Don’t wash any fish in the river, they can smell the blood!

  Don’t stand in the water when launching a boat!

  Don’t walk near the water at night!

  Don’t go anywhere you see a slide mark in the bank!

  Don’t turn your back on the water!

  Well, pain, fear and terror change a person’s perceptions of danger, warping judgements and Rex was not immune to its influence. He managed to undo the chain and, with an incredible effort, pushed the boat to the water’s edge. His task had been made more difficult by tripping over all the stupid furrows in the mud, as well as jamming the boat on a tree root as it reached the water. He’d managed to push back the pain by reciting Barrie’s litany of danger. It had even reached the status of a mantra.

  “Don’t assume, ahh shittt. Don’t wash arrghh! Don’t stand, fuckin’ move ya bugger!” Don’t walk…com’on com’on fucck ya! Don’t go, shitt shove it!”......

  The ‘don’t turn your back’ was his undoing, because he had. A flash of teeth a few splashes. In the list of don’ts, he’d forgotten the cardinal one, ‘don’t make a mistake’. Crocodiles were unforgiving predators. Fate plays some funny tricks. Anyone foolish enough to be close enough could have heard Rex’s last words. “Ginger?”

  * * * * *

  “Do you think that was the last one?”

  “I reckon so. No ones’ fired at us for awhile.” Peter darted his head above the entrance to the cave and glanced down at the scene below. From the light of the burning sack of spices, he could see the two desiccated carcasses that had substituted for them. Great, more archaeological evidence ruined! One body lay sprawled by the rocks, another writhing next to one of the broken chests. Of the third member of the ambush, the one who’d argued with their dead leader about the ‘massacre’, there was no sign. Peter was hoping he’d got away. “Ahh… that was very good shooting.”

  Peter felt kind of silly saying that, after all Lampie and had just shot three men. A millennia of conditioning had clawed at him to do the deed – you know be the great hunter and protector. But reality had kicked in. Despite four years of infantry training with the territorials, he wasn’t fool enough to challenge her ability at targeting. He’d seen that yesterday when she’d knocked out the spotlight off that boat of goons who’d been after him. While she hadn’t been personally responsible for their death by crocodile, she had put them in the water providing the opportunity for dinner. What do you say to an attractive girl who’d saved your life twice by killing people? Well, he hadn’t figured that one out yet, so instead back to the current problem.

  “That’s okay. The sighting wasn’t that difficult – once they’d come out of the cover. Anyway that was a good call of yours with the treasure and the decoys Pete.”

  Peter blushed a deep crimson. Luckily it was dark and Lampie didn’t see. Well how did you explain that you’d read enough about mercenaries and low stratagems to know how they’d think. Was that a good judge of human character or a cynical one? What if they’d rushed forward to help? How would he have felt then as Lampie bumped them off? “It was nothing really, just thought they’d fall for it.”

  That came out more as a reluctant mumble, than a proud justification. Peter felt it was safer to move on to more profitable fields. “Do you think it’s safe enough to climb down and set up the laptop?”

  “Depends how long it’s going to take – longer than five minutes?”

  Peter scratched the stubble on his chin and frowned. He wasn’t a computer expert nor did his fingers magically glide over the keys. There was also the question of what to send and who to send it too?

  “Ahhh, probably not. It’ll take half an hour to assemble any message and maybe as long to send.”

  “Pete, we don’t have half an hour to spend down there. Wallace’ll be back soon. You want him to hunt us through the bush?” It was not a question that needed answering.

  “Any other ideas, Lampie?”

  “That’s easy. If we can’t go down, then we go up.”

  Peter frowned. That didn’t make any sense. She’d just said they shouldn’t go down to the clearing so why would they climb a tree? Then she lent out of the cave mouth and pointed upwards.

  “You’re crazy – we can’t climb that in the dark!”

  “Pete, do you really want to wait for daylight?”

  Damn she was getting good at those answerless questions. Peter stepped to the edge of the cave and peered into the night. The stars were amazing and the three quarter moon arcing up, gave a reasonable wash of pale light. This land was bloody tough, all spikes, sharp edges and broken rocks. He didn’t want to be prey down there. They needed somewhere safe with a clear view of the sky for at least three hours. He still had to sort through a list of recipients and compose a brief introduction to his report that would be attached to the mass of images. Thinking on that he pulled out the camera he carried, lent out and snapped a few shots of the scene. Hopefully the fl
ash was sufficient – the bodies would show up and gain the attention of the local police. Thinking further he spun left and took a quick shot of Lampie as she leant against the cave mouth, cradling her rifle.

  “Hey Pete! Night sight you Pommie idiot!” She’d shifted her hand up too late and was left blinking by the flash.

  Despite her protest Peter knew what he was doing. All their shots of treasure and the other discoveries might not be enough to garner instant support. But a photo of an attractive girl, tired and worn, standing guard to ward off an assault of mercenaries and crims, prepared to risk her life to protect a discovery of national significance – that image had real media cred and he had a few ideas about how to use it. Before Lampie could raise any further objections or difficult questions he moved back to the topic of the moment. “All right I believe you, but how do we get up there oh ‘Mistress of the Outback’? We don’t have any climbing kit like crampons or spikes?

  “Easy, use those spears to drive into the crevices and ropes we already have!’

  Peter looked back at the assorted piles of weaponry in absolute shock. This was one of the best early medieval collections he’d yet seen and this Aussie philistine was suggesting they be used as bloody climbing pins. As a historian he was caught in a real dilemma. He was supposed to be preserving the past and interpreting it for future generations. How did that accord with hammering 900 year ironwork into flipping crevices? To him it was like asking if he wanted to burn a Monet or a Rembrandt to keep warm. Ahh shit some things were worth a risk.

  “Here look after this.” He thrust the computer and camera into Lampie’s surprised grasp and wrapped his hand in torn shirt then took up the rope leading down and looping it around his leg and back, prayed that he remembered how to repell and leapt into the darkness.

  He’d stifled the incipient scream until he hit the ground. Oh my God that hurt his hands, and he didn’t want to look in his trousers hopefully the swelling would reduce.