The Exfiltrator

by Garner Simmons

Rounding a giant rock formation created by the fusion of a stalactite and stalagmite melded into a single column over centuries, they finally reached the source of the sound – a jagged opening in the rock that allowed the underground river to burst into the open, tumbling downwards, cutting a channel through the flowstone. Visible for roughly fifty meters, the water then abruptly disappeared into a narrow opening in the rock no more than a meter wide and was gone.

  Clearly excited by the raw power of the rushing water, Ella gripped his arm, pulling her body against his.

  “It’s so…” she raised her voice as she searched for a word to describe it without success. “Beautiful,” she said simply at last.

  Sensing the contact of her body still pressing against his, Corbett tried to ignore the feelings she was beginning to arouse. Ella did the same, but found herself unable to release her grip.

  “Hard to believe it’s the source of the same stream that runs beside the base camp,” she said raising her voice again to be heard above the torrent.

  Playing the light across the rocks, Corbett discovered another continuation of the cave, a tunnel-like opening running off to the left. Separating himself from Ella, he stepped closer.

  “What’s that?” she asked, moving with him.

  “Hard to say. Maybe another entrance from below.”

  “Near the camp?”

  “Possibly. But we’ll have to save it for another day,” he said pointing the flashlight back the way they had come. “Better head back.”

  *****

  By the time they returned to the wall painting, it was late. Corbett checked his watch. “Time to head for camp. Wash up and see what culinary surprise Gorka’s prepared for us this evening,” he said, half teasing.

  “That’s okay. I’m not that hungry. Besides, I want to finish what I’ve been working on before calling it a day.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. You go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  Smiling, she turned and moved back behind her camera. Switching on the twin nine-light panels, she was about to insert her earbuds and turn on her music when she glanced over her shoulder to discover Corbett still standing there watching her.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking, maybe I could bring you something back.”

  “Really…?” She smiled, pleased that he would even think to offer. “I mean, yes. That sounds nice. But please don’t go to any trouble…”

  “No trouble. I’ll be back. Don’t work too hard.”

  “When you love what you do, it isn’t work.” She smiled at him as he turned and headed back toward the lift once more.

  The sudden prospect of spending time alone with him brought an unexpected rush of excitement. Was his offer to bring her supper just his way of being nice or could there be something else? Somewhere in the recesses of her mind the thought occurred that she might be over-thinking his intentions. Attempting to force Corbett from her thoughts, she turned on her MP3. A moment later, Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto Number 5 in D Major filled her with renewed energy as she began to refocus on the work before her.

  But despite her best intentions, she found herself unable to completely shake Corbett from her mind. The very fact that he might be coming back at any moment produced a kind of urgency. As she finished the final shot of the day, she stopped and looked around at her equipment now strewn across the furniture pads in random disarray. Kneeling, she began to collect and return everything to its proper place. Then refolding and repositioning the heavy-duty pads, she attempted to create a more inviting space near the paintings themselves. A soft glow emanated from the opposing banks of lights illuminating the immediate area while simultaneously generating enough heat to overcome the chill dank air.

  Stopping at last, she took stock of what she had just done. As the music of Bach segued into Mozart’s sensuous Piano Sonata Number 21, she was overtaken by a sudden impulse to do something foolish. Uncoupling the belt that held her MP3 player, she set it down beside her camera case and took the earbuds from her ears. Then opening the zipper to her top exposing her throat, she reached down and grasped the bottom of her thermal top with both hands. Pulling it up over her head, she set it aside then quickly removed her sports bra. With a strange sense of liberation, she tossed it down beside the case as well. But as she pulled her top back on, she was almost immediately seized by second thoughts. Staring down at the bra, she experienced a momentary twinge of doubt. What was she doing? She really didn’t want to appear to be throwing herself at him. Only to be ready should the moment arise. But suppose she were totally misreading the signals? What if he had really meant what he said about not allowing things to go any further? Would she look like a fool? How long had he been gone? What if something had come up and he couldn’t make it back?

  In the midst of these questions, she thought she heard the sound of someone coming. Had she somehow been so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she had failed to hear the winch? Kneeling down beside the camera case, she quickly opened it and stuffed the MP3 player along with her bra inside. Then picking up the Canon Mark III, she sat down facing the paintings. Selecting the digital menu, she began to scroll through the day’s work, attempting to appear busy.

  *****

  Returning late to the abandoned farm house, Jarral collected his prayer rug and stepped out into the cool evening behind the farmhouse. The moon was on the wane. The sound of a rock thrush could be heard calling to its mate somewhere in the night. Spreading the rug beneath the trees once more, he raised his hands even with the lobes of his ears, palms facing toward Mecca, and began to pray. Having missed the appointed time, he took longer than usual to finish, knowing that he would still be able to have a small repast then pray one final time before retiring.

  Standing in the shadows, Sameer and Umair waited in silence for Jarral to complete his prayer before intruding. When he finally began to roll up his rug, Sameer broke the silence.

  “Praise be to Allah, the most just and powerful,” he began, “But the time of patience is at an end. Tariq should already be long dead and these Infidels with him. Words are no longer enough. The men grow restless. They demand action.”

  Hearing the echo of Buttar’s words in this, Jarral immediately knew the source of their discontent. Waiting for Sameer to finish, Jarral said nothing.

  “The men…?” he said at last. “And who besides Buttar has been saying these things?”

  Hearing Buttar’s name, Sameer and Umair exchanged an uneasy glance.

  “All of us,” Sameer said at last. “We come to you with one voice. We must act now.”

  “And what do you propose?”

  “The Infidel has already led us to the village. Tariq has been spotted entering the clinic where this woman is doctor. We have the explosives. I say we drive the truck into the village and park it near the clinic. Connect the firing mechanism, set the fuse and be done with it.”

  “And if it fails to kill Tariq?”

  “It will still have sent the message. The Infidel will recognize he must move Tariq quickly. They will act before they are ready. And when they do, we will kill them all.”

  “And photographic proof of his death?”

  “Will make no difference once we declare Tariq has been killed if they are unable to refute it.”

  Jarral allowed the idea to percolate. At last he met Sameer’s expectant gaze. “When?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow. We drive the truck down to the village early and park it near the clinic before anyone is awake. Then attach the C-4 to a cell phone. When Tariq appears… we call the number.”

  Carefully weighing his options, Jarral realized that to refuse to act in the face of such unanimity would undermine his position. He had tried his best to hold the line but had come up short. At last, he nodded. “Let the will of Allah be done.”

  *****

  Having passed on the pungent rabbit stew that Gorka had called “untxi gisatua,” Corbett had him prepare a plate of
tapas and place them in a cardboard box. Then collecting a bottle of vino blanco, he headed back up the mountain.

  Descending in the lift once more, he spotted the laser scanner still perched on its tripod where Roberto and Karim had completed their day’s work. The lift came to a halt. Turning on the LED flashlight, he pointed it down toward the lower chamber. Balancing the tapas and wine in his left hand, he used the light in his right to pick his way through the darkness.

  He found Ella kneeling on the furniture pads, camera in hand, reviewing her day’s work. Once again, she seemed so completely preoccupied that she reacted with a start at the sound of his voice.

  “You’re like a cat. Don’t you ever make any noise...?” she lied. Having heard him coming toward her for the last ten minutes, she had waited in anxious anticipation as he made his way through the down through the darkness.

  “Sorry. I thought I had.”

  Stepping into the soft ring of light cast by the panels on either side of the cave painting, Corbett set down the tapas on a shelf of rock.

  “I checked with Gorka. It’s a Basque law: When a lady refuses to come to supper, the supper must come to her.”

  Shading her eyes with one hand, she glanced up at him, secretly pleased that he had returned as he had promised. The rich aroma of the still warm tapas filled the air. “Smells delicious.”

  “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

  “I changed my mind.” Opening the cardboard box, she selected a tapa and took a bite as Corbett produced a corkscrew. Kneeling beside her he began to uncork the wine.

  “Small problem,” he said. “Forgot to bring glasses.”

  She smiled, taking the bottle from his hand. “Problem…?” she said, raising the bottle to her lips and taking a sip. “What problem?”

  “Touchè,” he said, sitting down cross-legged beside her. Taking the bottle from her hand, he did the same. “A girl who doesn’t stand on ceremony.”

  “Wait a minute… who are you calling ‘a girl’?” she replied in mock indignation.

  “Nothing personal. Just a casual observation.”

  “Oh… that’s different,” she finished the first of the tapas and began a second. “These are really delicious. Gorka made them?”

  “He thinks you don’t like his cooking. Says you’re too skinny.”

  “Too skinny,” she exclaimed. “Compared to what…? Him?”

  “It’s all right. I set him straight.”

  “Really?”

  “I told him you’d been raised by wolves.”

  She started to laugh. “You did not.”

  “Honest to God… lobos savajes, straight from the steppes.” He tried

  to keep a straight face as he took another sip from the bottle.

  “And what did he say?”

  “That it explained everything,” he teased.

  Smiling, she tried not to look too pleased by his obvious flirting.

  She took another bite. “You’re really terrible, you know that?”

  Another silence as neither spoke, then Corbett indicated the figures on the wall before them.

  “So tell me about the painting.” He began again. “What are we

  looking at?”

  Ella hesitated, attempting to organize her thoughts. “Honestly…?” she stared at the wall. “I’d say it isn’t just one painting. It’s a series of vignettes – like snapshots of the lives they lived. I mean, there is so much detail. The truth is, any serious analysis is going to take time.”

  He nodded slowly, studying the details of the images as she continued. “But from what I can tell so far, I think the only way to understand what we’re looking at is to try to imagine it through the eyes of the artist who did the painting. The first question is: Why here, hundreds of feet below the real world of sunlight and shadow? Obviously, it couldn’t have been painted from life, but from memory. A way of preserving the living world outside for those who were trapped below.”

  “Trapped…?” Corbett frowned. “What makes you think they were trapped?”

  “Just a guess, but I’d say they must have been afraid of something. Something that had driven them to seek shelter where they hoped their pursuers would be afraid to follow.”

  “Interesting theory,” Corbett smiled. “But I could just as easily make a case that it’s a simple catalogue of the animals they depended on for food and survival.”

  Ella set the bottle down beside the box of tapas and stepped closer to the painting, tracing the lines of the figures with her fingertips. “The animals are self-evident. Bison… antelope… horses. But look at the group of markings here.” She indicated a series of stick figures surrounding an opaque rectangular shape. “Assuming this dark area here represents the cave entrance as it might have appeared 30,000 years ago, then these figures approaching from all sides could easily be seen as portraying some sort of enemy.”

  “Whoa, wait… hold on,” he met her gaze. “That’s pure interpretive speculation. How can you say that?”

  “I’m not. The drawings speak for themselves. The artist has drawn a series of simple figures: torsos with a head, two arms and two legs. But look closer. Each has been drawn with an additional line attached to one arm – like a spear. My guess is that the artist is describing some sort of epic conflict – perhaps one they had lost or feared losing. I’d say this painting was an attempt to somehow leave a record.”

  Corbett hesitated, impressed by her insight. “That’s quite an interpretation. What else do you see?”

  Ella crossed to the far side of the painting. “See this?” she asked pointing to a strange tangle of lines. “Any ideas?”

  Rising, Corbett joined her for a closer look at the erratic shape. “That…?”

  “Not an animal.”

  “That’s a relief,” he started to smile. “So what do you see?”

  “Judging from the petroglyphs I studied in the caves of the Galeras, I’d say it’s two bodies: One on top, one beneath. See…?” Using her index finger, she traced each figure as she spoke. “The additional lines are meant to capture a sense of motion.”

  “Motion…?” He found himself staring at the abstraction of lines. She stepped closer. He felt her breasts through the fabric of her top as they barely brushed against his arm. He tried to ignore her touch.

  “My guess? It’s a depiction of two people…” she shrugged. “I’d say they’re making it.”

  “Making it…?” He repeated. “You mean like…?” He left the thought unfinished.

  “Exactly. Basic procreation. Survival of the species.”

  “Not very good at it, were they?” he said, taking an awkward stab at humor.

  “I don’t know,” she smiled, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I’d say they figured things out.” Turning, her body pressed against him. Her mouth close to his. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek as his resolve slipped away. Drawing her to him, he kissed her lips, softly at first, then harder as he felt her body respond. Lifting her, he carried her to where the protective pads covered the rock-strewn floor of the cave beside the camera.

  Still clinging to him, she allowed herself to be lowered onto the nearer of the two pads. Welcoming his tongue, she felt it slip past her lips, probing the hollow of her mouth. Then, as if consumed by some primal urgency, they began to struggle, helping each other to shed their clothes. She felt his hands slip beneath her top, cupping her breasts, worrying her nipples, now firm and erect. Excited, she raised her arms above her head, helping him to remove her top while doing the same for him. As she quickly slipped out of her thermal tights, he pulled off his boots and unbuckled his belt, removing his cargo pants. Then taking her in his arms, he pressed her naked body against his own. Feeling her respond, he began caressing her breasts. As her legs fully embraced him, he found her, stifling her cry with a kiss. Then moving together as one, they became a single being, lost in time and each other’s arms. Caught up in the rush of emotion and mutual need, like the
constant ebb and flow of some primeval ocean, they began their long journey to a distant shore.

  *****

  Corbett lay there, holding her still naked body in a sleeping embrace, quietly listening to the sound of her breathing as he sorted through the tumult of his own emotions. Above them, the cave painting with its primitive renderings of life as it had once existed more than 30,000 years ago. What, he wondered, had changed? In all the millennia since, what had mankind actually learned? Had we evolved or were we still doomed, like the Neanderthals before us, to repeat those same violent, murderous impulses throughout eternity? For all Man’s knowledge and scientific advances, was the terrible truth that we remained at the mercy of our fatally flawed, violent and self-destructive DNA?

  He thought of radical Islam and the ISIS sleeper cell intent on killing Tariq, not to mention himself. He thought of all the Crusaders and Conquistadors who over the centuries had done the same in the name of Christ? Or of the Jews and Palestinians forever at war over control of the Temple Mount. All blinded by an obsession to defend the one true religion.

  Ella stirred in his arms. Turning, he found himself staring down at the quiet beauty of her face as he realized the answer was right there before him. The key difference between the West and radical Islam was Islam’s lack of a cultural Renaissance, a Reformation allowing the idea of equal rights for women to finally take root. The legacy of mitochondrial DNA. That extranuclear double-stranded sequence passed down exclusively through the maternal side, had, once given a chance, transformed those barbaric male impulses of primitive man into modern Western civil society. It hadn’t been perfect and was far from complete. The insecurities of old men still raged against such progress. But without the full recognition of women as equal partners, humankind would be condemned to repeat its dark and bloody past throughout eternity to the end of time.

  Ella stirred again. Having drawn the second furniture pad across their naked bodies for warmth, he held her close. After the intensity of their lovemaking, he could no longer avoid his own feelings. Undeniably, there was something about her that moved him. But given all the demands and obligations that remained unfulfilled, there was nothing he could do at least for now. Leaning in, he softly kissed her lips as she slowly opened her eyes.