by Shain Carter
But, much to Dawson’s relief, that’s exactly what happened. The food was waiting for them when they arrived. As promised, the paella was superb, the best meal Dawson had eaten in years. A quick round of drinks followed the meal, after which the party left directly for the hotel. The front desk had their keys ready, and Derek told the group they’d meet for breakfast in the small hotel café at ten o’clock.
Dawson arrived for breakfast promptly at ten. Everyone but Becker and Metz were already seated at a large table, eating an assortment of breads, jams and fruit. They were well rested and in good spirits, and Ted, in particular, seemed eager to get going.
“I don’t see why we couldn’t have left around eight,” Ted sighed, stuffing the remainder of a croissant into his mouth. “I just hope Metz has the plane ready on time,” he mumbled through his roll.
“I’m afraid he won't.”
Everyone turned to the doorway, where Derek looked back at them gloomily. “I’ve just spoken with the concierge. Metz was ill last night. They took him to the hospital about four in the morning. Apparently the paella didn’t agree with him.”
Concern flashed across George’s face. “The hospital? He will recover, though?”
“Yes, of course he’ll recover. But these things take time - a day, maybe two. It hit him pretty hard. In the meantime, we’re stuck here without a pilot, and that’s a problem.”
“Actually, that is not a problem”, George grinned broadly. “You see, military service is compulsory in Turkey. I spent two years in the air force and trained as a jet fighter pilot. I have a pilot’s license and am fully qualified for the Airbus. I will fly us to Anjawan. When Mr. Metz is better, he can retrieve your plane.”
Derek brightened. "You really think you can do it? This isn't a fighter jet, you know."
George stood and wiped his lips. "Leave it to me. I will go to the airport immediately, to file the fight plans and to ensure the plane is adequately prepared. I do not anticipate more than a ninety minute delay from our planned departure."
George excused himself and walked to the main desk in the lobby. They all watched as he asked the desk attendant to call him a cab.
"That's what I like to see, a little get up and go,” Derek said approvingly. "We have an absolutely hard deadline on this project. When we run into problems, I’m expecting you all to step in and take the initiative like George just did."
As promised, George had the plane ready to go just before noon. George’s plan was to fly first to Istanbul, where they would refuel and clear Turkish customs and immigration. They would continue with a short flight to Siirt, a small city in the southeast of the country. From there they would travel by car to Anjawan itself. It was an aggressive schedule, George told them, but he thought they could be in Anjawan in time for a late dinner.
The Istanbul stop, though, took much longer than anticipated. George managed to get into an argument with a customs official, who retaliated by painstakingly going through the contents of each bag. Meanwhile, the refueling crew refused to service the plane until after the group was cleared by immigration. Between the delay and the time change, they did not leave Istanbul until dusk. It was after dark when they finally arrived in Siirt, nearly an hour later.
The Siirt airport consisted of a single, long strip of pitted asphalt, and a small hanger. Their landing there was rough; George had to break severely to ensure they did not overshoot the runway. Almost immediately after the plane stopped, three sets of headlights appeared in the distance. The vehicles - a pickup truck and two large sedans - arrived by the time the passengers had gathered their carry-on bags and stepped off the plane. The drivers stepped out their vehicles and huddled together, silently watching the passengers. George walked to them and, after several minutes’ discussion, oversaw the men as they pulled the luggage out of the cargo bay and threw it roughly into the back of the truck.
With the luggage loaded in the pickup bed, the passengers climbed into the vehicles. George sat in the front passenger seat of the lead car, with Dawson and Meredith in the back. Derek climbed into the front seat of the other car. Ted squeezed into the back of that car between the two children, leaving Alec and Burt to ride shotgun in the pickup.
The caravan eased away from the runway and turned down a narrow dirt road. For the next forty minutes, it followed the windy road through uninhabited land, crawling up and down hills at speeds sometimes no more than fifteen miles per hour. It was too dark for Dawson to make out much of the countryside, but from what he could tell they were travelling through light woods. They reached a flat area and picked up some speed, but soon the landscape changed and the cars began a punishing climb up a steep set of switchbacks. Finally, after nearly half an hour of labored ascent, the road again flattened. Rather than pick up speed, though, the cars slowed to a stop.
Ahead of them a group of nearly a dozen men, starkly illuminated by the headlights, stood behind a makeshift roadblock made of oil barrels. Most of them carried rifles, some leveled at the cars. The driver of Dawson's car flashed his lights three times, a signal that the men were apparently waiting for. Six of them approached the cars while the rest stood at the ready. Dawson felt a sense of growing alarm as the six advanced. Meredith felt it, too, and leaned quickly towards Dawson. "They're going to rob us,” she whispered. Dawson reached for the door handle, but before he could pull it open, George turned back to them and, with a reassuring smile, motioned towards the approaching men.
"Now we change drivers,” he explained casually.
The men stopped about ten feet from Dawson’s car. The driver opened his door and took a few steps out, where he was joined by the other two drivers. George, too, stepped out and walked up to the six armed men. He and the lead man spoke briefly, then the group, including now the three drivers, returned to the roadblock and rolled aside the barrels. George returned to the car.
Nothing happened for several minutes. Suddenly the men, who had been simply milling about in front of the cars, stepped to the sides of the road. Again several of them brought rifles to their shoulders, but this time they were pointed up the road, towards where the scientists were traveling. Three men appeared from the blackness beyond and passed through the group. They walked tensely and in lock step, staring straight ahead and completely ignoring the other men who, for their part, gazed apprehensively at the newcomers. As the new men passed, the original group stepped back into the road, closing in behind them.
"This part of Turkey is quite feudal,” George explained to Dawson and Meredith. "We are passing from one man's fiefdom to another. Each faction is fiercely loyal to its leader, and each regards the other as blood enemies. One group of drivers will not pass into the others’ territory, for fear of never returning."
George did not try to hide the contempt in his voice. "Look at them. They are like packs of dogs, marking their territory and wasting their energies on petty quarrels. The university was going to change all that. It was going to bring culture to their backwoods existence and enforce an end to centuries of bickering over a land that could not support mice, let alone men. But...” George sighed as his voice trailed off. “Well, tomorrow you will see for yourselves what has happened to the university."
The three new drivers arrived at the lead car and one climbed through the driver’s door. He and George exchanged greetings warmly, then the man turned the engine over. He revved the engine for a moment, then, without warning, popped the car into gear. It was a large engine running at full power, and the car took off like a shot. The first group of men, still standing in the middle of the road, scattered as the car bore down on them. Miraculously, none was hit as the car careened past.
The driver looked into the rearview mirror and grinned broadly. George reprimanded him tersely in Turkish, but the driver just shrugged. Now past the frontier area, the driver eased back on the accelerator, and the caravan once again assumed its sluggish pace through over the twisting roadway.
The night was dark and cloudy, and Dawson st
rained to see the countryside over which they traveled. The narrow road ran through a long valley, winding from side to side as it went. For the most part, Dawson could see no farther than the roadside, which was littered with rocks and gravel. Heat lightening occasionally flashed in the distance, giving Dawson fleeting glimpses of the larger countryside. It was bleak and desolate. Were it not for an occasional scrub brush or small, twisted tree, it would have looked as lifeless as the surface of the moon.
There was very little evidence of human habitation anywhere. A few times they passed side roads jutting out from the main road, but these appeared even less traveled and in poorer condition that the road they were on. Three times Dawson saw red lights in the distance, once close enough to see that it was a fire near a small mud house.
The only other signs of human activity were two more roadblocks. In neither case did they stop. They traveled past the first one so quickly, in fact, that Dawson nearly missed it. It consisted of only a small building and a gate blocking the road. The gate swung up as they approached, and three soldiers, armed with sub-machine guns, stood at attention as the vehicles passed. The second time the procedure was the same, except the soldiers took more time to open the gate, giving Dawson a chance to peer inside the gatehouse. It was a one-room shack with a small table in the center and cots against the far wall.
They continued on for an hour, slowly snaking their way onward through the valley. George and the driver spoke quietly, in Turkish, from time to time, but otherwise the occupants were silent, each lost in his own thoughts. For a while Meredith stared out the window, but for much of the ride she dozed against the car door.
Finally, the driver slowed nearly to a stop as they approached a large cross road. They turned left onto the new road and began slowly climbing a high hill. After five minutes, they reached the summit and started their descent. In another ten minutes the road leveled, and they picked up speed.
Ahead, in the far distance, Dawson saw a large group of lights. The driver noticed them as well. He pointed to them, and he and George discussed them briefly. Before Dawson could ask about them, the driver slowed abruptly. A primitive bridge appeared in the headlights. It was a single lane wide, with no side rails. The deck consisted of wooden planks, laid crosswise, with gaps where some planks were missing.
The car crawled forward, then began shaking violently as it came onto the bridge. Meredith awoke with a jerk and looked at Dawson apprehensively. "It's alright,” he shouted over the rumbling. "We’re just going over a wooden bridge."
The shaking abruptly ended when they reached the other side. Dawson checked his watch. It was nearly eleven o'clock, local time. Ahead the cluster of dim lights grew brighter as they continued toward them.
Dawson leaned forward and tapped George's shoulder. "How much farther?"
"We are all but there, professor. Those lights ahead are the town of Anjawan, and our complex is only a few kilometers beyond. We will be there in ten minutes."
The lights got closer, and soon they were passing buildings. Small, isolated houses at first, set back from the road, then groups of houses, and finally a continuous row on both sides of the road, with more buildings down the occasional cross street. The houses were mud, one-story affairs with crude openings for doors and windows. The exterior walls were quite thick, judging by the depth of these openings. The buildings reminded Dawson of the adobe houses in the Southwest, with their smooth, curved surfaces and earthen exteriors.
The vehicles slowed to a crawl as the main road dissolved into a maze of narrow streets. They turned in and out, seemingly at random, then suddenly they entered into a large square. This was clearly the central marketplace. Debris littered the ground, and a few empty stalls were still in place. A strange, unpleasant odor filled the air. It was difficult to place, but Dawson imagined it to be a mixture of animal and rotting fruit smells. On all sides the square was surrounded by shops. Their awnings were rolled in, and boards covered the windows, making it impossible to judge what was on offer within.
They crossed the square quickly and continued their journey through another labyrinth of streets. Alleys and narrow side roads split off in all directions, but they stayed on the main, relatively wide thoroughfare. Finally, the buildings thinned and again they were in the open country. Dawson estimated the entire town was a little more than a mile across.
On exiting town, the road widened and, surprisingly, became paved. The caravan picked up speed again, and a few moments later Dawson caught the glint of their headlights reflected from a metal barrier across the road. They pulled up to it, a chain link fence with a heavy gate. The fence was over ten feet high and topped with razor wire, and it extended far into the darkness on either side of the road. A dilapidated guardhouse was situated on the other side of the gate.
A man dressed in army fatigues emerged from the guardhouse, saluted, and opened the gate. The three vehicles pulled forward along the smooth road. They passed several large, shapeless mounds on either side of the road. Heat lightening briefly illuminated their surroundings, and Dawson could see that these were the pulverized remains of large buildings.
Less than a minute later they arrived at a wide, two-story building. Unlike those in town, this was a modern structure, constructed of cinderblock and with glass windows and real doors. A few lights burned in the lower level. As the vehicles came to a rest, additional lights within and outside the building came on.
Dawson and Meredith climbed out of the car, shielding their eyes against the bright floodlights. Dawson took in deep breaths of the cool night air and looked back to the other vehicles. Alec and Ted were out of the pickup. Alec rested doubled-over against the pick-up, while Ted performed a few jumping jacks and leg squats. Derek was out of his car, too, but Burt was having trouble extracting himself from the back seat. Both children were asleep, one on either side of him, and he had to crawl over Andy to get out.
“Welcome to your new home,” George announced, motioning to the building. “These are our living quarters. This was a dormitory for the construction managers, and it has everything we need - a kitchen and dining room, bathroom facilities, bedrooms and even a reading lounge. The bedrooms are on the left side of the building. There is only one communal bathroom on each floor, so we’ve put the men on the upper floor, and Dr. Nelson and Cindy downstairs. I will show you your rooms, but first we will eat. My men expected us many hours ago, but I am certain they have kept dinner warm for us.”
As George spoke two men emerged from the central entrance to the building. Like the man at the gatehouse, they were young, in their mid-twenties, and dressed in army fatigues. George barked out orders to them in Turkish and they walked briskly to the back of the pickup and began unloading the luggage. The group left the children sleeping in the car and followed George inside. As promised, a hot meal was already laid out for them. It consisted mainly of vegetables, with a meat casserole for the main course. The food was bland, but it was their only meal since breakfast and they all ate ravenously.
Afterwards they were shown to their quarters. Each had a small room, the furnishings of which - a single bed, a desk with a reading light, and a small dresser with mirror - were sparse. Dawson unpacked his bags, then went back outside to help Derek to carry in the sleeping children. Derek briefly considered waking them for dinner, but they were so soundly asleep that he decided instead to take them right to their rooms.
“One thing’s for sure,” he grinned to Dawson as they covered Cindy with her blanket. “They’ll both be hungry in the morning.”
Chapter Eleven
The kids were, indeed, famished the next morning. They all were, in fact. George came around at 6:30, knocking loudly on all their doors. “There is no time for sleeping late,” he chided. “We have work to do. Besides, we should not waste the coolness of the morning. By noon it will be like an oven.”
After washing up quickly, Dawson joined the others in the dining hall. A Western-style breakfast was laid out, including omelets made
to order by one of the drivers from the night before. While they ate, George explained the routine they would follow for the next four months.
“We will have breakfast every morning at six-thirty sharp, then walk down to the office building. Lunch is at twelve-thirty and dinner at six. Power will be on in this building between six and seven in the morning, and again at night from nine to ten-thirty. Except for Professor Jones' lab, the office building will have power between seven in the morning and nine at night, with forty minute breaks at lunch and dinner while we are here. Professor Jones' lab will have power at all times, as I understand his equipment must be run continuously.
“As to your personal needs: when your clothes need cleaning, please leave them outside your door in the morning; they will be washed and returned to your bed by dinner. Water to the showers will be turned on twice a week. If you have any material needs, please let me know and I will see what I can arrange.”
After breakfast Derek called the group to attention and delivered a five-minute pep talk concerning the importance of the project. He reminded them that completing the program on schedule would not be easy, but that it could - and must - be done, and concluded by saying that their success would have a larger impact on humanity than any other single event in history.
Derek was very good at this type of speech, projecting an uninhibited and infectious zeal. Dawson was usually immune to such emotional appeals, but in this case he surprised himself by letting the words move him. What Derek said about changing the course of history was true enough, but that alone wasn’t what excited Dawson. He was also moved by the realization that his green flame program would be vindicated. Derek and Burt had both used this argument to bolster Dawson’s interest in the program, but until now Dawson hadn’t really absorbed it - he had just dismissed their argument as empty words meant only to convince him to join the program. Dawson realized they were right, though. At last Dawson would have a chance see these fuels used, and to undeniably prove to the aerospace community the value of his research. With this closure, he now thought, he would finally be able to put an ugly chapter of his life behind him and return to productive research.
