The Babel Conspiracy

by Sylvia Bambola

  At once, Iliab and Nathan were upon the prone bodies, withdrew their daggers then used them to slit the guards’ throats. It was not an action born of blood lust or barbarity, but out of caution. An injured man could still sound an alarm or even bury his own dagger in an unsuspecting back.

  The agents wiped their knives clean and slipped them into their sheaths. Nothing must be amiss when they returned to the square.

  That done, the pair moved toward the second door. It was Iliab again who opened it. In the heat-laden room were two women. He had not been certain in what condition he’d find them. At first glance, they appeared well. One woman, with black hair twisted into one braid down her back, stood peering out a small window. The other woman, with matted blond hair, sat in a corner holding a bottle.

  The blond saw them first and drew the bottle closer to her chest.

  The dark haired woman turned from the window and stared in amazement. The men had penetrated the house so quietly it was obvious neither woman had heard them enter.

  “We’re here to rescue you,” Iliab said in English.

  “I saw you coming . . . from the window.” Trisha quickly introduced herself and Audra. “I’ve been watching you and your friend darting by the houses and over the walls. I’m so . . .” her voice broke, “so glad you’re here!”

  “If she saw us, then perhaps others did too,” Nathan said. “Maybe one of the guards on the cliff.”

  “Not likely,” Trisha returned calmly. “On market day they smoke hashish in the shade. Even now I can smell it drifting from the cliffs.”

  Iliab nodded when he recognized the spicy smell. “Even so, we must move quickly.” He pulled a black dress and scarf from his loose shirt, not noticing he had pulled out his new leather harness as well, and that it fell to the floor. “Put this on.” He tossed the clothing to Audra while Nathan took a duplicate outfit from his shirt and handed it to Trisha, who nodded in understanding.

  Without a word, she slipped the dress over her clothes and covered her head. Then she pulled Audra to her feet. “Come on. You must wear these.”

  Audra looked terrified but offered no resistance.

  “Okay. We’re ready,” Trisha said, covering the last strand of Audra’s blonde hair with the hijab, the head scarf.

  Iliab led the group through the room where the two guards lay dead, then into the kitchen. He stopped by the large tins and shook them until finding one that was full. In the meantime, Nathan pulled goatskin pouches from his shirt and filled them with dried food from the clay bins. He tied them and handed them to Trisha, while Audra stood clutching her vodka bottle.

  When that was done, Iliab ushered the group out the door and onto a steep, narrow path. He would find a cave to hide the women until he could return for them that night.

  The terrain was rough, and Audra slowed them down. As the sun moved further west, Iliab realized he couldn’t take them as deep into the mountain as he had hoped. He would have to find a cave soon. There were many in the area and the men scouted several before choosing one.

  When Iliab’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he noticed a ledge high off the ground. If a person lay flat and against the far wall, he would be impossible to see from the ground. It was a perfect hiding place.

  Iliab explained his plan to the women. Then, after promising he would be back for them that night, he and Nathan lifted, first Trisha, then Audra onto the ledge, followed by the food and water.

  “Make sure you eat and drink your fill. After this, you’ll be on rations,” Iliab said.

  Then the men were gone.

  • • •

  The ledge was littered with rocks that dug into the women’s skin as they squirmed to find a comfortable spot in the darkness.

  “Why have they left us here?” Audra’s shaky voice bounced off the ceiling in eerie, hollow echoes.

  The platform was close to the cave roof making it impossible to sit upright. All Trisha could do was hover over Audra and pat her back as if she were a colicky child.

  “Hush. It’s going to be alright.”

  • • •

  Iliab and Nathan trudged silently through the mountain. The climb downward was quicker than the ascent, and the two men made good progress. Along the way, Iliab’s mind sketched the terrain, the pathways, the shape of the boulders, the position of the village below. He would have to know these things when he returned for the women.

  When they arrived at the outskirts of the village, near the house where the women had been imprisoned, all was quiet. So far, no one had discovered the dead guards. The pair moved along the shadows of the buildings. Their most vulnerable position was still over the three walls. They scaled the first, the second, and were about to scale the last when Iliab noticed that some of the villagers were drifting away from the square.

  “Do exactly as I do,” he whispered. In one fluid motion, he dove over the wall, propped himself against the mud brick and pulled a pipe and bag of hashish from his shirt. He filled the pipe bowl, lit it, and took a drag. Nathan had followed him over the wall, and now sat beside him.

  “Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!” Iliab said in a loud voice as he passed the pipe to Nathan who took a quick puff.

  “Join us! Join us!” Iliab said laughing, as two men approached. He searched for signs of hostility and found none. They only appeared hopeful of being invited to share the pipe. At once, Nathan offered it, and each man took his turn before passing it to Iliab.

  “Allah Akbar!” Iliab roared again.

  “Allah Akbar! Allah is great!” they all repeated.

  “So this is where you have gone,” said the younger of the two. Iliab recognized him as the one who had inspected his rifle. “I wanted my friend to see your beautiful weapon.”

  “By the Prophet! It’s a day that man must find shade or die!” Iliab gestured for the men to sit in the shadow of the wall. They quickly obliged. “I am honored that you find my unworthy weapon of such interest.” He handed the man’s friend his rifle.

  “Unworthy!” cried the young terrorist who had already seen it and who even now looked at it as though it was a beautiful woman. “It’s a most wondrous instrument, a most magnificent instrument!”

  Iliab’s weapon was a Russian SR3M automatic assault rifle used by many in the Russian secret service or Special Forces. Not always easy to get. Its balance and precision were impeccable. In addition, he had added some ornate features. The entire rifle butt was overlaid with a latticework of sterling silver.

  “Unworthy!” repeated the young man.

  “Perhaps to the eye, it pleases. But it has yet to be used to end the life of a single Zionist. Does not the Quran, in surah fifty-seven, tell us of the punishment due unbelievers? And does not surah twenty-two tell us that because the Jews were led astray from Islam they must be humiliated in this world?”

  The other three men nodded. “Yes, it is so,” they all agreed.

  “Ah! So you see, this unworthy weapon has yet to humiliate one Jew! It has only been used to protect a gold and silver peddler from the poor unfortunate men brought low by the Zionist pigs and their capitalist cohorts. Do not the Jews ruin the whole world with their greed? And because of this, aren’t the desperados who rob along the roadside, forced by their regrettable circumstances to squeeze out a living from someone else’s pocket? A thousand curses on the dirty Jews! It is they who steal Muslim land, rape Muslim women, butcher Muslim children. It is they who have forced our brothers to live in squalor! By Allah’s beard, I swear I will kill a thousand with this rifle before I’m through!”

  The young terrorist holding Iliab’s firearm nodded. “It is our duty to relieve the earth of all Jewish scum. You are correct. This is an unworthy weapon,” so saying, he handed it back to Iliab.

  The scarred-face man waved it high in the air. “Allah Akbar! Death to the Jews!” The three joined in with similar shou
ts, pausing long enough to drag on the pipe as it was passed. When the last ember in the bowl went out, the two terrorists departed, somewhat unsteadily on their feet. Not so, Nathan and Iliab, as they had been careful not to inhale.

  Without further incident, they reached Izzat’s truck. The gold peddler was already packed. Several other trucks were, too, but Izzat prudently waited for them to leave before pulling out. Iliab and Nathan followed on horseback.

  As the wheels of the truck again churned the desert dust, Iliab resisted the impulse to look back. He envisioned an angry mob behind him. But when he listened he heard no shouts or foot-falls or gunfire. Their deed still remained undiscovered. And only the crunching of dirt and the whining engines of the departing caravan filled the air.

  The peddler’s assistant had, by previous instruction, made a small puncture in one of the tires. The disability was of no consequence for they had with them the means to quickly repair it. About half an hour into their journey, the sabotaged tire finally flattened.

  This created excitement among the other drivers as word of Izzat’s distress traveled throughout the caravan. There were offers of help, but Izzat refused. He had three able-bodied men, he insisted. There were wails of protest and feigned distaste at leaving the gold peddler, but in truth, all the drivers were anxious to be off. No one wanted to be caught in the desert at night. So, after invoking Allah’s blessing and protection upon Izzat and his companions, everyone hastily departed, including the cartel guards.

  The tire was repaired, and two more rifles were pulled from a secret compartment in the truck. Within twenty minutes they were moving again, not south as the other trucks had gone, but eastward, toward the ravine.

  At a designated spot, the truck stopped, and Iliab and Nathan dismounted. Izzat and his assistant would remain here until early morning with the horses. They would cover the other two men. If anyone followed, it would be up to the peddlers to stop them. Ten miles away—the nearest place a truck was able to drive in the gorge—Joshua Chapman and two other agents waited. Iliab was to meet Joshua with the women in three days.

  Now, taking his rifle, a canteen of water and his hashish pipe, he led Nathan up the mountain and back toward the village.

  Iliab didn’t mind the rough terrain. As a youth, he had spent hours exploring the Judean wilderness. He was a tough, disciplined man who had mastered the art of surviving in a hostile land.

  Born in Jerusalem and weaned on firearms, he could take a rifle apart and put it together in minutes by the time he was ten. By eighteen, he was in the Israeli army and had seen a dozen border skirmishes. By twenty he was captured and imprisoned in an Arab jail where he spent the next five years being tortured until the Mossad rescued him.

  He came out bitter and with a thirst for revenge, and found an outlet for them both as a sharpshooter for the Mossad. He had killed many and had buried his share of friends who, in turn, were killed.

  But now at forty-one his interest was no longer revenge but the survival of Israel. He was certain Israel was the last hope for world Jewry.

  He and Nathan trudged along until they reached the outskirts of Seco Polvo. They were on heightened alert, now. Sentries were posted all around, and the fading light made seeing even a few feet in any direction, difficult. From their position, shouts and angry cries could be heard as sporadic rifle-fire pierced the air.

  It was obvious that the bodies of the dead guards had been discovered. They would have to reach the women before the terrorists took action and formed search parties. As Iliab studied the terrain in the moonlight, he knew the cave was nearby. In spite of the poor visibility, he was still able to follow the path he had memorized earlier.

  Within minutes, they were inside the dark interior. Using a torch was out of the question. Its light would certainly attract the sentries. Iliab fumbled in his pocket and after finding his matches, lit one. The radius of light was no more than two feet in diameter and dwindled rapidly as the fire burned down the stem. But that was enough time and enough light for Iliab to determine that the ledge where he had left the women was a yard to his right. He took a few steps in that direction then lit another match.

  “Miss Callahan,” he said. “It’s Iliab.” The match went out. Not even the sound of breathing could be heard overhead. Iliab struck another match. “Miss Callahan! You must come quickly! We need to leave at once!”

  A face peered over the ledge, and before the match went out, Iliab recognized the beautiful, dark haired engineer.

  “Leave the tin of water. It is too cumbersome to carry. But throw down the bags of food. Then Nathan and I will assist you in getting off the ledge. But quickly, ladies. You must move quickly!”

  Trisha tossed over the bags. “We have a problem. It’s Audra. She’s unconscious.”

  “What happened?” Iliab whispered.

  “She didn’t believe you were coming back and tried leaving on her own. I had to stop her. We struggled, and she hit her head on a rock. I’m sorry. I know this makes things more difficult.”

  “What is done, is done. No time for regrets. Quickly! Roll Miss Shields off the ledge,” Iliab said. “We’ll catch her.”

  Trisha maneuvered the limp body to the edge, and after saying a quick prayer, rolled Audra off, hopefully into four waiting arms. There was a groan as Audra’s legs struck Nathan in the face, but even in the pitch black, the men managed to keep the unconscious woman from landing on the ground.

  “She’s fine,” Iliab said as they laid Audra down. “We have her. Now, lower yourself, feet first. We’ll catch you. Have no fear.”

  Trisha obeyed and when Iliab and Nathan had a firm grip, she let go, and in seconds stood beside them.

  “Gather the bags of food,” Iliab order, lighting another match.

  Nathan and Trisha crouched on the ground and retrieved all but the one that had split open.

  Iliab struck another match and moved to where Audra laid. When the light went out, he stooped down and slipped one arm around her torso, and lifting her into the air, deposited her, like a sack of grain, over his shoulder.

  “We must move together,” Iliab ordered. The three inched toward the faint glow that marked the entrance, holding onto one another until they were out of the cave.

  The moonlight seemed bright in comparison to the darkness of the cavern. Even so, the path was difficult and treacherous. At times it became so narrow the trio had to pass in single file. Progress was measured in inches, and was exhausting. As they rested a moment against the huge rocks, the night air was fractured by voices overhead. Instantly, they shoved themselves into a large crevice.

  “May Allah choke me with my own spit if I don’t kill the scum!” said a loud, angry voice. A small group of villagers had gathered and one of the more zealous was talking to the guard positioned on the cliff.

  “Yes, word was passed earlier to be on the lookout, that the women had escaped. By the Prophet! I pray they will be my bullets that bring down those daughters of a camel!”

  Iliab recognized the voice as belonging to the young Muslim who showed interest in his rifle. He must have taken his place at guard duty before the bodies of Nabil and Mustafa were discovered.

  “We are sure there are others,” added the zealous terrorist.

  “Others? But who? No one entered our village that was unknown.”

  “Surely you cannot believe that two frail American women could overpower and kill our glorious fighters?”

  “No . . . of course not. Impossible!” replied the guard. “Why, it would take five such women to equal even one of our females. And everyone knows that even one of our women, even if she is a shaheed herself and has died a martyr’s death, is not equal to any of our males. But . . . who then assisted these women in their crime?”

  “We’re not sure. It’s possible Izzat’s two guards had a hand in it.”

  “Izzat?” returned the young gu
ard. “The gold peddler? But I myself spent time with his guards. We smoked the pipe together. I inspected one of their rifles. We cursed the dirty Jew. No . . . they can’t be the ones.”

  “We found a new leather harness in Mustafa’s house. Someone remembers seeing one of these men purchase such a harness from the leather merchant.”

  “Those deceiving pigs!”

  “Stay alert now! And may Allah give you the eyes of an owl to see into the night and bring down the traitors.”

  “Allah Akbar!” screamed the young guard. Then the group of villagers moved onward, themselves screaming and waving their weapons in the moonlight.

  When they were a good distance away, Iliab gave a series of signed commands. Immediately, Nathan rested his rifle against the boulder, removed the dagger from his sheath, and disappeared. It was obvious what had to be done. The position of the guard overhead made it impossible to progress undetected.

  Iliab listened for an alarm. All was quiet except for the distant trailing voices of the terrorists moving from one checkpoint to another.

  Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps and small pebbles skittering against the boulder, then scuffling noises. Moments later, Nathan stood before them clutching his chest. With his knife, he cut cloth off the bottom of his shirt and stuffed it under one arm.

  His entire right side was soaked with blood.

  “Is it bad?” Iliab asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

  “Yes.” In faltering words he told them how he had not taken the guard by surprise. Just as he was about to strike, he lost his footing and instead of a quick, clean kill, a scuffle had ensued. In the end, Nathan got his man, but not without a price. He was certain his right lung was pierced. Breathing was painful and difficult.

  “She will dress it for you.” Iliab pointed to Trisha.