The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  Chapter 40

  The Mountain

  A light wind swept across the wide-open plateau. The sun seemed to hang directly above the small party as they made their way along the rim of the frozen highlands.

  Scott stopped to catch his breath. He knew that breathing would be harder the higher they climbed; he just wasn’t prepared for the struggle his lungs were under to provide his aching limbs with the necessary oxygen. He knew that acclimatizing your body to the thinner air was the best way to prevent altitude sickness, but there just hadn’t been the time. They would have to push on regardless of the risk. Looking up, he could see the summit of Mount Ararat rising above them, majestic and awe-inspiring.

  They had been walking for almost an hour since the fight on the glacier. They hadn’t seen nor heard from their pursuers since the attack. Scott hoped the men had turned back, but his gut told him otherwise. They weren’t dealing with rational men.

  Raising a hand, Scott called for a fifteen-minute rest stop. Sitting down in the snow, Scott reached down and took a long swig of cool water from his canteen. Almost immediately, he felt refreshed from the liquid. A thought crossed his mind: he wasn’t drinking enough. He didn’t want to risk dying from dehydration on the side of a mountain, so far away from home.

  A dark shadow passed over Scott. Looking up, he saw Sarik standing there, his face beat-red and covered in sweat. Sitting down beside Scott, Sarik let out a deep sigh of relief to be off his feet, even if it were only for a short time.

  “Anything out there look vaguely familiar?” asked Sarik.

  Scott squinted and surveyed the barren landscape. “Sorry, nothing so far,” replied Scott, feeling as if he was missing something.

  “Colonel, can I see the medallion the Imam gave you?”

  Scott dug out the medallion and handed it to Sarik.

  Holding it in his hand, Sarik went quiet lost in thought. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and held the medallion out at arm’s length. Turning on his feet, Sarik seemed to be looking past the medallion at the shape of the mountain. Stopping, a wide smile emerged on Sarik’s round face.

  “Seek and ye shall find,” said Sarik.

  Scott stood up beside his friend, trying to see what Sarik had found.

  “Here,” said Sarik, handing Scott the pendant. Holding it out like Sarik had, Scott’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t just a medallion, it was a map. The curved shape of the medallion lined up with the shape of the plateau. One of the spokes that held a small ruby at its tip, which aligned with the summit of the mountain. Further down the medallion, Scott saw another spoke branch off from the plateau, aligning with a dark crevice dug deep into the side of the snow-capped plateau.

  “My God,” said Scott, hardly believing his eyes. They had found it.

  “Yes…Allah be praised indeed,” said Sarik with a wink at Scott.

  Ten minutes later, Scott stood staring down into the dark crevice. Like a deep wound into the side of the ice, it seemed to go on forever, descending into the very heart of the mountain itself.

  “Do you see anything, Colonel?” asked Gray, trying to get a better view into the deep crevice.

  “No, but don’t forget, what we are looking for hasn’t been seen here for centuries,” said Scott. “It could very well be buried under hundreds of feet of snow and ice. We won’t know until we get a better look down there,” Scott said, looking apprehensively into the fissure.

  “Then how are we gonna find what it is we’re looking for?” queried Thomas, looking over Scott’s shoulder.

  “With faith,” said Sarik reverently.

  “With some rope and a lantern,” added Scott as he started to unload what he needed from the back of Gray’s donkey. Laying out the rope, Scott looked for a solid anchor point. Spotting a large black boulder at the lip of the crevice, Scott tied off the rope and then threw the remainder of the rope down into the abyss. Tying the small lantern to his jacket, Scott grabbed hold of the rope with both hands and then stepped to the edge of the crevice. His heart instantly began to race. His hands became sweaty at the thought of climbing down alone inside the dark, narrow tunnel dug into the ice.

  “Good luck, Colonel,” said Gray and Thomas in unison.

  “May Allah protect you,” Sarik said, offering his hand.

  Scott shook Sarik’s hand then sternly said, “If I’m not back in two hours, leave me and find another way off the mountain.”

  “Colonel,” protested Gray.

  “That’s an order, Marine,” said Scott. “Until I get back you’re in charge.”

  Gray shook his head reluctantly, and then saluted Scott.

  “Ok, in for a penny, in for a pound,” muttered Scott as he turned about and slowly began to climb down the rope into the yawning pitch-black fissure.

  Chapter 41

  The Mountain

  Kate instinctively grabbed hold of the side of the gondola as it slowly began to rise up into the sky. Her heart raced in her chest as the Aerostat climbed higher and higher. Fighting her fear, she edged over and then looked over the side of the gondola and saw her father standing beside the train eagerly waving to her. She waved back, a smile on her face. Every second they rose, her father seemed to shrink until he looked more like an insect on the ground than a grown man. Feeling her fear begin to ebb, Kate stepped back from the edge of the gondola and looked about. There were about twenty people, including herself and the Wollfs, packed tightly inside the gondola. A couple of men at the back of the ship were busy controlling the steam engine that powered a large propeller at the back of the gondola that was pushing the Aerostat towards the mountain, which grew ever larger as they flew higher.

  Kate was dressed in dark-brown woolen pants, which she had tucked into a pair of knee-high leather boots. Underneath a borrowed guard’s blue jacket, she wore a warm white knitted sweater; on her hands, a pair of form-fitting red leather gloves. She may not have looked very fashionable, but at least she would be warm.

  A face suddenly appeared in front of Kate’s, startling her.

  “Don’t get any ideas of escape Miss O’Sullivan,” threatened Viktoria. “My brother still thinks you may be useful. I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less if you live or die.”

  Kate fought the urge to smash her fist into the nauseating woman’s face. “Well let’s hear it for your brother,” shot back Kate.

  Viktoria stepped closer, her face contorted in anger. “You can hide behind my brother for now,” snarled Viktoria. “He won’t be here forever.” With that, she spun about muttering to herself and walked towards the front of the gondola.

  What the hell did that mean? wondered Kate. Was that a threat aimed at her or Karl Wollf?

  Scott felt his boots scrape along the ice wall built up inside the crevice. He had climbed down perhaps fifty feet and could already feel the cold seeping into his body from the ice all around him. The light from above began to fade. From here on out, Scott knew that his lantern would be all that he had to illuminate the frozen world inside the narrow fissure. The rope was no more than two hundred feet in length. If he did not find anything in that time, Scott knew his options were bleak: either climb back up or continue to descend without a safety line. Neither choice thrilled him. As he climbed deeper into the chasm, jagged rocks poked and pulled at this clothing. Scott had to admit to himself that he honestly didn’t like dark tight spaces. He suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves, Scott grabbed his lantern and then shone it below him. The crevice seemed to have no end. He was about to continue his descent, when something caught his eye. Pushing himself further back from the ice wall with his feet, Scott aimed his lantern towards an object lying on a ledge a few feet below him. It seemed so unreal, but unmistakably, there was a sword lying there.

  “I see something,” yelled Scott up towards his waiting compatriots.

  A second later, Sarik’s voice echoed down from above, “What is it, Colonel?”

  “A sword, I think
I see a sword.”

  Scott scurried down the ice wall until he came to a rocky ledge. Resting his feet on the outcropping, Scott bent down and tried grasping the sword, only to find that it was a cruel illusion. The sword was buried under several inches of ice. Shaking his head at his foolishness, Scott raised his lantern up and was surprised to see a long tunnel leading deep inside the mountain. Letting go of the rope, Scott warily stepped inside the tunnel. Looking around, he saw man-made steps cut into the side of the tunnel.

  “What can you see, Colonel?” called Gray.

  Scott leaned back and looked up at the narrow opening at the top of the fissure. “I think I found a tunnel,” yelled Scott. “I’m going to check it.”

  “Ok, but be careful,” called back Gray.

  “Do you think he’s found something?” asked Sarik, trying to see Scott.

  “I dunno, but a sword and now a tunnel makes it sound likes the Colonel is onto something,” replied Gray optimistically.

  The whip-like crack of a bullet flying over their heads made them all instantly duck their heads. Barely three hundred yards away was a long blue line of Turkish soldiers struggling through the snow, charging towards them.

  “Take cover,” yelled Gray.

  All four men threw themselves into the snow and began to return fire.

  Soon soldiers began to drop, killed under the steady fusillade of the Spencer Carbines. The soldiers stopped in their tracks, formed a ragged skirmish line under their NCOs, and began to return fire. Bullets whipped back forth over the plateau, striking and killing without conscience.

  Sarik’s son cried out.

  Looking over, Gray swore; the boy had been hit in the neck and was lying on his back trying to stem the blood gushing from his wound.

  “Damn it,” muttered Gray angrily. “My first command and I forget to keep an eye out behind us.”

  “Cover me,” called Thomas as he ran over to the nearest donkey and pulled his heavy wooden crate off the startled animal’s back. Bullets struck the ice all around him. One even struck the wooden crate with a loud crack of splintering wood, but Thomas ignored them all.

  The Turks began to advance once more, one man covered by the other, regardless of the losses they were taking out in the open. They relentlessly pushed on.

  With a loud smash, Thomas broke open the crate with his hands and with a look of determination on his face, Thomas hauled out a multi-barreled gun and then rested it on the turned-over box. Grabbing a long silver magazine, Thomas jammed it home into the housing on the top of the Gatling gun. Judging the distance to the advancing soldiers, Thomas laid the sights on the far end of the line and began to turn a hand crank on the side of the gun; bullets spewed forth, cutting down men where they stood.

  Scott edged along, his hand running along the frozen rock wall of the tunnel. He could see that the passage seemed to dip slightly further down into the mountain.

  The air inside was as cold and still as a tomb.

  Scott had to bend his head to avoid smashing into the ceiling. Whoever had built the tunnel had been considerably shorter than Scott was. The light in his lantern flickered, reminding him that he had only a couple of hours before it ran dry. He had jammed a few extra candles in his pockets, just in case, but hoped that he would not have to rely on them. Turning a narrow bend, Scott swore. A landslide sometime in the past had almost completely blocked the passageway. Standing there with his hands on his hips, Scott knew he only had one option. Stepping up to the blockage, Scott started to haul the rocks away one by one.

  It was as if the devil’s own scythe was cutting down the soldiers, thought Duval as he tried returning fire with his pistol into the wall of withering fire coming from the Americans. He knew it was pointless. He was too far way to hit anything with his pistol, but firing it made him feel less vulnerable.

  The young lieutenant was one of the first hit. Standing up, he tried rallying his men, only to be cut down by Thomas’ Gatling gun. The few surviving Turks clustered around the last couple of NCOs, still trying to fight back.

  Duval didn’t want to die on the top of some godforsaken mountain in Turkey. Tossing his pistol aside, he called out in English at the top of his lungs. “Don’t shoot, we surrender.”

  The fire coming at them slackened and then stopped altogether. The mournful sound of wounded and dying soldiers filled Duval’s ears. Taking a gulp, Duval stood up and raised his hands in the air. “We surrender,” said Duval again just to make sure they heard him the first time.

  Gray watched a man in civilian clothing rise from the snow with his hands held high in the air.

  “Could be a trap,” warned Thomas.

  “Could be,” replied Gray. “Keep your gun trained on them. I’m going to see what that fella wants.” With that, Gray stood up, brushed the snow from his uniform, and then called the man over.

  Sarik was busy applying a bandage to his son’s wound. Blood covered the ground where he had been lying. Already the boy was turning pale.

  Gray looked down and felt a lump in his throat. He doubted the boy had long to live. Taking a deep breath, Gray stepped forward with his carbine levelled at the man walking towards him.

  They met halfway between their respective lines.

  Gray saw that the man looked tough. His eyes were cold and merciless. He doubted if circumstances had been reversed that the man standing before him would have shown them any mercy.

  “My compliments,” said Duval.

  “I’m no officer and I’m not one for fancy talk either,” bluntly stated Gray. “Let’s get this over with shall we. I want you and all your men to lay down your weapons and surrender to us. No tricks either!”

  Duval liked the young man’s candor. “I suspect we are in no position to argue with your terms. However, I do not speak Turkish so I may have a problem getting the soldiers to do as you ask.”

  “We got us a Turkish gentleman with us. But I doubt he will be none too kind to you folks on account that his son is dying back there,” said Gray, pointing his weapon behind him.

  “War is a terrible thing,” said Duval.

  “Save your crap, mister,” snarled Gray. “You and your people can all go to—”

  A shot echoed across the plateau.

  Gray’s eyes widened. Looking down, he saw blood seeping out of a wound in his chest. His knees instantly buckled. A moment later, he fell down onto the snow. Gasping, for air, he turned over and looked up into the sky. The last thing he saw before dying was a sniper leaning over the side of the gondola of the Aerostat as it blocked out the sun.

  Every time he thought it was over, fate gave him another chance. With a wave of his hand, he called out to the Wollfs.

  It wasn’t finished yet.

  Chapter 42

  The Mountain

  Rocks were strewn all along the floor of the cavern behind Scott. Sweating through his heavy clothes, Scott stopped what he was doing and took off his heavy woolen jacket, loosened his scarf and then carried on pulling rocks from the pile. Soon he had a hole just big enough to crawl through. Raising his lantern to the opening, Scott peered inside. He could see something in the darkness, but it was too far away to see what it was clearly. With his lantern outstretched in front of him, Scott began to work his way through the hole he had made through the obstacle. He did not climb through the hole as much as fall through it. With a loud grunt, he landed on his side. Scott cursed. A shooting pain raced up his side. Breathing instantly became painful. He was certain he had reinjured the same ribs he had had broken weeks earlier. Struggling to his feet, Scott held the lantern up in front of him.

  A gasp escaped his lips. In front of him, inside a monstrous cavern that seemed to go on forever, was a long boat made from reeds. Shaped like an ancient Egyptian sailing barge, with a raised bow and stern, the vessel looked to be in near pristine condition. Scott stood there not believing his eyes. It was just too fantastic to be believed, but nonetheless, there it was resting on a long rocky pedestal. Running his
hand through his matted hair, Scott stood there speechless, his eyes transfixed on the boat peacefully resting there inside the vast empty space.

  Kate felt her stomach rise up inside her as the Aerostat descended towards the icy plateau. She closed her eyes at the bloody scene of death below her. Gray lay there in the snow, his eyes vacantly looking up into the sky. Blood and bodies seemed everywhere.

  After about a minute, the gondola touched down on the plateau. A couple of Karl’s security detail jumped over the side and took up positions on either side of the gondola. Several more ran with heavy rope lines out to secure the Aerostat to the glacier.

  Kate could see Thomas on his knees in the snow, his head in his hands. A mournful pang of pain stabbed at her heart when she saw Sarik sitting in the snow, tears streaming down his face. In his arms was his son. Kate did not need to be told. The grief on Sarik’s face told her: his son was dead.

  “Now you,” said Viktoria as she jammed her pistol into Kate’s back.

  Gritting her teeth, Kate moved to the side of the gondola and then climbed over. She saw Karl and Duval with a few Turkish soldiers looking down into a hole in the ice.

  “Walk,” snarled Viktoria.

  With her head held high, Kate walked over to where Karl was standing.

  “Ah, good of you to join us, Miss O’Sullivan,” said Karl. “It would appear that Colonel Scott has climbed down into the mountain, and according to his companions he may have already found what we are looking for.”

  A brief smile emerged on Kate’s face.

  Karl saw it. “I wouldn’t get too happy if I were you,” said Karl with an evil grin. “Once I have what I want you and your father will be of no further use to me.”

  “You’re a monster,” spat out Kate, her eyes burning with hate.

  “Silly naïve American girl,” mocked Karl. “You still don’t realize that you are just pawns in a larger game. One, The Order, and I intend to win.”