A few yards ahead lay yet another sharp turn.
He squinted. Was it his imagination, or did the crevice look larger there? He probed expectantly with the light as he rounded the corner, then abruptly stopped. “Damn!”
“What’s wrong?”
David leaned against the crevice wall, letting Rashidi see for himself. Just when it appeared the narrow tunnel had finally begun to expand, their way was blocked. A single slab of stone had sheared free from the tapered ceiling and slid into the worst possible position. Wedged solid on its side, it sealed off almost the entire passageway. A slender child might stand a chance of squirming past—but not a grown man.
Rashidi stared at it, as if concentration alone might somehow make it disappear. “This just isn’t—” He swallowed, his head now dropping. “You think there’s any way you can move it?”
“If I can’t, Ahmed, we’re going to die right here.” He sighed. “Back up a bit and give me some room.”
David’s first effort to dislodge the stone was promising. The right side actually shifted, grating where it abutted the wall. His second attempt, however, produced no movement whatsoever, and he realized just how much his strength was depleted by the effects of heat and dehydration. The task was beyond his present ability, pure and simple. So now what? He sat back on his heels, studying the obstacle from every angle. The conclusion was inescapable. Without some major contribution from Rashidi, this stone wasn’t going anywhere! “I’ll need your help,” he said finally. “I can’t do it alone.”
“How can I? There’s no room to even get my arm alongside—”
“Not your arm. Your legs. Turn around and put your back up against mine.”
Rashidi got the idea. It took him some moments of awkward adjustment, but once he got into position he bent his knees and planted his feet as best he could on each side the crevice. Braced thus, he said, “Whenever you’re ready.”
David took several deep breaths as he placed his hands back on the slab. “When I tell you, push with your legs and lean into me,” he said. “Okay, go. Give me everything you got!”
It worked.
Under this new assault, the stone began moving almost immediately, their combined strength accomplishing what neither could’ve done on his own. Encouraged by the renewed sound of stone grinding against stone, they pushed even harder, straining to overcome all resistance. Too hard! Suddenly there was no resistance—and too late he felt the very floor beneath him break away. Caught riding the forward momentum of the dropping slab, he rolled into an unexpected black void.
His landing came mercifully quick, the plunge no more than a couple feet. Dazed, yet otherwise unhurt, he sat up in the darkness. The cave floor beneath him was oddly spongy, the smell disgusting—and he realized what it was by the high-pitched squeaks and agitated fluttering overhead. His fall had been cushioned by nothing less than uncounted centuries of accumulated bat droppings!
“Professor—?”
“I’m here, Ahmed.”
A sigh of relief. “You all right?”
“Yeah, looks like,” he said, getting to his feet. The cave wasn’t as totally black as he first thought. A faint light was entering from somewhere. Only logical, he reasoned. How else to explain to the bats? He turned, not yet able to distinguish Rashidi in the pervading dark. “What about you?”
“I’m okay. The flashlight must’ve gone over with you. Is it broken?”
David groped around until he found it, his eyes beginning to adjust to the dim light. The switch was still pushed forward, but what was left of the lens had fallen out. He felt inside for the bulb, wiggling it with his fingers. The beam came back on—but this only set the colony of bats skittering all over again. Freshly disturbed, hundreds of the furry creatures careened wildly to escape, and he crouched down to avoid contact.
Only when the frenzied cloud finally thinned, did he tackle the problem of getting Rashidi down from the crevice. He did this by standing atop the tumbled slab that now tilted up towards the opening. It was tricky, but he managed to bring him down no worse for the experience. “Rest against it for a minute,” he told him. “Think you can walk on your own?”
Rashidi nodded, almost gagging from the acrid smell. “Anything to get away from this stink. How can you stand it?”
“Try breathing through your mouth instead of your nose.”
He played the beam around to get a better feel of their surroundings. The ceiling was high with deep scars. Here and there, somnolent pockets of bats still clung stubbornly to the surface, their angular wings spread, their mouths agape. The cave was larger than he first guessed. To his left the weakened beam showed a clear run of at least forty feet, and doubtless more beyond the damaged flashlight’s reach. To his right was yet another passage, narrower and not as promising—but near as he could tell, this was the general direction taken by the flight of bats.
It made his decision easy. “Take hold of my shoulder,” he said, after helping Rashidi stand. “We’ll try this way first.”
It proved the correct choice.
Only minutes into what became a minor labyrinth of twists and abrupt turns, they discovered the flashlight was no longer necessary. They could see to walk, the floor a steady upward climb. Encouraged, they plodded on with renewed energy. Soon gusts of hot air swirled into their faces, shafts of bright sunlight further ahead. A final shift to the right put them at the cave’s exit to the outside world.
As David anticipated, the ragged opening was high up on the south-facing cliff of the limestone bluff. Just how high took his breath away. The straight drop below them was dizzying, at least a hundred and fifty feet, well beyond what any sane man would contemplate. If they went anywhere, it would have to be up.
But was this even possible?
He leaned cautiously outward to investigate. The only encouraging thing he saw was the position of the sun. When Oristano jumped them it was just a couple of hours past noon. Now he estimated the time to be no more than six o’clock.
“See anything promising, Professor? How far to the top?”
“Can’t really tell. There’s a slight bulge blocking my view. If I had to guess, I’d say maybe eight to ten feet.” He sighed. “But how in hell we get up there, I haven’t the foggiest.”
“What about climbing down?”
“Maybe with a parachute. Other than that, forget it.”
Despite his growing vertigo, David edged out a few inches more, his interest now caught by a horizontal projection of rock jutting out parallel with the cave’s mouth. It was narrower than he liked, no more than ten inches wide, yet looked sturdy enough to hold his weight. True, it went nowhere, but if he could somehow manage to hug the cliff face and step out on it—say two or three feet to the left—then it was feasible he might see up past the bulge. He couldn’t think of any alternative. He edged back in, explaining his plan to a skeptical Rashidi as he stripped the coil of rope from his shoulder.
“Professor, I don’t thing this is such a good idea.”
“Got a better one?”
“Well, at least take some precautions. Tie the rope around your waist. I’ll take the other end and brace myself against—”
“Wouldn’t work, Ahmed. You’re in no condition to break anyone’s fall. Even with two good arms, you’d only be dragged off with me. We’ll do it my way.”
Once in position, David steeled himself, wishing he could somehow concentrate on the tiny ledge without also seeing the yawning abyss below. The longer he looked at the lateral projection, the narrower it appeared. He fought off this unnerving illusion as he mentally rehearsed the move. No big deal, right? Just place one foot firmly in front of the other. The dusty, hot wind continued to gust and swirl. It wasn’t strong enough to dislodge him, he knew, but it was damn distracting. No more delays! Taking a last, deep calming breath, he swung out.
Again came the sickening vertigo.
But the ledge held, almost a miracle in itself. So far, so good, he told himself. The tric
k was in not looking down. Facing the cliff, arms extended wide, he slowly moved out even further, clinging to the featureless wall with his fingers. It helped immensely that the stone angled slightly inward as it rose, for this lessened the giddy sensation of balancing precariously on almost nothing. Believing himself now past the bulge, he tilted his head back and looked up.
Yes!
The craggy summit of the bluff was even closer than he hoped. No more than six or seven feet! But how was he to get up? There were certainly no useable handholds of any kind. Nothing! His elation ebbed. The top edge was predominately smooth, broken in a only few places by vertical clefts and vee-shaped inlets—which ruled out using the rope. There was absolutely nothing there to lasso! And even if there was something, the rope wasn’t near long enough to—
Unless—
He looked up again, studying the nearest cleft where the descending folds of stone tapered and came together. The join was almost perfect for what he now had in mind. Just maybe he didn’t have to lasso anything! He retreated back until his hand reached the cave’s entrance.
“Ahmed?”
“Here, Professor.”
“I’m going to try something. It’s probably our only chance—and you’re going to have to help. You game?”
“Anything . . .”
“First, you’ve got to uncoil the rope. What you want is the end that’s already tied in a slip-noose.” David waited for this to be done; then asked, “How’s it look? Still secure?”
“Seems it to be, yes.”
“Okay, now this shouldn’t be too hard, even with only one good arm. Just hear me out before you start. What I need is for you to take the other end and start passing it through the open noose. Do it at least seven or eight times. What you’ll end up with is a large knot—let’s say maybe twice the size of your fist, or even bigger. Understand what I’m saying?”
“The shape of a ball, right?”
“You got it.”
The task occupied Rashidi for a short period. Finally, he held it out for David’s inspection. “Is this what you need?”
“The size looks about right, but you’ve got to draw the knot up a lot tighter. Put it between your boots and reef back on the rope.”
Rashidi did so; then showed it again. “How’s this?”
“Good. Now loosely coil it again and pass me the whole thing.”
Rope in hand, David moved back into position.
David’s first five attempts to finagle the knot up into the cleft came to nothing, and he told himself they were more practice than earnest attempts. The swirling wind, plus his awkward stance, combined to make the maneuver extremely difficult. But there was reason for hope; his last throw came very close, encouraging him to believe he was getting a handle on this as he readied for another toss. Again the wind gusted. Timing seemed to be the most critical factor. The rope must be looped up at the precise moment the wind began to fall off.
Now!
This time he hit the mark. The ball flicked up perfectly and dropped out of sight into the narrow cleft. The excess fell back, coming taut in his hand. The knot was now wedged between the tapered folds of stone—but how secure remained to be seen. He gave a series of short tugs, feeling no noticeable give. Would it hold his full weight? Short of actually climbing, there was no real way of knowing—and once started, his commitment would be total.
“Here goes,” he said. “If it holds and I make it, I’ll make up another noose and pass it down for you. If it doesn’t hold—”
“It will, Professor. You’ve come too far to fail now.”
The knot held.
Hand over hand, David scaled the cliff face, and such was his adrenalin level that he scarcely felt the accumulated aches and pains in his strained limbs. On reaching the top, he hooked his battered elbows over the stone fold and hoisted himself into the protective cleft. Only then did he acknowledge the full pounding of his accelerated heart rate—and out of pure necessity, he lay back in the shallow pocket of stone, gasping for breath as it slowly abated. It was nothing to him that his thigh was again bleeding or his hands felt like raw meat, for his elation was total. He’d actually made it! The flat summit was directly behind him, an easy scramble of less than a few feet. But his euphoria was fleeting, for the position of the sun now reminded him there was no time for self-congratulation.
Elizabeth!
He reconfigured the rope, creating another slip-noose to fit around Rashidi’s chest. Despite his bruised limbs and aching hands, he didn’t doubt for a second his ability to haul the younger man up. Instead, his thoughts were already on the far greater challenge lying ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Fear of being seen dictated David’s caution as he steered well clear of the basin’s north rim, maneuvering himself around and into position. It was still early twilight, nowhere near dark enough to conceal his movements. Thus the danger was acute, for with his own eyes he glimpsed Oristano walking a regular patrol, armed with both a pistol and rifle. But the risk had to be taken. Not only was Elizabeth still alive—thank God!—but as best he could determine, she appeared relatively unharmed.
Unfortunately, this couldn’t be said regarding Gobeir, for the muted cries of pain emanating from below were telling of the old man’s long afternoon of agony.
David’s earlier reconnaissance had revealed other things, as well, none of which held much promise for his present attempt at affecting a rescue. For openers, all of their firearms were gathered for safekeeping beside the confiscated campsite. Too, the jeep was now virtually unreachable; though it was still parked topside, either Oristano or his oversized henchman had moved it to within mere feet of the basin’s lip. There was now no way in hell he could get anywhere near it without being seen. And even if he could—to what end? Oristano wasn’t a fool. He would’ve removed the key, or otherwise disabled the vehicle during his search for weapons. All of this left David limited options when formulating his plan.
He crouched as he ran, trying to generate minimum noise. The shallow draw snaking between the low hills made for good cover, but didn’t lend itself to speed. Being invisible, he knew, was meaningless without silence.
He stopped to get his bearings, unsure he was where he needed to be.
The late afternoon sun had earlier burned like a torch across his bare arms and torso, only increasing his sense of nausea. The plan they worked out would rely as much on luck as anything within their power to control. A battered Rashidi could play to part in its execution. Dehydration, he knew, was effecting his judgement—and definitely distorting his perceptions! Was it this hill he sought, or the next one over? Damn if they didn’t all look the same from this side! The first critical phase of his plan called for him to emerge just opposite—
There! The one with the reddish crest!
He climbed with great care; conscious any mistake made now would prove fatal. Up here the stones less stable, he realized, much easier to dislodge. The last thing he needed was to start a minor rockslide. Raising his head in small increments, he peered over the top. A faint sigh of relief escaped his parched lips, for he was precisely where he hoped. The GAZ-69 was directly below and facing his way, the cab slightly askew to his position. But had he been seen? It appeared not. Oristano was visible off to the right, still facing the other way. David felt a small surge of confidence. God knew the plan he had fashioned was ridiculously crude—one created out of sheer desperation—yet damned if it didn’t stand a chance of working!
* * *
Standing roughly seventy feet away, Oristano lit another cigarette as he again scanned the basin’s rocky perimeter. By his watch it was already twenty minutes past seven, the darkening sky promising some relief from the day’s intense heat. His patience with Heikal was beginning to wear thin. In his opinion, this business was taking far too long.
Under normal conditions, he considered himself a moderately tolerant man; if his many years operating outside the fringes of civilized law had taught him anythi
ng, it was the necessity of maintaining his equanimity. But these were hardly normal conditions—and things were definitely not going well!
How quickly he’d come to hate this place.
With another circuit of the basin complete, he turned and headed back towards the now shadowed base of the bluff. Time to again check on Heikal’s progress. As he walked, he shifted the rifle strap from his left shoulder to the right, annoyed by the weapon’s cumbersome weight, yet unwilling to be without it.
There was no doubt in Oristano’s mind as to whom the fourth ambusher at the pass had tried so desperately to warn. It would take a truly strong leader, he knew, to inspire such singular loyalty and personal sacrifice—and Gobeir was proving himself to be just such a man. Over three hours under the knife, and still nothing! It was really quite remarkable. Now the old man’s screams of agony no longer held the sweet promise of imminent riches. Instead, his repetitious cries were fast becoming little more than a mocking irritant to his ears. A curse on his stubborn soul! The tomb is here! It has to be!
The pitiful noise grew as he approached.
Heikal had chosen to exercise his particular skill just outside the high fold of stone surrounding the spring-fed pool. Here the shade was deepest, the still air marginally cooler due to the proximity of water—though neither benefited his hapless victim in the least. Gobeir lay flat on his back, straddled and held by the big man’s weight. This was unnecessary, Oristano knew, for an initial cut made by Heikal had effectively removed even the remotest chance of escape; the tendons behind Gobeir’s right knee were completely severed, the mark of an experienced professional, done more for convenience rather than the infliction of pain.
Not so all the horrific cuts that followed.
The Amun Chamber Page 32
