Derek’s cheeks heated up. He hadn’t known Gray was eavesdropping. “Thanks.”
Gray held out his hand. “Can I see that?”
Derek passed him the iPad, and Gray leaned forward to show Seichan and Kowalski, who were seated up front.
Seichan’s praise was less enthusiastic. “Guess it’s better than just driving aimlessly through the desert.”
From behind the wheel, Kowalski pointed forward. “Got lights up ahead.”
Gray checked the map on his satellite phone. “That should be Rufaa.”
Jane removed her hand from Derek’s knee, suddenly looking nervous. He could guess the cause of her anxiety. Her father had died trying to reach here.
“It’ll be okay,” he said softly.
He hoped that was the truth.
8:28 P.M.
The village was larger than Jane had expected. She had pictured a cluster of huts surrounded by walls made of millet stalks, but Rufaa was actually a good-sized town clustered against the curve of the Nile.
“It looks like it’d be easy to get lost in there,” Derek commented.
She agreed.
Dirt roads divided the sprawling place up into a veritable maze of square, flat-roofed buildings, set off by narrow alleyways or sectioned into small walled courtyards. Everything appeared constructed of the same mud bricks, giving it a uniformity that confounded the eye. The only landmark that stood out was the local mosque. Its white minaret shone like a beacon.
Jane knew that the Rufaa people, who gave this town its name, were of Arabic descent, practicing a Sunni form of Islam. Many of the families had roots here but still maintained a nomadic lifestyle. This was certainly true for the group who found her father. They were part of the Jaaliyin tribe, who still roamed the desert as they had for thousands of years, claiming to be descendants of Abbas, an uncle to the prophet Muhammad.
As their truck slowed to a crawl through the outskirts of the village, children peered at them from the roadside, while goats fled from their grumbling path, bleating in irritation. Finally, a thin figure waved them down and stepped into the road.
“Is that the guy we were supposed to meet?” Kowalski asked.
“Seems so,” Gray answered. “They were told to watch for us.”
As the truck drew to a stop, their escort hurried to the open window on Kowalski’s side. He appeared to be a boy of sixteen or seventeen with skin the color of dark mocha. He was dressed in a purple-checkered football jersey, beige shorts, and sandals.
“I am Ahmad. Be welcome.”
Kowalski glanced back to Gray, who nodded, seeming to recognize the name.
“I take you to my family. We eat.” He pantomimed putting food in his mouth. “Then go. Yes?”
Kowalski shrugged. “I could eat.”
Ahmad pointed to a stretch of open dirt. “Put truck there. Not far to go.” From their worried looks, he added, “It safe. No worry.”
Seichan frowned at this suggestion. “I should stay with the truck.”
Gray nodded and ordered Kowalski to park their vehicle. Once the engine cut with a final cough, he climbed out and fitted an earpiece in place.
“Seichan, radio us if there are any problems.”
Concerned, Jane followed Derek out the other side. Her eyes were on the boy. “Do you think we can trust him?”
“Considering he’s about to lead us into the wilds of the Sudanese desert, we might as well start now.”
With everyone ready, Ahmad led them into the main village, but not before letting out a sharp whistle. In response, a thin, rib-chested dog raced from the shadows to his side. Its tail wagged vigorously. It looked young, with bristly black-and-gold fur, dark eyes, and stiff, wide-splayed ears.
“She good girl,” Ahmad said proudly.
Jane held out a hand for the dog to sniff. “What’s her name?”
His grin widened at her interest. “Anjing.”
Jane frowned in confusion.
“What’s that mean?” Kowalski asked.
She knew enough Sudanese to answer. “It means dog.”
Kowalski shrugged. “Well, I guess that works.”
Derek leaned closer to Jane as they walked. “I think his pet is an African wild dog. Or at least a mix.”
Jane eyed the beast with more respect. She had heard tales of the infamous pack hunters. She remembered offering her hand to it a moment ago.
Luckily, I still have it.
Ahead of them, Ahmad looked like he wanted to run, barely keeping his excitement in check. He talked and talked, playing proud tour guide.
“Over there.” He pointed to a low green domed structure. “Tomb of Sheik Tana. Very important. And on that corner. A man once ate a whole goat by himself.” He glanced at them. “It true.”
Kowalski was the only one who looked impressed with this claim.
They finally reached an arched gateway into a courtyard. As they all ducked through, the smell of baking bread stirred a hunger in Jane she hadn’t been aware of. The sizzle of a grill also drew her forward. A clutch of robed figures, men and women, came out to greet them, as if they were all old friends. A few barefooted children hung at the fringes or stayed shyly in the doorway.
Ahmad stepped over to a tethered donkey, gave the beast a quick hug around its thick neck, and introduced his new friend, “Kalde.”
Kowalski glanced to Jane again.
She translated. “Means donkey.”
The big man shook his head. “I don’t get it. Does the kid have no imagination or is he trying to teach us his language?”
More introductions were made. When Jane’s name was mentioned, the group became more somber, clearly realizing whose daughter she was. They came forward, one by one, heads bowed, and offered their condolences. Their sincerity touched her. She felt tears welling and had to turn away for a moment.
Derek stayed beside her.
She leaned into him. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so upset.”
He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Grief does that. It can catch you off guard when you least expect it.”
She took a few breaths to settle herself. “I’m okay. We shouldn’t be rude.”
Off to the side, an open-air table quickly filled with food, a veritable feast of Sudanese cuisine: pungent stews redolent with spices and meats, a thick sorghum porridge, platters of dates, a mound of yogurt-and-carrot salad, and piles of flatbread to scoop everything up.
They all tucked into the spread, while Gray spoke to an elder who spoke fluent English, gaining as much insight as possible into where they were headed.
Jane refrained from eavesdropping. She preferred to appreciate the meal, thanking the women, sharing a piece of grilled sheep’s liver with Anjing, who seemed as welcome at the table as any of the guests. With her stomach quickly full, she leaned back. Small twinkling lights lined the castellated walls of the courtyards, but they paled in comparison to the sweep of stars overhead.
For this brief moment, she felt content and at peace.
Still, deep down, she knew it couldn’t last.
9:22 P.M.
It’s about time . . .
Seichan lay flat on the roof of an abandoned home, about a block from where the Unimog sat parked in an empty lot. Ten minutes after the others had left, she had stepped out of the truck and cupped her ear, feigning a radio call. After a moment, she had responded, continuing the charade: Understood. Everything’s quiet here. I’ll be right there.
She had then grabbed her pack and followed in the others’ footsteps. She hiked for several blocks, as if heading over to them. Once she was certain she wasn’t tailed, she circled back and climbed atop a home that offered a view of the abandoned truck.
She then waited to see if anyone took her bait.
The truck might tempt a would-be crook in the village, but such a thief was not her target. Ahmad had seemed confident that the Unimog would be unmolested by those in the village. She had learned over the years that such towns
often had a strict code. It was okay to steal from strangers, but if a guest was under the protection of a family from that village, they were not to be touched.
So, for the past forty minutes, no one approached the vehicle.
Until now.
A figure appeared to Seichan’s right. The stranger was wearing a jalabiya, a collarless, ankle-length white robe with long sleeves and a matching woven turban. Many men in the village wore the same attire, as the light color and loose fit helped keep them cool. So his presence wasn’t unexpected. He moved with no sense of threat, casually walking toward the parked Unimog, as if curious about the hulking desert truck.
Still, something about him set off warning bells in Seichan. He glanced once to the right, then the left, then focused fully on the truck. He also carried something in his hand, but the drape of his sleeve hid it.
Seichan waited until he was fully out in the open, unable to easily fade back into the tight maze of the village. Satisfied, she rolled silently off the flat roof and dropped to the packed dirt on the far side of the building, out of view of the empty lot. Staying low, she circled the home and approached the man from behind.
She had her SIG Sauer in hand, ready to act if need be. Closer now, she could see the man wasn’t carrying a weapon, but she could not make out what he held. Her nerves danced. For a brief moment, she considered shooting him in the back.
But what if I’m wrong?
Murdering an innocent man in cold blood would not win over the cooperation of these desert nomads. So she took another step toward him. Then another. Though she moved without disturbing a grain of sand and held her breath, something alerted her target.
The man swung around, his eyes flashing, his dark face hard and cold.
She knew immediately this was no common thief. She fired, but her target dove to the side, rolled over a shoulder, and gained his feet. He took off without a moment’s hesitation.
She ran after the man, tracking him with her gun. She refrained from firing when he dashed across the face of a home, the windows aglow with life. She feared striking someone inside if she missed.
The man took advantage of her restraint and vanished up a narrow alleyway leading into the village. By the time she reached the alley, he was gone. She was not dumb enough to risk following him into that twisting dark labyrinth, where he could easily ambush her.
Instead, she touched the mike taped to her throat and radioed Gray. When he answered, she knew they had only one course open to them.
“Time to go,” she said.
He didn’t ask for an explanation. Her tone told him enough.
Three minutes later, Gray arrived with the others in tow. He gripped a SIG Sauer, guarding Derek and Jane. Kowalski brought up the rear, shouldering a shotgun.
Gray caught her eye. She nodded the all-clear and waved them to the truck.
Only then did Gray question her. “What happened?”
She told him.
“So it could have been a simple thief,” he said.
She remembered those eyes, how he had moved. “No, it wasn’t.”
He took her at her word.
A figure suddenly came running out of the village. Seichan whipped her weapon up, but it was only Ahmad.
“Wait! I go with!” he shouted to them.
Gray looked like he was about to refuse, plainly concerned about endangering the young man.
Seichan reminded him of their original plan. “We still need someone who knows the deserts around here.”
Ahmad nodded his head. “I know very well.”
Gray sighed, his back stiffening, as if already taking the weight of this kid’s life on his shoulders. “Okay. Everyone aboard. We’re leaving right now.”
Ahmad smiled, then turned and whistled.
His dog came rushing to join him.
Gray accepted this last-minute addition by turning and heading to the truck.
Kowalski was not as reticent. “At least the kid’s not bringing his donkey.”
9:41 P.M.
The loud growl of a truck’s engine reached Valya’s hiding place. Her targets were leaving. Their thunderous departure echoed throughout the village, matching her mood.
Damn that woman.
Standing inside one of the local homes, Valya stripped out of the borrowed jalabiya robe and tossed aside the turban that had hidden her white hair. She stood naked, taking a deep breath. For now, she continued wearing the dark brown makeup that colored her pale skin and tattoo. She would need it again when she changed her disguise to that of an old woman. Part of her training had been to learn to vanish into the background. This she had easily mastered. She considered her white form to be a blank slate upon which she could paint any number of faces.
Two hours ago, Valya had come straight here from Khartoum, where she lay in wait for her quarry to arrive.
The team Anton had sent here were already in the deep desert, readying the true trap. She had hoped to better their odds of success. The enemy’s truck was old, built before the age of GPS units. So there was no way to remotely track it, especially once the group was running overland across the desert. She had hoped to fix that problem by hiding a transceiver inside the wheel well. Such a simple solution—yet, still she had been thwarted, chased off by the other woman.
The only small advantage gained tonight was that Valya had overheard the woman’s name.
Seichan.
Valya took satisfaction in this. The woman was less of a mystery now, less of a myth. She was someone who could be killed.
Still, Valya swore not to underestimate her again.
Turning, she crossed to the two dead bodies in the corner of the room. The pair lay sprawled across the bare floor with their throats slit. Pools of blood seeped into the parched dirt.
They were the elderly owners of the home. She had stalked them after arriving here, wrapped head-to-toe in a burka, following them to their doorstep like a beggar. Once inside, she shed her cloak, revealing her true pale self. She used that moment of shock to silently dispatch them, appreciating their looks of horror. In many places in Africa, albinos were thought to be magical, holding good luck in their bones. Such superstitions led to children being slaughtered across the continent, their mystical body parts sold on the black market.
She stared down at the two bodies.
Maybe we’re not so lucky after all.
With time to spare, she slipped the black-handled athamé, her grandmother’s witch-dagger, from its wrist sheath. She knelt beside the old woman and used the knife’s tip to carve her mark on the corpse’s forehead. Slowly the Eye of Horus opened upon that cold flesh and stared back at her, almost approvingly.
She felt calmer now, and a soft smile formed. Soon another would bear the mark, someone truly worthy of it. She whispered that name aloud.
“Seichan . . .”
14
June 2, 9:22 P.M. EDT
Airborne over Baffin Bay
As the Gulfstream banked over the open water of Baffin Bay, Painter studied their destination. Ellesmere Island lay directly ahead, shrouded in a haze of ice fog. The coastline was a craggy line of jagged inlets, small bays, jumbles of rock, and beaches of broken shale. Plates of ice had run aground in some sections, stacking up like a scatter of playing cards.
“Not exactly hospitable,” Kat said, watching from her window across the cabin.
“But man finds a way nonetheless,” Painter said, having read up on the place on the flight here. “The island’s been occupied by indigenous hunters going back some four thousand years. Then the Vikings arrived later, followed by the Europeans in the seventeenth century.”
“And now the pair of us,” Kat said, trying to lighten the mood.
Painter simply nodded, his stomach still knotted with anxiety. Back in D.C., he had not wasted any time coordinating this mission with General Metcalf, his boss at DARPA. The man had questioned the necessity of an excursion a thousand miles above the Arctic Circle, but Painter had been adaman
t. He and Kat had flown due north, pushing the Gulfstream G150’s engines. They had landed and refueled at Thule Air Base, the U.S. military’s northernmost camp, located on the western coast of Greenland.
If Painter had any question as to the importance of the region, Thule answered it. Run by two different air force squadrons, the base was home to a ballistic missile early-warning system and a global satellite control network. It also acted as the regional hub for a dozen military and research installations peppered throughout Greenland and the surrounding islands, including Aurora Station on Ellesmere.
And that was just the United States.
Canada had additional camps, including one on Ellesmere called Alert, a seasonal military and scientific outpost about five hundred miles from the North Pole.
Painter tried to spot the place as their jet swept over the middle of the island, but the distances here were deceptively vast. The pilot navigated a course between Quttinirpaaq National Park, which took up the northern end of the island, and the spread of glaciers to the south. Below their wings, the Challenger Mountains rose up in a jumble of snowy peaks.
“We should be getting close,” Kat said.
Aurora Station had been constructed on the northwest coast of the island, bordering the Arctic Ocean. According to his research, the site had been chosen for a number of different reasons, but primarily because it was closest to the magnetic north pole, which was the subject of several of the station’s research projects. While the geographic north pole was relatively fixed, the magnetic pole had been drifting for centuries, slowly sweeping past the coastline of Ellesmere and up into the Arctic Ocean.
The pilot radioed back to them. “We’re twenty miles out. Should be on the ground in ten. And from the look of the weather ahead, we’re lucky we made such good time.”
Painter turned his attention from the ground to the skies. While there were only a few clouds above, to the northwest the world ended at a wall of darkness. Painter had known a storm was coming, but forecasts had been worsening by the hour. The region was predicted to be socked in for days, maybe weeks. It was one of the reasons he had pressed General Metcalf so hard. If he missed this window, the chances of rescuing Safia would grow grimmer with each passing day.
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