The Sahara Legacy

by Ernest Dempsey

“Glad you could catch up.”

  Sean’s mind started to clear a bit. He’d made a call to a friend in Dubai, a guy named Hank Tillis. Sean and Hank went way back. They’d met in a cantina in Mexico. An assassin had been on Sean’s tail. Hank helped Sean fight his way out. After that, Hank disappeared for a few years. Sean thought he’d been killed while looking for something in Mexico, a lost Mayan city. He’d warned Hank of the danger, especially in the area where Hank was planning on searching.

  The jungles were full of guerrillas, drug cartels, and all kinds of dangerous wildlife. Sean remembered joking about how the frogs could even kill him.

  It wasn’t until a few years later that Sean found out Hank made it out of Mexico and ended up in the Middle East. Sean never asked what happened with the search for the lost city, but he had a feeling his friend struck out in a major way.

  While Hank was a good guy, he had bad habits that had a tendency to get him into trouble. One of the biggest was his gambling addiction. After the night they met at the cantina, Sean learned that he wasn’t the only one who had someone after him. Two hired guns from a Costa Rican syndicate were there to eliminate Hank.

  Based on the huge knives hanging from their belts, Sean assumed they were going to cut off his friend’s head and take it back to their boss. It was a popular way to take out a problem due to the vicious warning it sent to any others who might cause trouble.

  Sean knew the hit men wouldn’t try anything in the bar. While he’d seen his fair share of bar fights in the past, it was easy to tell these guys had no intentions of making it a messy incident—other than the possible decapitation.

  He figured the men would follow them outside, herd them into an alley, and then kill them there—quietly if possible.

  Sean and Hank finished their conversation, went out the front door, and ambushed the three men in the adjacent side street. After the smoke cleared, the three assassins were dead in a dumpster behind the cantina.

  Even after Hank disappeared, Sean knew how to find the man—although it wasn’t easy. Hank had become a master of staying off people’s radar.

  The whole reason behind Tommy and Sean seeking Hank’s help was because the man always knew what was going on in the black market. Not only was Hank a highly trained historian and archaeologist, he knew how to spot a fake piece from nearly every culture that ever existed. It was a skill that made him a valuable commodity and was probably how he’d secured some sense of relative safety in Dubai.

  “You and your family legacy,” Sean muttered.

  “What’s that?” Tommy asked.

  “I said I wish someone would turn on the AC.”

  “Funny.”

  The Schultz Family Legacy. It was the reason Sean and Tommy were strapped to metal spikes in the middle of the desert. Tommy’s parents had been working on some big project in the 1980s but dropped everything abruptly when their leads ran out. They discovered something else, a clue to a great weapon from the ancient world, and completely abandoned years of research.

  It was a decision that cost them years of their lives and kept them separated from their son while they were held captive in North Korea for almost two decades.

  Tommy had approached Sean about renewing the search. He said he’d received a lead that filled in a huge missing piece to the puzzle. Now that his parents were safely back in the United States, it would be a glorious gift to them if he could find what they’d been searching for during his childhood.

  Sean thought it was a fanciful notion, especially given what Tommy wanted to find. Not to mention it was the second time in the last few years they’d attempted to locate an artifact that could supposedly give the gift of eternal life.

  He’d seen some strange things in his life working for Tommy’s International Archaeological Agency, but he’d never witnessed anything that would make someone immortal.

  Sean agreed to help out. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Apparently, the worst was ending up staked to the sand dunes in the world’s most desolate desert quarter.

  The question weighing heaviest on Sean’s mind was, who knew they were going to be at Hank’s?

  “You think he stabbed us in the back?” Tommy asked, cutting into Sean’s thoughts.

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think? Your friend Hank. He’s the only one who knew we were going to be there.”

  “Hank wouldn’t do that.”

  “You said he’s a scumbag, owes money to bad people all over the Western Hemisphere.”

  “That might be true, but we can trust him.”

  Tommy sighed. “Fine. Who else?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Well, while you’re thinking would you mind thinking up a way to get us out of this mess?”

  “Maybe try going into full rage mode and see if you can muster up some kind of mutant strength to rip the spikes out of the ground.”

  “You think this is funny? We’re gonna die out here, Sean. And no one will know.” His thoughts drifted to his new girlfriend, June. She was back home in the United States, working on a few projects of her own.

  “Take it easy, man. We’ll think of something.” Sean did his best to project an air of confidence. Truth was, he had no idea how they were going to get out of this one.

  “Well, I hope you’re going to start thinking of something soon because we won’t last long out here.”

  Sean glanced over at the watch on his wrist. It was a gift from his friend at DARPA and came equipped with a built in distress beacon. He never figured he’d need to use it, but now would be the opportune time. The only problem was that he had no way to hit the combination of buttons with his fingers. To make things worse, his wrists were tied so tightly to the stake, he couldn’t bend his hand in such a way to set off the signal.

  He squirmed and wiggled hard against the taut bindings, but it was no use. Their salvation was only inches away, and he couldn’t move enough to activate the device.

  An automobile engine groaned somewhere in the distance, startling both men.

  “What’s that?” Tommy asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Sounds like someone’s coming.”

  “Maybe it’s someone coming to rescue us.”

  “Maybe. Except the only people who know we’re here are the ones who put us here. More than likely, we’re probably going to be interrogated.”

  The sound of the engine swelled until two Land Rovers appeared over the crest across from their dune prison. The tan SUVs rolled down the slope and came to a stop in the little valley between hills.

  Four men with submachine guns hanging from their shoulders exited the SUV on the left. The other vehicle’s doors remained closed for a moment as if the occupants were pausing while the other four made sure the area was secure. One of the men—a burly, bald man with a dark tan and even darker beard—looked over his shoulder at the other truck and gave a curt nod.

  The doors flung open, and three more similarly dressed guards stepped out. The fourth man had to be the one in charge. He wore silver-rimmed aviator sunglasses and had a bandana over his mouth to keep the sand out. His tanned forehead ran up to a thicket of dark hair, streamed with gray. The guy was thin and walked with a wiry gait, like he had all the confidence in the world.

  Sean realized who it was before the man said anything.

  “I don’t believe it,” Sean said.

  “Believe what? What’s going on? Who is it?” Tommy rushed his words, eager to find any scrap of information.

  “It’s Dufort.”

  Chapter 2

  The Empty Quarter

  “Dufort?” Tommy asked as the man in question pointed to a few random places in the sand, issuing orders to his guards before making the ascent up to where his prisoners were tied down. “I thought he was dead.”

  “Nope. Should be. We aren’t that lucky.”

  “So, he’s the one behind this. Great.”

  Sean tilted his head forward as much as possible to get
a good look at the man as he approached. “Ten bucks he says something clichéd like, ‘So, Mr. Wyatt, we meet again.”

  “Book it,” Tommy said. “Nobody says anything so clichéd in real life.”

  Dufort trudged the last twenty feet to his prisoners and stopped to the side, between both of them.

  He pulled down the bandana and showed a crooked, toothy grin. “Well, well, well, Mr. Wyatt. We meet again.”

  Sean forced a dry laugh. “That counts!” he shouted back to Tommy.

  Tommy chuckled. “You win. Definitely close enough to count.”

  Dufort eyed one man and then the other, clearly irritated at whatever joke they were sharing at his expense. He responded with a swift kick to Sean’s side. The shiny black boot sent a surge of pain through Sean’s body in an instant. All his muscles clenched at once, tightening the ropes for a second before relaxing again as his extremities collapsed to the sand.

  “I’m well aware of your collective penchant for mischief and attempts at humor, so I’ll be brief.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Tommy spat.

  Dufort ignored him. “I trust it’s hot enough for you out here.”

  Sean forced a couple of wheezing laughs. “Yeah, but it’s a dry heat.”

  Dufort’s eyes narrowed for a second, uncertain what the American meant. “You two have something I need,” he said.

  “A pair of—” Sean’s grunted response to Dufort’s comment was cut off by another kick to the ribs.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” the Frenchman sneered. “Where is the tablet?”

  “Hold on,” Tommy quipped. “Let me see if it’s in one of my pockets. Nope, nothing here.” Tommy jiggled his legs in a mocking manner.

  Dufort took a few menacing steps up the hill toward Tommy. “I know you found the tablet. You didn’t have it with you when you were in Dubai. So, you must have hidden it somewhere. Tell me where it is, and I’ll cut you loose.”

  Sean snickered. “I’m sure you will. Just before you kill us.”

  Dufort glanced down at him and rolled his shoulders like he didn’t have a care in the world. “It would be much more merciful than dying out here.” He waved a hand around at the setting. “A death from exposure is slow, painful. You don’t want to die that way.”

  “Slow and painful is having to sit here listening to you drone on,” Tommy said.

  Dufort took another step toward him and delivered a kick to his side.

  Tommy grunted. His eyes squinted hard for a second before he started laughing. “Thank you. I think a bug had crawled in my shirt, and I couldn’t reach it. Pretty sure you got it.”

  Dufort reached into his jacket and drew a pistol. He aimed it at the top of Sean’s head. His finger tensed on the trigger. “The tablet! Where is it?”

  “You kill us,” Tommy said through clenched teeth, “and you’ll never find it.”

  The Frenchman’s right eye twitched. He knew Tommy was right, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

  “Well,” Dufort said with a shrug, “that doesn’t mean I can’t torture the both of you for a while.”

  He moved his pistol an inch to the right, lining up his sights with Sean’s right foot.

  “Okay!” Tommy shouted. “Fine! I’ll talk! I’ll talk! Just don’t shoot him.”

  Dufort looked across his shoulder at Tommy. The Frenchman kept the pistol pointed at Sean’s foot.

  “If you shoot him, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Tommy added with a thick layer of derision.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sean asked, doing his best to sound offended.

  “Shut up! Both of you!” Dufort boomed. He returned his attention to the matter at hand. “You were saying something about telling me the location of the tablet?”

  Tommy nodded reluctantly. He licked his dry lips. “Yeah, but you have to let us go.”

  Dufort shook his head. “Not happening. Both of you are going to die here, in this place. How quickly that happens is the only leverage you have. You can die fast or slow. It’s up to you.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

  “Don’t tell this knucklehead a thing, Tommy. You hear me? Don’t tell him anything.”

  Tommy swallowed. “I assume you already checked our hotel room.”

  Dufort gave a sideways nod to confirm.

  “You didn’t think we’d be dumb enough to leave it there, did you?”

  Dufort’s head bobbed back and forth from left to right. “Mmm, not really, but you never know, right? Might get lucky. You two were stupid enough to let me track you down. It was worth a chance to rummage through your things.” His face twisted into a scowl. “Now stop stalling, and tell me where you hid the tablet. No one is coming to help you.”

  Tommy tried to swallow again, but his dry throat made it feel like he was swallowing a dagger.

  “There’s a locker,” he gasped. “At Union Station in Dubai.”

  “What number?”

  “Locker 247,” Tommy said in a defeated tone. “You’ll need the key.” He hoped that fact would lend him and his friend a little more time to figure out a way to escape.

  Dufort sighed, letting his chest drop in an overdramatic fashion. “Really? You mean this key?” He fished a set of keys out of his pocket and dangled the smallest one that was marked with the initials of the Dubai Metro Red Line. “We took your keys from you, remember? And now that we know where to look, there’s no point in keeping the two of you around any longer.”

  The Frenchman turned his head back to his weapon’s sights and made sure they were lined up with Sean’s foot.

  “Hey, Gerard, you’re still aiming at my foot,” Sean said. “You said you’d kill us quickly.”

  “I lied.”

  A gunshot rang out across the dunes.

  It wasn’t from Dufort’s weapon, though. It came from a high-powered rifle.

  The two Americans scanned the horizon for the shooter’s location, but they saw no one. Down below, however, one of Dufort’s men dropped to the ground, blood leaking out of the base of his neck.

  The rest of the guards scattered, taking cover behind their vehicles as they searched the area with their eyes, desperate to find the shooter.

  Another blast echoed through the sandy hills. The sand at Dufort’s feet exploded just inches away. He nearly jumped out of his boots. His attention immediately shifted. The prisoners were no longer his primary concern.

  Dufort ran down the hill, kicking sand up to his knees as his feet plunged into the dune slope with every step. Another shot thundered in the distance. Another of Dufort’s men dropped to the ground by the SUV on the left.

  “It’s an ambush!” Dufort yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”

  He flung open one of the doors and dove into his SUV. His men clambered to get to the relative safety of the vehicles’ interiors. Another man was too slow in getting out of the open as he grasped the door handle. He took a round to the side of the head, leaving little remaining of the other side of his skull. He was dead before his knees hit the ground. His torso wavered for a moment before toppling over into the sand.

  Dufort’s SUV tore away, all four wheels spitting sand out behind it as it surged forward through the valley of dunes and disappeared around the bend. The second SUV was right behind and hurried to catch up, vanishing behind the next dune a moment later.

  The engines groaned as their drivers sped away. Within a minute, the sounds had subsided and the two friends were alone again in the vast desert wasteland.

  “So…what do we do now?” Tommy asked.

  “I’m guessing we wait until our savior shows their face.”

  “Yeah, except I’m getting the feeling that we were saved just so we could be thrown right into something worse.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed to nothing more than slits as he scanned the ridge of a dune about two hundred yards away. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He focused with all his energy and saw it again. It defin
itely wasn’t a mirage. There was a piece of beige cloth flapping in the wind just behind the dune’s crest.

  Then Sean saw the glint of sunlight off glass. The shooter was searching the area to make sure it was clear. Whoever the sniper was, they weren’t being careless.

  Dufort and his men were probably a mile away by now, and still the shooter hadn’t shown himself.

  Smart, Sean thought. If it was him, he’d give it another five minutes just to make sure the men in the SUVs weren’t doubling back.

  The sniper behind the dune only gave it two.

  The figure rose behind the ridge, carrying a long rifle under his armpit. The weapon was wrapped with similar cloth to what the man wore—beige pants, jacket with cargo pockets, and a bandana wrapped around his face. His sunglasses were dark and didn’t reflect the sunlight. He had a matching guerrilla hat on his head with a bill that kept additional light out of his eyes.

  “Looks like our savior is coming out to meet us,” Sean said.

  Tommy looked out and saw the man approaching. He had an awkward gait, but that could have been attributed to the unsteady footing in the sand.

  The sniper reached the bottom of the ravine and took another cautious look from right to left, making sure there was no one lingering to ambush him. He nudged the bodies of the dead men with his boot to make sure they weren’t faking it—a little overkill for the guy missing a quarter of his head.

  Satisfied the men wouldn’t be causing any more problems, the sniper trudged up the hill toward the two Americans. He stopped close to Sean’s feet and assessed the situation. After giving another wary look around, he reached to his belt and unbuckled a long hunting knife.

  Sean watched him with curious unease. He didn’t know if the guy was about to cut him free or just cut him.

  “What do you want?” Tommy asked.

  The man reached down and sawed through the rope tied to Sean’s left ankle. He moved over to the other foot and freed it in seconds.

  “Who are you?” Tommy persisted.

  The man pulled his bandana down and removed his sunglasses. “Just a friend,” the guy said.