Authors: J.R. Rain
“How many tablets do we have left?” Faye asked.
“There’s still a few,” I said.
The river bubbled serenely over submerged rocks. The wind made swishing sounds through the reeds. I said, “Higher up, the snow is safe to eat, so we won’t need the tablets.”
“The same way rainwater is safe to drink.”
I nodded. “Ideally we melt the snow, as it takes our bodies less energy to process warm water than cold water, but either way it should be safe to drink.”
We moved upriver until I found a switchback trail that led up the steep canyon wall. “This is our stop,” I said.
The path was no wider than a bookshelf. To make matters worse, loose rock littered the way, just in case we started getting too comfortable. Brown hawks circled above, taking the easy way.
We climbed the narrow trail steadily for a half hour. Below, the river looked thread-like. At this height, the river was too narrow and shallow to protect us should we fall.
Faye suddenly grabbed my arm and leaned back against the warm rock, breathing quickly. “I can’t make it, Sam.” There was panic and exhaustion in her voice.
“Sure you can,” I said.
She took a few breaths. “Is that your idea of a pep-talk?”
The wind slammed us hard. I gripped her hand. The sun shone straight down onto her up-turned face, which glowed almost angelically. Then again, I could be biased. The hawk screeched, perhaps encouraging Faye onward. The wind made moaning noises not of this earth.
I waited, feeling the warmth of the wall against my back, the wind in my hair. The hawk banked to port and grew steadily smaller. It looked like a kite.
“Take as long as you need,” I said.
Faye squeezed my hand, eyes closed tight. Finally, as if tapping into some inner strength, she said she was okay. I asked if she was sure and she nodded, and we moved forward again.
A short while later, the ledge opened onto a grassy plateau, and Faye sank to her knees and thanked all the gods and saints and lesser deities she had ever known or heard of.
Here, the temperature was near freezing, but we were dressed warmly. The grass was sweet on the wind, as if it had been freshly cut. Or freshly chewed. Faye looked at me, face ashen. “That was scary, Sam.”
“It was,” I said. “But you did a good job, Faye Roberts.”
And when she had collected herself, we continued across the grassy plateau for the remainder of the afternoon.
* * *
The plateau ended in a sharp cliff, and we looked down into the massive Ahora Gorge as a mighty river surged far, far below. The cliffs were staggered and multi-colored, and seemed to have been carved by the hand of a master sculptor.
Faye held her hand to her chest. “It’s beautiful.”
We followed a path along the cliff’s edge that afforded a perfect view into the gorge. Here, the wind was fierce and the sun was only an illusion.
And as patches of snow accumulated into larger clumps, we reached the terminus, or snout, of the Abich I glacier.
Chapter Twenty-five
As we lacked the crampons and climbing gear necessary to scale the twenty foot snout, we searched instead for an alternate route onto the glacier. As we walked, I explained that a snout is the forward most extension of the glacier, the same way a snout is the forward most protuberance of an animal.
“Thank you for the lecture, Sam, but I happen to know a thing or two about glaciology.”
“Really? Cryptology and glaciology. That’s a hell of a resume.”
We came across a jumbled pile of boulders. The boulders were evidence of the glacier’s immense strength, pushing the huge rocks around like toys. The boulders, however, were a perfect platform onto the glacier. We hopped from boulder to boulder until I stopped next to a young puff adder thermo-regulating in the sun. The snake was oblivious to us, soaking in as much of the sun as possible.
I pinned the adder to the rock and promptly removed its head with my pocketknife, careful of the fangs, as the teeth could still emit poison even in death. I let the blood drain steadily for a minute or two (although the blood would have been nice, too). I coiled the carcass and carried it in my hand. Here, the cold weather would preserve it nicely.
The wind blowing off the ice was cooler by at least thirty degrees. We pulled on our hoods and tied them tight and walked silently side by side. The sun cast our shadows across the smooth ice and within minutes we were surrounded by a desolate sea of white emptiness as the glacier spread before us as far as the eye could see.
Faye broke the oppressive silence. “How thick is this glacier?”
“Here, it’s only a few dozen feet deep,” I said, raising my voice above the wind. “But higher up, it can be as much as fifty. The peak itself, which is covered in ice year round, is two hundred feet thick.”
I zipped my jacket up to my neck, and shoved my hands deep in my pockets. I let the snake hang over a shoulder. Faye shuddered at the sight. The glacier was painfully white, reflecting the sun up into our sore eyes. Sunglasses would have taken care of most of that soreness. Sunglasses were now a distant luxury.
The ice spread away from us in all directions, smooth and without much formation. The wind blew steadily, kicking up powdery snow. I shielded my eyes with my forearm.
Ahead, the glacier seemed to dip down in a slight depression, and within minutes, we stopped at the edge of a deep crevasse. The inner walls glowed wetly, reflecting the sun.
“And I assume you know all about crevasses?” I asked.
“Crevasses are rips, or tears, within the ice. As glaciers move up and down mountains, the ice separates and forms crevasses. The fissures are deep—and deadly—if one is not alert.” She paused and gave me a rather flirtatious look that seemed entirely out of place but still took my breath away. “The running water you hear is due to meltwater rushing below the glacier, which forms rivers such as Bear River, which, in turn, are the headwaters to the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.”
I raised my eyebrows, impressed. “Very good, Professor Roberts. Will this be on the quiz?”
She smiled. I smiled. I took some air, filling my lungs. She had a hell of a smile.
Later, as the sun continued to set, a pea-soup fog rolled in, completely engulfing us. Without an altimeter and compass to guide the way, we had little choice but to sit it out, which we did in the middle of the ice. Faye held my hand and rested her head against my shoulder. Our polyurethane pants kept the cold and wet out. The wind blew over us with gale-like force, just in case we weren’t truly miserable. My clothing flapped like a sail. The wind thundered in my ears. I tightened my hood and ducked my head and closed my eyes and listened to the fury of the wind. We were just two forlorn figures in the middle of nowhere. It was surreal and breath-taking and a little nightmarish. When the wind had finally died, I lifted my head. Thankfully, the fog was gone as well. And as the setting sun angled directly into our faces, as a mild wind scattered loose snow over the glacier as if pushed by an invisible broom, I helped Faye to her feet and started forward.
Almost immediately, we saw the tents for the first time.
* * *
The tents formed a large camp, set within a horseshoe of granite boulders, shielded from the wind and spread over perhaps five acres. To the right of camp were rows of barrack-like pup tents, room enough to house two or three men. To the left was a much larger tent that I knew to be Omar’s personal and rather extravagant tent, as big as a double wide mobile home. However, it was the center tent that aroused my curiosity. Like something from Barnum and Bailey, minus the red stripes, the tent was big enough to host the Super Bowl. All activity seemed centered around this tent, as men and supplies came and went through the main entrance on the south side.
We moved from the open glacier to the relative safety of the ring of boulders. It appeared we had gone unseen.
“What now?” asked Faye.
“We wait until dark.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll tell you what’s next.”
As night fell, and the shadows emerged from the rocks like phantoms escaping into the night, the tents cast dark silhouettes against the clear night sky. Powerful floodlights clicked on, illuminating the entire perimeter of the camp.
While we waited, I gathered some dry grass that had withered among the boulders, then used my pocket knife to cut a notch on one end of an elderberry branch. Like a lumberjack, I sawed the notch with a similar branch until the heat ignited the surrounding tinder. The fire, soon crackling, was built low into the boulders, which diffused the rising smoke. With luck, it should go without detection.
I held the snake over the small blaze; it crackled and popped in my hands. It smelled like used oil, but that didn’t stop my stomach from growling.
“Smells awful,” said Faye, shoving her nose in the crook of her arm.
I cut off a large chunk for her. Inside, the meat was snow white. She stared at it with open revulsion. Grinning, I took a bite or two. “Tastes like chicken.”
She held the chunk of snake meat with her thumb and forefinger, examined it up close. “What about the skin?” she asked.
“Don’t eat the skin.”
“Then why did you leave the skin on?” Her face was white, pale in the moonlight.
“The skin locks in the juice.”
“Oh, God.”
She nibbled at the rubbery meat. Juice oozed down her chin. She ate perhaps one mouse-sized bite in all.
“How is it?” I asked.
Before I could get the words out, vomit launched from her mouth and immediately extinguished the fire. We were thrown into complete darkness.
“That good, huh?”
* * *
The moon shone down like a pale cycloptic eye, its silver light touching down on everything, although we were safely hidden within the shadows of the boulders. Faye was breathing hard in the thin mountain air. So was I. After all, we were nearly twelve thousand feet above sea level and oxygen was sparse at best. The wind picked up and whistled through the small openings in the rock, and brought with it the inviting smell of a fire from somewhere within camp. On the distant horizon, a lumbering cloud slowly approached on the wind, spilling across the sky like an oil slick.
The main tent rose like a Celtic monolith from the center of camp, and glowed in the artificial lights. The lights were powered by generators I could neither see nor hear. The tent’s fabric flapped wildly in the increasingly cold wind, which numbed my own lungs with each breath. I would kill for a hot cup of joe. I would kill for
hot
anything. The smaller tents all flapped in unison with each gust of wind.
“I’m hungry,” said Faye.
“There’s more snake. We didn’t touch the tail.”
“That’s not funny, Sam Ward.”
“But I thought archaeology professors will eat just about anything.”
“You’re thinking of Indiana Jones, Sam. And if I have to keep Dr. Quincy out of any arguments, then you have to leave him out, too.”
I grinned. It was probably too dark for her to see me grin, but I did so anyway.
“So what do we do next?” she asked.
“We need to find some answers.”
We heard it coming from the west, a distant pulsing thunder that rolled across the open ice plateau. Approaching rapidly was a low-flying helicopter, bearing down on us like an owl hunting field mice. However, it turned to port and moved up the mountain. A typical military-issued helicopter, it was an Italian-built Ab-212 ASW, designed for submarine hunting and electronic warfare. It was out of place here on Ararat.
And Noah’s ark, as far as I knew, wasn’t a submarine.
The chopper settled carefully within Omar’s camp, causing tents to flap crazily. The wide cabin door opened and a handful of men emerged from within the craft. First was the massive form of Farid Bastian, Omar’s personal bodyguard, followed by Omar Ali, resplendent in a pure white robe that blended with the surrounding ice. A second, larger version of Omar appeared, followed by a handful of soldiers. The prince led his small entourage back to his tent.
Chapter Twenty-six
“I would guess the thin guy with the mustache is Omar Ali,” said Faye, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest.
“The one and only.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We wait for things to quiet down.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’m going to find some answers, while you wait here.”
“No way, Sam—” She raised her voice and made as if to stand up.
I pulled her back down. I put my finger to her lips and shook my head. The whites of her eyes glowed brightly.
“But, Sam…”
“No buts.”
She made a pouty noise. It was too dark to tell, but she was probably sticking out her lower lip. “I can’t just sit here.”
“Yes you can,” I said.
I watched the camp. All was quiet. The arrival of His Holiness seemed to be the last of the day’s excitement. The temperature continued to drop. I felt as if I were inhaling tiny bits of freezing glass. I scanned the camp, looking for the person I knew had to exist.
And then I saw him.
* * *
He was dressed in white, camouflaged with his surroundings, although his dark mustache stood out like a pimple on a supermodel’s nose. Strapped to his back was a menacing-looking semiautomatic weapon. He was moving slowly through the north end of camp, working his way south, down between the rows of pup tents, pausing occasionally to rub his gloved hands. From the south, he strolled west towards us. I heard Faye’s breath catch in her throat, but I was confident we were still well-enough hidden. When the soldier neared the western perimeter, he stopped and rubbed his jaw—and looked directly at me.
Something must have tipped him off. A reflection of starlight on white teeth. The flash of a white palm. Our misting breaths. I reached down and eased my pocketknife from my belt. It felt horribly inadequate, but it was all I had.
He swung his weapon around and moved out into the darkness. Faye choked on her last breath and gripped my upper arm down to the bone, and whispered:
“He sees us
,
Sam.”
Her breath was hot in my ear, and a little exciting.