Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

90

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Thursday, July 20, 2006. 1:48 p.m.

You two, don’t take your eyes off the entrance to the excavation site. I’m on my way.

Those were the words that caused, albeit indirectly, the demise of Dekker’s remaining crew. When the attack came, the eyes of the two soldiers were looking everywhere but the place from which the danger came.

Tewi Waaka, the huge Sudanese, only glimpsed the intruders dressed in brown when they were already in the camp. There were seven of them, armed with Kalashnikov rifles. He alerted Jackson on the radio and the two opened fire. One of the intruders fell under the hail of bullets. The others hid behind the tents.

Waaka was surprised that they didn’t return fire. In reality that was his last thought, because a few seconds later two terrorists who had climbed the cliff ambushed him from behind. Two bursts from the Kalashnikov and Tewi Waaka joined his ancestors.

On the other side of the canyon in Nest 2, Marla Jackson saw Waaka being shot through the scope of her M4 and understood that she was heading for the same fate. Marla knew the cliffs well. She had spent so many hours there with nothing to do other than look around and touch herself through her trousers when no one was watching, counting the hours until Dekker would come and take her off on a private reconnaissance mission.

During the hours of sentry duty she had imagined hundreds of times how hypothetical enemies might climb up and surround her. Now, peering over the edge of the cliff, she saw two very real enemies only a foot and a half away. She immediately plugged them with fourteen bullets.

They made no sound as they died.

There were now four of the enemy left that she knew of, but she could do nothing from her position without cover. The only thing she could think of was to join Dekker down at the excavation so they could decide on a plan together. It was a shitty option, because she’d lose the advantage of height and an easier escape route. But she had no choice, because she now heard three words on her walkie-talkie:

‘Marla… help me.’

‘Dekker, where are you?’

‘Down below. At the base of the platform.’

Unconcerned for her own safety, Marla climbed down the rope ladder, and ran towards the excavation. Dekker was lying next to the platform with a very ugly wound to the right side of his chest and with his left leg twisted under him. He must have fallen from the top of the scaffolding. Marla examined the wound. The South African had managed to stop the bleeding but his breathing was…

Fucking whistling.

… worrying. He had a punctured lung, and that was bad news unless they got to a doctor straight away.

‘What happened to you?’

‘It was Russell. That son of a bitch… he caught me by surprise as I came in.’

‘Russell?’ Marla said, surprised. She tried to think. ‘You’ll be all right. I’ll get you out of here, Colonel. I swear.’

‘No way. You have to get yourself out of here. I’m finished. The master said it best: “Life to the great majority is a constant struggle for mere existence, with the certainty of being overcome at last.” ’

‘Could you please leave fucking Schopenhauer out for once, Dekker?’

The South African smiled sadly at his lover’s outburst and made a slight gesture with his head.

‘Behind you, soldier. Don’t forget what I told you.’

Marla turned and saw the four terrorists converging on her. They had fanned out, and were using the rocks as cover, while her only protection would be the heavy tarpaulins protecting the hydraulic system and steel bearings of the platform.

‘Colonel, I think we’re both finished.’

Strapping the M4 on her shoulder she tried to drag Dekker under the scaffolding, but could only move him a few inches. The South African’s weight was too much, even for a strong woman like her.

‘Listen to me, Marla.’

‘What the hell do you want?’ Marla said, trying to think as she squatted next to the scaffolding’s steel supports. While she wasn’t sure if she should open fire before she had a clear shot, she was sure they’d have one much sooner that she would.

‘Give yourself up. I don’t want them to kill you,’ Dekker said, his voice growing weaker.

Marla was about to swear at her commander again when a quick glance towards the canyon entrance told her that giving herself up might be the only way out of this absurd situation.

‘I give up!’ she screamed. ‘Are you listening, you pricks? I give up. Yankee she go home.’

She threw her rifle several feet in front of her, followed by her automatic pistol. Then she stood and put up her hands.

I’m counting on you, bastards. This is your chance to interrogate a woman prisoner in depth. Don’t fucking shoot me.

Slowly the terrorists approached, their rifles aimed at her head, each Kalashnikov muzzle ready to spit out lead and end her precious life.

‘I give up,’ Marla repeated, watching them advance. They formed a semi-circle, their knees bent, faces covered by black scarves, about twenty feet apart from each other so they wouldn’t be an easy target.

The hell I give up, you sons of bitches. Enjoy your seventy-two virgins.

‘I give up,’ she yelled one last time, hoping to drown out the growing noise of the wind that turned into an explosion when the wall of sand swept over the tents, swallowing up the plane then hurtling towards the terrorists.

Two of them turned in shock. The others never knew what hit them.

All of them died instantly.

Marla threw herself next to Dekker and pulled the tarpaulin over them as an improvised kind of tent.

You have to get down. Cover yourself with something. Don’t fight the heat and the wind or you’ll dry up like a raisin.

Those had been Torres’s words, always the braggart, when he had talked to his companions about the myth of the simoon while they played poker. Maybe it would work. Marla grabbed hold of Dekker and he tried to do the same, although his grip was weak.

‘Hang in there, Colonel. In half an hour we’ll be far away from here.’