The Casbah Killers

Chapter 6

I didn’t land in the little cell again. This time it was a large, stone cellar with wall manacles. My wrists were locked into the manacles which kept me in an upright position, arms upraised.

It was a place built to hold many prisoners, but I was the only tenant at the moment. In a far corner I saw something that faintly resembled a wine press, but I knew the stains miming down its sides were not grape juice.

In between watching scarabs, roaches and spiders scurry across the floor, I tried to formulate some kind of plan. Assuming things worked as I’d planned, I’d get out all right but after that what?

There was an American Consulate in Tangier. If I could reach it the AXE high-priority code would get me through to Hawk, and he could take it from there. But that would take time and it would also take me away from the scene.

If the first caravan was due to arrive, and five more on their way, it meant that trouble was ready to erupt, perhaps in a matter of days, even hours.

I had to get word to Hawk and I had to find that tunnel. As I couldn’t be in two places at one time I’d have to depend on Marina.

She wouldn’t give me the time of day right now but that would change quickly enough, I knew. But would she carry through the rest of the way or, once on her own, would she take off and get away from the whole mess? After all, she wasn’t even an American, and her stakes in all this were at best uncertain.

I smiled to myself. I’d give her a stake in it, a very personal stake that few women could resist investigating, at least. After all, she’d only just told me I hadn’t a principle in my whole body. Maybe she was right.

I’d made my decisions and now I occupied my time in quietly straining at the wall manacles, working my wrists back and forth, trying to loosen them from their wall brackets. It was, of course, a pure waste of time, but it passed the day.

A couple of times I had a few visitors, Rif guards who stopped in to check on me. On the other side of the dungeon a small patch of reflected sunlight had lighted up the wall. When it disappeared I knew the day had ended, and little by little the darkness seeped down into the dungeon until I sat in near blackness. The only light was a fitful glow reflected from a wall torch around the corner of the corridor outside.

As the hours went on I was beginning to wonder if perhaps my confidence in the basic essentials of female psychology had been misplaced. I smiled wryly. It would be a hell of a time for it to go wrong.

And then my ears picked up the faint sound, soft footsteps in the darkness. I watched the arched entranceway into the room and saw the slender shape appear, halt and peer about.

“Over here,” I whispered.

She came to me at once, kneeling down beside me. She still wore the bare midriff top and the diaphanous skirt.

“I was expecting you,” I grinned in the dark.

Her French was heavy with a Berber accent.

“Then you promise to keep the bargain,” she said. I nodded. “You promise to take her with you?” she asked.

“You set me free, and I’ll take the girl with me, I promise,” I said.

She reached up and turned the iron cross-bolts holding the manacles closed.

My arms dropped to my sides and I rubbed the circulation back into them.

“Where is the girl?” I asked.

“In the women’s quarters,” she answered, standing up. “I will take you to her.”

We moved out into the corridor, and as we passed the wall torch I glanced at her face.

She was looking pleased, smug. No doubt she was contemplating her restoration to number one position again. In one simple stroke she would have gotten rid of an obvious threat and put herself back in as number one.

I got a bittersweet amusement out of being so right about her scheming, conniving little nature.

She led me up a narrow flight of steps, through a passageway barely large enough for one, over an open balcony looking down onto the courtyard and into one of the buildings forming the rear of the Casbah.

I heard the sounds of female voices and laughter as we made our way through the semi-dark corridors.

We passed a lighted area, and I saw three girls, bare-breasted, wearing only floor-length, silk shifts, taking turns rubbing each other with some kind of oil. It would have been nice to stop and watch, but I followed the Berber girl as she hurried on soft babouches to another part of the house.

Motioning for me to hide in the shadows of a mirhab, an alcove-type recess facing in the direction of Mecca, she entered a room, and a moment later another girl came out and padded away down the corridor.

The Berber girl motioned to me again, appearing in the doorway, and I entered the room to see Marina slipping into her clothes.

Her eyes widened in astonishment when she saw me. I took her in my arms and grinned down at her.

“You didn’t really think I was going to leave you here, did you, honey?” I asked.

She clung to me, relief flooding her eyes and she nodded. “Yes,” she confessed. “Yes, I did. The way you acted and everything. That hurt more than being a prisoner here.”

I patted her fanny. “I couldn’t leave you here,” I said. “I need you and you need me. We’re a team, doll.”

She nodded happily, and I turned to the Berber girl. Once again she was wearing that pleased-with-herself look, an actual smirk this time. She seemed almost too pleased, and suddenly I felt the hair at the back of my neck start to rise.

It was an unfailing, instinctive signal I had long ago learned never to disregard.

“Which way, now?” I asked her and she started out with a short motion of her hand.

I followed with Marina behind me.

El Ahmid’s girl led us down a rear flight of stone steps into a kind of covered patio that led alongside the back of the building.

I noticed there were arched alcoves every ten feet or so along the wall.

She halted at the bottom of the steps and pointed to the dark structure at the other end of the long, covered patio.

“That is the stable,” she whispered. “You will find two horses saddled and waiting inside.”

“You go ahead,” I said. “We’ll follow.”

“No,” she answered, stepping back. “I can go no further.”

“Why not?” I asked, grimly watching her.

“I... I might be seen here,” she answered.

It was a phony answer and I thought of her smug expression again. Maybe she was more of a schemer than I’d suspected. Perhaps she was not only going to rid herself of a threat but add a little insurance for getting back as El Ahmid’s favorite.

I grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back with one hand while clapping my other hand over her mouth.

“Start walking,” I hissed. “You first.”

She tried to shake her head, but I was holding her so tight she couldn’t even do that. Her eyes rolled sideways, showing the whites in helpless fright.

I shoved her out ahead of me at arm’s length and started moving alongside the wall. We walked slowly and she tried to twist away. I tightened my grip and she stopped struggling. Her body was trembling beneath my vise-like hold as we passed the first alcove, then the second, then another and still another.

We were half-way to the stables, and I wondered if my intuition had sent out a false alarm this time when it happened, frighteningly fast even for my being on the alert.

We were but a pace from the next recessed alcove when the man leaped out, a long doubled-edge sword in his hand. He swung it with both hands as he leaped from the alcove, not stopping to look. Obviously, he was certain of what he’d find.

The tremendous swing almost cut the girl in half. I felt her body slam against mine and felt more than heard the sharp gasp of death that sucked from her mouth.

I let go and she collapsed instantly. I was diving over her, my hands reaching for the guard’s throat before he could bring his blade back. I dug in silently, quickly and efficiently.

He clawed at my hands for a moment but I had him solidly. His eyes bulged, his hands fell away and I lowered him to the ground, dropping him half-over the girl.

I’d guessed correctly.

She had set it up with one of the guards, and it didn’t take much imagination to see how she’d planned to have it work out.

He would have killed us both within moments. After that she would have started to scream the alarm. By the time anyone arrived at the scene we’d be two dead bodies, and both she and the guard would go up in El Ahmid’s eyes.

If she’d just led us to safety, there’d possibly be questions raised as to how I’d escaped. This way she could embellish the whole tiling with a story of how I’d slipped into the women’s quarters and snatched Marina out before her very eyes. She’d followed us downstairs and screamed the alarm, and it would be so neat and pat.

Only it hadn’t worked out that way, and I saw Marina staring transfixed at the two bodies. I scooped up the guard’s heavy double-edge sword and grabbed Marina’s hand, yanking her out of her shocked trance.

“This way,” I hissed, pulling her along.

“What happened?” she asked as we ran.

“Long story,” I smiled. “A case of attempted double-crossing, a technique that should never be tried by amateurs.”

We reached the stable and slipped inside. It was full of horses, and, as I expected, there were no two Arabians saddled and waiting.

I saddled up two of the nearest stallions, carefully opened the stable door and started out.

“Bend low in the saddle,” I said to Marina. “Make a small target of yourself and don’t gallop until I do. Then give it everything you’ve got and follow me.”

The big, arched entranceway was still open, one guard at each side of it. I walked the big, powerful stallion forward, letting him wheel around a few times on his own. Hunched low in the saddle, I knew the guards, at this distance, could see nothing more than a dark shape in the saddle. All they could make out were two horses and riders on them.

I edged the stallion toward the gate, keeping him at a frisky walk.

Marina was right behind me.

I played, it cool and edged up still further. Coming out of the stables as we had, they were regarding us with no more than casual interest. Had we been approaching from outside they’d have had us in their rifle sights by now.

I turned the stallion’s head toward the gate, looked back again to see that Marina was wheeling her horse in position, and dug my heels into his ribs. He flattened his ears back, leaped forward and took off like a desert windstorm.

I passed the two guards and was outside before they even got their rifles up. I was on my way down the steep path when I heard the sound of Marina’s voice.

I looked back and saw her toppling from the saddle, one of the guards hanging onto her.

He had thought quickly and had seen there wouldn’t be time for him to bring up his rifle and fire. He’d leaped forward, throwing himself at her as she rode past.

“Dammit!” I cursed, wheeling the stallion around.

I raced back and saw the one guard struggling with Marina. The other one, seeing me galloping back, tried to get his rifle up.

He never made it. I ran the stallion right at him and he had to leap aside. As he did so, I brought the double-edge sword down on his head. The thunking sound had the ring of utter finality to it.

The other one struggling with Marina threw her to the ground and brought his rifle around, but I was on him too fast.

I came down with the sword with all my strength.

He ducked it and I wheeled for another try but I saw he would have the rifle up to fire in a second.

I threw the sword, hard and down. It went into his chest like a lance.

Marina had mounted her horse before he hit the ground and we took off.

They’d be coming after us, but we had a head start and they’d have to get lucky to pick which of the many passes we’d chosen to take.

But I wasn’t about to take any chances. I kept up the breakneck pace until we were at the foot of the mountain range. We’d taken some perilously steep trails to cut down as straight as we could and now I halted at the edge of the Taza Gap.

To the east, the camel caravan would be approaching from Algeria or Southern Morocco. To the west of the gap, Tangiers and the American Consulate.

I dismounted and pulled Marina down beside me.

“You heard what El Ahmid is planning,” I told her. “He’s got to be stopped. I’m going to give you a secret code signal. You ride to Tangiers, don’t stop for anything, ride right to the American Consulate there. Give the code signal to him and ask him to call AXE headquarters for you. He’ll do it because of the code signal. When you get AXE headquarters, tell the person on the phone the whole story. Got that so far?”

She nodded and I went on.

“Most important,” I said, “is to tell them about the camel caravan that will enter the Taza Gap. Tell them I said to run with the ball.”

She frowned.

“That means to do whatever is necessary to meet the situation,” I said.

“Where will you be, Nick?” she asked.

“I’m going to find me a spot somewhere and wait for that caravan,” I answered. “If my people don’t make it, I might still find a way to do something. I don’t know what but I’m sure as hell going to try.”

I looked down at her and remembered my thoughts about giving her a personal stake in all this. Now it was my time to buy a little insurance. I pressed my lips down on hers and held her breasts, pressing both hands against them. I ran my thumbs gently across their tips, feeling her nipples swell beneath the fabric of the dress.

“Remember what I said about needing each other?” I asked. “After you get to my people, when this is over, maybe we can make this a permanent team?”

I saw her eyes deepen and she nodded, holding me tight.

“Now get going, honey,” I whispered in her ear, a little reluctant to let go of those soft, enticing breasts myself. “Every second counts.”

I helped her mount, kissed her again and watched her go off. When she was out of sight and the first gray tint of dawn began to spread across the sky, I turned the stallion around and headed east along the edge of the Taza Gap.

The sky continued to lighten, and as it did I saw the flat stretch of land along which I rode, the historic road for conquerors from the East. The Taza Gap lay between the Rif range and the mountains known as the Middle Atlas. Through its wide swath, ancient legions had traveled from east to west and west to east and left their mark on the land itself.

I passed the ruins of ancient villages where Roman garrisons had been quartered, the unmistakable relics of Roman architecture an echo of their days of glory.

The road led up high into the mountains but still remained a natural highway between the two mountain ranges.

I stayed close along the northern edge, watching carefully as the sun rose high in the sky.

El Ahmid and his men would be out, coming this way, I knew. They might travel a distance in the Rif mountains and then cut down onto the Taza Gap as I had done with Marina, but sooner or later they would have to appear. Knowing I’d escaped, he had only one thing to do, meet the caravan and advance his timetable before I could summon help.

I had to halt to water the horse a few times but other than that I rode steadily, grateful for the deep-chested stamina of the Arabian under me.

It was late afternoon when I neared the eastern end of the gap. I wheeled the horse up into the Rif foothills, found a sheltered spot behind a circle of large boulders and put the stallion out of sight.

Climbing up onto the boulders, I flattened out and began to watch from my makeshift falcon’s nest. I could see a good distance down the gap in either direction, and I wondered how Marina had made out. I was pretty sure she had kept on with her mission, but I wasn’t at all sure they hadn’t cut her off before she got very far.

Only time would tell, and, as I waited in the heat of the blistering sun, I realized that I was pretty damn helpless. I hadn’t a revolver, a rifle, a dagger or a toothpick.

If Marina hadn’t made it, how the hell did I expect to stop an armed camel caravan of some seven hundred men plus those El Ahmid would bring with him to meet them? I’d have to meet a genie in a bottle, I said to myself. That or find Aladdin and his magic lamp.

My idle thoughts were cut off by a cloud of dust from the west. The cloud grew and materialized into El Ahmid and his men. There were some two hundred of them, I estimated, riding like hell with the Rif leader in the forefront. They were just about opposite me when I saw El Ahmid raise his hand and rein up to a halt.

I peered in the other direction to see the camel caravan approaching, the stately, unhurried motion of the camels somehow reminiscent of a royal procession. The caravan stretched out farther back than I could see, and I saw the double rows of camels in the center carrying the haik-clad “women,” two on a camel.

The armed guards, equally hidden in their burnooses and voluminous djellabas, lined either side of their precious cargo.

El Ahmid and two of his men raced forward to meet the caravan while the rest of his force stayed behind.

I saw them hold a hurried conference and then a series of shouted commands was passed back along the caravan.

I saw the camels suddenly come to life and begin to move forward with surprising speed. When they neared me I saw they were using the mehari, the sand-colored fast dromedaries used by the troopers of the Camel Corps.

I waited, watching, as the caravan moved past and went on down the Taza Gap, headed westward.

I mounted up and began a careful pursuit, staying in the narrow passes of the foothills.

The camels, even the fleetest of them, were slow compared to the horses, and the entire caravan moved at a relatively slow pace. Even negotiating the ups and downs of the mountain roads I had no trouble staying with them.

But now nightfall was approaching, and I was beginning to worry. I’d seen no sign of help arriving. If darkness fell, they’d keep going and no doubt make it to the trail up Mount Dersa and El Ahmid’s Casbah. From there, it was probably not far to the entrance to the tunnel.

I still had the two tubes of paint in my pocket. If you ignited them in the tube, in concentrated form, they were as powerful as two sticks of dynamite each, but even that, out here in the wide-open spaces of the Taza Gap, would mean little.

Suddenly, as I rode over the crest of a narrow path, I saw the caravan and the small army of Rifs come to a halt. Up ahead, a cloud of dust rose once again and it grew quickly into what was at first a brilliant red patch. It soon separated itself into the uniforms of the crack horsemen of the Royal Guards, each on a gray Arabian stallion and each carrying a long lance along with the regular rifles and handguns.

I counted four battalions, a good number of men but not even half of those making up the Rif brigade and the camel caravan.

I said a silent thanks to Marina. She obviously had made it, but I wondered if she had forgotten to mention how many would be in the caravan.

I watched the Royal Guards draw closer and saw that they had spread their ranks across the entire Taza Gap, from side to side. They rode forward at a slow trot, each one a thin line of red.

I had halted at the top of a short path that would lead me down into the middle of the caravan. Either the approaching horsemen were supermen or they were damned confident.

They maintained their slow trot, and now I saw El Ahmid whipping his men into a frenzy, riding back and forth among them.

I saw rifles brandished aloft, along with the curved Moorish daggers and heavy double-edged swords. Then I heard a sharp, staccato sound, the chopping sound of rotary blades in the air.

I looked up, shielding my eyes against the sun, to see four, five, six huge helicopters coming down behind the caravan. I saw more of them approaching and I saw the markings on them. They were U.S. Navy cargo ’copters from one of the Mediterranean-based carriers. The first one had already landed and opened its bay, and I saw more red uniforms on more gray stallions racing out and down the ramp.

The ’copters were landing another four battalions at least behind the caravan, boxing El Ahmid and his “slave girls” in between them. The ’copters took to the air instantly, and the Royal Guards went into their slow trot at once, also forming the same straight lines across the width of the gap.

I heard a whistle, and the slow trot changed into a fast trot.

El Ahmid had frantically dispatched half his men to the rear of the caravan to meet the attack from that quarter.

At another whistle the Royal Guards broke into a full gallop. I watched them lower their lances to the “charge” position. They ploughed into El Ahmid’s men like the prongs of some huge pitchfork digging into a bale of hay, shifting their lines at the very last moment to tighten up their formation and hit with double the impact.

The battle was joined with a tremendous roar and the sound of rifle fire mingled with the coarse shouts of men and the galloping of hoofs. The Chinese posing as women were not equipped with arms, and they were bolting in terror, leaping from the camels and attempting to flee as the Royal Guards cut through El Ahmid’s men and attacked the caravan.

It was time to join the fun. I spurred my horse down the narrow path and landed smack in the middle of things, coming along just as a Royal Guardsmen impaled one of the rifle-carrying guards on a lance.

The man toppled from the camel and I reached down to scoop up his rifle. It was a Chinese version of the M-16.

I got off a good burst that caught two of the fleeing Chinese and one of El Ahmid’s men. I fought my way through the wheeling, milling confusion of camels, horses and men fleeing on foot. I managed to grab one of the curved Moorish daggers from the belt of a dead Rif as he dangled from his saddle and stuck it into my belt.

As usually happens, the efficient, trained tactics of the professionals were making themselves felt. The Royal Guardsmen roared in and out of the shouting, wild-eyed fighters of El Ahmid’s men with unspectacular but deadly effect.

The Rifs, natural warriors and fierce fighters, were unsurpassed at their kind of hit-and-run tactics, the roaring attack of unexpected fury. Against the trained cavalry tactics of the red-uniform Guardsmen they were more sound than fury, more energy than efficiency.

The “slave girls” were being mowed down as they tried to flee. Those managing to get away would be either rounded up later or fall prey to the harshness of the mountains on either side of them.

But El Ahmid was in there someplace, and as I wheeled off to the side to get a better view of the battle I saw him, battling well against two Guardsmen, avoiding their thrusts and cutting them down with a brilliant maneuver.

I spurred my horse forward to cut across after him when I saw him turn, wave an arm at three of his lieutenants, and start to race from the scene of the battle. The Guardsmen had more than they could handle. They had no one to spare to chase after the fleeing Rifs.

I edged my way along the side of the battle, pausing to exchange rifle fire with one of the Chinese still astride his camel.

He came down at me in an awkward gait, rifle raised to his shoulder and firing. On a horse he’d have easily sent at least two shots into me but on the camel it was like firing from the deck of a pitching, tossing ship. The shots went around my ears, and I brought him down with one fast return.

El Ahmid and his three Rifs were still in sight but disappearing fast down the road.

I took after them, content to keep them in sight. I didn’t want to catch up yet.

They cut into the mountains on the other side of Taza, leaving the Taza Gap and going up along the Rif itself.

I followed suit. If they knew I was following them they gave no sign of it. I kept my distance, staying just close enough to keep them in sight from time to time as they raced up and around and through the narrow Rif passages.

It was almost dark now, and I knew we were getting back near Mount Dersa when I saw them suddenly turn off the trail and enter a single-file gorge.

I went down after them and into the narrow, high-sided path. It was long and continuously narrow, and I realized it was a deep cut through the mountain, running toward the coastline.

I couldn’t see them any longer, and I increased my speed, pausing every so often to listen for the sound of their horses up ahead.

The narrow gorge widened out finally by a clump of orange trees in what appeared to be a small mountain valley. I galloped along the road and turned a sharp corner.

A body dropped on me like the proverbial ton of bricks, and I went flying from the saddle. On the ground, the man lost his grip for a moment and I twisted away to see it was one of the Rifs.

He’d dropped back, climbed onto a ledge at the corner and waited. He pulled out his dagger and came for me.

I ducked the first slice and avoided the second one. I’d almost forgotten I carried one stuck in my belt, and I brought it out with a sweeping motion. The curved dagger was not a weapon I was used to and against an experienced fighter it could be worse than no weapon at all.

I tried a swipe with it and he deftly fended it and came around with a slashing blow that almost ended the fight. I felt the tip of the blade nick my throat as it went by. I went into a crouch and circled.

He brought his blade upward in an arc and then back and forth in two quick motions and once again I twisted away with not more than a fraction of an inch to spare.

Angry, I tossed the damn dagger to one side and faced him. I saw his broken teeth flash as he smiled in anticipation.

He rushed me, which was what I was waiting for.

I dropped low and came up inside his curved swing with a hard right to the belly.

As he grunted I grabbed his arm, applied pressure and gave him a hip-flip. He went crashing down onto the ground. Before he could gather himself, I scooped up the dagger from where I’d tossed it and brought it down in a crashing, curving blow. I watched his head separate from his body.

“That one’s for Aggie Foster,” I muttered.

My stallion had halted nearby. I retrieved my rifle and started off at a gallop.

El Ahmid and the other two would be somewhere ahead, waiting, I knew.

I rode on for a while and then took to my feet, moving silently, cautiously along the pathway. The mountain rose to the right of me in a series of rocky formations and the path curved and twisted. Suddenly I heard the neigh of a horse ahead.

I moved forward slowly, keeping to the deep shadows alongside the steep rock sides of the mountain. I saw them waiting, El Ahmid and the other two. Taking my rifle, I checked the chamber and uttered a mixed oath and expression of thanks. There was but one bullet in it. I had intended to step out and start blazing away. It would have been a very unhappy surprise for me.

“I won’t wait any longer,” I heard El Ahmid say. “Muhad would be here by now if something hadn’t gone wrong. Perhaps they are both dead.”

The other two nodded solemnly, and I watched as El Ahmid walked over to the side of the mountain and began to press his hands along the stones.

Suddenly, with a groaning, rumbling noise, one of the stones began to move slowly, opening up in door-like fashion. Shades of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, I muttered to myself. I stayed quiet as El Ahmid and the other two got on their horses and disappeared into the mountain. In a moment the stone began to move again and with a rumbling groan went back into place.

I moved out into the open. They were inside the tunnel. Whether they were going to hide out there or ride through it and into Spain, they’d be there a while. I waited, giving them plenty of time to move deep into the tunnel. I didn’t want them to hear the door open again.

Finally, I went over to the stone wall of the mountain and began to press against it as I’d seen El Ahmid do. Nothing happened and I almost felt like saying “Open, Sesame.” I started over again, this time pressing harder, moving along the rock inch by inch. Half-way across a smooth section I felt a slight movement.

I stepped back quickly and watched the rock slide open again. I mounted my horse and rode in, expecting utter darkness. I found the tunnel dimly lighted but still lighted by a series of small light bulbs hung from the ceiling and obviously operated by a battery generator.

I walked the stallion down the slope of the tunnel, surprisingly wide, and my eyes took in the old wood beams overhead, most of them shored up by fresh timbers. The tunnel sloped downward steeply for a long while and then leveled off.

I spurred the Arabian on to a fast trot, risking the echo that resounded in the tunnel. A dank clamminess was in the air now, and I guessed I was underwater.

They had to be ahead someplace. There was nowhere else to go.

I pressed on, pausing to listen. I heard nothing and decided to go forward faster. As I galloped through the tunnel I saw them ahead, waiting, facing me. I halted some ten yards from them.

“So, American,” El Ahmid said. “I underestimated your cleverness. But you have just entered your tomb.”

“Maybe,” I answered. “May it’ll serve for all of us.”

I glanced up at the stone and dirt roof, the walls of stone and hard-baked clay. They had survived centuries, held together by the chemical knowledge of an ancient culture, but I had my doubts if they would survive a good-sized explosion. All it would take would be enough of a shock tremor. The pressure of the water outside would do the rest, and once it caved in the whole thing would go.

I looked at the trio in front of me. If they made it to Spain, they’d still be the only ones who knew of the existence of the tunnel. I knew El Ahmid would merely bide his time for another attempt, perhaps this time with different backers. I couldn’t let them get away, no matter what it cost.

This ancient feat of Arab engineering was a kind of time-bomb from the pages of history, a legacy left by the old Moslem conquerors. It would be ironic if, after hundreds of years, they would have the last laugh on the western world.

El Ahmid would see to it if he were left to escape. He was inflamed with his own sense of destiny, a man too dangerous to let get away.

I had the dagger and a rifle with one bullet in it. Not much to fight with. The tubes of paint in my pocket were the best bet. They’d cause a helluva explosion, enough, I felt certain, to bring the old tunnel to a crashing, water-filled end. Would there be a chance to get out before it collapsed around my ears? The chances were more no than yes.

“Take him,” El Ahmid said quietly and I saw them start to move toward me, each one of them drawing his long, curved dagger.

I backed the horse down the tunnel and did some fast calculating. I had two tubes of the explosive paint. If one could wreck the tunnel and bring it crashing down, with the sea pouring in, there’d never be time enough to outride the rushing water and escape via the entrance. They’d try it, I knew, but they’d never make it.

But I’d still have one tube left and a half a minute, perhaps a whole minute, before the tunnel filled with water. I thought back to what I knew of the laws of water pressure and counter-force. I knew what Hawk had told me about the paint, that once lighted it would go off underwater as well as on land.

What the hell, I muttered, it was worth the risk. I could afford to be philosophical. There wasn’t anything else left to be. But if I had a million-to-one chance I had first to avoid getting sliced up three ways.

El Ahmid and the other two were advancing on me.

I wheeled the stallion around, galloped back a few yards and then turned and charged them. They halted and waited for me, their vicious daggers upraised, ready to carve me up as I tried to run the gauntlet through them.

I saw El Ahmid’s smile of disdain once again. I kept the stallion at full gallop, heading right for them and I drew my own dagger to make it look good. The horse’s head was level with their steeds’ when I slipped from the saddle and swung around under the horse’s neck in an old trick taught me by a movie stunt rider years ago.

I heard the three daggers clank against each other as they swiped at empty air. Once through them I swung back into the saddle and leaped off the horse while he was still running. He went on down the tunnel as I grabbed one of the paint tubes from my pocket. I held my lighter against it and it flared up, a lovely rose madder. I had some fifteen seconds leeway before it ignited.

I tossed it at the three Rifs who backed off in wariness.

They fell backward as it went off with a deafening roar.

I wasn’t really watching them, anyway. My eyes were on the wall as the concentrated explosion erupted. I was sent flying but I was braced for it and let my body roll relaxed. I came up on one knee, my eyes focusing on the wall.

I saw the shower of dirt and clay cascade into the tunnel, followed by the torrent of water. Huge cracks appeared on both sides now and spread instantly in all directions. Dirt, followed by water, erupted from every new crack. And then, with a deafening roar, the whole damned thing opened up, and a rushing, leaping torrent of water raced into the tunnel to spread out in both directions.

I was caught up in it and swirled upward toward the top of the tunnel. I swam against the onrushing current, back toward the main opening. There was still some four feet of air space between the rising water and the roof.

I caught a glimpse of tossed bodies on the other side of the cascading water, and I knew El Ahmid’s dream had gone to join those of other conquerors in history. There wasn’t much more than a foot of air space left now.

I took out the second tube, lit it and dropped it into the water beneath me. I knew it was heavy enough to sink slowly, at least. I waited the fifteen seconds, took a deep breath and forced air into my eardrums and sinuses.

The explosion did what I’d calculated it would do. I felt myself lifted as by a tremendous wet hand and sent hurtling upward through the water, out through the opening of the tunnel roof. The pressure was terrible. I felt my body grow tight, my lungs burning, straining as the explosion forced me upward through the water like a torpedo.

I felt my shoes rip away, and then my clothes tear. The pressure was getting more than the human body could bear and I could feel the veins and blood vessels expanding to the bursting point when I shot into the air. My lungs hurt terribly as I gulped the first breath of air. It went down into them like ice water, and I felt dizzy. I managed to tread water and strike out feebly.

Finally, I floated over on my back and let the current carry me from the seething, churning water. I floated until I felt enough strength returning to my arms and legs, until I began to feel as though I might stay together.

Slowly, swimming with easy, deliberate strokes, I headed back for the Moroccan coastline. Luckily, I hadn’t come that far through the tunnel, and when I finally reached the sand, I collapsed and lay there, a dark, still shape in the night.

I lay there a long time and then slowly got to my feet. I couldn’t help but think of my first landing on the shores of Morocco and I looked carefully around to see that I was alone.

The walk up the beach was a gentle slope, for which I was thankful. I found a road and started to walk west toward Tangiers. When morning came I was still on the road. I waved down a jeep I saw approaching. It turned out to be filled with Moroccan soldiers, searching for Chinese fugitives along the coastline.

At my story they spun the jeep about, and we raced for Tangiers and the American Consulate.