change, becoming less and less until they are no more.'
Carl knew he was talking about their souls. This, the desert, was the true home of his Bedouin people.
Resting his back against the smooth hardness of a boulder, Sharif Mamud spoke softly. 'Why do you do this, al-Kattel? I know that it is not for gold. I have read your eyes too many times in the past to believe that.'
Carl scratched at the dirt with a fingernail. 'Sharif Mamud, my friend. Has it not been written that one has no control over the path his steps will take? All has been written long before we drew our first breath or nursed at our mother's breast. I am no more than what has been ordained for me and do not control it. I am what God has made me. In sha' Allah! '
Mamud nodded his head in understanding. 'As you have said, all is in the hands of God. Yet that troubles me. If it is so, then why do we attempt to change anything? Ah, I am ready for paradise. The questions of this life plague me more with each passing year. When one loses the passions of youth, the disease of thinking too much takes over.' He paused. 'Will you kill Sunni Ali, my friend?'
Carl shrugged his shoulders. 'That depends on circumstances. I have no orders to that effect. If we could, I would prefer not to kill anyone. But I wouldn't bet on that happening, and from what little we know of Sunni Ali, I think that it will be very hard not to kill him. He may demand it.'
Mamud understood. 'Yes, there is a time to die. If one lives on dreams then what has one to live for when the dreams are dead? For such a one it is best that he go with his dreams. It would be a kindness.'
Carl rose to make the rounds. ''Rest now for a time. We still have a long way to go before that judgment has to be made. Rest well. I will be close by if you need me.'
He left Sharif Mamud in the same position as he had found him. He had the feeling that the old man had not only been talking about Sunni Ali; he had been speaking of his own dreams. Even in that Carl wished him well, for indeed there was time to die. For most men, anyway….
Leaving the camp behind, Carl climbed to the edge of a granite outcrop. From there he could look out over the endless wasteland stretching to forever. Forever… How long was that? For some it was minutes, for others, eternity. But all things must end. He believed that, though at times he had difficulty believing that about himself.
Cold winds washed over him, causing ripples over and through the myriad scars on his body. Closing his eyes he stood and swayed back and forth on the lip of the ridge. He almost let himself fall forward, but it would have done no good. Death was denied him now as it had been for two thousand years.
Two thousand years… From the time of Golgotha to now he, Casca Rufio Longinus, had marched and fought under the banners of innumerable armies and kings. Time and again he had been slave and soldier, and more often a slave to his own weaknesses. He was trapped in the pattern of his past and there was no escape. He was on the endless wheel which the ancient sage Shiu Lao had spoken of on the galley heading for Rome, the great wheel of eternity which turned upon itself, always repeating never-ending cycles.
The worst were the dreams. For weeks at a time he would fear sleep and the dreams that came with it. The lost faces, the lost loves. Futile to question, useless to fight against, he would go on as he always had, even though for him there was no purpose in doing so.
From the south the winds howled through the clefts and cracks of the massif. His mind asked, as it had a thousand times past, 'When can I rest?' And the winds replied as always, 'When we meet again…'
CHAPTER TWELVE
Before dawn Langers roused his crew.
'Let's do it. Time to move out.' There were the expected groans of frustration from the men, whose tired bodies were not yet ready to rise. Eyes were sticky, legs and arms stiff.
In a couple of hours it would be time to try and contact Sims and his group. He hadn't been able to raise them at the last call. That didn't bother him a great deal; one call missed was no problem. If they missed the next one, however, he would start to be concerned.
Carl had Abdul take the point with Mamud behind him, then he was next and the rest trailed single file with Gus bringing up drag.
It was a little after 0700 hours when Mamud called a halt. 'We are almost at the pass. From there it will be downhill.'
Welcome words. 'All right, Dominic. Send out sentries, then take a break and eat if you want to.' Rations were broken out.
As they ate, Mamud spread his jacket on the earth to serve as a prayer rug and faced toward Mecca. The rest stopped their chewing and talking. The relationship between an old man and his god were to be respected, even by those who didn't believe or understand.
Their passing was observed mainly by mottled gekko lizards crawling on the rocks to sun themselves before the heat of the day forced them back into the shade. They made one stop at midday by a spring with cool water bubbling out from the mountain depths. There they waited for an hour, luxuriating in the incredible sensation of a cold wet rag on the face.
Langers kept an eye out for any signs of weakness. When you laid off for a while it normally took a few days to get your legs back. His group seemed to be doing well enough. The loads were evenly distributed, so no one could bitch much about that.
Mamud came to Langers after his prayers. He had scouted the countryside. 'I have found a place similar to the camp of Sunni Ali. If you wish to do a rehearsal it will have to be now, for soon we will be too close to the camp to do so.'
He led Carl over a hill to where they looked down into a shallow gorge. Mamud was right; it was a good spot, with the exception of the missing caves. But there was no way to rehearse that part anyway.
'Good, my friend. Go and get the others. This will do just fine,' Carl said.
It took about fifteen minutes before Mamud returned. Carl had gone down into the gorge to look at the layout, comparing its features with those from the photos. When the men arrived he walked them around, pointing out what didn't belong and what did. Step by step he walked them through their jobs. Using a large boulder as the entrance of the caves, he guessed what the placement of sentries would be.
Then the first rehearsal commenced, dry fire naturally. They went through the escape using a fire team's maneuver for cover, then leapfrogged back. They went through it at a quarter of the actual speed at first, then finally at full speed. Three more times they ran through the exercise until at last Carl was satisfied. It was less than perfect. There would have to be some modifications made once they were on site and got a look at the real thing. But it was important to get the men to move together, to let them get the feel of each other and what was going to be required of them.
Everyone was sweat-soaked and pale-faced by the time the exercise was over. But they felt good, more comfortable. At least now they had a rough idea of what was to go down.
Gus wiped sweat from his brow with a bear-sized paw. 'God, what I wouldn't give for a liter or two of good Russian vodka. You know, just a taste to cut the dust from my sensitive palate!'
'All right, gentlemen,' Carl announced, 'you can take a break now. But remember, when we hit we have to move fast and sure. There won't be time for us to screw around any. As soon as we have the hostages, we bug out. Give each other as much cover as you can and maybe we'll come out of this clean. If not, you know the score. Anyone that goes down and can't move under his own power is shit out of luck. So be careful, but not too careful.'
Egon asked Gus dryly, 'Is he always so cheerful?'
Gus grunted an affirmative reply. 'Yes, but I'll tell you this. He will not leave anyone behind if there is any way at all to get him out.'
Egon sighed as he rubbed his aching feet. 'Well, that's something anyway.'
An hour before sunfall Sharif Mamud told them to hole up in a cleft in the rocks. He wanted to go on ahead to the camp. Sunni Ali was not far now and there would be sentries set.
'Do you want anyone to go with you?' Carl asked him.
'No. I would prefer to go alone. I do not wish to sound officious, but I do make less noise moving than you
