“Aye, aye, sir. Let’s check all o’ ’em for the weakest.”
The familiar voice of Falah came down the line of wagons. He called out to the people in the boxes.
“You will all be fed at the next stop. I’m afraid we don’t have enough for more than one meal a day for the slaves. Not quite the quality of food that you’ve all been used to, but it’s an acquired taste, I’m told. By the time you reach Timbuktoo you will appreciate it.”
A growl emanated from Rork. “I got dibs on that bastard, sir. He’s the one who told those black monsters to pound my head open, an’ he laughed when they did it.”
Wake couldn’t help a chuckle. “Gee, Rork, he’s the one I wanted. But since you’re my best friend, I’ll let you kill him. But you’ll owe me.”
“Much obliged, sir.”
Falah stopped next to Wake’s wagon and looked in at the Americans, who had resumed their previous positions and were moaning in pain, which wasn’t faked.
“It appears my Yankee friends are not enjoying the journey as much as I had hoped. Perhaps their new master and home will be more to their liking than traveling with the ShayTaan Taalib.”
“Who are you, Falah?” croaked out Wake, watching the other man’s eyes examining him through the slats. “From what I’ve been told, this isn’t what Islam teaches. ShayTaan Taalib—the Devil’s Disciples? That’s not Muslim.”
“Quite right there, Lieutenant Wake. But then again if you know what our name means in English you know that we do not pretend to be Muslim. And who am I? I am Sheik Falah bin Ali bin Abdel Musa, of the dreaded Blue Men of the desert, the Tuaregs. I am the leader of the clan of the Devil’s Disciples and we wreak havoc among the two-faced believers of the books. All of them—Jew, Christian, and Muslim. None of you matter to us, except as prey. Like a mouse to a falcon.”
“The Tuaregs are Muslim, though, so you’re no Tuareg. You’re a renegade.”
“You’ve been told that, I see. I revel in that term, for we are free while the others have become vassals of a corrupt society and sultan. Not to mention the French, who are slowly but surely taking over everyone’s freedom. Call me what you will—bandit, renegade, monster—but I am free and you most certainly are not. I will die a free man and you will die a slave. A white slave in black Mali—one who has passed the test of manhood, but has failed the test of Africa. You underestimated us with condescension. What a fitting end for you.”
“Your name. The vizier in Marrakech . . .” Wake was having trouble breathing in the suffocating dust.
“Ah yes, my decadent cousin, Ahmed, vizier to the pasha of Marrakech. We share the name of our grandfather and our German educations, but that is all. Grandfather believed in education. Studying in Berlin and Hamburg allowed Ahmed and me to understand how Europe operates. I learned that lesson well. Ahmed did not. He came back and wallowed in his decadence.”
Wake coughed. “He’s part of this?”
“In his own weak way. We have a mutually beneficial relationship. I allow him to live in his depravity and he facilitates my activities.”
“You are the devil, Falah.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. That was the most complimentary thing you could tell me. I must go now. As I said before, your . . . lunch . . . will be served at our next stop. I hope that you enjoy it.”
As Falah walked away, Wake shook his hands free and leaned over to his friend. “Tell you what, Sean Rork. You’d better kill that sonovabitch fast when we get out of here, because if you don’t, he’s mine.”
***
“How many are there, sir?” asked Rork as they worked loose the fourth slat on the right side of the crate. He started on the slat next to it.
“I saw five wagons and I see two men guarding each, with some riders out there somewhere. So that’s ten men on the wagons and maybe another ten riding horses. The riders will be scouting to the front and flanks. I think the ones we have to worry about first are the wagoneers.”
Rork stopped his work. “You and I can take the two on this one, sir, but what about the others?”
“We’ve got to get to the rifles on this wagon. If we can do that, then one of us can go free the others while the other holds the guards at bay with the rifles. I know it’s thin, Sean, but how’s that sound?”
“A whole lot better than bein’ a slave in Africa!”
By the time they stopped for the next break, the two men had loosened ten of the slats, practically the whole side of the crate. They resumed their poses when the line stopped, Wake’s heart pumping hard as he watched the bandits assemble around a cooking fire. By a stroke of luck, the loosened slats were on the side away from the fire.
“We’re in luck, Sean. They’re all around that fire. I don’t see many rifles over there. That means there must be some weapons back on the wagons. We’ll sneak out of this gawdawful contraption as far as we can without them seeing us, grab the rifles, then shoot. We both shoot a volley, then you continue firing while I go free the other prisoners.”
“No disrespect, sir, but you know I’m a bit stronger. So I’ll be the one to go an’ get our friends out while you stay here an’ take some shots at those buggers.”
Wake shook his head. “No, you’ve always been a
