Chapter 64

 

 

DAY 10

 

 

Jack, Nash and Calla jumped into a Toyota Tacoma truck and zipped to the airport where they boarded a Gulfstream G150 jet that flew them to Ürümqi, the capital of Xinjiang in Northern China. As per Honghui’s arrangements, two frontier defense men, clad in infrared camouflage uniforms and a couple of resident archeologists met them outside the Ürümqi Museum. The men guided them to a military truck.

 

Hours later, on the back of the armored vehicle, Calla awoke, her head thumping the side of the off-road vehicle. They bore down the southern route of the Silk Road, the historical, international trade-route between China and the Mediterranean, whose arid nature had formed a vast wasteland in the autonomous region in northwest China.

She tugged at her thermal parka and adjusted her winter hat as they crossed into the Taklamakan Desert. Combative winds made their way through the back of the vehicle with fierce resolve. Calla glanced back along the road they had taken, observing the vast desert. No other vehicles lumbered the deserted climb. The transparent canopy above them flapped in the trail wind, their only shelter against Arctic gusts. Soon, the truck revved up a steep sand dune, on the southern route to Tarim that ran from Kashgar to Dunhuang.

Crossing the ‘Sea of Death’, as it was locally known, the place barely produced enough water for vegetation among its harsh wastelands. It was a risk she’d taken without much thought. This place is a death trap. What on Earth was my mother doing here?

This wasn’t how Calla had envisaged the trip. Certainly not venturing deeper into nothingness.

And for what? A mother who had abandoned her at birth without a second glance.

When the Toyota ground its tires up the dunes to Hotan, nearing the citadel at Mazar Tagh, doubts began to creep into Calla’s head. She leaned into Nash’s shoulder, who sat on her left and studied the Hotan cross-desert highway, west across the Hotan River. Off a ruined hill fort, the site dated from the time of the Tibetan Empire. It meandered deeper into the nucleus of the Taklamakan desert, the world’s second largest shifting-sand wilderness. The Toyota turned in to the interior of the desert basin where more mobile sand dunes dusted the plains, largely devoid of vegetation.

Nash whispered in her ear, unease lining his features. “Don’t like this. We’ve been on the road longer than planned.”

She moistened her dry lips. “We can’t stop now. My mother’s life may depend on it.”

Nash’s head backed up against the truck’s edge, his eyes firmly on the two military men. “Your call, Cal. Stay close.”

Calla questioned the distrust in his eyes, in particular, as they fell on the two Tai Chi swords the men carried. Was this typical of the frontier-defense army Honghui had organized to chaperon them? Nash was pondering the same thing. Had she dismissed the weapons altogether in their haste? Though reserved in demeanor, Calla wondered about their escort, especially the taller one with his angular build and slanted brown eyes that blazed at her like two amber gems.

The second man, short and stocky, gave her the impression he was physically capable of slicing any attacker in two, from the way he transported his weapon. He too gawked at her in silence, caressing the brass-handle in his hands, as he chewed a disdainful brand of tobacco. The two archeologists had taken front passenger seats. One dozed with his head bouncing on the other’s shoulder as the truck jolted, maneuvering the rutted roads.

Calla’s face grimaced. Her eyes wandered to Jack whose satellite tracker still failed to pick up a secure British government satellite for most of the trip. Their expedition depended on reliable communications systems. Calla embraced the truth. They had no network signal reception. At the foot of their climb, Calla had detected the mixture of stone and sand along the highway, hardly a place for life human, or otherwise. They could be out of communication with anyone who knew them. Their fates rested with the leniency, or not, of the silent men in the truck.

Rigidness lined her brow. “Nash?”

“Yes?”

“There’s no sign of civilization. I haven’t seen a town, truck, cattle, or a camel for the last two hours. Not even a riffraff shop or temple.”

His eyes lingered on the swords. “Thinking the same thing here.”

She edged into him, the frigid metal of the side of the truck seeping through her skin as they hunched in the rear of the truck. A swarm of zone-tailed hawks squawked overhead in search of prey crossing the sterile expanse. How long? Had they been too quick to accept Honghui’s terms? Nash’s face set off a warning glare as he peered through the torn canopy. “Damn it!”

Calla lifted her head and squinted at the approaching menace of nature’s force. Having never experienced one, the veiling dust that headed their way, dropped a weight in her gut. “A sandstorm.”

 

Nash’s eyes narrowed focusing on a cacophony thudding behind him. A dozen military men veered up the dune on horseback, the hooves of their beasts trudging the sand. The cloud dust brewed meters from them, shrouding fog as it, gathered dust and airborne particles that assailed their skin. As if nature’s reprimand was not menacing enough, Calla’s instincts told her to glimpse ahead at the larger military man. His unwavering face clung to her with irate eyes that narrowed into her soul.

Nash leaned into Jack, his tone low. “Any luck with the satellite, Jack? Can you pick up our location? The storm might throw us off course.”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t get it. The GPS tracking system and signals are all acting out of sync.”

“I saw this in the Sahara two years ago, we need that satellite link, Jack.” Nash said.

“I can’t do anything.” Jack’s voice was barely audible from the swirling howls of the growing dust cloud. “The battery is dying out. The compass says we’re off course.”

Nash was on his feet, his head touching the canopy. “Let me see that.”

Jack handed him the tracker. As he reached for it, the vehicle came to an abrupt halt, its tires grinding the sand and jolting the three friends forward. Calla raised her head from where it had hit the metal side of the truck. The Toyota perched itself on the edge of a steep, rocky slope. The blast of blistering, sandy air made any visibility close to impossible as the wind picked up again.

“Let’s draw the canopy,” Jack said.

“Says who? Up!” the first military man bellowed at them. “We’ll take all those tablets, phones and any piece of wire on you that dares uses a byte or link to a satellite.”

“No, you won’t.” Calla said.

His dagger edged to her throat. “Let’s see how well you handle diplomatic relations in China.”

 

 

 

TARIM DESERT, NORTHERN CHINA

 

They turned toward the severe voice. A Tai Chi sword, its shimmering blade glistening in the dimming light of the car’s taillights, stood between Calla and the tall man. He pointed the tip of the blade under her chin. Any movement and the cutting edge would sliver her skin. She drew a deep breath and edged back against Nash. The swordsman’s condescending tone shook her nerves. “So you want to awaken the ghosts that live around here.”

“You’re superstitious,” said Calla in Mandarin. “You’ve got it wrong, friend. As we told Honghui, we’re not here to disrespect the archeological site.”

“Save it!”

“I just need to find a coordinate and a man my mother knew.”

The man edged the sword tighter against her jaw, piercing her olive skin slightly. Drops of seeping blood dripped on her all-weather parka. Her eyes progressed down to where the blood had trickled.

“Liar!” said the swordsman, his demeanor unyielding. “For years, the Western world had sought to change our history claiming they brought civilization to the East. Isn’t that what you Western curators teach? We’re not going to let that happen.”

Her braced breathing intensified as the blade tunneled a little deeper. His putrid breath filled her nostrils.

“That’s enough. Put that down.” Nash’s commanding Mandarin startled Calla and awakened her resolve. He set a firm grip on the man’s bulging wrist.

The attacker resisted Nash’s sharp wrist pull and edged his ancient weapon closer against Calla’s skin. “Aren’t you the American? You want to steal secrets for your government. Maybe look at our reserves of petroleum and natural gas in this area.” His nostrils flared. “Or do you want to spy on our nuclear testing facilities? Get off the truck, all of you!”

His military partner carved toward them as Nash, Calla, and Jack hurtled off the truck, barely able to see ahead of them. The heart of the sandstorm matured meters away. Within minutes, their visibility would dissolve altogether. As the whirling dust maneuvered toward them, Calla staggered to her feet, barely able to visualize the attackers in the dancing dust. She made every effort to remain unruffled.

With feet shoulder-wide, the first man lengthened his dagger and pitched it in front of her.

Calla dodged back, crashed into Jack’s firm chest and landed on the heaping sand.

Nash studied their opponent’s movements ready to launch a preemptive strike with his bare fists. He suddenly drew the second man’s weapon and clashed swords with the first attacker. They struggled blade to blade until Nash drove him back with a sidekick to the waist.

He recoiled to the ground.

Calla and Jack pulled themselves upright. When the first attacker engaged a second strike with the blade, swift and gazelle-like, Nash dove in front of them for a block.

The blade slit a cut in his arm, and the pain made him lose focus for a few seconds. Determined to mince their assailant, he cut across the sand and engaged a roundhouse kick in the man’s diaphragm.

The jolt propelled the military giant off his feet and he crashed into a sand heap that had gathered at the automobile’s rear tire. His companion retrieved his discarded Tai Chi and thrust it ready, driving toward Nash. The man suddenly shifted and extended his weapon, with its tip threatening to slice Jack and Calla’s midriffs.

Jack kept Calla back with his extended hand in front of her. With no clear warning, he shot forward and administered a sidekick that sent the sword attacker colliding into his fallen companion who’d gone unconscious.

“Listen,” said Nash in Mandarin, with his sword in an en garde position. “As she said, we’re just looking for harmless information.”

The second man barged ahead, with his sword drawn-out.

Nash blocked him with the flat of the blade as Jack tripped him to the ground.

He jetted up. Nash moved back, measured twice, his poise confident and geared. He cut once, clanging swords in the swarming dust before thrusting the attacker to the ground.

Calla’s adrenaline rose fearing for their lives. A determined instinct to save them nudged her. Her operative mind churned the scene in front of her. This had to end. They can’t fight in the sandstorm. We’ll all be buried.

“This ground is consecrated,” said the injured military man as he wiped his bleeding lip. His voice was swallowed by the howls of the wind as he pointed to the edge of the towering sand dune. “We don’t need Westerners disturbing our history.”

The former military man regained consciousness and drew a gun from his military attire. With the two men, now feet wide apart, ready to slug every weapon in their possession at them, Calla knew she had to draw on greater strength. The men marched forward as the sand blizzard slashed their faces, blinding their eyes as it advanced.

Calla’s feet trudged through the resilient sand, sandwiched between Nash in the front and Jack in the back. “I’m sure we can talk about this?” she said.

“You’d think?” the second man said.

Jack gripped Calla’s shoulder. “There’s no more foot room. We’re up against the edge.”

Calla turned back and saw the vast drop of the dune’s border.

The three stood with their feet, losing grip in the sand. Nash and Calla exchanged a knowing look. She took a deep breath, slung round slicing her foot under the legs of their assailants. The motion left a small cut in her wrist as it deflected off a blade.

The assailants thudded to the ground, swallowing a gust of sand. Still clasping onto their weapons, both attackers sprang to their feet with the acrobatics of trained fighters. They thrust forward.

The wind made it difficult for any of them to stand with stability and as the cloud engulfed them, they found themselves back to back surrounded by the two swordsmen who were joined by the driver and the archeologists. With her back against those of her companions, Calla whispered. “Trust me.”

With one, swift movement she linked arms with Jack and Nash.

The archeologists clutched shotguns.

A bullet zipped by Jack’s leg.

Calla scrutinized the attackers, then the drop behind her. It must’ve been several hundred feet. A sharp drop to the base of God knows what and probably littered with thorns, rocks, and if they were unlucky, quicksand. Her eyes blinked in the force of nature’s violent onslaught. She closed her eyes, and with arms interconnected with Nash and Jack, she heaved the men with her into a swift jump over the torturous edge of the jagged cliff.

They caved a fast dive into the bowl of land ringed by the Kunlun Mountains to the southwest, the Tibet Plateau to the southeast, and the Tien Shan ridges to the north.

The Sea of Death.