Chapter 65

 

 

DAY 11

 

 

EASTERN SIDE OF THE TAKLAMAKAN DESERT

 

Mason examined the energy panel. With a shanobi veil shielding his face, Ridge stood a few feet to his left surveying his every move. To his other side, Rupert Kumar, stood by adjusting the panel to capture the best of the afternoon light. The billionaire from Agra had paid a stocky sum for the New Energy base and corrupted as many Chinese officials as his billions could fetch to stamp the base in the Eastern region of the Taklamakan Desert. Under his newly established site, vast expanses of resources were buried and Kumar’s acquisitive eyes were set on groundwater, oil and gas.

It had been part of an agreement Mason had signed with Kumar several months back as head of ISTF. He'd used his influences in China’s interior ministry and allowed Kumar access to the best natural-energy scientists for an environmental establishment. Kumar owed him no favors. When told by Sage the idiot in London had shot the ambassador, failed to escape and that Cress’s next destination was the Tarim, he’d had no option but to make the journey himself to the shifting-sand desert.

Anything she had on Nicole Cress at this point was like gilded gems. The woman had altered his childhood and his perception about women altogether.

Several solar panel workers stood in Chinese military attire cross-examining a new arrival of plates. The uniform was there to raise no eyebrows. They also tested the base’s biologically-friendly, energy procedures that enabled the purification of water, illumination of the tents and the old military base, plus the powering of solar energy that allowed the use of other technologies in the camp.

Though Kumar was keen on environmentally-friendly practices, little around his camp showed the forefront of good conservation practices, from the generator system and Jeeps that belched fumes with each excursion they took across the desert dunes. Even though Kumar owned every inch of the energy camp, to the outside, it was Chinese property. A diplomatic feat Mason had managed himself, nine months ago.

Rows of panels lined the otherwise expansive base—one large solar array installation. Kumar was going to make a fortune shipping energy and gas to the remote parts of the Earth. On his list were not so obvious places like Mexico, Cambodia and Namibia and what better place to test his extracted reserves than the unforgiving desert.

“It’s genius,” Kumar said. “And it’s creating billions for me.”

I’m sure.

His wide snicker always made Mason weary–not sure why. The man was close to a head shorter than he was, and as frail as a household pest, with a grin that could make any dental company proud of the products he used.

They stood at the farthest level of the New Energy base on the edge of the camp, bordering a plain that led to continuous sand dunes, some close to 300-feet high. He examined the windbreak belts around the camp and stroked an itch around his silver-streak hair. Mason removed the army cap. The sun was dying anyway and he sensed a nutty taste in his mouth from the questionable afternoon meal that had been served.

He spat on the ground and patrolled around the two sample panels, his feet picking up the dusty sand. “Kumar, I want to buy back this business from you.”

Kumar raised an eyebrow and halted his examination of the solar panels. He leaned back and sipped from a steaming teacup before erupting into a roar of laughter. “Mason, I’ve agreed for you to use my station here to conduct whatever business you want. I’ve turned an eye from the authorities who want you so bad they can’t think straight. I know you’re a wanted man and I could fetch a ransom from any Western government for your incarceration. Money I have. What I want to know is what do you want with my new energy base?”

 

 

 

TARIM BASIN, 0712 hrs.

 

The rough ground under her feet cracked for lack of moisture as Calla held onto a protruding segment of the eroding desert rock she’d barely gripped on the way down. They had descended in an arm lock, and it had taken every exertion of will and strength to control the motion of their combined weights. Visibility challenged them on all fronts in the dim morning hours, as the sandstorm settled over the chasm. Yet a slight wind sculpted sand piles in a variety of shapes beneath them. It whistled past them and sent sand streaming down the steeper side of the cliff.

She’d supported the men’s weight for all of two and half minutes until they’d each secured a hold on the ginger-colored, rock-varnish that coated the exposed pillar surface of the canyon cliff. Her shoulder muscles had held out for several minutes and her pasty fingers ached from supporting weight three times her size. The only act she could conjure to save her friends from the onslaught had been to take that plummet and depend on defying gravity with a confidence Paris’s training with Nash that sparked.

She glimpsed out into the waterless death trap, then above for the threat of tumbling rocks, as they each secured a spot in a cove of the rock cliff. Caught halfway between a deathly drop and firing guns above them. Calla wondered how long they’d be able to cower from nature and the Chinese army’s menace. Soon, the firing halted and they heard the grinding of truck tires as the van sped off without them.

With no transportation, it would probably take three days for any search or rescue to reach them.

First things, first. She glimpsed down first at Jack. “Hey pal, you okay down there?”

Jack coughed as he balanced under a drooping, giant-rock fragment, his voice hoarse but jovial. “Next time remind me to get a parachute, if we go diving off a bloody desert cliff.”

She glimpsed to her other side. “Nash? Soldier, are you okay?”

Nash forced a nervous laugh. He’s footing seemed more secure than Jack’s. “Okay, beautiful. How are we getting off this cliff?” He glimpsed down the torturous drop to plains of pebble and salt flats, punctuated by craggy desert pavements, possibly another fifty feet before they’d be on the ground.

“I didn’t think that far,” Calla said. “Nash, do you still carry that climbing rope in your travel pack?”

Nash balanced his weight on the small wedge of rock and reached for his backpack before drawing out a low-stretch rope.

“How long is it?” Calla said.

“About . . . fifty meters.”

“That should do it.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jack asked his cough intensifying.

“I’m making this up as I go,” Calla replied.

“Here,” Nash said, tossing the rope up at her.

Calla grasped the high-quality, untreated rope and flung it around a secure boulder to their right. Her aim was accurate and sure. Leaning back against the rough surface, keeping the center of her gravity balanced, she secured a follow-through knot around it. With the other end, lacking a harness, she wrapped the rope round her waist and began a controlled descent down the rock face until her feet touched the thirsty ground. She released herself from the knot and angled the rope toward Nash, who took hold of its taut grip.

Nash pitched it to Jack who stretched for it and lost his footing. He slid down several feet before tangling in the suspended cord’s loosened stance.

With the rope taut around his chest, Nash slid down the rope, gripping his boots on the rock’s edge for support until he seized Jack by the waist.

Calla held the rope until Nash had a strong grip of its tautness and with the expertise of a rock climber, Nash rappelled off on one strand of rope, using Jack’s incapacitated weight on the other strand for counterbalance. As Nash slid down the taut rope bringing Jack with him, Calla could not help wondering whether Jack was all right. Once on the ground next to her, Calla glanced down at Jack.

He was not moving.

 

 

 

“Jack!” Calla said.

Jack didn’t respond. They released him from the ropes and she glanced up at Nash.

“What do we do?” Calla said as she looked ahead of them.

Morning light begun to hit the inland basin. Calla searched the printed map Honghui had given them for any clues. She scanned the landing that overlooked the heart of the Taklamakan desert bordered by mountains, the Gobi and oases. “Nash, he’s really hurt.”

He checked Jack’s pulse. “He’s breathing steadily, but we need to get him medical attention. The rope caught his chest, probably crushed the wind out of him and he’s sprained his ankle.”

“I know what that’s like,” Calla said cringing at the thought of the pain Jack must have endured in his slip.

Nash searched his backpack for an instant travel icepack he always took on field assignments. The pack provided immediate cold without refrigeration as it rested on Jack’s now exposed ankle. He helped him ingest a couple of painkillers before elevating Jack’s arm around his neck and hoisted his semiconscious body for support.

Calla stared at the cell phone for a moment in unbelief. “Our GPS is out and I have no cell reception. Without a tracking system, how do we know which way to go?”

Nash glanced over at the high mountains in the distance, then round the valley of the large sedimentary basin. “We need to head for the military bases. I once saw a CIA file locating three nuclear bases near here. That’s why those men on the truck were so nervous.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, the basin has tons of oil and natural gas resources, making up about one-sixth of China's total energy supply.”

“It won’t be safe for us there,” she said.

“We’ve no choice.”

Calla stood erect and glared down at Jack’s swollen ankle, duct-taped with the icepack. What advantage were any of her abilities now? They were ineffective against hunger, thirst, further sandstorms, flash flooding and God knows what else. They started a march with Nash supporting Jack.

 

After an hour’s trudge over sand dunes, they came to the Tarim River. The liquefied water from glaciers carried much sand, mingling with shrub like vegetation and stunted trees. Jack coughed, and opened an eye. The painkillers had helped but without transportation and nourishment, Calla feared they were at the mercy of the Basin’s terror.

Who was this Kasmir Xun? A man, a woman? Did they live in this desolate place as Nicole’s note had hinted at? Was Kasmir still alive? In all honesty, she’d assumed he was a curator for the mummies or at least dealt with them. But as they stood deserted, possibly miles from the buried cemetery where the mummies were found, any hope of finding him or her had blown off with the sandstorm.

Calla cupped some frigid water in her hands and threw it in her face. She glanced over at Nash, as he checked Jack’s wound. “How are you holding up, Jack?”

“I’ll live.”

Calla was moved by Jack’s positive attitude. She dipped to fill a water bottle from Nash’s pack they’d emptied an hour ago, when a face stared at her, reflecting in the water below. “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you?” said a gruff male voice in Mandarin.

Calla shot round.

Her stalker had two silent companions with him. He tossed a leather water satchel at their feet.

Calla stared up at him riveted. Where had the little man come from? He wore ethnic clothing, similar to those of the ancient Uyghurs, a gown fastened with a long scarf around the waist. He looked Indo-European, and beamed a smile from ear to ear. “Goodness you’re the spitting image of your mother. I never thought you’d survived.”

“Kasmir?”

 

 

 

1830 hrs.

 

It’s none of your business. Mason refused to delve into his intentions. The sheer fact that he needed a place so remote like this desert to rid himself of the three most bothersome people in his life itched his skin. No one would find them here. No one would search in this remote place. But . . . governing much of the globe’s natural resource bases would convene well with his strategies for next week.

“Leave that to me. I never discuss my affairs, Rupert.”

Kumar steadied the panel and streaked his sweaty brow. “Well, then my answer is, no.”

He signaled to two base workers to carry on adjusting the panels and led Mason to a nearby tent. They took shelter under a canopy from the fading sun as Kumar poured himself hot water with green tea in a long glass. “Care for some?”

Mason shook his head.

“I can’t sell you this base. This is the best business I’ve had in a while. It’s the future. Oil and resources may dwindle, but so long as the Earth keeps revolving, the sun is truly god.”

Mason turned his head as Ridge approached. His eyes narrowed.

The triplet whispered in his ears.

“I said no injuries,” Mason said.

Ridge’s stone face glared at him. “There were none.”

Mason peered into the beady, black eyes of the over-muscled triplet, the most callous of the three. He was proud of his work. The man had delivered. This combination of human and scientific strength was the future of relinquishing his kind–the operatives. Not even Cress stood a chance. He shot up and glared into Ridge’s granite-like face. “Good. But she should be dead and those two with her as well. Looks like I’ll need to do it myself!”

Ridge took a step back. Mason understood that though the assassin could annihilate him with his bare hands, his will forbade him. “They’ll be here at the base soon. The Chinese military is escorting them.”

Cress was now his. With no communication to the civilized world, and possibly out of resources, she was at his mercy. This moment had been mediated in Belmarsh Prison more than any other–the day. He’d do it over again.

What would be the perfect end to the offspring of the insolent Nicole Cress, a woman with more nerve than that husband of hers and Mason’s mother put together. Cress junior reminded him of himself. And if he was right, her resolve was as determined as his.

Ridge stepped away, attentive to the telepathic gape that could bend him into submission.

Kumar peered into the two men who towered above him. “Mason, your welcome is up tomorrow. I want you and your thugs off my property by dawn.”

 

 

 

Kasmir put his right hand in the middle of his chest, then leaned forward in a customary greeting. “I saw you being harassed by the gun and sword idiots up there. We came looking for you, but lost you about two hours ago in the sandstorm. Come, looks like your friend may need attention.”

Kasmir piled them on the three camels they had with them and they rode to the Kizil Caves, a set of Buddhist rock-cut, caves near Kizil township. The caves stood in the cliffs of Querdagh Mountain in two forms, living quarters for monks and meditation houses.

Calla jumped off the camel and faced the entrance of the caves.

“This is the commercial hub of the ancient Silk Road. I’ve lived here all my life and help preserve this third-century, Buddhist cave,” Kasmir said.

She turned to him. “When my mother’s note indicated the Tarim and the mummies, I imagined you’d be a curator in an actual museum and not the Kizil Caves. It makes sense now. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

 

Kasmir and his seven-member family lived in modest apartments at the back of the caves. “There’s so much work involved in the preservation of this site,” Kasmir said as he led them into his unassuming living room.

An elderly woman attended to Jack’s wounds using a natural combination of a tonic water bath and a few drops of grapefruit, essential oil.

“I didn’t know that traditions continue here much like they were thousands of years ago,” Calla said.

“We continue in the ways of our ancestors. We grow rice and grain, grapes, pomegranates, plums, pears, peaches and almonds. That’s how we make a living. The ground is rich in minerals and kind to us. The air here is fresh and healthy for us.”

Nash leaned forward. “But you were with MI6.”

“Only temporarily . . . helping with nuclear and economic relations.”

“Undercover?” Nash said.

“It was long time ago and only briefly. I did it to fight for the preservation of our culture.”

A small boy handed the guests a spread of citrus fruits, green and red peppers and melons. The trio had been cloaked with embroidered clothing to keep away the wintry winds. Kasmir disappeared for several minutes to the back of the house and returned with a wrapped bundle. “Calla, here is something that Nicole gave me for you. I’m not sure what it is and have never opened it.”

“You never wanted to know?” Calla asked.

“No. I trusted her, she trusted me.”

Calla took the bundle and opened it. Her eyes caught a printed cloth resembling the other two. She placed them all together and the three cloths formed a complete five-by-five-inch piece of manuscript of medieval gibberish.

“What is it?” asked Kasmir.

“That’s what I need to figure out. She left me three and here they are. But they don’t make sense to me.”

 

 

Calla, Nash and Jack mounted a Toyota Jeep Kasmir hired for them, armed with a local global positioning unit and food supplies. “It’s a few years old, but should get you to Urumqi.”

“Thanks, Kasmir.”

He gripped her hand as she mounted the Jeep. “And if you find Nicole, forgive her. She did the best she could with what was in front of her. It wasn’t an easy decision for her.”

Calla nodded their thanks as Nash started the Jeep down the dusty road and they braced themselves for a ten-hour journey. They proceeded along the stretch of road for two kilometers west of the Kizil until they reentered the desert road to Urumqi.

As they stared ahead at the bare road, a shot fired through the air.

Nash shuddered the Jeep to a halt. Without warning, men on horseback surrounded their vehicle, dressed in indistinguishable, military uniforms carrying a plethora of firearms. The front man rode before the others and jumped off his horse gravitating to the driver’s side, his gun pointing at Nash. “Step out of the car.”

He spoke with a British accent.

“Why?” Nash asked with stern confidence.

“You’re trespassing on protected ground.”

“Says who?” Nash insisted.

The man slapped a piece of paper up against the windshield they guessed was a warrant. “Says the law of Xinjiang.”

Calla glimpsed out the passenger window of the Toyota. Four military vehicles caught up and blocked their path— front and back.