The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1) Page 26

  “Me and Lance Corporal Gray are certain that we are being followed,” said Thomas, looking back down the path.

  Scott stepped past them and looked down the winding path. The mist still hung all around them. He peered into the gray wall and saw nothing.

  “I don’t see anything down there,” said Scott. “Are you sure you both aren’t just a bit tired and are imagining it?”

  “Well, that’s the rub, sir,” said Gray. “We ain’t seen nothing, but we’re both sure that someone is following us.”

  Thomas nodded his head assuredly.

  Scott took off his black slouch hat and ran his hand through his matted hair. “Gents, I’m sorry but I can’t see anyone back there.”

  “Sir, Thomas’ family made their way north via the underground railway when he was a kid,” said Gray, “and he says he remembers the feeling of being followed.”

  “Hunted,” corrected Thomas, his voice bitter at the painful memory.

  Scott could see the determined looks etched on Thomas and Gray’s faces; they had already made up their minds. “So gents, what are you proposing we do about it?”

  Gray looked over at Thomas. With a nod of Thomas’ head, Gray said, “Colonel, leave us behind. We’ll remain here out of sight until nightfall, if no one comes up the path, then it was just our nerves playing tricks on us. Either way, we’ll make our way up to you when it gets dark.”

  “And if someone does come up the trail?”

  “Then we kill them and catch up with you as quick as we can,” said Gray without a hint of remorse in his voice.

  Scott did not doubt his men. He was just worried that they were right. Unease seeped into his mind. He had so few men; the loss of even one could tip the balance against them. Shrugging off such thoughts, Scott nodded his head.

  “Not one second after the sun comes down,” said Scott, looking into the eyes of his men. “I’ll be waiting for you both,” stressed Scott.

  “Not too worry, Colonel,” said Thomas as he cocked his rifle, loading a bullet into the chamber. “You have all the food with you, and I’m starving already. In a few hours, I might be tempted to kill and cook up one of them donkeys.”

  Taking both animals by their reins, Scott pulled them towards Sarik and his son, leaving behind Gray and Thomas.

  “What is going on?” asked Sarik, seeing the donkeys but not Gray and Thomas.

  Scott handed the reins to Sarik. “You and your son have been promoted to pack animal handler.”

  “And the others?” asked Sarik, looking despondently down the narrow trail.

  “Company’s coming. They’re just going to set up a…a warm welcome,” said Scott.

  “Company?” repeated Sarik.

  The sun began to dip behind the white-topped peak of the mountain, turning the snow a golden yellow and then finally to a pinkish shade as the sun slipped from sight. The clouds broke for a few hours late in the afternoon, burning off the mist and thankfully allowing the ground to dry out a little.

  Sergeant Demir stopped in his tracks. He quickly raised his hand and then waved it sharply towards the ground. Behind him, his sweating men instantly took their rifles off their shoulders and stepped off the trail, seeking what cover they could behind several large boulders.

  Demir’s blood turned cold. Something disturbing gnawed at his insides. Looking down at the tracks on the path, he saw all the normal signs, but suddenly at this point, the tracks changed. One man had taken two donkeys with him further up the trail. Two other men had…

  Before Demir could call out a warning, a bullet fired by Thomas tore through one side of his head and out the other.

  Seeing their sergeant tumble to the wet ground, a bloody hole gouged through his skull his exhausted and frightened men panic and turn tail. Tossing weapons and personal equipment aside, they bolted back the way they came, straight into Gray’s hiding spot.

  Suddenly appearing from behind a square-shaped rock, like an avenging wraith rising from the grave, Gray stood up and opened fire.

  The first two men died before they even knew Gray was there.

  Cocking and firing his rifle as fast as he could, Gray dropped two more soldiers, before the last two turned about and foolishly ran back up the trail towards Thomas.

  With a loud bang that echoed down the side of the mountain, Thomas shot the first soldier he saw.

  With everyone else dead, the last soldier alive dropped to his knees, pleading for his life.

  Thomas walked out from behind the rock he had been using for cover and strode over beside the terrified soldier, who sobbed and begged for his life in Turkish.

  Gray finished checking the other bodies, making sure they were dead, before walking up the trail to join Thomas.

  “This one?” asked Thomas, pointing to the soldier with his rifle.

  “I’d just as well shoot him,” replied Gray. “I doubt these fellas would have given us much of a break, but I suspect that the colonel and Mister Sarik would love to chat with our new-found friend.”

  Thomas nodded and then hauled the soldier by his collar up onto his feet.

  “Walk,” ordered Thomas with a wave of his rifle up the path.

  The soldier may not have understood English, but he understood what Thomas wanted and began to trudge up the trail with his head down and his hands jammed in his pockets.

  Nestled behind a rock to block the bitterly cold wind wiping down from the summit, Scott had taken the last few pieces of firewood they had with them and built a small fire. Sarik and his son shivered under their woolen blankets, their hands reaching out for the fire, trying to keep warm.

  Night had fallen surprisingly fast. Scott was becoming concerned. He heard the shots echoing up from below them and then nothing. The silence was worse than anything he could possibly imagine. Scott judged they were no more than an hour, perhaps two at the most, from where he had left Gray and Thomas. Each agonizing second that went by made Scott wonder if he had done the right thing. Suddenly, somewhere in the gloom he heard the sound of feet trudging up the slippery path. Grabbing his rifle, Scott stood and peered into the dark.

  A darkened figure came into view.

  Scott raised his rifle but stopped when he saw that it was a Turkish soldier looking thoroughly miserable and dejected. Walking close behind were Gray and Thomas.

  Lowering his rifle, Scott looked over at Sarik, who saw the soldier and told him to sit down by the fire.

  “What happened?” asked Scott.

  Gray looked over at Thomas and then Scott. “Thomas was right. We ambushed a bunch of soldiers back down the trail. We think they may have been scouts, but none of ‘em got away.”

  Scott nodded. He knew he did not need to ask any more questions. He told his men to get some food and a hot up of coffee into them; with the temperature dropping, it looked like it was going to be a long, cold night ahead of them.

  Sitting by the fire, Scott watched while Sarik interrogated the soldier. Scott shook his head. Their captive looked to be no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. Scott doubted that he even shaved yet. It made him think of his own war and the young lives being lost there. After about five minutes, Sarik poured the soldier a cup of coffee and left him under the watch of his son. Ambling over beside Scott, Sarik dropped his heavy frame down on the ground, his back resting against the rock that Scott was using to block the wind.

  “The soldier, he’s very scared,” said Sarik. “He thinks we’re going to kill him.”

  “Not much of a chance of that. I don’t kill people in cold blood,” answered Scott. “Besides, he’s just a kid, no older than your son.”

  Sarik nodded “He told me that he was forced into the army when he was fifteen and all he wants to do is go home.”

  Scott did not doubt a word. “Did you ask him what they are doing following us?”

  Sarik said, “There’s a whole company of Turkish regulars behind us. The boy figures they are a day or less back.”

  Scott did not like t
he sound of that at all. Five against one hundred were daunting odds, no matter how you looked at it. “Anything else?”

  “He said there is a foreign man with them. French he believes.”

  Scott let a small chuckle. “He’s a persistent bastard. I’ll give him that,” Scott said, thinking of Duval, wishing that he had killed him when he had the chance back in France.

  Sarik looked over at the soldier chewing on some dried mutton. “What do you want to do with him?”

  Scott thought about it for a moment. “Give him five minutes to finish his food and then send him back down the mountain. We can’t afford to feed him nor do I want us to have to keep an eye on him…we’ll rid ourselves of the problem.”

  Sarik agreed.

  The clouds returned. Snow began falling on their camp.

  Sarik told the soldier to stand, pointed the way down the hill, and told him to walk. Still fearing that he was going to be shot in the back, the young soldier, reluctantly walked away into the blowing snow.

  Scott sat there, his rifle cradled in his arms. Reaching under his jacket, he pulled out the medallion given to him by the Imam two days earlier and studied it. The more he held it, the more Scott became intrigued by it. At first, he thought it was a key, but now he was not so sure.

  As was his nightly routine, Sarik securely tied the donkeys together for the night and then walked the perimeter of their tiny camp. When he saw Scott sitting there quietly studying the medallion, Sarik limped over; his right knee injured years before was acting up in the damp, cool night air.

  “So Colonel, what do you think it is?” asked Sarik as she sat down on a boulder beside Scott.

  “I am not sure,” Scott replied. “The old man seemed to think it was important enough to give us, but for the life of me, I cannot figure why.”

  “Perhaps it is a key to the Ark,” said Sarik, only half jesting.

  Scott frowned. “No, I don’t think so. In fact, I doubt there is such a vessel up here on this desolate mountain,” said Scott, tucking away the pendant.

  “But it is mentioned in many holy books,” Sarik said, sounding convinced.

  Scott looked up and smiled at his friend. “I read Professor O’Sullivan’s book on Noah and the great flood as recorded in the Bible. The Ark would have to have been over a hundred yards long, twenty yards wide, and somewhere around fifteen yards high,” explained Scott. “I just don’t believe that such a vessel is simply hiding up here waiting for us to stumble upon it.”

  Sarik looked Scott in the eye. “Then what do you believe is up here?”

  Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. I just know it is not some monstrously huge wooden boat. It has to be an ancient church, a cavern, or some other such hiding place, almost anything other than the Ark mentioned in the Bible.”

  Sarik tapped Scott on his knee. “Tomorrow will tell,” said Sarik assuredly as he struggled to his feet. Walking over, he grabbed his snow-covered blanket and then got as comfortable as he could on the cold, hard ground next to the fire. Seconds later, he was fast asleep, loudly snoring into the night.

  In the falling snow, a few hours’ march distant, the long blue-jacketed column of Turkish soldiers relentlessly marched upwards. There would be no rest this night. Leaving those who fell out on the side of the trail, berated by their officers and sergeants, the soldiers trudged on one foot after another trying to catch up with their elusive prey. Tomorrow would bring the chase to a close. By the end of the day, it would all be decided.

  Chapter 36

  Karl Wollf’s Train

  Karl Wollf was too excited to sleep. Rising before dawn, he quickly dressed in warm clothing and joined his men outside the train. They were similarly dressed in heavy woolen gray jackets with their gray pants tucked into hobnailed climbing boots. Looking up towards the top of Mount Ararat, he could almost imagine himself up there, struggling against the elements with the soldiers, chasing down and killing Scott after he had laid his hands on the Grail. Instead, he waited safely for word before heading to join the hunt.

  A tall blonde-haired man with an angular jaw walked over and stood still, waiting for Karl to address him.

  “Yes, Gerhard,” said Karl.

  “Sir, we are ready to prepare the craft,” answered Gerhard.

  Karl looked down the train and saw the last carriage’s sides had been removed and were lying on the ground.

  “Tell the men to eat a hearty breakfast. I expect we will receive word by noon today,” replied Karl. “Then you can finish preparing the craft.”

  With a click of his heels, Gerhard turned about and began barking orders at Karl’s personal security detail.

  Tension and excitement tied Karl’s stomach in knots; he had never wanted something so much in his entire life. It was going to be a historic day, and one that he was sure he would never forget. Turning about, he was surprised to see his sister standing there dressed in similarly warm clothing, except hers had a gray wolf fur collar on a snug-fitting white woolen jacket.

  “Planning on going somewhere?” asked Karl.

  Viktoria ignored her brother’s comment and simply smiled back.

  “The Council gave me permission to deal with this situation as I see fit,” said Karl firmly. “That luxury does not extend to you,” he warned.

  Viktoria chuckled at her brother. “The Council is thousands of kilometers from here,” said Viktoria. “Their jurisdiction over me is tenuous at best. If the Grail is going to be found today, then, my dear brother, there is no way in hell that I am simply going to sit idly by and do nothing. This one act will decide our family’s fate for generations to come, and I am going to be part of it whether you approve or not.”

  “So be it,” relented Karl. He knew his sister well enough to know if he forbade her coming, she would find a way to join them regardless. At least, this way, he could keep an eye on her.

  The noise outside the window of her carriage woke Kate up. Rubbing her eyes, she crawled out of bed, threw on a warm housecoat, and walked over to the window. Peering outside, she could see her captors standing there talking to one another. Kate was about to crawl back under her warm covers and get a little more sleep when she saw that there was a commotion going on further down the train. Standing on her toes, Kate could see some men in winter clothing hauling what looked to be some canvas away from the side of the train, and begin stretching it out. She stood there for a few minutes watching the men as they spread out the canvas on the ground. Kate had no idea what was going on, but she had no doubt that it had something to do with Scott. Turning her head, she looked up towards Mount Ararat and wondered how Scott was doing. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer and then with a smile on her lips, she opened her eyes. Her heart told her that Scott was still alive, and that was all she needed to know. Stepping back, she walked over to a closet on the far wall of the carriage and began to rummage through the clothes hanging inside. Tossing what she did not need onto the floor, Kate grabbed the warmest clothes she could find, suspecting that before the day was out…she would need them.

  Chapter 37

  The Mountain

  The cool, crisp morning air filled Scott’s lungs. The snow had stopped falling just after midnight. The clouds cleared away sometime later. The night sky filled with stars so bright Scott thought he could simply reach out and touch them. He had taken the last sentry shift, as was his norm. The sound of the Turkish soldiers struggling along the narrow trail in the dark travelled up on the crisp, clear night air. Scott waited until the last possible minute before waking up his wet and exhausted compatriots.

  They had not eaten any warm food in the last couple of days and had slept out in the open under rain and snow. None complained. They all went about their task with a quiet stoicism that Scott took heart from. Quietly waking each man, Scott made sure they were all ready to go in five minutes later.

  As the morning sky slowly grew gray, signaling the beginning of a new day, the path ahead became clear. To reach the western plat
eau, Scott saw that they would need to transverse a long, smooth glacier that dropped off at its edge and fell hundreds of yards until it hit solid ground again. Any man going over the side was going to his death. Tying everyone together with a length of rope, Scott led the way. Seeing the glacier bend slightly, Scott could make out a small dark outcropping of rocks not too far away. Scott discussed their path with Sarik. Hearing no objections, Scott said he would lead, followed by Gray with one of the donkeys. Sarik and his son would be in the middle while Thomas and the last pack animal pulled up the rear of their little party. Taking a deep breath, Scott stepped out onto the glacier, the snow crunching loudly underfoot. He wore a heavy fur jacket and gloves over his uniform; on his head, he wore his black Stetson hat. Feeling the firm ice beneath his feet, Scott tentatively took another step forward. Soon the whole party was slowly moving along the vast open glacier.

  Duval had never felt so cold, miserable, and tired in his entire life. He wanted so desperately to give the order to stop…to rest a while, but he knew that he had to catch up with Scott or face the consequences. It was fear, not conviction that kept him going. By his own estimation, they had lost fully one-quarter of their men during the forced march through the night. Only the fittest and strongest men were still in the ranks. They quietly passed the ambush site with the frozen bodies of their dead scouts lying in the open. The soldiers had baulked at carrying on after seeing the corpses of their comrades, but their captain had threatened to shoot anyone who refused to carry on. A short while later they came across the body of a lone soldier lying face down on the trail. Duval could tell that the man had tripped, probably broken a leg, and then died from a combination of shock and exposure during the bitterly cold night. He did not understand any Turkish, but he heard the soldiers moving the frozen stiff dead body off the pathway speaking in hushed tones. Captain Omurtak, seeing the puzzled look on Duval’s face, translated for him. The soldiers were calling the trail The Devil’s Path. Looking up towards the summit, a chill suddenly ran down Duval’s spine. He crossed himself and hoped that the devil had nothing to do with their growing misfortune.