The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (51 page)

As Dugan rode off, Corporal Jenks pushed the tall Persian forward to face the officers.

“That’s enough, Jenks,” Captain Jackson said from the back of his horse. The Persian turned and spit toward Jenks, who immediately made a move to throttle the thief.

“At ease, Corporal!” Jessy called out.

Jenks finally shot the Persian one last hateful look and then quickly mounted his horse and rode to hard catch up with the column, angry that he couldn’t question the thief.

“Allow me the honor of questioning this man,” Jessy said as he also pulled on his gauntlets and eyed the large man, who was held on either side by two marines.

John Henry was thinking the same thing as Taylor had thought just a brief moment before. He reached out and took Jessy by the arm and stopped him.

“Maybe we’d better have someone a little more even-tempered do the questioning, Colonel,” John Henry said.

Taylor gave Thomas a sly look. “And I suppose that’s you?”

John Henry knew Jessy had a point. He was even more capable of losing control than the Confederate colonel. He hated losing men, and to lose them to brigands was something that irritated him to no end. Thomas looked from a smirking Jessy to the solid form of a perfectly dressed and comported officer, Captain Jackson.

“Captain, have you ever had the duty of questioning a prisoner of war before?”

Steven Jackson looked taken aback. He tilted his head as he looked from Thomas to the man Gray Dog had just chased down. The arrogant Persian looked hatefully upon the mounted naval officer.

“No, I have not,” Jackson said as he calmly stepped from the saddle.

“Careful, he’s a spitting sort of snake,” Jessy joked as Jackson approached the large man. The captain tilted his head as he stood in front of him. The brown eyes were calm and his face kindly.

“I don’t know if you understand me, but it would be to your benefit to explain why you tried to steal something that wasn’t yours. What are you doing in this country?”

The Persian looked at the strange two-corner naval hat Jackson was wearing and again the man spit into the grass at Jackson’s feet.

“Told you,” Jessy said as he was finding Jackson’s interrogation method amusing.

The cool and calm Jackson smiled and nodded his head. “Barbaric,” he mumbled as he faced the man.

“You, you American, you dare to call the children of God barbaric. You, the unbeliever? I spit on you and your godless kind. You come to God’s mountain and you steal what is not yours.”

“Damn, he speaks better English than I do,” Taylor said.

The prisoner turned and saw the wagons as they moved east. “That old man is a blasphemer. He steals what is not his. He desecrates our most holy place and then returns as if this land is his. I spit on America!”

“Your name, who are you working for? The French, British, the Germans?” Jackson asked, trying to get the true believer to talk rationally.

“I am not in the employ of other dogs and their masters. I am Aliheem Akbar Mohamed Sutari, follower of Nasser al-Din Shah Qajar, the true King of Persia, not that pig of a man that sits on the Ottoman throne—the sultan of swine.”

“You represent the Shah of Persia?”

“The true Shahanshah of Persia.”

“Whatever the hell that is, the title sounds made up,” Jessy said, eager for Jackson to finish with his interrogation so he could commence, but he wouldn’t be exchanging pleasantries with the man the way the captain was.

“God’s messengers will not allow this desecration of his mountain to go unchallenged.”

The Americans exchanged looks. The Persian only smiled.

“I see the Angel of Death has already touched you. The curse of the mountain is upon you.”

“I’m beginning to think this fella had that speech ready to go before he was even caught,” Taylor said as he looked at John Henry.

“Our ancestors sprouted and grew from the spring of Ararat. Our great peoples are the family of man, the descendants of Noah, God’s messenger. We will not allow you to do what it is you are attempting.” The Persian smiled, showing blood on his teeth. “Either the faithful of God will stop you”—he looked around at the swiftly darkening skies—“or the darkness will claim you.”

“You do know that if the sultan finds your people inside the borders of his nation he will kill every one of you.”

“The heretic sultan has not long to rule. Soon the faithful will be on Ararat in force. If the curse of Azrael fails, I assure you, we will not.”

Jackson turned and looked at John Henry and shook his head negatively. The captain removed one glove and then slapped it into the other as he turned and took in the Persian. The man wasn’t smiling, but just staring.

“Get him a horse. Cut him loose.”

“What?” Jessy was startled that Thomas was letting one of the killers of his men go free. It was Jackson who answered for the colonel.

‘He’s told us everything. Believe me, he held nothing back, as you heard. We don’t need him and we don’t kill prisoners, despite what you southerners think.”

“Wait a minute. I’ve had firsthand experience at the subtleties of prisoner treatment by your northern standards, and believe me when I say you are full of goose crap, young captain.”

John Henry saw that Taylor was about to lose that famous temper of his, so he stepped between him and Jackson, who looked stunned that the Confederate colonel was ready to kill him just for voicing his opinion.

“I want him to take a message back to his people.”

Taylor turned on Thomas and waited. Fogged air billowed from the mouth of the Rebel colonel as he waited.

John Henry approached the Persian and then everyone saw his black eyes go wide as Thomas pulled a large bowie knife from his belt. He shocked the prisoner by reaching around and cutting the ropes binding his hands together. The two marines were as shocked as everyone else when Thomas gestured for them to let the man go. Another marine brought an unsaddled horse forward.

“Tell your master if he comes for us he better bring that vengeful angel with him, because we will chew his ass as well as yours. You took the lives of two men and wounded others. We don’t bow to people who commit murder, haven’t for many years. Now get the hell out of here.”

The Persian, with his eyes wide in suspicion, looked from angry face to angry face. He quickly jumped upon the horse’s back and shot out of the camp.

“I must say, Colonel, that your method of keeping our intentions secret fell by the wayside somewhat. I agree with letting him go, but letting him go after explaining that yes, indeed, we are climbing to the summit, well, let’s just say I’m a bit confused.”

It was Jessy who angrily had to agree with what John Henry had done. It took him a moment but the thought struck him as John Henry smirked in his direction.

“Would you like to explain it to the Captain, Colonel Taylor?”

“If we crowd the field it will confuse all parties involved, muddy the water, make the situation unpredictable. The Persians are the wild card in the game.”

“Why?” Jackson asked turning to John Henry.

“Because they despise everyone, from the sultan of the empire, to the French, Germans, Russians, and the British.”

“In other words, Captain Jackson, they may just come in handy,” Jessy answered for Thomas.

“I think they’re too unpredictable to count on.”

“Then there’s that.” Jessy smiled for the first time in a while. “Ah, the vagaries of command, what a wonderful thing.” Taylor mounted his horse and then spurred him forward. “Come, gentlemen, let us face the great unknown!”

Jackson shook his head but mounted his own horse and rode away. John Henry Thomas just kicked at the rapidly hardening ground and then looked up. For the briefest of moments he could swear he spied stars peeking through the dark clouds. Then his gaze went to the white phosphorescent summit of Ararat just as thunder rumbled over the mountain range.

They would arrive at the base of God’s mountain by dawn the next morning.

19

DOLMABAHÇE PALACE, CONSTANTINOPLE

The French spy Paul Renaud waited for the minister of foreign affairs to answer yes or no. The letter he had presented placed the empire on notice of a French arms embargo against the sultan if the French government’s request was not granted. The small Turk was a close relative of the sultan and owed his career to the man, but to see twenty million francs in arms just vanish from the empire’s books would be too much for even the sultan, or in the case his cousin, to endure. It was either a friendship with the backward Americans and that baboon sitting in their White House, or remain friends with a country that had bailed them out during the Crimea campaign. Renaud suspected he knew which way the minister would go. Especially when he saw the man slip the large bank folder into his top drawer. After all, another personal guarantee made up of one hundred thousand dollars in French notes had been given directly to the minister to smooth out any entanglements.

“And we have your guarantee the sultan will not recall the support you have just agreed to?” Renaud asked while eyeing the small man with the pencil-thin moustache and dark, weasely eyes.

“The sultan only knows what I tell him. I and a few learned men in office have his complete trust. The Seventh Guards Regiment will move out within the next three days. That should be adequate force to convince the Americans of their folly.”

“We need the troops sooner than that.”

“My French friend, if I recall a scattered regiment overnight, that will attract attention and surely the sultan would hear that one of his most elite cavalry regiments was currently moving on one of his own provinces. They are spread out in many regions. I will have them here in two days and on their way east in three. The Americans cannot stand up to that size of force so far away from home.”

Renaud cursed under his breath as he turned to the naval attaché from the French embassy.

“How soon will our warships be in place in the Black Sea?”

“Within the next day and a half.” The navy captain pulled Renaud aside and then whispered, “Does Paris know how far this has gone? The orders thus far have been for observation of American activities only.”

“Yes, and our naval forces will observe American naval activity in the Black Sea. Have the landing force, once they have docked, find the Americans that started from there. I will remain here and travel with the Guards regiment. We should meet up in seven days.”

“Should I inform Paris of the change?” the captain asked hopefully.

“No, I will take care of that.”

The captain clicked his heels together and then left the office. Renaud approached the minister, who was locking the desk drawer with the French bribe contained inside.

“The man commanding this American incursion in your land is very cunning. I understand that the buffoon Lincoln thinks highly of him. And I must say from personal experience that he’s not a fool.”

The minister laughed and then stood to walk the Frenchman to the door.

“My friend, once the Seventh Guards Regiment sweeps into a land, the people of that land cease to exist. The Americans will soon learn the profit in bearing false gifts.”

The two men shook hands and Renaud left.

The minister watched him go and then turned to his secretary before reentering his office.

“Send a message to Shidehara Barracks. I want to see General Isriam as soon as possible. From this moment on, tell him his regiment is on alert for movement east.”

An hour later messages went out across the empire, and one of the most elite regiments of cavalry in Asia Minor started to gather.

Destination—Ararat.

*   *   *

Commodore Wesley Hildebrand read the dispatch and then handed it back to the captain of the H.M.S.
Westfield
.

“Is the message from our man, Captain McDonald?” he asked the twenty-five-year veteran who had spent most of ten years in and around the Mediterranean and the Aegean.

“No, London. It seems our intelligence boys have learned that the two American vessels,
Carpenter
and
Argo,
made it into the strait and entered the Black Sea two days ago. Now we know why the two French frigates entered the strait not long after.”

“The two American supply ships?” the captain asked.

“Yes, but London says the Americans have no intention of building a rail line for the sultan. It seems they have another goal in mind.”

“Our orders?”

“Pursue into the Black Sea and observe the movements of both American and French naval assets.”

“Observe? Rather ambiguous, wouldn’t you say, Commodore?”

“Quite.”

“If the Americans are not gifting the sultan with a rail line, just what are our wayward cousins up to this far from home?”

The commodore stepped to the railing of the newest battle cruiser in Her Majesty’s service. He pursed his lips and then looked up into her tall rigging and saw the flags. They were blowing to the north. He made his decision.

“Prepare for sea, Captain. Get word to men ashore, especially our marines. Leave is cancelled and I want to make sail by 1600 hours.”

“Very good. Once we enter the Black Sea I want a fifty percent alert status and I want battle stations set.”

“You really think the Americans would dare fire upon the Royal Navy?”

His thoughts turned to the Americans and the man who was leading this foolish quest. He wondered and hoped that the soldier had a good head on his shoulders and would realize in time that anything hidden on that mountaintop was not worth the entire world going to war.

But then again, what cause ever was?

TALISE STATION, THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE

Lieutenant Parnell watched the last of the railroad ties being unloaded. For a rail line that would cover in square mileage more area than New York to Illinois, the amount of wood ties was far short of the number required. Luckily, they had no intention of building any such rail line. The few ties and steel rail they had on hand were for show only, and he had the men spread them out to look as if they had far more material than they did. He was following Colonel Thomas’s orders to the letter and hoped the army officer had a sixth sense when it came to running a bluff.