The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (52 page)

The snow had started falling at dawn and it looked as if the bad weather was there to stay. It was starting to accumulate on the ground and on the shoulders of the fifty-seven men in his command. He opened his pocketwatch and saw that it was just past four in the afternoon, and that meant if the Black Sea section had not arrived before the sun set they would not make it to Talise before sunrise tomorrow. He closed the watch as a navy signalman walked up and saluted the marine lieutenant.

“Pickets report that those Britishers are at it again. They circle the camp and then stop and then circle the camp again.”

“They’re trying to get under our skin, like Stonewall Jackson did the second day at Bull Run. They want us to do something stupid.” He smiled and looked at the navy man. “But we only make the same mistakes two and three times, and not one of those boys out there is Stonewall Jackson, are they?”

“No, sir.” The boy saluted and then went back to his duties.

“Ensign Dwyer?”

A naval officer turned away from the warm fire and reported to the marine.

“Yes, sir?”

With caution Parnell turned toward the smoking engine of the train, which was due to return to the coast in less than an hour.

“Did your special ordnance team plant our surprise for the Turkish rail system?”

“Yes, sir. I must admit that the Reb explosives man looked as if he had done this sort of work before.”

“Yes, Colonel Taylor said that his regiment was responsible for the Rock Island and the Ohio Limited sabotage in ’61 and ’62. He said his man was the best.”

“Well, he placed the charges right beneath the main boiler. We will have Lance Corporal Killeen in place at the halfway water stop. By the time the train makes its return trip, if it has unexpected guests onboard, he’ll blow the charges as per Colonel Thomas’s order.”

“Very good. Let us hope that won’t be necessary. After all, that train is another escape route we may need to get the hell out of here.”

“Damn, there they are again,” the naval officer said as his eyes went to the ridge a mile away. The four British soldiers sat atop their horses. They made no move or signal. They just watched the activity below. Suddenly the riders turned their horses and were gone as fast as they had arrived.

“Thank God. They were beginning to make the boys a little jumpy.”

Parnell was about to reply when he heard something in the distance. He cocked his ear to the north and decided that the sound was coming from there. Soon the naval ensign heard it also. Suddenly a cheering rose at the far northern end of the camp. Parnell smiled when he finally digested what it was they were hearing. It was loud music. A marshalling song they all knew well and it was coming through the air with power. More cheers from his small command as Parnell finally spied the cause.

“The Battle Hymn of the Republic” blared across the Plain of Ararat as the one hundred and twenty-two member Army of the Potomac Band marched into the far end of the camp to rousing cheers. The applause soon dwindled as the full scope of what they were seeing registered in every man’s mind. Here was the band—where was the army to go with it? The cheering soon dwindled to nothing as they realized the band was the only unit arriving. Still, the boys in bright blue parade dress played with all the enthusiasm of a victory celebration.

“Uh, sir, where are the support troops? The cavalry we were expecting from the Black Sea sector?”

Parnell turned away from the spectacle of the precision marching band and he smiled at the young ensign.

“You are looking at it, sir. Our salvation, our cavalry.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, Ensign, I believe that is an accurate description of what it is we have just stepped

into.”

The band members smiled after their long march from the end of the northern rail spur and then their forced night march, but were confused as the men watching them stopped cheering. Several of the gruff soldiers had their mouths ajar. Most of the young musicians believed the troops were in awe of their musical prowess.

“Colonel Thomas, I sure hope the president’s faith in you is justified, because right now it seems you are one mad son of a bitch.”

MOUNT ARARAT, OTTOMAN EMPIRE

The line of one hundred and sixty-five men stretched for almost a mile up the goat trail that led from the base of Ararat. The mountain itself was unlike most large peaks of the world as it stood almost alone and not inside a typical range. The plains stopped and the mountain began; it was that simple.

They had ridden in three miles before they had to dismount. Another full day was lost as they loaded supplies into packs and, with the fifty mules at hand, started early on the second day. All the while they were observed by the local goatherds. They had seen incursions before, but they were always led by academia and not men such as these. Although they wore civilian clothing, most looked as if they were trained in drill. John Henry had allowed Professor Ollafson to speak to a few of them to allay their fears about their presence. He explained that they were only there to map the summit. Thomas knew the locals didn’t believe Ollafson. It was as if they knew exactly why the foreigners had come to Ararat.

Thus far the Confederate prisoners had responded well to the march up the mountain. Most had been shocked at the cold-weather gear that had been supplied them. For the most part the Rebel cavalrymen had not seen new shoes since the times before the Battle of Bull Run. The fur-lined jackets were something most southerners had never seen before, as well as the strange tinted glasses that strapped to their hoods. To John Henry it looked as though the new clothing and the issuing of arms to the men had had a most beneficial effect on the southern contingent. Even Jessy was more talkative since they started the ascent.

John Henry dropped back from the front of the line after he made sure that Gray Dog, who was a mile or so in front of the column scouting the dangerous trail, had not reported back as of yet. They were at eleven thousand feet and wanted to see how Professor Ollafson was holding up. He was maneuvering around several snow sleds being pulled up the mountainside by the men when he spied Claire a few feet away. He smiled when he saw the thick fur-lined hood covering her features. She used a large walking stick, as did most. Her wool skirt was thick and covered heavy cotton pantaloons underneath. Her boots were also top-of-the-line trail wear. She looked as if the weather and climb had no effect on her at all.

“It looks like you were born for the infantry, Miss Anderson.”

“What did I say in regards to calling me Miss Anderson? For crying out loud, Colonel, we may never leave this mountain, so give yourself a new order and leave off with the formality.” She raised the thick, dark goggles and looked at John Henry. “It’s Claire.”

“All right, Claire,” he said as he turned and started to pace her. “How is the old fella holding up?”

Claire looked over at the colonel and his heavy winter coat and decided that he really was concerned about Ollafson and wasn’t just trying to say, “I told you so” about the professor’s ability to climb the mountain again in his old age.

“Better, since Gray Dog returned the artifacts. But there’s something that’s affecting him. He’s been acting a little strange since we started getting close to the mountain, and that started long before the Persians attempted to steal his property. He goes out of his way to move around shadows that are cast along the trail.”

“With the absence of the sun, it’s a wonder there are any shadows at all.”

Claire looked at the colonel again. “That’s another thing, why are the shadows so prevalent since we started the climb? I mean, you’re correct, there shouldn’t be, but there are. Deep and dark as though the sun was directly casting them. But no sun.”

“I hope you and I are the only ones that have noticed.”

“Well, Gray Dog avoids the shadows for the most part also. As for the men, I think they’re just happy to be moving.”

“That and their new clothing.”

“Sad isn’t it?”

“Sad?” John Henry asked as he adjusted the Henry rifle strapped to his shoulder.

“Yes, that men can be as excited as schoolchildren over those ugly spiked boots and a new jacket. It says something about how sad this war has become.”

John Henry looked at Claire and said nothing. He just dipped his head and then allowed her to move forward as he slowed down. The woman was far deeper of thought than he’d realized, and he knew at that very moment that this spy interested him to no end.

As they climbed, the summit vanished behind thick, dark snow clouds and the wind picked up as if in warning they were trespassing.

The Americans drew closer to one of the greatest mysteries in the history of the world.

*   *   *

Colonel Taylor was in the extreme front of the column. John Henry had placed him in charge of the scouts, Gray Dog among them. Neither he nor the Comanche had much to say about it. Gray Dog could not fathom the deep hatred Jessy had toward all Indians, not just the Kiowa, the tribe responsible for killing his sister. Thomas figured he was the cause of that confusion for the simple fact that Gray Dog saw that Mary’s actual husband had no ill will toward any Indian, while her brother could not get over the fact. Thomas knew Jessy respected the ability of the Plains Indian, he just didn’t like them.

Taylor slowed the advance as they came to a sheer rock wall covered in winter run-off ice that never melted in the summer months at this elevation. Taylor took out his hand-drawn map that had been supplied by Professor Ollafson and examined his route. He was sure that this was the proper trail as depicted in Ollafson’s tight but fluid scrawl. He raised the large goggles and then looked about. With absolutely no sun he wasn’t even sure which way they were truly headed.

“Colonel, the Indian,” Corporal Jenks said as he too lowered his goggles and fur-lined hood.

Gray Dog was there. He was standing atop a rock wall and looking down upon them. He looked up into the falling snow and shook his head.

“Dumb savage, if he climbed that it must be straight up. He knows we can’t take that route. Does he know what wet dynamite will do if impacted hard enough?” Jessy cupped his gloved hands and called up. “You have to find another way! Too steep!”

Gray Dog tilted his head. He was dressed in a long-sleeved leather jacket with fringe and thick leather breeches. His head was still covered in the coyote-skin hat and his hair was bundled against the cold, which strangely enough did not affect the Indian much at all. Before Taylor could blink Gray Dog vanished.

“What’s the holdup?” John Henry said as he came to the front with Claire, Ollafson, and McDonald in tow.

“That little spider monkey needs to learn what ledges
he
can traverse and what ledges an army bogged down with equipment cannot.”

“Where is he?” Thomas asked as he lowered his hood and goggles.

“He was up there a moment ago. Probably fell off for all I know,” Jessy answered as two of the advance point men came up to report.

“This is not the same. There must have been heavy avalanches in the recent years to block the trail like this,” Ollafson said as he braced himself against Claire and McDonald.

“We wasted a full day!” Taylor said angrily. “We’re going to lose what little light we have soon.”

Before he could finish speaking a loud whistle sounded and echoed off of the stone and ice walls of the small valley in which they traveled.

John Henry smiled as did Claire.

“Well, looks like the Injun can fly,” Corporal Jenks commented as he spit a stream of tobacco juice from his bearded face.

Before them stood Gray Dog. He was waiting for Taylor to move the column. He stood just at the base of the rise and then he simply stepped back and vanished.

“What in the hell?” Jessy mumbled as Claire and John Henry stepped around him and followed Gray Dog.

Once they rounded the small bend that was hidden by a large crevice, they saw a slim tunnel that had been left clear of avalanche debris by a fluke of Mother Nature. It was as if engineers had carved this especially for them. John Henry stood in awe at the size of the upward-sloping tube that had inexplicably covered the old goat trail. The falling ice was once a waterfall during the hotter months, and then it froze in mid-fall and formed this natural arch that was invisible from farther down the trail. It was a miracle that Gray Dog had found the opening because of its hidden location. Right in plain sight.

“This is amazing!” Claire said as she removed her hood and glasses and stared at the beauty of the natural ice cave. “Hello!” she said loudly and John Henry cringed at the amplified echoes that returned. Even Gray Dog stepped into the middle of the ice tunnel to see what all the noise was about. The echoes finally died away and Claire giggled like a schoolgirl.

“I am glad to see all of that educational training paid off,” Thomas said, smiling widely.

“Maybe not, but its fun, Colonel.” She had said
Colonel
like it was a sour-tasting fruit in her mouth.

“Well, in your education did you learn anything about sound amplification and its destructive nature in unstable environments?”

“No, but I have learned something of late,” she said with the most radiant smile.

“And that is?”

“That you, Colonel, can be a total ass.” She smiled wider and then turned back to the tunnel. “Ass!” she shouted again creating an echo that seemed to be endless.

“What was that? I don’t think they heard you in Spain,” Jessy said as he eyed both John Henry and Claire as he entered the cave. He stepped past and caught up with Gray Dog.

“Miss Anderson … excuse me, Claire, was just clearing her throat.”

“Uh-huh,” Jessy said, ignoring the two as they tried to stare each other down and joined the Comanche.

“Go another way,” Gray Dog said.

Taylor stopped and turned as John Henry and Claire finally made peace and joined him and Gray Dog.

“What did you say?” Taylor asked as he stopped and turned. “You just saved us a full day of backtracking to another trail, and now you want us not to take a God-given route?”