Operation Scheherazade
by Sinbad
Chapter 20
Roger stopped at his own house and they all tumbled out of the car and into the house. He mobilised Mohammed to prepare plenty of food that could be taken with them. He sent Ali Akhbar home since he was no longer needed. He ran through the house grabbing things he thought might come in useful as he went. Blankets, torches, compass and road maps (although he knew the way to Petra). He told the boys to take a change of clothes each, and a warm jersey. He called to Ricky to find clothes he could lend to Roland who was only slightly bigger than him. And in no time at all they were back in the Land Rover, but this time fully provisioned.
It was now the hottest part of the day, just after noon, and Roger thought about postponing their departure until it was a little cooler. But it was a five hour journey down to Petra and he wanted to arrive before dark if possible. So there was no alternative. He drove down the street to the grocery shop that Ricky liked so much and sent his son into the shop for ice creams for everyone. And as they licked their ices he set off for the King's Highway once again.
The three boys were excited, keyed up, a little frightened. They were going to attempt to apprehend a known terrorist – and Maureen, who was involved to some extent – but how much? It occurred to Roly that it was surprising that his father would let him do this. Normally his Dad was very protective of him and wouldn't let him do anything remotely dangerous.
Roger Taylor, driving, was also thinking deeply. He was in charge of three boys, only one of whom was his son, and taking them to try to trap a dangerous criminal – and Maureen. But Roger was sure that Maureen loved him, and that she could be persuaded to see sense if only he could get to talk to her. And then she would help them do the right thing – arrest the terrorist.
Back at the Residence, the Ambassador sat on his verandah enjoying the cool, protected from the sun. He thought idly about his son and the madcap expedition that man Taylor had taken him on. He smiled wryly as he thought how much Roly would enjoy the experience. He was always looking for excitement and here was an exciting adventure, dropped right in his lap, with absolutely no real danger. It didn't even occur to Mr Fielding that the women might actually be there.
There is a rift valley that runs north to south through several countries. It includes the Jordan river and the Dead Sea but it runs from hundreds of miles north of the Sea of Galilee right down to Aqaba on the Red Sea. It is called The Arabah, or Wadi Arabah – Arabah valley. The sides of the valley are steep, rising to a mountain plateau. Jerusalem is built on a series of hills that form part of this mountain range. And three hundred miles south, Petra is set into the edge of the mountain cliff. It is a unique desert fortress and was inhabited by several different civilizations for thousands of years until an earthquake destroyed its water supply and many of its buildings.
What's special about Petra? It had that rare thing, a permanent water supply in the middle of a desert. As such it was a vital stopping place for trading caravans, and became an important trading centre and a controlling influence on trade. This made it attractive to rival nations, of course, and it was often attacked. But the unique feature of Petra was this: it cannot be taken by force. It is situated in a bowl-shaped valley in the high mountain plateau that borders the Arabah, a bowl with sides steep enough to prevent an army from climbing down to attack the city. The only way to approach the city was and is through a narrow cleft (just a couple of metres wide in places) that runs from the Arabah valley through the mountainside into the Petra valley. The route is called the Siq, and tourists go through it riding on donkeys.
An army that wanted to attack Petra would have to file through the siq, only two or three men able to walk abreast. And they could be picked off easily as they emerged into the Petra valley. They wouldn't even be able to surprise their quarry – the Petra residents had a watchman guarding the siq, located high on the cliff with a commanding view of the Arabah for miles north and south. A couple of men on horseback wouldn't get past him, let alone an entire army.
So Roger Taylor was driving his three charges down the Arabah valley on the King's Highway, following the same route that he had with his wife and son when they holidayed in Aqaba in the summer. But this time they looked for a turning off the road, to the right. And Roger found it at about five o'clock. From here the going was slower because he had to negotiate a dirt track with ruts and potholes. But in the dying embers of daylight they drove through the section of the Arabah outside Petra known as Wadi Musa, and arrived at the entrance.
Vertical cliffs rising hundreds of feet from the valley floor made an impenetrable wall, all except at one point where there was a cleft in the cliff, a narrow slit in the wall of rock, just about ten feet wide at the base and much the same width all the way up. You can't drive a car through this because in places it is too narrow and crooked. But you can walk through or ride if your tour operator has arranged horses or donkeys.
With the engine switched off, it was eerily quiet. No trees with leaves to rustle in the breeze, no breeze to rustle them had there been any. No birdsong because no birds, no people, no sounds. Roger began to feel the weight of responsibility he had assumed. No gung-ho hero, he was a cautious man and the thought of walking into Petra daunted him.
He knew the city's reputation, that it couldn't be taken because the only way in was through the Siq, and the city's defenders could dispose of the invaders as they emerged piecemeal at the inner end of the cleft in the rock. They would be doing much the same. If Camel was in Petra she had the advantage over them.
He took control of himself, and assumed control of the group. He ordered the boys out of the Land Rover, and handed them equipment. Everyone got a torch. Two of them got binoculars. Everyone got a sandwich and a bottle of water. And Roly, the biggest of the boys, got a length of rope to carry over one shoulder.
He locked the vehicle and they set off into the Siq. Once they had walked a few yards in, it became quite dark by comparison with the bright sun outside. After a few more yards their eyes began to get used to the gloom, and they found there was quite adequate light coming from the strip of sky visible far above them. In places the passage narrowed and the rock sides were polished shiny from thousands of years of shoulders rubbing against them. The Siq went on, and on. They had all visited Petra before, but always in a big party and with some on horseback. They knew it was nearly a mile long, but this time the passage seemed longer.
Eventually they saw the end ahead. Roger told the boys to be quiet and wait for him, and he edged onwards until he could see left and right beyond the opening of the passage. Nothing. No sign of human presence. No pistol shot through the head. Nothing. He ventured a little out into the open. He was in a narrow dusty valley with an uneven floor. No buildings interrupted the natural contours of the valley, because the buildings in Petra are not built, but excavated. To a first-time visitor Petra is breathtaking. In the sides of the valley, chiselled out of the rose-pink rock, buildings with intricate and ornate porticos set back into the hillside. The city was cut out of solid rock. Directly in front of him was the Treasury Monument, one of the most impressive buildings in ancient Petra. High and imposing, it is all the more awe-inspiring for being the first thing you see as you leave the Siq.
Roger turned back, squinted into the gloom of the chasm and beckoned the three boys to come forward.
Ricky looked to his father, crestfallen. “They're not here, are they.”
They sat on the steps of the Treasury building and ate their sandwiches. The disappointment among the boys was palpable, but Roger was secretly rather relieved. He tried to cheer them up.
“We've got some way to go before we come to the main part of the city. They could be anywhere so we'd better check it all out before we give up. It's as well there's four of us because we can split up and check the different areas. But I don't think we should go alone. I suggest Roly comes with me, and Chris goes with Ricky. Okay?”
Nobody actually said anything, but he could see that the boys' spirits had lifted, and after finishing their meal they moved on along the narrow section of valley to the point where it turned a corner and widened out into the central part of Petra. Here were numerous stone-cut buildings, the big theatre and several temples.
Roger and Roly went left, Chris and Ricky went right, and they checked out each building as they came to it. The light was beginning to fail, and the interior of the buildings were dark and echoey but they used their torches and worked their way along the valley sides, visiting each building and each ruin. And they eventually met up, having walked half way around the valley bowl. Still nothing.
Roger was pleased to note that the air of despondency had left the boys. They were cheerful in defeat, ready to go home, tired but happy. They began walking across the middle of the valley, the quickest route back to the Treasury Monument and the Siq.
Ricky and Roly were chatting happily about horses when Chris called “Quiet!”
Everyone stopped moving and the two boys stopped talking. Moments passed and then they all thought they could hear something. What it was was difficult to gauge but it was a long way distant. A sort of thrumming, not quite a diesel motor, not quite a water wheel. It began to get closer and louder, and better defined. And suddenly a helicopter swept across the valley at high speed. It hovered above the top of the cliff to one side of the valley and gently settled to the ground.
Ricky and Roger got out their binoculars. Trained on the mountain top, they saw that the helicopter had landed beside the alter of the 'high place' at which the Nabataeans were thought to make sacrifices to their gods, possibly even child sacrifices. It was a very small helicopter, one of those that looks like a cartoon version of a dragonfly. And it had a big tranparent bubble at the front of the chassis, where the pilot had his controls, and there was a seat for one other person. Roger wondered at that – assuming that the chopper had arrived to pick them up, how was it going to get two of them on board?
As he watched through his binoculars, he saw a capable-looking woman stride up to the helicopter and begin to get in. Another woman, in an agitated manner, rushed up behind and pulled her around by one shoulder. An argument ensued, during which the woman who had been stopped from climbing into the helicopter picked up a stone – tennis ball sized – and swung it hard against the head of the other woman, who dropped to the ground like a pile of laundry.
The first woman climbed into the helicopter and moments later it was flying off at top speed.
Roger was rooted to the spot, stunned by what had happened. Ricky tried to get his attention: “Dad, Dad! What do we do?”
Roly and Chris hadn't been able to make out what took place, but they'd seen the helicopter fly off. “What happened?” “Have they escaped?” they called out.
“Maureen's still up there!” Roger announced, and set off towards the hill. The boys followed, soon overtaking him. From the valley floor there is a staircase cut into the rock leading all the way up to the plateau above, and up which worshippers would have climbed in procession for their religious ceremonies. In other circumstances Ricky would have wanted to count the steps to see if there really were eight hundred of them. But instead he just bounded up them ahead of the others who followed as best they could.
Even Ricky's youthful energy began to flag by the time they were near the top and he was taking the steps one at a time now. The other two boys were close behind him, puffing and blowing, but Roger was a long way below, taking a rest to catch his breath.
The boys made it to the top and stood panting, with shaky legs. They were on a flat plain that stretched away from them as far as the eye could see. Nearby was the Nabataean altar area, the 'high place'. Carved out of the solid rock, a flat platform with a raised table-like structure, with drainage channels running around the altar and off to the rear, down the hillside. Way below on the mountainside is the Lion Monument, some experts suggest that the blood from the sacrifice had to reach the mouth of the lion for the sacrifice to be acceptable to the god.
None of this caught the boys' attention, they'd all seen it before. A crumpled bundle of clothing on the carved floor in front of the altar was what they spotted and ran towards. Chris was the first to reach the place and recognise it as the body of Maureen, one side of her head a bloody mess. He crouched down and took her hand. Her head moved, very slightly, and he moved into her line of vision. She spoke, the faintest of whispers.
“I thought he cared for me.”
That was all she said. Her head fell back and her face became still. Chris looked at her chest. She had stopped breathing. He leapt back in horror, a reflex action that lost him his balance and sat him down hard on his bottom in the dust, his eyes fixed on the awful sight of a dead person. Roland walked gingerly around the body, looking for anything that might help explain what had happened. Ricky looked from Maureen to Chris and back. And the world seemed to close down on him and he crumpled to the ground by Chris's feet and sobbed.
Roly had found a fist-sized rock lying a little way away from Maureen's body, with blood staining one corner and spattered all over one side. He turned to report his find to the other two, but he found Ricky in a heap on the ground, and Chris just shaking himself out of his stupor and crouching to comfort his friend.
Chris stood up, and tried to pull Ricky to his feet, but Ricky's legs weren't working and he was just rocking back and forth slightly in his crouched position, shaking his head and wailing. So he sat back down beside his friend and wrapped him up in his arms and hugged him. Ricky leaned into him and cried on his shoulder.
Roly thought it wise to leave them to it. And he was the one who suddenly thought of Ricky's father, still labouring up the mountainside. He ran back to the top of the steps and met Roger as he broached the summit.
“Mr Taylor...”
“What?” Roger spoke hoarsely, out of breath.
“It's Maureen, sir. She's....”
Roger sat down, his lungs fighting for air. He panted and wheezed for some minutes, and Roly sat beside him, looking out from the vantage point over the valley and the amazing artifact that is Petra.
Roger's breathing began to come easier. Without talking, he looked across at the boy beside him, looked a question as clearly as if he had spoken it.
“I'm sorry, sir. She's there, but she's dead.”
It was what Roger had been expecting. What he had seen through his binoculars should have been enough but he wanted his eyes to have deceived him, wanted her to survive, wanted to talk to her, to ask her why, and to find out what she felt for him, if anything. It wasn't to be. He slumped, his shoulders dropped, and while his rib-cage still heaved, his eyes dulled, giving him the look that matched his heart, the look of a man defeated.
Roly sat with Mr Taylor, in companionable silence, until he stood up and mumbled:
“I have to see her.”
“She's... a bit of a mess, are you sure?”
“I have to see her.”
And he walked a little unsteadily towards the bundle on the floor a few tens of yards away. The sight of the bleeding, battered head, hair all matted at the side, stopped him in his tracks. He just stood there, looking, comprehension only gradually penetrating his understanding. After a while he turned to his son, and it was the sight of the boy sitting on the ground, hugging his knees, his tear-streaked face looking up at him with such pleading, that set Roger off. His eyes welled up and began running with tears, silent tears, but his mouth contorted with emotion and he hunkered down and pulled his son to him, rocking him and crying quietly.
“She was alive,” Ricky whimpered. “She spoke. She said 'I thought he cared for me!'. And then she died. She died, Dad, just... died!”
His father just nodded and hugged him a little tighter.
Chris and Roland stood respectfully back, patiently waiting. Roly was already thinking practically, wondering what had to be done. Surely the events and Maureen's death needed to be reported to the authorities, but which authorities, and how, here in Petra, miles from the nearest telephone? Could they raise the alarm in time to intercept Camel before she escaped the country? It seemed unlikely, the borders between Jordan and no less than three other countries were within forty miles, she would probably be in another country already.
Eventually Roger lifted his head up and looked around. Seeing the two boys stood at a distance, he called to them.
“We have to get back to the car. It'll be dark soon and we have a long journey ahead of us. I think perhaps we should detour to Ma'an, we can phone from there to report what's happened.”
He stood up, and lifted Ricky with him. “All right, son?”
“Thanks, Dad. I'll be okay. Are you okay?”
“I'll do. We've got to climb back down into Petra and all the way back to the car. Can you do it?”
“Sure. I'm not tired – you're the old man here!”
Roger took heart. If his son could abuse him he must be okay.
After taking one more look at the dead woman, they left her, untouched, for the police to deal with. And they began the long trek back to Wadi Musa and the Land Rover.