The League of Night and Fog (8 page)

But when she’d made camp just before noon, anchoring a thin canvas sheet across the space between two boulders, crawling under to shield herself from the worst of the sun, she’d heard the faint crunch of footsteps—from behind her and to her right. Their stealthy approach had told her everything. She’d been unwilling to risk using her handgun, the reports from which would have carried for miles across the otherwise silent desert and perhaps have attracted other predators. So she’d pretended to be alarmed and defenseless when the two Arabs, each wearing a sun-bleached cotton headscarf and robe, confronted her with
pistols, gesturing for her to take off her clothes. Distracting them with a glimpse of her breasts, she’d pivoted, kicking, disarmed the nearer gunman by breaking his wrist, continued spinning with the blur of a dervish, kicked the second assailant’s gun-hand, again snapping bone, and killed them in rapid succession with fists to the throat, cracking their windpipes. It happened so quickly that they died still leering. She hid their bodies among rocks where the scavengers of the desert would dispose of them. Proceeding to another campsite, again erecting the thin canvas sheet, she wondered whether the men had found her by accident or whether they’d followed her from the village where she’d asked directions. If the men who’d tried to assault her were indeed from that village, if they’d sabotaged her car, it wasn’t surprising that this cave was abandoned—she’d been given false information simply to lead her deeper into the wilderness.

Again she despaired. Having come all the way from New York City, only to find that her search was not yet over, she wanted to raise her fists and curse at the sky. But she needed to escape the sun. The thought of rinsing her dry swollen mouth with tepid water from her canteen compelled her. A tall, limber, green-eyed, auburn-haired, sensuous woman, in her mid-thirties, wearing a wide-brimmed canvas hat, a knapsack, khaki shirt and pants, and hiking boots, she aimed her handgun against unseen dangers and entered the cave.

I
t smelled vinegary, like carbon dioxide. Beneath that odor was another—a musky animal smell that made her conclude that the cave had recently been used for a den.

Standing just inside the entrance, blocking out the sunlight, she stared toward the darkness. Though the cave was by no means cool, it was much less hot than the outside inferno. Handgun ready, she held her breath, straining to listen for sounds.

“Drew?” Her voice was tentative, uneasy. After all, if he were here, he’d have spoken to her by now. Unless, like the lizard, he’d
noticed her coming and scuttled to a hiding place. In which case, her quest had been useless, her hope that he’d welcome her a cruel tease.

The echo of her voice died down. Again she held her breath, listening. Something—intuition—told her that the cave was occupied. She heard—or
thought
she heard—a subtle brush of cloth, a slight exhale of air, a faint scrape of flesh against stone. The almost imperceptible sounds came from far in the back. She crouched and shifted to the right, away from the mouth of the cave, simultaneously hiding her silhouette and allowing sunlight to enter the cave.

Now that her eyes were accustomed to the dark, the added illumination was sufficient for her to see the worn sandals on the dusty feet of the scabrous legs of a man sprawled against the rear wall. His tattered robe was tugged above his fleshless knees. The hands stretched out against each thigh looked skeletal.

“Dear God.” The echo of the cave amplified her anguished whisper. “Drew,” she said louder.

She rushed to him, tugging him toward the sunlight, shocked by his matted waist-long beard and hair, by his gaunt ravaged face. “Oh, Jesus, Drew.”

Through eyes that were slits, he studied her. His blistered mouth quivered.

She hurried to unhitch the canteen from her belt, twisting its cap off. “Don’t try to talk.”

But he persisted, his voice so weak she could barely hear it. The sound reminded her of a footstep on dry crusted mud. “Ar …” He made a desperate effort to try again. “Ar … lene?” The tone communicated surprise, disbelief. And something else. Something akin to the awe one would feel when having a vision.

“It’s me. I’m here, Drew. I’m real. But stop trying to talk.”

She raised the canteen to his blistered lips, pouring just a few drops of water between them. Like a sponge, his flesh seemed to absorb the water. She gripped his wrist, his pulse so weak she could barely feel it. She ran her hands along his body, startled by how much weight he’d lost.

“You finally got what you wanted,” she said. “You fucked yourself up. If you weren’t so weak”—she poured a few more drops of water between his parched lips—“I’d be furious instead of sorry for you.”

Amazingly his eyes crinkled. They glowed faintly with …

What? Amusement? Love? He inhaled as if to …

“Laugh,” she said, “and I’ll hit you over the head with this canteen.”

But somehow he did have strength to laugh, just a short stubborn “hah,” and of course she did not make good on her threat. She simply poured another few drops of water into his mouth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to give him more for a while, lest he become sick to his stomach, but reassured because his attempt at a laugh was a life sign. She’d gotten here in time. His spirit hadn’t failed. He was going to be all right.

B
ut when she let him have another sip of water, she stiffened with doubt. Despite the heat, apprehension chilled her. There wasn’t enough water for both of them to walk out of here.

Her swollen tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She had to drink. The tepid water tasted bitter. Even so, she swallowed, felt less light-headed, took another sip, then poured a few more drops between Drew’s lips.

Gradually his pulse strengthened. He breathed easier, deeper.

But his voice remained a croak. “Misjudged …” He grinned with embarrassment, like a child who’d been naughty.

She shook her head, not understanding.

“Should have drunk sooner …” He coughed. Again she shook her head.

“Should have gone for food sooner … Didn’t realize how weak I was … Couldn’t reach the spring.”

“What
spring?”

His eyes drooped.

“Damn it, Drew, what spring?”

“Outside … down the slope … to the right.”

“How far?”

“A hundred yards … around the curve of the hill … a cluster of rocks.”

She gave him one more sip of water and stood. “I’ll be back.”

She took off her knapsack, left the dark of the cave, and at once felt the hammer force of the blinding sun. Wincing from a pain behind her eyes, she clambered down the dusty slope and followed the curve of the hill.

But after what she judged was a hundred yards, she still hadn’t found a cluster of rocks at the base of the slope. Panic slithered within her. Had Drew been delirious? Had he only imagined there was a spring?

No, there
had
to be a spring. Otherwise how could he have survived here? If she didn’t find it, if Drew didn’t become more lucid before the canteen was emptied, there was every chance both of them would die.

She walked twenty-five yards farther, felt her knees weaken, and knew that she couldn’t risk continuing. For as far as she could see along the slope of this hill, no mound of rocks provided a goal. Discouragement weighed upon her. Mustering strength, licking her parched lips, she turned to go back to the cave. Instead of swinging to the right toward the contour of the hill, she pivoted left toward the broad expanse of the desert. And tingled when she saw the mound.

She stumbled toward it. As far as they went, Drew’s instructions had been accurate. But he’d left out a crucial detail. The cluster of rocks was a hundred yards around the curve of the hill, all right. But
out
from the hill, not against it. And if you looked that way, the cluster was so obvious, so tall and wide, so clear a landmark, that you couldn’t fail to notice it.

She made her feet move faster. The rocks became larger. Climbing over them, down to a hollow, she found a stagnant pool protected from wind, skimmed dust to the side, glanced around to make sure no skeletons of animals warned against trusting the water, and dipped her mouth beneath the surface.
Hot, the water did not refresh her. Nonetheless, she felt her body absorb it.

Quickly she filled the canteen. Ten minutes later, she stooped to enter the dark of the cave.

Drew was flat on his back. Eyes slitted, he shrugged and tried to grin. “Forgot to tell you …”

“I
know
what you forgot to tell me, friend. I found it just the same.”

She raised the canteen to his lips. He swallowed gratefully. She drank as well.

That still left the problem of food. In her knapsack, she’d carried enough provisions for an emergency—peanuts and beef jerky, along with dried fruit. But after she searched the cave and found nothing to eat, she had to conclude that what she’d brought was not sufficient for both of them to cross the desert.

She gave Drew more water, took some herself, and became more hopeful as his energy returned.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

He shook his head.

“Because I love you,” she said.

He breathed deeply, overcome with powerful emotion. “Love … Yes.” It was hard for him to continue. “But how did you find me?”

“Persistence.”

“I don’t understand.” He gathered strength. “I thought I’d hidden my trail.”

She nodded.

“Then how … ?”

“The Fraternity.”

Drew shuddered.

“Y
ou ran from them,” she said, “to save my brother’s life. Because he saved yours. You thought you’d eluded them. You haven’t.”

She reached in her knapsack and pulled out a bag of peanuts. Chewing, she savored their salt.

He reached for one.

“Promise not to swallow it right away.”

He nodded.

She pressed one between his lips. “If you weren’t so grungy, I’d kiss you.”

“Threats’ll get you nowhere.” He slumped. “The Fraternity?”

“They followed you from the moment you left my brownstone in New York,” she said. “The reason you thought you’d gotten away was they never made a move against you. After England, Italy, and Morocco, you felt it was safe to come to Egypt. But they followed you here as well. They’ve been keeping track of you.”

“You know this … ?”

“Because two weeks ago, one of them came to see me.”

Drew groaned. “Then all of this has been for nothing?”

“No, it saved your life. The way the priest explained it to me,” she said, “the Fraternity decided your exile here was worse than any punishment they could have thought of. From the looks of you, they were right.”

His pitiful appearance dismayed her—his gaunt torso, his haggard face, his matted waist-long hair and beard. “We have to get some strength back into you. Do you think your stomach could hold down another peanut?”

“It better. I need the salt.”

She gave him one and nibbled on a piece of beef jerky.

“The priest told me the Fraternity’s decided you’ve suffered enough for the death of their operative.”

Drew stared at her.

“You’d return to me sometime in Lent—that’s what you promised.” She tenderly kissed his forehead. “Each day before Easter, I waited, hoping. When you didn’t come this first year, I worried that you’d never come.”

“No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking of you,” he said.

“I love you.”

With a tremble, he touched her arm. “And now my exile’s over? They’ve pardoned me?”

She hesitated.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not pardoned,” she said. “You’re being summoned. ‘To pursue your calling’ is how the priest described it.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“There’s something they want you to do for them.” Troubled, she glanced away. “It’s the only condition under which they’ll let you leave. When the priest told me where you were, I grabbed at the chance to see you again, just to be with you. Since you ran away that night, I’ve never felt so empty. Losing you the first time, and then …” She finally looked at him again.

He studied her eyes. “Arlene?”

She waited.

“What do they want?”

“That’s the problem. The priest wouldn’t tell me. He sent me here. To talk to you. To convince you. To bring you to him.”

A
t sunset, she helped him squirm from the cave. The evening’s lower temperature made the heat that radiated from the rocks feel soothing. In the last light of day, she unsheathed her survival knife and snicked its edge across his hair and beard. When she’d finished, he looked like, in her words, “a sexy ascetic by El Greco.”

She stripped off his robe and sloshed water from her canteen all over his body, washing him thoroughly. She dressed him and cautiously fed him. Before the sun completely faded, she went down the slope toward the cluster of rocks around the spring, refilled the canteen, and returned to the cave.

By then, night cloaked them. In his cell, she lay huddled next to him, her pelvis against his hips, spoonlike, giving him warmth.

“Water’s not a problem,” she said.

“But food is.”

“Right. There’s enough for me, but not enough for you to regain your strength. How are we going to manage to cross the desert?”

“I’ve got an idea,” he said.

A
t dawn, she waited, poised with her knife. When the lizard crawled from beneath its rock, she stabbed it, skinned it, and cut it into strips. The lizard, after all, did have a purpose. The strips of its flesh, spread out in front of the cave, baked in the sun. She brought them inside to Drew, who bit off a piece and chewed until it was like gruel and would not offend his stomach.

“I used to hate the thing,” he said.

“And now?”

“I’m sorry it died for me. It’s a part of me. I love it.”

T
hey left at night. He’d gained sufficient strength to stay on his feet, provided he leaned against Arlene. Taking their direction from stars, they plodded across the desert. He shivered against her. With her arm around his back, she felt him sweating. But as long as he was sweating, she didn’t worry. Sweat meant his body fluid had been replenished.