Rebels across the Red Sea II: Nemesis of the Nefud

By Duncan Watt

This is the thirteenth in the Wallace Boys series.

Immediately following 'Rebels across the Red Sea' and Nigel’s rescue, the Wallace Boys and Hanafi, the Saudi Prince, find themselves up against a renegade group of Iraqis guarding chemical and bacteriological weapons in a remote hide-out in northern Saudi Arabia.

A blind Nigel Wallace returns to the terrorist desert encampment, hidden in a rocky valley.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duncan Watt
• Release date: Apr 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476491059

Duncan Watt

I was born in Africa where I grew up; but I have lived in countries like England, America, Papua New Guinea and Japan. I have now lived in Singapore for 35 years.When I was teaching in Zambia I wrote a couple of books in simplified English for my students and these were published by Oxford University Press. Since living in Singapore, where I have, among other things, appeared on the TV News for nearly twenty years, I have written 20 books in my Wallace Boys Series - 11 of which were published here in Singapore.Please visit The Wallace Boys Web Site to find out more about the books, and there is more about me too.

Book preview

Rebels across the Red Sea II

Nemesis of the Nefud

An Adventure of the

Duncan Watt

_

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Duncan Watt

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Contents

1. Nigel Enters the Lions’ Den!

2. What Really Happened

3. Plans

4. The Start of Operations

5. Phase One of the Operation Completed

6. Bruce and Hanafi Explore

7. Nigel is on his Own

8. Preparing the Train for its Final Journey

9. Bruce Drops In

10. The Plan Unravels

11. The Cavern of Death

12. Dot Dot Dot; Dash Dash Dash; Dot Dot Dot

13. The Train Now Standing at Platform…

Glossary and Notes

1

Nigel Enters the Lion’s Den!

The first cry for help went completely unheeded. As a cry for help, it didn’t have much going for it. It lacked any volume and it certainly lacked any sense of urgency. It was not surprising, therefore, that it went unheeded.

In the total silence that followed, nothing happened. The ten sleeping forms ranged round the dying embers of a camel dung fire lay motionless on the cold dawn sand, their long robes pulled about them. Light was seeping into the rocky hideaway and the high-flying cirrus clouds in the strip of eggshell blue sky above the cliff walls turned salmon pink. In the depths of the canyon, the last of night still lingered, but it was just possible to make out immense carvings cut into the cliff-face behind the sleeping figures, fluted columns topped with elaborate capitals and wide steps leading into what looked, in the half-light, like a grand building. Several vehicles, including a rather battered Land Rover, an army truck and some earthmoving equipment, were parked to one side under a canopy. And, marring the cliff-face that housed the carved building, was a structure made up of steel beams that looked strangely like an elevator.

One of the figures stirred, but not as a result of the cry, but because of the cold. He shivered and tugged at his robes. In doing this, his grubby turban of red and white chequered pattern slipped from off his head, revealing a pinched, deeply-lined brown face with a prominent nose.

High above, on a rocky promontory overlooking the fast lightening desert, the sentry had heard nothing, which was hardly surprising as he had squatted down against a convenient boulder and, with his AK-47[1] between his knees, had fallen asleep. His head was deep in his chest.

At this moment came the second cry for help. A full-blown roar of pain and despair filled the narrow defile leading to the canyon where the men lay. Somehow the sound echoed against the sandstone walls, reverberating and increasing in volume rather than decreasing.

This time there was no doubt. The figures on the sand shifted and shifted fast, hands darting for the weapons that lay within reach. The curved magazines clicked into place. The guard on the promontory above, startled into wakefulness and totally disoriented, scrambled to his feet, his AK-47 seemingly pointing in all directions at once. Fear was etched in his grey face as he realized that he had been sleeping on the job and security had been breached. He was in real trouble.

The third cry, which was more like a despairing moan, galvanized the men into immediate action. The sentry above strode over to the top of the narrow defile from which the cry came. Now was the time to show he was on top of the situation. He slipped off the safety catch of his Kalashnikov. With his assault rifle pointing down into the darkness, he could make out nothing however. Nevertheless, he loosed off several dozen rounds, the sounds of the shots shattering the morning silence, followed by the distinct tinkling as the empty cartridge cases dropped down the rocky walls of the defile.

Meanwhile, the men below round the fire were ready for instant action. Bent double, and fearing that the location was under immediate attack, several of them dodged up the steps and into the pillared building, while others rolled over to the cliff walls where they edged into the slightest protective niche they could find, their guns aimed at the black entrance to the defile.

Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot, a voice called out anxiously in English. I need help. Help. Help me, please.

Nigel! Is that Nigel? cried the man who stood closest to the darkened ravine. Dressed like the other men in long-flowing Arab robes, he was tall and well built, in his early twenties with a cheerful, handsome face, which now wore the worried lines of concern. Are you all right? He signalled urgently to the others to put up their weapons and made a show of setting the safety catch on his own AK-47. He shouted out a few words in Arabic to the sentry above.

No, I’m not. I’m not all right. I’m in terrible trouble, came the voice once more from the cleft in the rocks.

"Nasrani! [2]" The single word exploded in fury from the lips of the pinched-faced little individual who was cowering like a weasel behind one of the columns leading into the building. Below his pendulous nose grew a straggly moustache stained yellow with nicotine. His AK-47 still pointed deliberately at where the voice was coming from, until a rapid, angry order forced him to set his weapon to safe.

Come out, Nigel. It’s all right. No one’s going to shoot you.

Silence followed, broken by the sound of a whimpering moan. Where are you? Nigel called.

What’s the matter? Just come out of the rocks. Fearing trickery, the young man once more trained his AK-47 on the entrance to the defile, his finger hovering above the safety catch. He edged forward, keeping his back to the rocky cliff-face. Where the vertical entrance began, he halted, poised to leap round into the darkness should this be warranted. He risked a quick look round the rock.

In one flowing movement he deposited his rifle against a rock and crossed the sandy bottom of the ravine. What’s the matter? What’s happened to you? Let me give you a hand.

Thanks, Nigel’s voice croaked, barely getting the word out through cracked, whitened lips. I thought I’d never make it. Nigel was crouched on hands and knees in the sand, one hand stretched out as though begging for help.

In the gloom, the man Nigel only knew by the nickname which he himself had given him, The Sheik, bent over the boy. Even in the darkness, the man could see the dark brown stain at the waist of his tee-shirt and down the side of his jeans, and he knew what it was. Nigel had been wounded - this was a gunshot wound. Nigel’s clothes were torn and shredded. The skin on his face and arms was red and puffy from excessive exposure to the sun. His hands, he noticed, were blistered and bruised, the nails torn and bleeding.

The bullet wound. Is the bullet still lodged in you?

Nigel shook his head and groaned as though in pain. El Weez certainly got me, didn’t he? A grin that was more like a grimace lit up the boy’s face momentarily. But the bullet went right through. It looks a lot worse than it really is. It bled for a long time.

Well, if that’s the worst that’s the matter with you then we have nothing to worry about, said The Sheik heartily. We’ll have you up and about in no time. You obviously need water and rest and food. Come, let me give you a hand.

The Sheik slipped his arm under the boy’s arms and raised him to his feet. He rapped out a few orders in Arabic to the men who had gathered round the entrance to the defile. Come, he said gently to Nigel. We’ll put you to bed, and breakfast with hot sweet tea will soon set you up.

But Nigel remained standing where he was, rooted to the spot. He took a tentative step. Which way? Nigel croaked. Can you give me your hand? Just tell me where I’m putting my feet.

And then it dawned on The Sheik. The colour drained from his face in horror. He pulled Nigel gently into the light and looked into the boy’s face. "Mashallah! he breathed. You’re not all right, are you?"

He waved the men aside and in the rapidly growing light he looked searchingly into Nigel’s deep blue eyes which were staring, unblinking.

What’s going on? What are you doing? Nigel asked.

When did this happen? The Sheik asked, ignoring Nigel’s questions.

Sometime early this morning. I went to sleep for a bit and when I woke up with a terrible headache I thought that the moon had set and it was pitch dark, but it hadn’t set. I couldn’t see any stars - nothing.

"Mashallah!" The Sheik swore again.

It’s only temporary, isn’t it? I’ll get my sight back again, won’t I? You see I lost my dark glasses after I jumped off the back of the Land Rover; or it may have been when El Weez shot me. Anyway, in the dust storm I couldn’t find them. It’s sun blindness, isn’t it? It’s only temporary, isn’t it? Nigel repeated.

But the slight pause that followed before The Sheik replied, a shade too heartily, Yes, yes, of course, it’s only temporary told Nigel what he didn’t want to know.

That’s what I thought. Oh, geez. It’s permanent. Nigel’s whole frame shuddered as he fought back the tears, and his head dropped onto his chest.

Carefully, The Sheik took Nigel by the hand and led him across the canyon to the fire which someone had kicked back into life. A kettle was hissing cheerfully.

Sit. The boy unshouldered his rucksack and dropped it beside him. There was a gentle pressure on the boy’s shoulders and a cup was thrust into his hands. Now The Sheik understood why Nigel’s hands were in such a dreadful state - he must have been crawling across the rocky desert floor. Suddenly The Sheik’s voice snapped angrily in Arabic, "Yalla imshi!" and he pushed one of the men away from Nigel.

What are you doing? the boy asked alarmed.

It’s just El Weez. The fool. He was testing if you are really blind.

Checking if I would flinch? Nigel grinned, though it pained his lips. I suppose I passed.

With flying colours, I’m afraid. Drink your tea and have some food. And then I’ll examine your wound, and then you can tell me what happened and how you found us.

A hand touched Nigel’s knee indicating that a flat circle of unleavened bread had been placed in his lap. Nigel could smell the mutton and thyme. I’m hungry, he said.

Good. Now, keep your eyes shut and let me put this cloth round your head. There’s just a chance if you don't damage your eyes any more that you might get some of your sight back. The Sheik slipped a piece of gauze cloth round Nigel’s forehead. It’s already getting brighter. Comfortable?

Thanks. For a while, in silence, Nigel ate the bread and sipped at the cup of hot sweet black tea, after which The Sheik examined the boy’s side. He removed the few pieces of inadequate plaster and carefully bathed the wound which he found to his satisfaction was healing quite nicely. He applied some antibiotic powder and bound it up again. He then turned his attention to Nigel’s hands which he made Nigel wash in a Dettol solution. Now, I think, it’s time for you to give us an account of what happened and how you found us, The Sheik said. El Weez needs some answers, he added significantly. He’s got his knife into you. You’re on dangerous ground with that man.

I know, Nigel murmured sleepily. He’s a real b…

Just watch your step while you’re in his presence. In your own time, what happened? How did you find us? I’ll translate for the others. Only the two of us can speak English.

Brushing his tousled dark brown hair from his face, Nigel began speaking in a low voice, stopping from time to time to allow The Sheik to fill the others in with what he was saying. By the time the dust storm hit, I had already worked out what I was going to do, he said. I knew I could reach the well we had passed not long earlier. I knew its direction. But I wasn’t expecting to receive a bullet in my side. That upset my plans.

Nigel heard a grunt of approval from one of the men and he assumed it to be El Weez. He turned his head in his direction. That was a good shot, he said. It wouldn’t do any harm to try and get in El Weez’s good books.

I also knew that there was a Nomad camp within walking distance, he continued. "I had seen it in the distance as we were crossing the Sun’s Anvil. I saw the low black line of their tents - and I was positive it wasn’t a mirage. I had decided that after getting to the well, I would make for the Nomads. I thought they might be able to help me.

As soon as I jumped down from the Land Rover, I ran back into the dust storm. When I was shot, I didn’t think it was too serious and I crawled away. I then discovered that my water bottle was holed by another shot - or it may have been the same shot. I don’t know. So I had to get to the well. Nigel fumbled for his rucksack and produced the damaged water bottle, which was passed from hand to hand and examined.

After some time, with the wind dropping, I reached the well. Now I know why you didn’t stop when we were passing it. You said that you were nearly at your destination but that wasn’t the reason you didn’t stop, was it? I also know why you… Nigel pointed in El Weez’s general direction… "why you laughed when I asked about not stopping.

Luckily I looked down the well before pulling up any of the water. As soon as I saw it, I knew that there was no way that I could drink the water. It must have been rotten. I don’t know how long that camel had been down there - it was crawling with maggots.

When this was translated, there was general amusement from his listeners.

I suppose that is a way of discouraging visitors? he queried. "Anyway, I didn’t drink anything of course, but I knew that I would have to get to the Nomads. I didn’t know if they had a well where they were but I hoped they would be able to help me.

"It was now getting on for evening and the dust was quickly settling. I headed off in the direction of the Nomads’ camp. As I walked and it got darker, I became slightly worried. I couldn’t see any fires or lamps. I kept on until I was sure that I had covered the distance -