Close Up the Sky (43 page)

Williams
walked in the point position, about fifty yards ahead of the others. They had
been underway for almost an hour, and it was obvious that Edward Leahy was
following the river to the sea. His tracks were irregularly spaced, sometimes
only a foot or two apart; other times so wide there was little doubt that he
was running. Taylor felt that his erratic gate might have been due to delirium,
or hallucinations caused by his injury. They all agreed, and felt compelled to
close the distance as quickly as possible. However, none of them was willing to
speak the unspeakable: Edward might die before they overtook him. Being on the
point, Williams set the pace and increased their speed almost to a trot. No one
complained.

It was gray dawn
and the air was still cool. A refreshing breeze that carried a pleasant water
scent came from the river and caressed their faces. For the first time in two
weeks Matt felt clean and strong. They had all bathed in the shallows of the
river before dawn
;
Taylor first, then the men. Breakfast
had consisted of some dry nuts and an unidentified species of jerked meat
provided by the nomads. The cuisine was not appetizing but it filled their
stomachs and provided energy. The thing Matt missed most was coffee: hot,
black, aromatic coffee. He would have given almost anything for a cup of French
Roast.

Taylor walked
beside him with Summerhour bringing up the rear. Her hair was tied in a
ponytail that dropped to her shoulders, and she wore a wide-brimmed canvas hat
that she had produced from her pack. The L-suit accentuated the lines of her
figure and her eyes sparkled in the growing light. But to Matt, her physical
beauty was only one of her many attributes. In addition to her intelligence and
quick wit, he could feel an enduring strength flowing from her. As they walked
she matched his pace with an easy stride, moving over the rough terrain with
balance and grace. She could have had her pick of a thousand men, and he was
still amazed that she had chosen him, completely and without reservation. Even
more unbelievable was her confession that she considered herself among the most
fortunate of women to have his love. It was a dream beyond his wildest
imagination. Fate had brought them together, but it was the sure and certain
knowledge that they were truly meant for each other that welded the bond
between them. Their spirits were mated, now and forever, and neither of them
could ever go back.

As the day wore on
and the sun climbed higher, they reached the junction of the two rivers. A
large tree-covered island had been formed where the waters met, but no signs of
human habitation were evident there or along the banks, so they trekked on. To
avoid over-exertion they made frequent stops to allow their muscles to relax
and recover. The practice was standard training for field agents at Apache
Point, and no one understood the technique better than Williams. He made sure
the rule was strictly enforced, but not for himself. Had it been necessary, the
tall Marine could easily have outdistanced all of them without stopping to
rest. Since the L-suits did not permit a significant change in body
temperature, they were immune to the energy-draining bite of heat. And because
they were following the river, they carried very little water. When they needed
to drink they simply retrieved some river water and rendered it drinkable with
the purification tablets contained in their utility belts. Not having to carry
the weight of extra water produced a significant increase in speed.

It was shortly
after one of the breaks that Williams suddenly halted and held up his hand,
signaling for them to stop. He dropped to one knee and crouched over. The
others followed suit. He remained still for several minutes, staring at the
riverbank ahead. At last he eased to his feet and began edging forward in a low
crouch. The others remained still, waiting for instructions. After a few yards
he halted again and froze. A couple of minutes passed while he studied whatever
he was looking at, then he stood and motioned for them to move up. When they
reached him they understood the reason for his caution: A boat was pulled up on
the riverbank.

“I think it’s
abandoned,” Williams said. “There’s a clear view for several hundred yards in
every direction and no cover to hide anyone. And as far as I can see, there are
no tracks leading away from it."

Matt agreed. "I
think you're right. Let's have a closer look."

They moved
cautiously until they reached the boat. It lay over at a slight angle, and the
current had built up a ridge of mud against the hull on the upriver side. It
was about twenty-five feet long and eight feet wide. Several oars, a slender
mast, and a crumpled sail lay inside.

"Wonder who
it belongs to," Williams mused.

Taylor lifted a
three-foot length of broken rope that hung from the bow. "It must have
broken loose from its mooring and drifted off in a storm. Maybe from as far
away as Babylon.”

"Well, it may
have once belonged to the King of Babylon, but it's ours now," Summerhour
said. "We can cut our trip time in half if it floats. Give me a hand and
let's get it into the water."

It turned out to
be a bigger job than they thought. The keel was stuck tight in the mud and it
took their combined efforts to break it loose. They rocked it back and forth,
pulled and twisted, shoved, grunted, and dug at the mud until it finally
floated free of the shore. While the others waded into the water and held it by
the bowline, Williams jumped inside and made an inspection of the seams. "We're
in luck," he reported. "No leaks!"

"All right,
everybody in," Summerhour ordered.

Matt had a
fleeting thought of lifting Taylor over the side then laughed at
himself
as she vaulted over the gunwale with ease. He shook
his head, climbed inside, and gave her a crooked grin. "Is there anything
you can't do?"

She laughed at
him. "You mean you don't know by now?"

He nodded. "I'll
check on that in more detail later on," he promised. "But right now,
let's man those oars and get moving."

"How do we
steer this thing," Williams asked.

"I'll show
you," Matt answered. He was a sailor at heart, and had owned several small
sailboats. He picked up the slender mast, fitted it through a hole in one of
the thwarts and twisted it into a socket in the bottom of the boat. Then he
tied the sail to each end of the boom and attached it to a swivel near the
bottom of the mast. He made a few more adjustments with some other lines,
connected the main halyard to the top of the sail, and it was ready for raising
and tacking.

"Mike, put
one of the oars through that fitting on the stern,” he said, pointing to a
metal loop fitted into the wood. “We’ll use it as a rudder. Chuck, you get on
the oars and pull when I tell you to. Taylor, you handle the sheets," Matt
directed.

"Sheets?"
she inquired.

"The lines
that pull the sail from side to side. I'll tell you when to pull them and tie
them off."

She gave him a
look of amazement. "Is
there
anything you can't
do?" she mocked him. They all laughed. Even Summerhour broke with personal
tradition and joined them. Within a few minutes they had guided the little craft
into the current and raised the sail. With the combination of current and wind
it moved swiftly downstream, much faster than they could walk. It also
eliminated the need for rest periods.

They kept a sharp
lookout for Edward, but saw only occasional tracks in the mud along the
riverbank where he had apparently come down for water. As they cruised along
they spotted a few animals and birds foraging in the brush, but the land
appeared to be completely devoid of human life. When night came they took turns
steering and sleeping. Just before noon of the next day they noticed that the
current was becoming stronger. For safety, Matt directed Summerhour to steer
the boat closer to shore.

"We must be
getting close to the delta," he observed. "The
water's
getting
brackish. It might be a good idea to go ashore and take a look
around."

Summerhour put the
tiller over and grounded the bow in the soft mud along the bank. They
disembarked and took stock of the land. A few miles to the south a high,
pointed hill rose from the desert. Between them and the hill was an expanse of
marshland broken by numerous streams with tall date palms growing in profusion along
their banks. Williams took out his mini-binoculars and scanned the area.

"The hill
looks to be about two thousand feet high," he reported. "There's a
big marsh off to the left, and the river splits into a half-dozen channels just
before it reaches the hill. You were right, Matt. This must be the delta. I
expect the sea's not far beyond that promontory."

"Do you see
any sign of Edward," Matt asked.

"Nothing. There
are too many palms to see clearly." He handed the glasses to Matt.

He took them and
looked for a long time at the hill and surrounding land. At last he shook his
head and handed them back to Williams.

Summerhour, who
had been scouting a few hundred yards ahead, returned and reported. "The
trail leads into the palms. We might as well abandon the boat and go the rest
of the way on foot. The hill can’t be much over three miles away."

“He’s right,”
Williams interjected. “Walking will be faster than having to pole through the
shallow water in those channels. I have a feeling we’re getting close. Let’s
get our gear and move out."

As they were
getting their things from the boat Matt leaned close to Taylor and whispered,
"Unless I miss my guess we'll be playing our cards very soon. Stay close
to me from here on."

"Don't worry,
I will," she responded with certainty.

They started out
toward the hill, Williams assuming the point as before. Even at the brisk pace
he set it took almost two hours to reach its base. The slope was steep, but not
so sharp as to prevent climbing. Edward's tracks led up the side and
disappeared into the rocky terrain a few hundred feet up. Williams squatted and
examined the trail. "He can't be more than a few hours ahead of us,"
he said.

"Let's
go," Summerhour ordered. "Maybe we can overtake him before he makes
it to the sea and we lose his trail."

Just as they
started to move Matt stiffened and held up his hand for silence. They all
froze. A barely perceptible rumbling sound rose and fell somewhere in the
distance. They listened intently, but could not determine the direction from
which it came.

"What is
that?" Taylor asked in a low voice.

Matt shook his
head. The noise faded away then came again, but no louder than before. They
listened to it for almost a minute before it vanished entirely.

Taylor looked at
Matt. "Sounded like some kind of machine. Almost like a helicopter in the
far distance." They both glanced at Summerhour but said nothing.

"We’d better
get started," Matt advised.

As they climbed,
loose shale and rock continually shifted beneath their feet and tumbled down
the slope. It seemed as though they were losing almost as much ground as they
were gaining. The sun was constantly in their eyes, and as it ascended into the
cloudless sky they could feel its burning heat on their faces. Most of the time
they climbed bent over, using their hands as much as their legs. A few scraggly
bushes sprouted from the soil along the way, but offered little in the way of
support. Those they managed to grab pulled loose and sent small avalanches
downhill.

At one point Matt
looked over his shoulder and was gratified to see that in spite of the rigorous
conditions, they had climbed a considerable distance. From their current
position the river and desert were visible for miles behind them. He glanced at
Taylor and saw that she appeared to be holding up as well as the men. Williams,
further up the slope, had now outdistanced them by at least a hundred yards.

Summerhour stopped
and looked upward. "Does that guy have mountain goat blood or
something?"

Matt didn't bother
to answer. Instead both he and Taylor redoubled their efforts to cut the
distance. Summerhour followed close behind. After a half-hour the angle of slope
gradually decreased and became more manageable. They were able to climb without
having to bend over at the waist, and the ground became less rocky. Williams
still managed to stay ahead of them, but the gap had decreased. Matt estimated
the summit to be about five hundred feet further. Some huge boulders dotted the
crest, and Williams soon disappeared among them.

Matt looked back
and saw Taylor right on his heels. They dug into their energy reserves and
managed to put on a burst of speed. Summerhour was less than fifty feet to
their rear and coming on hard. Ten minutes later they went through the same
rocky passage into which Williams had vanished. It was shady between the huge
rocks and they felt their faces begin to cool. The ground was flattening out and
becoming almost level. There were dozens of boulders, all leaning against each
other at every possible angle. It was as though some giant hand had arranged
them so as to form a maze of passageways. Williams's footprints were visible in
the soft dirt and they followed them to a large open area on the summit.

As they emerged
into the sunlight they saw Williams standing about thirty feet away, staring at
something in the boulders. He was so still and breathless that he looked like a
stone statue. Prickles ran down Matt's spine and his scalp tingled. He reached
back instinctively and pulled Taylor up close behind him. They began edging
their way to where they could see whatever it was that held Williams
enthralled. His eyes were riveted on a narrow crevice between two boulders
about eight feet away. Matt saw a trickle of sweat run down his cheek. It was
like looking at someone frozen by a poisonous snake that was ready to strike. At
that moment it felt like the heat had sucked up all the air, leaving nothing to
breathe.