The Amulet of Power (9 page)

“Show me someone who doesn’t, and I will convince them of the error of their ways,” said Omar confidently.

“They’re on that hill,” she said, looking over his shoulder at half a dozen mounted men who had just appeared atop a ridge half a mile away.

Suddenly a shot rang out, then two more.

“And they’re going to take a lot of convincing,” said Lara grimly.

10

“There are no trees, no places to hide,” said Gaafar. “We’ll have to make our fight right here.” He turned to Lara. “Get off your camel. We’ll have the beasts kneel down and use them for cover.”

“Why?” demanded Lara.

“This is what we have always done.”

“Well, it’s stupid,” she said. “If the camels are shot, how will we get out of here even if we survive?”

“What do you suggest?”

“Have you got any explosives?” she asked. “Even a hand grenade?”

Hassam pulled out a bag of grenades. “I have half a dozen, but it will do no good. By the time those men are close enough for me to use them, they will have killed us all.”

“Drop the bag on the ground right now!” ordered Lara.

Hassam looked at Omar, who nodded his assent.

“Now, do we all agree I’m the only one they want?” said Lara as a bullet kicked up the sand some fifteen yards away.

“Yes.”

“Then start riding off.”

“We will not leave you!” insisted Omar.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” said Lara. “I want you to obey me! I’m going to ride about fifty yards with you, then surrender. I’ll stand there with my hands raised and wait for them to approach me.”

“They will shoot you,” said Gaafar.

“Why? If I tell them where the Amulet is, it’s easier for them than searching for it.
You’re
the guys who want it to stay hidden or be destroyed;
they’re
the guys who want it found.”

“Surrendering isn’t much of a strategy,” said Gaafar disapprovingly.

“When they get within a few yards of the grenades, the best marksman among you will shoot into the bag,” explained Lara. “With a little luck, it will wipe them out, and I’ll be far enough away that neither the explosion nor the flying shrapnel will cause me any problem.”

“You’re asking us to hit the grenades at perhaps two hundred yards,” said Omar. “What if we miss?”

“Then I’ll try to hit them myself,” answered Lara. “But it’d be better if you don’t miss. The second I reach for my pistols, they’re going to shoot me.”

“And if we all miss it?”

“If we all miss it,” she replied, “we’ll sell our lives as dearly as possible—which is what we were going to do anyway. Now ride!”

Omar nodded again, and the three men rode off. Lara followed them, then pretended to lose her balance and fall off the camel, landing heavily on the sand. She didn’t know how realistic it looked, but she couldn’t think of any other way to dismount that wouldn’t arouse their suspicions. They just might believe that the Englishwoman couldn’t balance on a running camel.

They were within 150 yards of her, and closing fast. She raised her arms and yelled, “Don’t shoot! I give up!” Then, for good measure, she repeated it in Egyptian, Arabic, and one of the more widespread Sudanese dialects.

The men stopped firing and approached more slowly, keeping their rifles trained on her. Now they were sixty yards from the bag of grenades, now forty, now twenty.

Shoot!
she thought anxiously.
If you miss, you have time for a second shot. If you wait another four or five seconds, you don’t!
The seconds seemed like hours, and then, finally, a single shot rang out—and all hell broke loose.

Camels screamed in pain and terror, men screamed even louder, as bodies and body parts were hurled in every direction. A rifle flew through the air, straight at Lara’s head. She ducked at the last second and threw herself to the ground, then felt a heavy object land on the back of her left thigh. She rolled over quickly and saw that it was a camel’s head, the eyes still open.

She jumped to her feet and surveyed the carnage. Four camels were dead; the other two lay on the ground, twitching feebly. Five Mahdists had been killed almost instantly. The sixth was crawling away, his white robes drenched in blood.

Another shot rang out, and the Mahdist pitched forward on his face and lay perfectly still.

Wonderful,
she thought irritably.
You couldn’t let him live long enough to question him. You had to be macho to impress me.

Lara’s three companions approached her, rifles at the ready in case one of the Mahdists was faking, but none of them were. Gaafar walked over to the two dying camels and put them out of their pain with a bullet to each one’s head.

“Which one of you fired the shot that hit the grenades?” asked Lara.

“That was Hassam,” said Omar. “He is the best shot.”

“I was very nervous,” admitted Hassam. “It is not like target practice, or even like hunting. If I had missed, you would surely be dead now.”

“So would we all,” agreed Omar. “Lara Croft may owe her life to Hassam’s marksmanship, but all four of us owe our lives to her quick thinking.”

“You look unhappy,” Lara noted. “You just killed all the bad guys. What’s the matter?”

“I am ashamed.”

“Why?” she asked curiously.

“Hassam is a better shot than I am. Gaafar is far stronger. Both are much better suited for adventuring in the desert. I am the leader because I exercise the only muscle that counts”—he placed a forefinger to his head—“the one between my ears. And yet when the attack came, I did not think of what was clearly the only possible means of victory.”

“I have a feeling you’ll have more chances to redeem yourself,” said Lara.

“Part of me almost hopes so, just so that I
can
redeem myself,” answered Omar.

Lara looked at the dead men and camels. “Should we bury them?”

“No, it would take too much time.”

“They have already gone to Allah,” added Hassam.

“I don’t mean for religious reasons,” said Lara. “But to hide them, so no one will know what happened.”

“When they don’t report back, their superiors will know they’re dead,” answered Omar. “It is better that we reach the Sudan’s border as quickly as possible. We have
no
allies here; at least we have
some
there.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say. Let me just climb up on Seattle Slew here, and we’ll be off.”

“What is a Seattle Slew?” asked Gaafar.

“The name of a very famous racehorse in America,” said Omar. “I saw him once on television.”

“This is an Arab camel,” said Hassam. “He should have an Arab name.”

“I don’t know any Arab racehorses,” said Lara.

“I do,” said Omar. “Since he has no name, we shall name him after one of the greatest of our racehorses—El Khobar.”

“El Khobar,” she repeated approvingly. “The Fleet One. I like it; I just hope he can live up to it.” She paused. “Do you ever have camel races?”

“For pleasure, yes. But there are no racetracks for camels. The horse is our animal of choice.” Omar smiled. “Unfortunately, the desert is not our environment of choice. The Sudanese love water and trees and moderate weather, just as you do. But to borrow a phrase I have heard in the American movies, we must play the cards we are dealt, and we have been dealt both sand and camels.”

“Not to denigrate horses or camels, but I think my own steed of choice would be a Land Rover,” said Lara.

“Not in the deep and shifting sands of the desert,” said Gaafar. “If we are attacked any time between here and Khartoum, it will be by men on camels.”

Lara mounted El Khobar. “Which way?” she asked.

“Lake Nasser is about twenty miles away,” answered Omar. “We’ll parallel it and then the Nile until we reach Khartoum.”

“And you say the first oasis is almost a two-day trek from here?”

“That is correct.”

“What’s to stop us from turning toward Lake Nasser at sunset, getting water to drink,” suggested Lara, “and then going back inland?”

“It would add many days to the journey, and the water would probably make you ill.”

“Why just me?”

“We have drunk from the Nile all our lives,” said Omar. “Those of us who don’t die from it—and very few do—develop a resistance to its diseases and impurities, a resistance Europeans and Americans do not possess. We will drink at the wells and the oases.”

“You’re the leader,” she said, more to bolster his ego than to agree with his assessment of her Western frailty. “Let’s get started.”

Omar urged his camel on, and the others fell into line behind him. After a few minutes Omar turned to them.

“This is wrong,” he announced.

They all stopped and stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Hassam, you will ride on Lara Croft’s left. Gaafar, move your camel up and ride on her right. We must not allow her to be a sharpshooter’s target.”

“This is ridiculous!” protested Lara. “I don’t want anyone to have to take a bullet for me!”

“It is no problem,” Gaafar assured her. “You saved our lives a few minutes ago, so they now belong to you until we can return the favor.”

“Besides,” added Omar, “if Hassam or Gaafar is killed, we may still find the Amulet before the Mahdists do. But if you are killed, we have lost our best chance.”

Suddenly Lara smiled. “Now
that
sounds like a true leader’s reasoning.”

Omar returned her smile. “Perhaps I think better when I’m not being shot at.”

Gaafar and Hassam laughed aloud, and kept laughing.

“It wasn’t
that
funny,” remarked Lara after a while.

“Omar has been shot at more than any man you have ever met,” said Gaafar.

“And tortured,” added Hassam.

“Please,” said Omar uncomfortably. “Lara Croft does not wish to hear ancient history.”

“I think I’d find it very interesting,” she said.

“Some other time,” replied Omar with an air of finality.

They rode in silence for the next three hours. Then Omar signaled a halt, and they dismounted.

“The camels need rest,” he announced, “and we need food.”

“We haven’t abused them,” commented Lara. “They should be able to walk all day at this pace.”

“True.”

“Then why—?”

“Because if we travel at this pace with no breaks in our journey, we will reach the oasis at midday tomorrow, and it will be much safer not to arrive until dark.”

“You could have just said so.”

“I did not wish to distress you.”

Gaafar and Hassam broke out laughing again.

“All right,” admitted Omar. “I should know by now that you are not easily distressed.”

“So how long do we sit here?”

“Perhaps an hour, perhaps two.” He walked over to his camel, pulled his rifle out of its sheath, and brought it back with a cloth and some oil. “While we rest, I will clean the Eye of Amen-Ra.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Lara. “The Eye of Amen-Ra?”

“My rifle,” said Omar.

“Mine is Anubis, the Death Bringer,” added Gaafar. He pulled out a dagger. “And this is the Scalpel of Isis.”

“What do you call your pistols?” asked Hassam.

“I call them my guns,” said Lara.

“You have no names for them?” persisted Hassam, surprised.

“I think it’s a guy thing.”

“Do you carry a knife?” asked Gaafar.

“Sometimes,” she replied. “Not today.”

Gaafar walked to his camel and withdrew a dagger with an engraved handle from his pack. “Then I will present you with the Leopard’s Tooth.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, testing its heft and balance. “Thank you.”

“You honor me by accepting it,” replied the large man. “And whenever you cut a Mahdist’s throat with it, you will think of Gaafar.”

“Well, let’s hope I don’t have to think of you too often,” she said.

The four of them fell to cleaning their weapons, and after an hour had passed they got up and began riding to the south again, always staying between twenty and twenty-five miles inland from the lake.

They bedded down shortly after dark. Lara thought she’d stay awake for a few more hours, but her injuries and her exertions of the previous night caught up with her the second she lay down, and the next thing she knew Omar was gently shaking her awake and explaining that she had slept for almost twelve hours and it was time to leave.

The day passed uneventfully. About two hours before sunset Omar sent Hassam ahead to make sure the oasis was free from Mahdists. He reported back to them ninety minutes later, stating that there was absolutely no sign of life there.

“Good,” said Omar. “We will reach it an hour after sunset, let the camels drink, and fill our canteens. Barring dust storms, we should only have to stop once more for water before we cross the border and enter the Sudan.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Lara.

They urged their camels on as a strong wind arose, and reached their goal when Omar had predicted. There was a small water hole surrounded by no more than a dozen palm trees. Lara couldn’t figure out why the water didn’t evaporate, and finally decided it must be fed by a ground spring.

“Gaafar,” ordered Omar, as they all dismounted, “make sure the area is secure. Hassam, fill our canteens while the camels drink.”

“No!”
yelled Lara suddenly, and everyone froze.

“What is it?” asked Omar.

“Hassam, don’t touch that water!” she said.

He looked at her curiously.

“Did you drink from it when you were here earlier?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, looking offended. “I do not drink before my leader.”