Corsair

They made their way down to the ledge. It would have remained a few feet above the water level even at the height of the spring runoff. It was almost dead even with the first cliff spanning the river, and was large enough to accommodate a city bus. The two men scanned the ground intently. When something caught their eye, one would bend to brush at the dirt covering the sandstone.

“Got it,” Mark cried softly. He was on his haunches, excavating sand from a perfectly round twelve-inch-wide hole that had been drilled into the rock. He didn’t hit bottom even when lying on the ground and burying his arm to the shoulder.

“What is that?” Alana asked.

“This is where they stepped the mast for the derrick,” Murph replied. “Most likely the dressed trunk of a tree. Attached to it would have been an angled boom that could reach halfway across the river. As you can see by the hole, the boom was massive and would have been capable of supporting several tons. There would have been another on the opposite bank.”

“I don’t get it. What are they for?”

“Using these they could lower stones into the river—”

“Not stones,” Eric countered quickly. “We talked about this. They would have used woven baskets, or possibly bags made of sailcloth, that were filled with sand. This way they would eventually dissolve in the current and wash away.”

“Fine,” Mark said with a tinge of irritation. Alana might be a dozen years older, but she was attractive, and Murph’s only real hope with women was showing off his intellect. “Large bags of sand were lowered onto the wall they’d constructed below the first fall to divide the river channel. That way they could dam up the downstream end on one side and not stop the river entirely. Their earthworks would never have withstood the full force of the current.

“With the Saqr tucked into what was essentially a shipping lock, they allowed a controlled amount of water into the chamber, building the walls higher as it filled until they could haul the boat forward into the second lock, the one nature had created and which most likely inspired old Suleiman’s engineer in the first place.”

“They would repeat the process again,” Eric added, “and draw the Saqr onto the upper river.”

“You guys figured this out without ever visiting this place?” There was respect in Alana’s voice.

Mark opened his mouth to brag, but Eric beat him to the explanation, saying with his trademark earnestness, “A lock is the only thing that could possibly explain what Henry Lafayette had meant by ‘clever device.’ Knowing that, we studied satellite imagery to verify our hypothesis.”

“I am impressed,” Alana told them. “And a little mad at myself. I stared at this stupid pile of rocks for hours but never saw it.”

Mark was about to use this as another opening to brag when Linda Ross approached so silently no one heard her until she was right behind them. “You boys need to be a little more aware of your surroundings. I wasn’t even trying to be quiet. What have you found?”

“Just as we suspected,” Mark said, giving Eric a look. “During a particularly dry spell, when the river stopped flowing entirely, Al-Jama’s people converted the waterfall into a lock system so they could hide their ship where no one would ever think to look.”

“So the cave is farther upstream?”

“Gotta be.”

“Then let’s start hiking,” Linda said.

She radioed Linc to tell them what was happening and inform him they might lose radio contact because of the distance and topography. He must have been close enough to the terrorists not to risk replying. Her acknowledgment was two quick clicks in her earpiece.

They started southward, marching three-quarters of the way up the bank so as not to silhouette themselves against the distant horizon, as well as to shield themselves from the worst of the wind that had started to kick up. This region of the desert was enough to make anyone feel insignificant. The brassy sky towered over the party, and the relentless sun beat down on them as they trudged along. They each carried enough water for a day so that wasn’t a concern, but three of the four were operating on minimal sleep and the effects of a punishing few days.

For the members of the Corporation, they pushed themselves because they saw it as their duty. For Alana, she marched with them because, if she didn’t, she would never lose the image of Mike Duncan’s lifeless eyes, as the petroleum geologist lay on the desert floor with blood leaking from the hole in his forehead. She was an archaeologist and mother, and her place was as far from here as possible, but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she’d not come. The decision certainly wasn’t rational. However, she’d never been more certain.

Her life was dictated by rules that the men who killed Mike and kidnapped her had broken, and, simply put, she wanted revenge.