about the consequences if he were to fail again. In the short time since
he had made the acquaintance of Gotthold von Schiller, Nogo had come to
fear him as he had never feared God or the Devil in the days of his
priesthood. He realized that this raid was an opportunity to reinstate
himself with the formidable little German.
The jet Ranger was standing by, the pilot at the controls, the engines
running and the rotors turning lazily, but it could not carry such a
large number of fully equipped men. It would need four round trips to
ferry them all down to the asse4bly point in the gorge. Nogo flew with
the first flight, and took Nahoot Guddabi with him. The helicopter
dropped them three miles from the monastery, in a clearing on the banks
of the Dandera river, the same drop area as they had used for the raid
on Quenton-Harper's camp.
The drop area was just far enough from the monastery for the engine
noise of the jet Ranger not to alarm the monks. Even if they did hear
it, Nogo was banking on the probability that they were by this time
thoroughly conditioned to the frequent sorties of the machine, and would
not associate it with any threat to themselves.
The men waited in the darkness, warned to silence and not even allowed
by Nogo to smoke, while the jet Ranger ferried in the remaining
troopers. When the last flight came in Nogo ordered his detachment to
fall in, and led them in single file down the path beside the river.
They were all trained bush fighters in top physical condition, and they
moved swiftly and purposefully through the night.
Only Nahoot was a soft urbanite, and within half a mile he was wheezing
and whining for a chance to rest. Nogo smiled vindictively to himself as
he listened to Nahoot's pathetic whispered pleas for mercy as he was
prodded along by the men behind him.
Nogo had timed his arrival at the monastery to coincide with the hour of
matins and lauds, the break of day. He led his contingent down the cliff
staircase at a trot.
Their weapons were at high port, all the equipment was carefully muted
so as not to clatter or creak, and their rubber-soled paratrooper boots
made little noise on the stone paving as they hurried along the deserted
cloisters to the entrance of the underground cathedral.
From the interior echoed the monotonous chanting and drumming of the
ceremony, punctuated at intervals by the higher treble descant of the
abbot leading the service.
Colonel Nogo paused outside the doors, and his men drew LA up in double
ranks behind him. There was no need for orders for his briefing had
covered every aspect of the raid.
He looked the men over for a moment, then nodded at his lieutenant.
The outer chamber of the church was empty, as the monks were gathered in
the middle chamber, the qiddist.
Nogo crossed the outer nave swiftly, with his detachment moving up close
behind him. Then he ran up the steps to the wooden doors of the qiddist,
which stood open. As he entered, his men fanned out in two files behind
him and swiftly took up their positions along the side walls of the
qiddist, their assault rifles cocked and locked, and with bayonets
fixed, ing cover the kneeling congregation.
and swiftly that it was some it was done so silently minutes before the
monks gradually became aware of this alien presence in their holy place.
The chanting and drumming died away, and the dark faces turned
apprehensively towards the ranks of armed men. Only Jah Hora, the and
happen ancient abbot, was unaware of anything untow ing. Completely
absorbed in his devotions, he continued kneeling before re the doors of
the maqdas, the Holy of Holies, his quavering voice the lonely cry of a
lost soul.
In the silence Co nel Nogo marched down the centre of the nave kicking
the kneeling monks out of his way.
When he came up behind Jah Hora he seized him by his skinny black
shoulder and threw him roughly to the ground. The tinsel crown flew from
his silvered pate and rolled across the slabs with a brassy clatter.
Nogo, left him sprawling and turned to face the rows Of monks in their
white shammw, addressing them imperioUsly in Amharic.
"I am here to search this church and the or-her buildings of this
monastery, on suspicion that there are dissident other bandits harboured
here." He paused and rebels and surveyed the cowering holy men haughtily
and threateningly. "I must warn you that any attempt to prevent my men
performing their duties will be regarded as an act of banditry and
provocation. It will be met with force."
JaIi Hora crawled to his knees and then, using one of the embroidered
hangings for support, Slowly hoisted himself to his feet. Still clinging
to the tapestry of the Virgin and child, he gathered himself with an
effort.
"These are hallowed precincts," he cried, in a surprisingly clear and
strong voice. "We are dedicated to the service and worship of almighty
God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost."
"silence? Nogo bellowed at him. He unbuckled the flap of the webbing
holster on his hip and placed his hand threateningly on the grip of the
Tokarev pistol it contained.
at. "We are holy men in a
)a1i Hora ignored the thre place of God. There are no shufta here. There
are no lawthe most high, I breakers amongst US. In the name of God leave
us to our prayers and our call upon you to be gone) to worship, and not
to desecrate Nogo drew the pistol and in the same movement swung the
black steel barrel into the abbot's face with a outh burst open vicious
back-handed blow. jah Hora's like the rind of a ripe pomegranate; the
red juice burst from front of his tattered his crushed lips and flooded
down the velvet vestments. A low moan of horror went up from the ranks
of squatting monks.
Still clinging to the tapestry, Jah Hora kept his feet, but he was
swaying and teetering wildly. He opened his shattered mouth to speak
again, but the only sound that came from it was a high-pitched cawing,
like that of a dying crow, and the blood splattered in bright droplets
from his lips.
Nogo laughed and kicked his legs from under him. Jah Hora. collapsed
like a heap of dirty laundry and lay on the paving, groaning in his own
blood and Spittle.
"Where is your God now, you old baboon? Bleat to him as loud as you
will, and he will never answer you,'
Nogo, chuckled.
With the pistol he gestured to his lieutenant across the church. He left
six of his men guarding the monks, four at the doorway and one at each
side wall. The others bunched up and followed him to the entrance to the
maqdas.
The doors were locked. Nogo rattled the ancient padlock impatiently.
"Open this immediately, you old crow!" he shouted at ali Hora who still
lay in a bundle, moaning and sobbing.
"He is too far gone in senility," the lieutenant shook his head. "His
mind has gone, colonel. He does not understand the command."
"Break it open, then," Nogo ordered, "No, don't waste any more time.
Shoot the lock away. The wood is rotten."
Obediently the lieutenant stepped up to the door, and gestured his men
to stand well clear. He aimed his AK-47 into the wood of the door lintel
and fired a long, continuous burst.
Dust and chips of wood and stone flew in a cloud, and fresh yellow
splinters splattered the paving. The noise of gunfire and the whine of
ricochets was deafening in the echoing hall of the qiddist, and the
monks wailed and howled and covered their ears and their eyes where they
knelt. The lieutenant stepped back from the shattered door. The black
wrought-iron hasp and staple hung at an angle, the supporting woodwork
almost shot through.
"Break it down now!" Nogo ordered, and five of his men ran forward and
put their shoulders to the sagging door. At their combined thrust there
was a crackling, rending sound, and now the monks were screaming' Some
of them had covered their heads with the skirts of their shammas so as
not to have to witness this sacrilege;,others were tearing at their
faces with their fingernails, leaving long bloody gouges down their own
cheeks.
"Again!" roared Nogo, and his men rushed the door once more, using their
shoulders in unison. The lock was ripped away from its fastenings, and
they pushed the massive door fully open and peered into the dim recesses
of I the maqdas beyond. The chamber was lit only by a few smoky oil
lamps.
Now suddenly even these non-Christians were reluctant to cross that
threshold into the holy place. They all hung back, even Tuma Nogo,
despite his defiant Protestations of non-belief.
"Nahoot!" He looked back over his shoulder at the bedraggled and still
sweating Egyptian. "This is your job now. Herr von Schiller has ordered
you to find the things we want. Come here."
As Nahoot came forward, Nogo seized his arm and thrust him. through the
doorway. "Get in there, oh follower of the Prophet. The Trinity of
Christian gods cannot harm you.
He stepped into the maqdas immediately after Nahoot and shone his torch
around the low chamber. The beam of light danced over the shelves of
votive offerings, sparkling on the glass and precious stones, on the
brass and gold and silver. It stopped on the high cedarwood altar,
lighting the Epiphany crown and the chalices, reflected from the
communion plate and the tall silver Coptic cross.
"Beyond the altar," Nahoot cried out with excitement.
"The barred gateway! This is the place where the Polaroids were taken."
He broke away from the group in the doorway and ran wildly across the
chamber. Gripping the bars of the gate in his clenched fists, he peered
between them like a prisoner sentenced to life imprisonment.
"This is the tomb. Bring the light! His voice was a high-pitched and
frantic scream.
Nogo ran to join him, brushing past the damaskcovered tabot stone. He
shone the torch through the bars of the gate.
"By the sweet compassion of God, and the eternal breath of his Prophet,'
Nahoot's voice sank from a scream to a whisper, "these are the murals of
the ancient scribe.
This is the work of the slave Taita." As Royan had done, he recognized
the style and the execution immediately.
Taita's brush was so distinctive, and his talent had outlasted the ages.
"Open this gate!" Nahoot's tone rose again, becoming strident and
impatient
"Here, you men!" Nogo responded, and they crowded around the ancient
structure, trying at first to rip it from the cavern wall by main
strength. Almost at once it became apparent that this was a futile
effort, and Nogo stopped them.
"Search the monks' quarters!" he ordered his lieutenant. "Find me tools
to do the job."
The junior officer hurried from the chamber, taking most of the troopers
with him. Nogo turned from the gate and studied the rest of the interior
of the maqdas.
The stele!" he rasped. "Herr von Schiller wants the stone above
everything else." He played the torch beam, around the chamber. "From
what angle was the Polaroid taken-'
He broke Off abruptly, and held the light on the damask-covered tabot
stone,- on which the velvet-cloaked tabernacle stood.
"Yes," cried Nahoot at his shoulder. "That is it."
Tuma Nogo crossed to the pillar with half a dozen strides and seized the
gold-tasselled border of the tabernacle cloth. He pulled it away. The
tabernacle was a simple chest carved from olive wood, glowing with the
patina that priestly hands had imparted to the wood over the centuries.
"Primitive superstitions," Nogo muttered contemptuously and, picking it
up in both hands, hurled it against the cavern wall. The wood splintered
and the lid of the chest burst open. A stack of inscribed clay tablets
spilled out on to the cavern paving slabs, but neither Nogo nor Nahoot
took any notice of these sacred items.
"Uncover it," Nahoot encouraged him. "Uncover the stone."
Nogo tugged at the corner of the damask cloth, but it caught on the
angle of the pillar beneath it. Impatiently he heaved at it with all his
strength, and the old and rotten material tore with a soft ripping
sound.
Taita's stone testament, the carved stele, was revealed.
Even Nogo was impressed by the discovery. He backed away from it with
the torn covering cloth in his hand.
von Schiller ordered us to find. We are rich men., His words of avarice
broke the spell. Nahoot ran forward, and threw himself on his knees in
front of the stele. He clasped it with both arms, like a lover too long
deprived. He sobbed softly, and with amazement Nogo saw tears streaming
unashamedly down his cheeks. Nogo himself had considered only the value
of the reward that it would bring. He had never thought that any man
could long so deeply for an inanimate object, especially something so
mundane as this pillar of ordinary stone.
They were still posed like this, Nahoot kneeling at the stele like a
worshipper and Nogo standing silently behind him, when the lieutenant
ran back into the cavern.
Somewhere he had found a rusty mattock with a raw timber handle.
His arrival roused both men from their trance, and Nogo ordered him,
"Break open the gate!'
Although the gate was antique and the wood brittle, it took the efforts
of several men working in relays to rip the stanchions out of. their
foundations in the rock of the cavern wall.
At last, however, the heavy gate sagged forward. As the workers jumped
aside it fell with a shattering crash to the slabs, raising a mist of
red dust that dimmed the light of the lamps and the electric torch.
Nahoot was the first one into the tomb. He ran through the veil of
swirling dust and once again threw himself to his knees beside the
ancient crumbling wooden coffin.
"Bring the light, he shouted impatiently. Nogo stepped up behind him and
shone the torchlight on the coffin.
The portraits of the man were three dimensional, not only on the sides,
but on the lid too. Clearly the artist was the same as the one who had
executed the murals. The upper portrait was in excellent condition. It
depicted a man in the prime of life with a strong, proud face, that of a
farmer or a soldier with a calm and unruffled gaze. He was a handsome
man, with thick blond tresses, skilfully painted as if by someone who
had known him'well and loved him.
The artist seemed to have captured his character, and then eulogized his
salient virtues.
Nahoot looked up from the portrait to the inscription on the wall of the
tomb above it. He read it aloud, and then, with tears still backing up
behind his eyelids, he looked down again at the coffin and read the
cartouche that was painted below the portrait of the blond general.
Tanus, Lord Harrab." His voice choked up with emotion, and he swallowed
noisily and cleared his throat.
This follows exactly the description in the seventh scroll.
We have the stele and the coffin. They are , great and priceless
treasures. Herr von Schiller will be delighted."
"I wish I could believe what you say," Nogo told him dubiously. "Herr
von Schiller is a dangerous man."
"You have done well so far," Nahoot assured him. "It remains only for
you to move the stele and the coffin out of this monastery to where the
helicopter can fly them to the Pegasus camp. If you can do that, you
will be a very rich man. Richer than you ever believed was possible."
This spur was enough for Nogo. He stood over his men as they laboured
around the base of the stele, digging in clouds of dust, levering the
paving slabs out of their mooring. Finally they freed the foundation of
the stele and between them lifted the stone out of the position in which
it had stood for nearly four thousand years.
Only once it was free did they realize the weight of the stone. Although
slender, it was a solid half-ton weight.
Nahoot went back into the qiddist and, ignoring the rows of squatting
monks, pulled down a dozen of the thick woollen tapestries from the
walls and had the troopers carry them back into the maqdas.
He wrapped both the stele and the coffin in the heavy folds of
coarse-spun wool. It was tough as canvas, and afforded the men who were
to carry it a secure handhold.
Ten of the burly troopers were able to lift and carry the stele, while
three men were able to handle the wooden coffin and its desiccated