The Exfiltrator by Garner Simmons (read after txt) 📗

been able to maintain their independence over so many centuries.  The old man was right.  In Euskadi, the land and the people were one.

  As they approached 4,000 feet above sea level, the Land Rover careened along over the uneven rocky terrain.  Glancing over at the old Basque in the driver’s seat beside him, Corbett had the feeling he must intentionally be hitting every pothole and boulder in their path.  With a grin, the old man pointed up the mountain.

“Ikusi ez…! Dela deabruarem bizarrezurra deitu dute,” he shouted above the whine of the engine. “This is what is called the Devil’s Backbone.”

Enjoying Gorka’s childlike glee, Corbett asked: “How much further to the camp?”

“Not so long now.  We get there pretty quick.”

“And this is the only way up?”

“Si.  But not to worry.  Coming down is very fast.”

Corbett nodded. If possible, he’d have to find a way to avoid riding with the old man on the return trip.

As the lead Rover climbed at last over the crest of a ridge and lurched to a halt, Gorka smiled.  “Here is base camp.” He spread his hands wide to encompass the entire campsite before them. “Delivered as promised.” Corbett stared at the large relatively flat clearing where a dozen tents of various sizes had been pitched a short way from a running stream.

Having listened to the whine of their engines coming up the mountain for some time, Sebastian Vega and the rest of the advance party had already gathered to greet them.  Among them, three armed, gray, uniformed security personnel watched as Corbett stiffly climbed out of the Rover.  Stretching his back and shoulders, Corbett noted the security men each carried a Glock 9mm sidearm secured in a leather holster attached to their Sam Browne belts.   More of a token show of force than anything truly formidable.  Corbett made a mental note not to count on them in a fight.

As the remainder of the convoy pulled into the camp the rest of the team climbed out and gathered around Corbett.  Stepping forward, Vega extending his hand.

“Bienvenido… Welcome to neustro nido de montaña.”

“Gracias,” Corbett shook his hand.  “You must be Sebastian.”

“And you are Dr. Corbett.  It is my pleasure.”

“All right.  Everybody, listen up,” Corbett raised his voice.  “This is Sebastian Vega, my distinguished colleague from the Museo Archeologico Nacional in Madrid. He will be in charge whenever I am not around. If neither of us is available, see Hector.  Whatever they say, goes.  Any questions?”

Excited to finally be there, Ella hesitated, glancing around.  At last, she turned to Corbett.  “I’m just confused.  This cave we are supposed to excavate… exactly where is it?”

“Up there…” Corbett replied pointing several hundred meters further up the slope. “At the base of the escarpment.  See how the fault has been displaced, exposing the cave’s mouth.”

Turning and shading their eyes against the last rays of the setting sun, they all stared up the mountain.

“Wait, there… I see it,” Roberto said, “Just below the ridgeline.”  He pointed.  A moment later, the others managed to spot it as well.

“But that’s straight uphill,” Karim groused.  “Who’s bright idea was it pitch our base camp down here?” he asked, glancing at Sebastian, his voice a mixture of sarcasm and disapproval. “I mean, it seems quite obvious.  We should be up there nearer the entrance to the cave.”

“Interesting point of view.  Everyone agree…?” Corbett asked looking around.  Uncertain, the others fell silent.

“Better to pitch camp near fresh water…?” Ella offered at last. “Saves you from having to carry it by the bucketful any further than necessary.”

“You mean as opposed to having to climb the bloody mountain every day…?” Karim replied.

Stung by the criticism, Sebastian was about to speak when Corbett rose to his defense.

“No, she’s right,” Corbett said.  “In setting up a base camp, fresh water is always your first consideration.”  Then pointing to the stream, he added, “More importantly, the source of the stream is subterranean. It’s been the force of that water cutting down through the rock over the last fifty, maybe sixty thousand years that created the cave in the first place.”

Sebastian smiled, pleased by Corbett’s support.  “Indeed.  But not to worry,” he said catching Karim’s eye. “We will make sure you have more than enough to carry without water.”  Then he added with a sardonic smile, “Besides, if the cave were within easy reach, the Spanish Board of Tourism would have already set up a ticket booth and a gift shop.”

Everyone with the exception of Karim shared a laugh. Sensing

they were losing focus, Corbett took charge once more. “Okay, time to get these trucks unloaded before it gets too dark.”

“What about supper…?” Karim began.

“You eat when you’re done,” Hector announced nodding to Gorka.  With a grin, the old man turned and lumbered of toward the cook tent. “Everybody pitches in. We do it quick-quick… Vamanos…!”

Suddenly, with the promise of food, the camp was alive with activity.  As Corbett collected his luggage, Sebastian fell into step beside him.

“Students today,” he shook his head again.  “No respect.  They think they know all the answers when they do not yet even have a grasp of the questions.”

*****

It was almost sunset by the time the red Peugeot pulled into the gas station, its neon sign flickering in the dying light.  The driver, a Pakistani national named Raza, stopped beside the nearest pump and shut off the engine.  Beside him sat Jarral, his undivided attention fixated on the screen of the mobile tracking devise in his lap.  Annoyed at how long it had taken them to get here and the fact that there was still no sign of the infidels, Raza found himself beginning to question Jarral’s ability to lead.  And in this he was not alone. There had been talk among the others as well.  The term in Arabic was “kalam fadi”