(Wrath-02)-Darkness of This World (2012) Page 4

  General Brighton watched him a second, seeing the sadness on his face.

  Friends. Even loved ones. Why was he so afraid?

  “There are those,” Saud continued, “who harbor secret hates and ambitions, those who have taken to the darkness and feel comfortable in it now, those who seek to destroy freedom or anything else that is good.”

  The general turned to his friend. “What are you saying, Prince Saud?” he asked nervously.

  The prince looked around, then stared for a moment at the sky. “I am saying there is great danger lurking. Great danger to me and great danger to you.” He lowered his face to look into the general’s eyes. “My father intends for me to transform the kingdom. You know that, we have discussed it, but there are many who would stop me. I don’t know how far they will go.”

  “You’ve got to be more specific,” Brighton prodded anxiously. “Are you talking of your neighbors? Syria? Iran?”

  “Those would be too obvious! You’re not listening to me, Neil! I’m talking of my family. I’m talking of your friends!”

  The prince shook his head in frustration. Was it so hard to understand?

  “General Brighton, do you believe that I support the concepts of freedom?” Saud asked. “Do you believe that my goal is to move the kingdom toward democracy and closer ties with the West?”

  “Yes, Prince Saud, I believe that is true.”

  “Do you believe that I am your friend?”

  “I know that you are.”

  “Do you believe that I am a friend of the United States as well?”

  The general paused. That was more difficult. The prince had many allegiances, many voices demanding his ear. Many opposing forces were hanging on him as he balanced on the tightrope and nothing was ever simple when it came to the tug and pull of international relationships. After thinking a moment, Brighton replied, “Yes, Prince Saud, I believe that you are a friend to the United States.”

  “Do you believe there are those who would like to see our friendship destroyed, those who would see the kingdom rise up and become an enemy of the United States?”

  Brighton needed to be cautious. Although this was a personal conversation, he still represented his government and he had to choose his words carefully. But he had always been honest with the prince and he would be honest now. “There are some in my country who think that has happened already, some who believe, and with some evidence I might add, that fundamental Islamic groups carry far too much favor within the kingdom.”

  The prince considered before he answered, “There is no doubt that is true. But there is a fine balance, a delicate subtlety we must seek daily. Have we made mistakes? Yes we have, and my father has taken steps to remedy any errors that might have been made. But that’s not what I’m speaking of. I’m not talking of radical terrorist groups. I’m talking of others, some within my government, some from opposing nations, some within your own country, who would like nothing more than to see the relationship between our two nations destroyed.”

  “I understand, Prince Saud. We see those forces at work daily.”

  “Do you see those forces within your own country? Do you see them within your own government? Can you see them, Neil, because believe me, they’re there!”

  The general was silent, then sadly nodded.

  “Then listen to me, Neil. Take this moment and freeze it in your memory so you’ll remember what I say!” The prince took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. “I believe we are approaching the crossroads of a mighty war. And I’m not talking about a clash between religions or clash between nation-states. This isn’t Muslim against Christian, Islam against Jew, and it isn’t a war between democracies and totalitarian regimes. I’m talking something far deeper and far more deadly now, a clash between two fundamentally different sets of beliefs; a clash between groups who defy normal cultures or rules. Our enemies are not contained by borders and when this is over we will find them everywhere.

  “I’m talking about a fundamental conflict between those who believe in basic freedoms and those who would make all men their slaves. I’m talking about ruthless enemies who seek to destroy all free nations and free ways of life. I have seen a glimpse of the future and you’ve never had a nightmare that compares with their plans.

  “We are rushing forward, heading for what the Qur’an calls the Great War, and this war will be different than any we have ever fought before. It will be a war against an enemy that holds no territory, defends no population and respects no moral law. Such an enemy cannot be deterred. It can only be destroyed.”

  The prince stopped, moving his eyes down the path, then turned back to Brighton. “This enemy seeks your country’s destruction above anything else. As long as you stand, then you stand in their way. So they have to destroy you. But in order to destroy you they will come after me first.”

  Brighton looked away as he thought, his eyes clouding with dread. He had never heard a government leader speak so frankly of his fears. And though he kept his face stoic, inside his gut grew tight.

  • • •

  The call came through on his satellite phone, a phone that could reach him anywhere in the world.

  The younger prince, handsome and thin, flipped the phone open and quickly punched in his security code. “Yes,” he said simply when the call was linked through.

  “Sayid, Crown Prince Saud is meeting with the American general,” a deep voice replied.

  “Where?” the prince demanded.

  “His personal office.”

  “You are listening?”

  “Of course, Sayid.

  “Has he said anything to the American officer?”

  “Nothing of note, Sayid, only small talk.”

  “He hasn’t warned him?”

  “No, Sayid, God be willing. But they have walked into the garden where we are no longer able to listen.”

  Prince al-Rahman pulled anxiously on his chin. “Where is Princess Tala?” he asked.

  “She is preparing to leave the mountain. They will be on their way in just a few minutes now.”

  “And the children are with her?”

  “Sayid, they are.”

  Another moment of silence, this was longer and more uncomfortable. “Your team is in place?” the younger prince demanded.

  “They are ready to move.”

  “All right, Khilid. You know what to do.”

  FIVE

  It took Ammon ten minutes to climb the trail that led up the backside of the riverbank to the top of the rock. As he walked, he became angry, thinking of Luke. He was always so prideful, so conceited! It was never enough just to have fun; everything had to be a grand competition. Proving who was toughest, who was strongest, and he had to always be the best.

  Balaam walked beside him, shouting and sneering, planting angry thoughts into his mind. “Why is Luke always like this? He’s just wasting your time, trying to climb this impossible rock!”

  Ammon moved up the trail, using his hands to pick his way up the steep path that led around the backside of the cliff. The trail was littered with broken rocks and he slipped back a time or two, grabbing the brush at the side of the trail to keep from falling back.

  “What a waste of a morning,” he mumbled, “standing at the bottom of the cliff, holding the rope so Luke could prove what a great climber he is.”

  “I really should be studying,” he thought. He had a test in a couple hours. But no, he was going to spend the morning watching Luke climb an impossible rock. What a waste of time. He should have stayed in bed.

  The longer he climbed, the madder he got, and the madder he got, the more distracted he became. Balaam continued working beside him, whispering scornful, angry, irrational, emotional, envious thoughts in his ear. “Luke is better than you are. You know that and he knows that too. He’s just rubbing it in, just trying to prove it again. The only reason he’s doing this is to make you feel like a loser. He just wants to bug you, to put you down a notch or two. Why can’t he just give
it a break? It’s always me! Always me! Everyone look at me! Aren’t you growing sick of it? Will he ever change?”

  Balaam kept it up, a constant barrage of vile thoughts in Ammon’s head. And the more Ammon heard it, the angrier he became. The thoughts were illogical and selfish, but Lucifer’s temptations rarely made any sense. Yet still people listened. Driven by emotion, the human heart sometimes doesn’t let the human head think.

  Ammon climbed, his head down, the bottled up emotion building inside.

  Yeah, he loved his brother, sure, and they got along great most the time, but once in a while he could be a jerk.

  He suddenly realized he was at the top of the hill. He stood there a moment, catching his breath, glancing at the beauty around him. He wanted to take in the view, to enjoy it for a moment, but he knew that Luke would be waiting impatiently at the bottom of the cliff.

  “Always about Luke!” Balaam sneered into his mind again.

  Looking around, he saw that because the wall had not been climbed before, there was no anchor that he could use to secure the climbing rope to. For a moment he thought of tying it to a nearby tree then changed his mind. Taking out a stainless steel anchor and undersized hammer from his backpack, he located a small crack in the rock, placed the bolt inside and secured it, driving it deeply into the crack at the top of the cliff. Finishing his work, he pulled on the anchor to check it, jerking it back and forth.

  The rock around the bolt began to chip away and he leaned over to take a closer look.

  Balaam leaned toward him, knowing this was his chance. Intent on his work, his eyes grew dark and mean. “Don’t worry about it,” he hissed. “How many times have you done this? A thousand. Maybe more! Has a bolt ever broken? No! Not once. Not a single time has one of the bolts you set in rock pulled away. So why are you worried? Luke is waiting! You’ve got to hurry! Why are you being so cautious! You’ve done this so many times before!”

  Ammon jerked on the bolt a final time.

  “IT’S FINE!” Balaam screamed.

  The bolt seemed to hold so Ammon clipped a carabineer through the anchor and screwed the safety clasp to ensure it couldn’t open. Then, standing, he turned and glanced over the top of the rock. It was a long way to fall, and he felt a little dizzy. Truth was, he wasn’t keen on heights. One of the reasons he loved climbing was to tackle the gnaw of fear.

  From where he stood, he couldn’t see Luke, who was hidden from view underneath the ledge. “Luke,” he called out, swinging the rope in his hand.

  Luke stepped away from the wall to where Ammon could see him. “Rope,” Ammon called as he let it fall. Luke caught it, trying not to let it touch the ground where the sand would weaken it and make it less safe.

  Ammon ran his end of the rope through the carabineer then secured it to his climbing harness and brake. He pulled on his gloves, then looked over the edge of the cliff.

  “Ready!” he called down to Luke.

  Luke checked the rope through his own harness, then tightened the slack. “Go for it,” he called back.

  Before backing over the cliff, Ammon looked one last time at the bolt he had driven into the crack.

  “It’s fine,” Balaam whispered, this time soothing instead of urgent. “It’s fine. No need to worry. Come on, go for it!”

  Ammon didn’t move. He focused on the tiny cracks in the rock around the stainless steel bolt.

  “Luke’s waiting!” Balaam sneered. “He’s looking at you, wondering what you’re doing. He’s not a boob. He wouldn’t worry. He wouldn’t freak out like this . . . .”

  Ammon knelt down and brushed the dirt away from the bolt. The sandstone was weak and crumbling from a thousand years of rain and wind, but the bolt seemed to be firmly driven into the rock. Standing, he pulled against the rope, giving a final jerk.

  “It’s OK!” Balaam whispered quickly, keeping a steady chatter in his ear. “Go on. Have some fun. The bolt will fine. What are the chances anything will go wrong?”

  Ammon nodded, agreeing with the whispered thoughts in his head, and because he was young, naïve, angry, distracted with thoughts about school, and hadn’t been hurt by inexperience before, he trusted the evil whispers and didn’t check the bolt carefully.

  He stood at the edge of the cliff. “Rappelling!” he called down.

  “Rappel on!” Luke called back as he braced for the pull of Ammon’s weight.

  Ammon turned and walked off the top of the cliff. It was a sheer drop below him and he easily bounced his way down, rappelling to the ledge ten feet below the top of the rock. Hitting the overhang, he moved to the tip of the ledge, then pushed forcefully out and away from the wall while feeding out ten feet of rope. The rope tightened, then swung him like a pendulum into the wall and he bent his legs to absorb the shock.

  Above him, the bolt slipped, moving against the cracked stone. But Ammon didn’t feel it as he swung into the side of the cliff. He pushed again. His weight jerked the rope and the bolt slipped again, pivoting thirty degrees. A small crack spread in the rock.

  But still the bolt held.

  • • •

  Ammon stopped his descent directly under the ledge. Hanging there, he looked over his head, his body off balance, his torso hanging back.

  The outcropping had more handholds than he could see from the ground. And the ledge wasn’t quite as steep as it had appeared. The crevasse they had looked at might provide a pretty good grip, if Luke could reach it, which was a very big if, for it was a good three or four feet away from the face of the cliff. Ammon examined the overhang for thirty seconds or so, then let off more rope, bouncing from the rock as he made his way down. The last of the descent was almost a free fall through space, for the overhang kept him away from the wall and he had to balance himself carefully as he moved to the ground.

  Luke was waiting, an anxious look on his face. “What do you think?” he asked quickly.

  Ammon stared up at the overhang as he loosened the straps on his harness. “I’m not sure about the bolt,” he answered, ignoring the intent of his brother’s question. He jerked on the rope and suspended his weight on it by dropping to his knees as he pulled.

  The rope held firm and Luke waved at the air. “Come on, Ammon, the bolt is secure. In all the times that we’ve done this has a bolt ever broken away?”

  Ammon looked up, keeping his weight on the rope. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “It just didn’t feel right. Sandstone is notoriously weak, you know that Luke, and though I found a good crevasse, part of it broke away when I drove the bolt in.”

  Luke hesitated. “Come on, Ammon. It’s fine. You just don’t want . . . .”

  “No, Luke, really. I just want to be sure.”

  “Come on!” Luke persisted. “Nothing’s going to happen. You’re turning into Mom, always worrying.”

  Ammon ignored him as he jerked again, suspending all of his weight. The rope held firm and Luke huffed impatiently.

  “All right,” Ammon finally said. “It seems to be OK.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” Luke answered. “Now what about the overhang?”

  Ammon looked up. “It’s going to be even harder than it looks,” he answered, lifting his arm and pointing as he talked. “There, you see that,” he motioned toward the leading edge of the overhang, “that crevasse you’re counting on to provide a handhold, it looks to be only a few inches wide, just enough to get your hand in and get a good grip. But it’s a lot wider than that, Luke, I’d say five inches or so, and it slopes downward much more than it looks like from here. You’re not going to be able to use it for a handhold like you thought that you could.”

  Luke studied the small fissure and said, “But it’s got a pretty good lip there that I could hold to.”

  Ammon nodded. “You could try. That’s all I can say. But listen, Luke, why can’t we just move down the rock fifteen feet or so?” Ammon pointed to his right. “Its got better handholds, it’s even, and we wouldn’t have to mess around with that overhang which is just
going to make you fall.”

  “So what if I fall? That’s what the safety rope is for.”

  Ammon flipped the climbing rope in his hand, eighty meters of nylon and cotton. Designed to stretch under pressure, it was a good rope, expensive, and had saved both of their lives many times. He pulled on the rope as he studied the wall. “One more thing,” he continued, still hoping to talk Luke out of trying this climb, “because the rope has to extend over the edge, it will hang away from the wall. That’s going to make it harder for me to keep a proper tension on it. No big deal, I can handle that, but if you lose your grip and fall, the ledge will leave you dangling five or six feet away from the wall. Which means you’ll have to trust me to lower you to the ground.”

  “No big deal, Ammon. It won’t be any harder than you repelling down.”

  Ammon hesitated, then tried one last time. “I just think it’s a waste of time to try and climb over that ledge,” he concluded. “You can’t do it, Luke. No offense, buddy, but no one can pull themselves over the top of that ledge. No one. Can’t be done. So I’ll sit here for an hour and watch you try, then you’ll be exhausted and come down, and that will be it.”

  “But you’ll hang with me, right? You’ll give me a chance?”

  Ammon watched his brother. “You’re not going to pull a Sam on me, are you? Because both of us know what Sam would do. He’d hang on the wall and keep trying to pull himself over that ledge until he either starved to death or we pulled him down. He wouldn’t give up as long as he had any strength. He would literally fall from exhaustion before he would quit. Now, you’re not going to do that, are you? Because I really have to get to my lab this afternoon. If I’m going to be here all day holding the safety rope for you, then tell me now so I can go and buy me some lunch and a couple sodas before you get on the wall.”