The Gems of Tsingy De Bemaraha Read online

  “Let others be the martyrs,” Dailia begged. “Not my grandson! He must live on.”

  Otto stepped up beside Abu Bakr holding an AK-47. Abu Bakr nodded. Otto hesitated, then riddled the old lady with gunfire. He stopped when she lay dead in her grave.

  Abu Bakr turned and started out of the tent. “Now fill it in,” he ordered the men.

  ***

  Timbuktu, Midnight

  Paul and Kelly approached the mud house, Paul with a shovel over his shoulder. The front door was unlocked. Inside, Paul flicked on his flashlight and shined it on the four dirt walls and then on the hard-packed sand floor. He considered that Basha must have either caked mud over the lost page, hiding it in the wall, or he buried it in the sand. The walls seemed risky and difficult, so Paul guessed Basha must have buried the lost page in the sand.

  He started digging in the corner, until a hole four feet across and deep revealed no hint of the lost page. He then filled the hole in and started digging where he had piled the dirt, working his way back from the corner. Two hours later he stood in a four-foot deep, six-foot wide hole in the center of the floor of the one-room mud house.

  And he held a plastic cylinder in his hand. He screwed the lid off the cylinder and carefully removed the Basha’s copy of Laing’s secret. Paul shined his light on the paper and looked over at Kelly. “Let’s go to Madagascar,” he said with tenderness. “We’ll find out what really happened to Ryan there.”

  Kelly ran her hands through her thick red hair and shook her head confidently. “That crazy woman was lying to me. I know he’s still alive.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Tsingy de Bemaraha

  Madagascar

  Holding a shotgun in his left hand, Paul stood next to Kelly on the edge of the grassy plain, looking up at a thousand-foot wall of limestone. Jagged grey rock lunged for the cobalt sky.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Kelly said. She shielded her eyes as she scanned the towering peak.

  Paul kneeled down and opened his backpack. “Groundwater flooded this land thousands of years ago, saturating all this rock. When the water receded this is what was left; hundreds of acres of what the natives call tsingy. It means, ‘where you cannot walk barefoot’. The thing I can’t figure out is that usually when rock is eroded by water you are left with a smooth surface. These rocks are as sharp as serrated knives. Nowhere else in the world can you find anything like it,” he shoved the pistol he’d retrieved from his pack into the waist of his khakis, “even stranger is that this is a terrible place to look for sapphires. Limestone and sapphires aren’t known to be found together. I can’t understand what Ryan was thinking. This is way north of where most of the mining in Madagascar is done.”

  Kelly wiped moisture from her eyes. “It is possible though, right? He could have found the sapphire here?”

  “When limestone is exposed to intense heat and pressure it can turn into marble, and if aluminum is present, over time you get the mineral corundum. Impurities in the rock can turn corundum into different colors.” Paul grabbed his pack and hoisted it on his back, drawing the waist strap tight. “Sapphires are a variety of corundum.” He smiled and looked in Kelly’s anxious eyes. “You ready?”

  Her face brightened. “Ryan’s here. I just know this is where his mine is.”

  “We’ll soon know for sure,” Paul said, but his confidence was based on faith as well as facts. Basha’s copy of a key page from Laing’s papers had given only a general location of the lost mine along with a few landmarks. But based on what Jawara had told him of the area he felt confident that they were in the right part of the tsingy.

  Jawara, a husky black man with a big nose and blue eyes, was a native cave expert who was serving as their guide. The man pulled two oversized backpacks out of a Land Cruiser, then hugged his brother James and thanked him for driving them to this remote spot. James promised to return in four days. Then he climbed into the Land Cruiser and drove off down the dirt track across the plain the way they had just come. Jawara watched him drive for a minute, then picked up his shotgun and slung it over his shoulder. He bent over once again to grab the bags. Each of the bags had two oars lashed to the back of them and contained inflatable rafts and cave helmets among other essential supplies needed for their long journey. Jawara handed Kelly her pack then motioned for Paul and Kelly to follow him. The three of them walked toward the soaring wall of steel-colored tsingy cliffs.

  “And nobody comes here?” Paul said.

  “Some illegal loggers come to the tsingy, but not to the areas we're going to,” Jawara grinned. “Most people fear the alligators. But I do know of a few hunters who come here just for them.”

  They hiked for only a couple of minutes when the sounds of a distant helicopter broke the silence of nature.

  Jawara squinted his eyes in the direction his brother had gone.

  Paul took off his backpack and pulled out his binoculars. Holding them to his eyes, he saw a helicopter sweep down across the plain and hover over the dirt road where the Land Rover was speeding along. Several armed men leapt out of the helicopter and stopped James’s car.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Paul said, handing the binoculars to Jawara.

  The caver lifted the binoculars to his eyes.

  Paul heard gunshots.

  “No!” Jawara said. “They’ve shot him!” He threw down the binoculars and dropped his backpack.

  “What?” Kelly said.

  More gunshots clattered in the distance.

  “Oh, God, no,” Jawara said as he fell to his knees. “Not James,” he wept into his big brown hands.

  Paul grabbed his binoculars and took a quick look. He watched one of the men shoot James again. Another man frisked the now dead body, and then the two men climbed back into the helicopter. Paul shoved his binoculars back into his pack.

  Jawara stopped weeping and pulled a box of shells out of his backpack. “Stinking murderers. Who do they think we are—poachers?”

  Paul grimaced.

  “Look,” Kelly screamed. “They’re coming this way.”

  Jawara shoved the box of shells in his pocket. “I’m gonna kill them.”

  Paul grabbed Jawara’s arm. “We can’t just stand out here in the open and shoot it out with them.”

  Jawara jerked his arm free of Paul’s grasp. He snarled his nose as he glared at the distant helicopter.

  “Come on, man, we need to find cover,” Paul said.

  “No.” He shoved Paul away. “I’m going to help my brother. He needs me. I won’t leave him.” Jawara started to walk in the direction of the massacre.

  Paul ran after him. “Your brother’s dead. He’d want you to save your own life now. Somebody’s got to tell his wife. He’d want you to do that for him.”

  Jawara eyes flashed with fury then he turned and bumped Paul out of the way as he stomped past them in the direction of the tsingy.

  Paul nodded at Kelly, and she fell in behind Jawara. Paul brought up the rear as they hiked toward a break in the massive tsingy cliff.

  Jawara marched into a narrow canyon that was filled with fortress-like rock spires. Kelly and Paul followed him through the rock jungle, and into a cave. As they walked, Paul's stomach felt hard and knotted. He kept remembering the pride in James’ voice as he spoke of his wife and newborn son. The sadness and injustice of the man’s death filled Paul with anger.

  Once in the cave, Jawara peered out, shotgun aimed, ready to shoot the men who killed his brother. Paul knew that they would soon be outnumbered by the men who where after them. “Jawara, my guess is it’s Abu Bakr and his men who are after us.”

  “Abu Bakr?” He turned to stare at Paul. Sweat glistened on his brown head. “No. He wouldn’t kill my brother.”

  “He’s after me, and if we don’t get out of here they will kill us all.”

  Jarwara threw an oar across the cave. It landed against the far cave wall and fell to the ground. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He’
s the one who has been killing all the prospectors. He’s been using their money to fund his holy war.”

  “He killed all those men and their wives?” Jawara cursed under his breath. “That filthy terrorist. I’ll kill him myself.”

  “You may have to. You said there were sixty miles of caves, right?”

  “Charted, yes, but a lot more uncharted. They follow us; I’ll turn these into burial caves.”

  Paul frowned. If this is where Ryan's mine was, then they'd just led Abu Bakr's men straight to it. He walked deeper into the cave. The air inside the dim cavern cooled his forehead. A musky smell filled the gloom.

  Jawara told them that they were in one of the biggest caves in the world. That gave Paul some comfort. At least it gave them a chance for an ambush. He figured the cavern was at least two hundred feet across and five-hundred feet high.

  Jawara put on a helmet and switched on its head lamp. He motioned for Paul and Kelly to do the same. Then he led them as they hiked between boulders as big as homes. Occasionally, they passed under natural skylights where daylight streamed in through the cave ceiling hundreds of feet overhead.

  “Stay close behind me,” Jawara grumbled as his voice echoed through the cave. “It's easy to get disoriented in here and wander down a side tunnel.”

  As Jawara walked, he tapped one of the oars on the ground, causing a continual echo. At times they hiked along ridges that dropped into the darkness below them. Occasionally, they heard what sounded like voices far behind them in the tunnel. Or was it just the lemurs screaming in the skylights? Paul wasn't sure. But since he knew Abu Bakr’s men were on to them, he wouldn't rest. They hiked all day through the cave without ever stopping for more than a few minutes. Paul's back ached from the extra-heavy pack he carried. Kelly also carried a heavy pack. He was thankful that she didn’t appear to have any problem keeping up.

  Finally they caught a glimpse of a lush, green sunken forest, bathed in bright sunlight. They had reached the end of the cave. As they left the cavern, Paul squinted until his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. Razor-sharp pinnacles imprisoned the rich forest they were entering, surrounding it like a fort.

  They hiked through the dense undergrowth, through its nets of tangled branches and vines, walking over beds of sticks and jagged boulders. Birds screeched and whistled in the trees overhead. As Paul followed Kelly and Jawara, a mongoose darted over a thicket of branches and then vanished into the foliage. They walked under a family of white lemurs who frolicked in the canopy overhead. The funny looking monkeys with black faces and yellow eyes leaped from branch to branch, wailing like babies. Paul, Kelly and Jawara hiked nonstop until they came down a rocky gully to a stream that meandered through the walled-in jungle.

  “I need a rest,” Kelly said.

  Paul looked back at the trail behind them. “Just for a minute,” he said.

  Kelly took off her pack. She knelt down by the stream and washed her face with cool water.

  “Don't drink that,” Paul said. “We need to purify it first.”

  Kelly started to say something, but Paul waved at her to be quiet and put his finger to his lips. He put his hand to his ear, listening to the strange sounds that permeated this other-worldly jungle. In the distance he heard the faint crack of branches. “They're coming,” Paul said. “Get your pack on. We have to keep moving.”

  They hit the trail again and hiked at a brisk pace. Soon they arrived at a gaping maw in the forest, twenty-feet wide and ten high. “This is the next cave,” Jawara said. He led them inside the cave mouth. They stood just inside the large opening where an emerald-green river curved out of the sunlight and into the darkness of the cave.

  At that moment, a gunshot roared through the jungle. “Get down,” Paul shouted.

  CHAPTER 39

  After the shot, a cacophony of bird and monkey screams preceded a rush of dozens of furious wings taking flight.

  Paul dragged Kelly down to the ground behind a large boulder inside the cave's mouth. Kelly breathed furiously, her eyes shifting around rapidly, yet not focusing on anything in particular. She looked her body over as if to verify that she hadn't been shot.

  Paul scanned the cavern. Jawara was behind another rock ten feet away. “You okay?” he asked him.

  Jawara nodded, then rolled over and fired his shotgun into the forest. He quickly rolled back behind his rock.

  Another gunshot roared and the slug ricocheted off the rock Paul and Kelly were crouching behind.

  Kelly started to slip out of her pack.

  “Leave it on,” Paul said.

  “What?”

  Paul laid his shotgun on the ground. “Crawl down by the water's edge. Get behind that big boulder over there and inflate the canoes.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  Paul pulled a handful of shells out of his vest pocket and spilled them onto the ground next to him. “Just get behind that rock. You don't want to get hit with a ricochet.”

  Kelly crawled down by the underground river.

  Paul swung his shotgun around the rock and blasted a shot into the jungle. Shredded leaves drifted down onto matted branches. Silence followed, penetrating the trees. Only the distressed calls of frightened birds and lemurs fleeing for safety broke the quiet. That would slow them down, Paul thought. At least they knew he was armed. He reloaded and several minutes passed without further gunplay.

  “Kelly,” he said quietly. “Are you ready?”

  She poked her head around the big boulder. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  He gave her a thumbs up.

  Her head vanished behind the big rock.

  Jawara fired two shots into the forest.

  Paul rolled a heavy rock next to the large boulder he was hiding behind. A shot rang out, the slug chipping the rock he’d just moved. He rolled another one to the other side of the big stone. Between the boulder and the rocks, small openings provided shielded spaces through which he could fire his gun.

  Looking through the opening, he noticed movement. A man ran through the bush and took cover behind several fallen trees. Paul swung his shotgun between the rocks and squeezed the trigger. Thunder echoed through the cave. Jawara fired next. Leaves and twigs rained from tree branches near their pursuers. Paul withdrew his gun, rolled to the other side of the boulder and fired from the other opening between the rocks.

  He was answered with the crash of six or eight shots chipping at the rocks in front of him. A man out in the bush yelled, “Stop firing.” A silence followed, then he said, “Do not resist. We mean no harm. We just want to talk.”

  Kelly peeked around the corner and nodded. Paul looked over at Jawara and pointed toward the water, and then he replied to the man in the forest: “You may have us pinned down here, but we've got you outnumbered and we can hole up for a week. Come any closer and we'll cut you down.” He reloaded.

  “You're making a mistake. We just want to talk.”

  “You shoot at people you want to talk to?”

  “It was an accident. My men shot at movement thinking it was caused by monkeys. When you shot back, they fired in defense.”

  “Yeah, well step out into the open and see whether I take you for man or beast.” Paul pumped his shotgun and fired a shot toward the voice. No return fire came. He looked over at Jawara and nodded. They both crawled down into the entrance cavern to the green water. Behind the rock, Kelly had the rubber canoes fully inflated and resting by the shore. Paul loaded the last backpack in the second canoe.

  “I'm warning you,” the voice outside shouted. “Come on out.”

  Paul held the canoe steady while Kelly climbed in, and then got in himself. He pushed off as Jawara did the same in the second canoe.

  As they dug their oars into the bright water, the canoes slipped out of the illuminated pool of the entrance cavern into the dark waters of the underground river. They put on their cave helmets and turned on the helmet lamps. The ripples from the canoes rolled across the smooth surface that stretched fifty-fe
et across. The canoes glided into the darkness of the cave.

  The sounds of automatic gunfire found them as they paddled.

  Kelly stifled a scream. “We aren’t going to make it. Not in these rubber canoes.”

  Paul dug his paddle into the dark water. The boat rocked and Paul shifted his weight to prevent the flimsy canoe from capsizing. “Don’t worry, Kelly. I’ll get out of here. I promise.”

  She looked at him with her smoky eyes and gave him a weak smile.

  The cave was wide and high and the darkness swallowed up the light of their helmet lamps before the light could find the ceiling or the walls. Jawara's canoe sliced the smooth liquid as his canoe overtook them. “Keep your eyes out for crocodiles,” he said. “If you have to, use the shotgun.”

  “Be a little hard on the ears in this cave, wouldn't it?” Paul mumbled.

  “Don't hesitate,” Jawara said. “One nip at the canoe—even a playful nip—and you'll sink. That happens in here, you’re dead instantly.”

  “Did you have to bring that up?” Kelly said.

  “Don’t worry,” Jawara went on. “Usually, they won't come near you. As long as they perceive you as a threat, they'll stay away.”

  “A threat? In these thin canoes?” Kelly said, sweeping her paddle smoothly through the black water, her helmet light shining on the dark surface.

  “They fear hunters,” Jawara said. “The gunfire probably has them scared already. They'll be wary.”

  “Good,” Kelly said.

  “But be careful,” Jawara said. “Last year one hunter wasn’t so lucky.”

  “What happened?”

  “Recoil,” Jawara said. “The hunter was not experienced. The recoil from his shotgun made his canoe rock a little. He would have been alright, but he panicked and shifted his weight too fast while trying to right the canoe. He capsized. As soon as he was flailing in the water, the crocs didn't perceive him as a threat anymore. I heard his screams for help.” Jawara's voice cracked.