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The scrambling Green Berets rushed back into the passage. Abernathy had Morrow’s Beretta. Porter held a razor-edged knife. They clambered into the still-echoing room and headed toward the west wall. Abernathy placed the barrel against a skull and fired. He moved on. The next victim awaited. He quickly worked his way through the melee. One by one, he put a bullet into every brain. To ensure none survived, Porter walked through the devastating scene, methodically slitting each throat. In seconds, the gruesome task was over.
Both, covered in blood, looked at their handiwork. “Now all we’ve got to do is figure out which one’s the Chosen One,” Abernathy said. “Then we’ll take his sorry ass outside for the entire world to see.”
Most were badly chewed up by Abernathy and Porter’s efforts. After checking three or four, Porter said, “What’d the captain tell us he looked like?”
“Little man in his early seventies with sunken cheeks and a scraggly beard.”
“Hell, that describes almost everyone in here. Got anything else we can go on?”
“He’s supposed to be wearing peasant clothing,” Abernathy said.
“Thanks, Sarge. Except for the one in uniform, they’re all wearing peasant clothing.”
“Well, keep looking. He’s got to be one of these dead bastards.”
* * *
—
Sam was standing ten feet to Lauren’s left as she exited the pyramid. The sounds of the explosions from deep within the hallowed structure were still ringing in her ears. He saw her the moment she stepped from the cramped corridor. The stunned platoon leader’s jaw dropped. In disbelief he watched her coming toward him. She ran into his arms, smothering him with kisses.
“Sam. Oh my God, Sam. I thought you were dead.”
He stared at her, struggling to form the words. “Lauren, it’s you who’s dead. How the hell did you get here?” He was certain he’d awaken at any moment and the memory of this unreal embrace would forever dissipate.
She smiled at him, the love in her eyes as striking as anything he’d ever seen. “I assure you, Sam Erickson, I’m very much alive. I’ll tell you all about it later. For now, let’s just say it’s a long story and leave it for another day.”
Sanders exited the pyramid. He pulled his well-worn green beret from his pocket and positioned it on his head. He walked up with a wide grin to where the loving couple stood. “I see you two have met before.” He held out his hand. “Sergeant Charlie Sanders, Detachment Alpha 6333, 6th Special Forces, sir,” he said while shaking the lieutenant’s hand.
Erickson responded without letting go of Lauren. “Sam Erickson, 2nd Marine Division. Glad to meet you, Sanders.”
“Chuck,” she said, “we’re missing it. Remember my promise to record the story when the first Green Beret and Marine met. And we’re missing it.”
“We’re not missing a thing, Miss Wells.”
She turned to look at him. He was standing with his camera running.
In a few hours, the scene would play over and again as the war’s end was joyously proclaimed in every American home.
* * *
—
On the hilltop, the firing had stopped. Only the cries of the wounded disturbed the coming evening. The medevac helicopters would be busy on this night.
A beaming Sam held Lauren so tight he nearly crushed her. But he was still in charge and there were a few more actions to undertake.
“Sergeant Joyce, take half the men and comb the area around the pyramid. While you’re at it, check real close in the cemeteries on both sides of this place and anywhere the enemy might be hiding. Orders still stand. If they look like they’re not going to surrender, kill every Pan-Arab you find.”
“Will do, sir,” Joyce said. “Okay, you guys, the war’s not over quite yet. Let’s go clean this place out.”
* * *
—
Pressed against the northern side of the crumbling rocks, the Mahdi watched as the Marines moved about checking the dead and wounded. A couple of wary Americans, their rifles ready, were starting to move in his direction. He knew if he stayed where he was, he’d soon be discovered. Yet despite his perilous position he was certain Allah would intervene. His God would allow him to emerge unscathed, but only if he showed the courage expected from a true believer. He looked about, unsure of what to do. The pair was coming toward the eroding barricade. To the west, a scant twenty meters away, the decrepit wall all but disappeared. Still, he had no choice.
He’d show how much faith he had.
His conviction growing, Muhammad Mourad stood and started toward the sheltering desert. The primitive bulwark he walked next to was at least a foot taller than he was. No one on its southern side could see him as he moved along its rough exterior. He was so confident of his salvation he was almost strolling as he tramped next to the masking obstruction. From the look on his face and the ease in his stride, he didn’t appear to have a care in the world. The twenty meters was soon covered. He didn’t hesitate when he reached the wall’s end. Walking on, he headed for the open sands.
Erickson spotted the furtive figure in the deepening twilight. He pushed Lauren aside and picked up his rifle. He had the Pan-Arab in his sights. For some reason he’d never be able to explain, at that moment Mourad sensed the danger. He stopped and turned to face his tormentors. Even in the fading gloom, the Marine platoon leader could see that the pitiful person in the bloody, ill-fitting uniform had to be quite elderly. The insignificant enemy was almost comical in his appearance. Erickson put his finger on the trigger.
Despite his change of clothing, Wells instantly recognized the fleeing figure.
She knew what she had to do. The Mahdi had spared her life. Now it would be her turn to save his. She couldn’t tell Sam at whom he was aiming. If she did, the man she loved would have no choice but to finish him. “Sam, don’t. For my sake, please don’t,” she begged. “There’s no reason to take another life if you don’t have to.”
Erickson stood there frozen. The bedraggled shape was certainly not a member of the mujahideen. From his dress, the weaponless old man couldn’t have been more than an ordinary soldier. With as blood-soaked as he was, he probably wouldn’t last much longer before his wounds ended his life.
“Let him go, Sam.”
The exhausted lieutenant hesitated, taking in her haunting words. Ever so slowly, he dropped the weapon from his shoulder.
The Chosen One looked at Lauren Wells. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Even so, she didn’t let the growing satisfaction appear on her face. She didn’t want to do anything that would give away her secret. The aging Algerian shifted his gaze to the American Marine. He stood motionless, staring at Erickson. A hint of an ironic smile appeared on the Mahdi’s lips. The little man did something resembling an ill-practiced bow, turned, and headed toward the desert.
The smothering night would soon hide him from those who would do him harm.
EPILOGUE
NOVEMBER, TWO YEARS LATER
As they’d always done, the moment the shooting stopped the Americans packed up and returned home. The sordid conflict was over and the time for cele
bration had come. They’d leave a token force in Egypt to act as a trip wire. And with the Iraqis and Iranians continuing to battle, they’d bolster their defenses in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia.
At least for the time being.
* * *
—
Sam and Lauren hurried off to renew the fervent romance they’d begun in a dour place called “Press City.” They spent an incredible month visiting London, Amsterdam, and Paris. They had a marvelous time touring Europe. It further reinforced the beguiling feelings they held for each other. Their month filled with unrepressed desire soon passed.
When it was over, there was no doubt this was a once-in-a-lifetime love. Each accepted it without the slightest hesitation. Yet in the end, neither was capable of relinquishing their first love. Their parting in Paris had been memorable. It was filled with gut-wrenching emotion and unending tears.
She remained at her post in the Middle East. He returned to the 2nd Marine Division in North Carolina. Lauren did everything she could to create reasons to travel to the States. When she did, she’d find a way to return to Sam’s arms. Sometimes they’d be together for a few fantastic hours. Occasionally, they’d hold each other for a whirlwind day. Once, they’d developed an elaborate scheme to spend an entire week addressing their longing. Each missed the other terribly in the spanning stretches apart. Nevertheless, both continued to cling to their life’s goals.
Wells’s ever-expanding fame was heightened by the war. Her book on the days spent with the Chosen One inside the Great Pyramid was a runaway best seller. It failed, of course, to mention the circumstances surrounding Mourad’s miraculous escape. She’d become a household name. In another few years, if her career stayed on this course, she’d be sitting behind the anchor desk at a major television network.
