Chapter 1 - Sandstorm

April 3rd, 1949. Lovely cup of chai this morning in the bazaar. This town is quaint. Think I’ll take a trip to the bank before I leave. -excerpt from the diary of Sandra Lockhart

Sandra Lockhart leapt down the darkened stairwell, plunging the last fifteen feet to the ground floor. The flat metal box she clutched under one arm rattled its contents like a child’s piggy bank. She tore through the doorway, pausing only for a moment to listen apprehensively. Of course her pursuer was still after her, and could be heard thundering down the stairs just a flight or two above her. She darted down the short hallway and out the bank’s emergency exit, causing a klaxon to erupt in a cacophony of earsplitting wails.

Her once-elegant, long curly blond hair whipped behind her in a tangle as she stepped out into the blazing desert heat. She shielded her eyes for a moment from the blast of scorching wind, before pulling a pair of round aviator’s goggles down into place from her forehead.. Glancing down the alley between the rows of adobe houses, she could see clear to the edge of the village. A dark cloud was rapidly approaching: a haboob. She wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or grateful. The terrifying dust storm packed sand-filled winds strong enough scour graffiti off of walls, but it would also provide a welcome distraction. She tucked the metal box into her tan bomber’s jacket and pressed on.

Wrapping her fluttering scarf around her mouth and nose, Sandra sped down the alleyway. As she ducked into a dark archway, a bullet buried itself in the adobe wall inches behind her head. Her pursuer was gaining...

She found herself in a small courtyard, open to the darkening sky. A few old women were speaking rapid Arabic, and attempting to gather in their unfinished textiles from wooden looms. A young boy darted into a low doorway, clutching a large crate full of chickens. A grey-haired man was busy hammering a large piece of plywood over a window. Sandra ran past them all, whispering a prayer that none of them would be caught by a stray bullet from the man in the overcoat who was rapidly closing on her.

She spotted a corridor leading towards the village square, and made for it. As she sped around the corner, she could hear the man’s ragged breaths behind her. She put on another burst of speed.

Up ahead, Sandra spotted a jumble of panicked people and stumbling pack animals: the square! She launched herself into the wide, paved commons. The man in the overcoat was now only yards behind her.

She ducked behind a cart full of reed baskets, hoping the general confusion would stall her pursuer. All around her, villagers were hurriedly preparing for the oncoming sandstorm. Shopkeepers were drawing down their awnings; mothers were calling for wayward children. She could see the man in the overcoat approaching her hiding place, but with a look of consternation on his face. He hadn’t spotted her!

A dark Arabic man approached the camel hitched to the cart she was crouching behind. Her pursuer approached him.

"Have you seen a blond woman?" she heard the man with the overcoat asking the owner of the cart in rapid French. The man clearly didn’t understand; Sandra caught the words "tourist" and "sandstorm" in Arabic as he gesticulated wildly at the approaching wall of sand.

Sandra seized the opportunity to crawl underneath the cart. She hugged the axle as the owner tugged at the camel’s reigns, pulling the cart away from the frustrated man in the overcoat. She saw that she was moving towards a stable huddled beneath the spotless white walls of the village’s central mosque. She risked a glance back into the village square, and saw the man in the overcoat kicking over barrels and stools in a now-abandoned bazaar stall, still searching for her in the midst of the roaring wind.

The camel cart entered the welcome darkness of the stable. Several young lads rushed behind the cart to secure the stable door against the onslaught of wind. Sandra allowed herself to drop between the cart’s wheels, still clutching the metal box, feeling extremely pleased with herself.

"That went better than expected, I’d say," she said to nobody in particular. She grinned at the startled looks on the stable-boys’ faces. "Now let’s see about getting out of here in one piece..."

#

Outside, the Frenchman in the overcoat was grimly satisfied. Moments ago, he had been ready to give up the search altogether. Now, as he fled towards the shelter of a café across the street from the mosque, he had other plans. He had spotted a flash of blond just inside the door of the stable, seconds before it had been shut. He dove into the shop just as the terrified proprietors were about to shut and bar the door. Moments later, the wall of sand hit the village.

He wasn’t going anywhere for awhile, but then neither was she.

#

Sandra strode purposefully through the stable, ignoring the bewildered stable-boys and the man tending the camel at the back of the room. She spotted a long worn white robe hanging on a hook near the stable’s side door, and whisked it off the wall as she swept through into an antechamber. Pausing in an alcove to toss the rough garment over her head, she wrapped her scarf about her face and hair haphazardly, tucking her goggles up into the fabric and concealing the flat metal box within the loose robe, and continued into darkened mosque. A handful of people huddled in a corner, far from the mosque’s main entrance, listening fearfully to the howling of the wind outside and paying little attention to her.

She found a tiny, cramped stairwell in the back of the mosque, and slipped inside. She knew she would meet no one up here: a minaret is not a particularly safe haven in a sandstorm. Sandra darted up the steps, and found a small wooden door at the top. A tiny balcony, she knew, would be outside this door. The wind was ferocious out there; she could feel sand driving through tiny cracks in the doorway.

She sat for a moment with her back to the door, feeling the force of the gale outside through the wood. As soon as it clears, she thought. She glanced up at the ceiling, picturing the oblong form of her ship hovering miles above. Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so...

Sandra slid back the sleeve of her robe, pressing a tiny button on her innocuous-looking wristwatch. “Hank? Come in Hank?”

A tiny speaker crackled to life, and a tinny voice sounded in the cramped stairwell. “Aye Miss. Are you safe? That storm looks nasty...”

“I’m fine Hank, and I have it. Up for a little fly-fishing?”

Hank chuckled over the radio. “Aye Miss, I am at that. Just tell me when and where.”

“The highest minaret on the mosque, center of town. Have Avery lower a rope ladder,” Sandra muttered into her watch. “Soon as the duststorm clears. And Hank—keep an eye out. Lemont is here.”

The radio crackled as Hank cursed. “Aye Cap’n. Hank out.”

Sandra sighed, and leaned back against the door, closing her eyes. So far, so good.

#

Gaspar Lemont sat with a groan at a rough wooden table in the cafe, now crowded with refugees from the scouring winds outside. He motioned to the proprietor, a wizened bearded man distractedly sweeping the floor in a futile effort to clear away the ever-growing pile of sand near the door, and ordered a stiff drink.

"Monsieur Lemont?" A voice called to him from the dark recesses of the cafe. He turned and saw an Arabic man rise from a table in the corner and approach, recognizing immediately the scholar who had acted as his contact in this god-forsaken town.

"Oui? Ah, Monsieur Benjelloun! I see you have escaped the dust." Lemont gestured at the shuttered windows, rattling loudly as the wind pounded them.

"Yes, Inspector. I heard the alarm sounding at the bank," said the Arabic man. "What has happened? I was coming to see if everything was safe when the haboob struck..."

"She has struck." Lemont said flatly. "I knew she was coming soon, and when I heard of the storm coming I knew today would be the day. She is in the mosque, and she has the lockbox."

"But this is a catastrophe!" Ahmed Benjelloun looked thunderstruck. "We must apprehend her!"

"Calm yourself, Monsieur." Lemont leaned back with his hands behind his head, nodding at the seat across from him. "Have a drink. She can go nowhere in this storm. We know where she is. I will find her, and I will capture her."

Ahmed sank into the chair, staring absently at the wall behind Lemont. "If she escapes with that box..." He shook himself, pushing his small round spectacles up his nose and clearing his throat. "Monsieur Inspector, I will help you find her when the dust clears. I cannot allow the item to leave this town."

"As you wish, of course," Lemont sipped at his drink. "But do not forget who it is we are dealing with. Mademoiselle Lockhart is dangerous." He glanced at Ahmed, who was trembling visibly at the prospect of confronting an armed criminal. Almost as dangerous as those you work for, Lemont thought.

The floor trembled rhythmically. The wind howled. Lemont peered through a crack in the shutter, staring at the wild orange glow of the sandstorm. He couldn’t see the mosque across the street, but he knew where it’s entrances were, where it’s windows were. He had a plan. He always had a plan.

#

A heartbeat. A pulse, ringing through her ears. Blackness, emptiness all around her, but in the distance, two lights, one blue and shimmering, and one white and diffuse. She struggled to move towards the lights, but found she could touch nothing, could feel nothing. Alone with the lights and the heartbeat. She thrashed her arms and legs, and realized she couldn’t breathe. A heartbeat, growing louder, fortelling her impending end...

Sandra woke with a start, momentarily confused by her surroundings, and the howling noise coming from the door she was leaning against. The dream had been so real, the heartbeat so loud, she could hear the rhythm still ringing in her mind. She shook her head and forced herself to focus. She was still in the minaret, the sandstorm seemed to be abating, to judge by the lessening noise outside, which meant that Hank would be beginning his descent.

The image of the two lights in her dream faded from her mind. The pounding heartbeats, however, seemed to be growing louder. Pull yourself together, Sandra, she said to herself. You’ve got this in the bag.

"Hank?" She spoke into her watch. "Hank, I think the storm is clearing up. I’m going to head out to the balcony soon. How long?"

The tiny speaker crackled. "...ou are! Was beginning to think you fell asleep. We’re on our way down now. You’re right, Miss, storm’s almost past the town. We’re over the tail-end of it now, following it across--eh?" Sandra could hear garbled speech over the wind and her heartbeat, as though Hank were speaking to someone else. "...and you’re sure? All right. Cap’n?"

"Still here, Hank. Who was that?"

"Two-Wolves, Miss," said Hank. "He thinks he saw something in the storm. Something metallic, maybe near the town."

"A plane? Impossible"

"Maybe, Miss. I didn’t see anything myself, but you know Two-Wolves. Eyes of an eagle, that one."

Sandra smiled. "That he does. Tell him to keep an eye on it, Hank. Sandra out." She stood up, stretching, and pulled her goggles down into position. She took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart, checked that the lockbox was secure and cinched down beneath the belt of her new robe, and pulled open the door to the minaret’s balcony.

Sandra stepped out into the dim orange light, clutching her scarf to her mouth to keep the sand out. The wind was still strong, peppering exposed skin with tiny grains like darts, but she could see the outlines of buildings. She crouched behind the railing, surveying the street below her through the narrow slats. The light was slowly returning as the dust and winds began to settle, and a few brave souls were beginning to venture outside. Any minute, she knew, Lemont would resume his pursuit.

She tugged the flat lockbox from beneath her robe and laid it on the floor. Plucking a pin from her hair beneath her coiled scarf, she set to work opening the lock, deftly flicking it open in a matter of seconds. A great gust of wind whipped across her, hurling the lockbox’s unrestrained lid open with a clank, and causing a handful of paper notes to blow out of the box and off the edge of the balcony. She glanced again at the street below. With the last gust, the storm seemed to have blown itself out, and people were returning to the dully-lit street in greater numbers. She sorted through the box, finding a large felt sack full of small gemstones, another full of antique coins, and a long, heavy cylinder covered in a cloth. She tucked the cylinder into her pocket, pulled open drawstring bags of valuables, and waited for her opportunity, listening to the rhythmic pounding of her heart.

#

Lemont buttoned his overcoat up tightly around his neck, pulling the collar up to his chin. "If you are coming, we leave now." He nodded towards the door as Ahmed pulled himself to his feet. The intellectual had almost no protection against the sand, but Lemont knew there would be no deterring him. Too much was at stake.

"Yes, Monsieur Inspector." Ahmed stood with his back to the wall near the door as Lemont peered through the window. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay out of trouble. Tell me if you see her. We will go in through the mosque’s side entrance. Quickly, the winds are dying down!” Lemont drew his pistol from the pocket of his overcoat and unbarred the cafe door, hurrying into the unnatural dusk of the sandy street. Ahmed followed cautiously.

#

Sandra squinted down through the murky air towards the street, watching as a crowd began filtering out of barricaded shops and houses, surveying the damage to the village square. Carts were overturned, goods were scattered across the street. Awnings were tattered, and large piles of sand lay in brand new dunes, half-burying any object unfortunate enough to have been left unattended outdoors. Already a large group of people were pouring out of the mosque’s main entrance below her, eager to return to loved ones or begin the process of clearing their bazaar stalls.

Sandra watched all this activity out of the corner of her eye, trying to ignore the pounding in her ears, her attention fixed on the cafe door across the street. Any moment now, Lemont would burst out of that door and resume his frantic search for her. She was prepared.

“Hank, are you close?” she muttered into her wristwatch.

“Aye miss,” came the response over the radio. “We’ll be coming in from the west in just a few moments. The village is still under a big cloud of dust, but the winds have moved off. It should be settling very soon, which means we’ll be exposed in the next fifteen minutes or so.”

“Can you see the minaret yet?” Sandra risked a glance westward, and could discern a vague shadow heading towards the mosque, still several hundred feet in the air.

“Aye. Dead ahead. We’ll be there in about three minutes. Avery’s ready with the ladder. We’re coming in nice and slow, no engines. They’ll never hear us coming.”

“Good, Hank. Has Three-Wolves had any sign of that plane?” Sandra resumed her vigil, watching the cafe door.

“Negative,” said Hank.

“All right. Time to cause a bit of a disturbance.” She upturned the sacks of valuables over the balcony into the crowded square below.

#

Ahmed Benjelloun stalked out into the street, his heart hammering in his chest at the prospect of confronting a dangerous criminal. Ahead of him, Detective Inspector Lemont seemed cool and collected, his face concealed behind his upturned coat collar and his pistol at the ready.

Ahmed felt none of Lemont’s calm. The scholar buried his face in his sleeve, suppressing a cough as the pair darted past a small group of villagers emerging from shops. Lemont led him toward an alleyway beneath the mosque’s white walls. They paused at the corner of the building. Lemont peered out into the street towards the front of the mosque, watching as the crowd grew in the street. The village was emerging from hiding, and crowds of merchants were already beginning to dust off their awnings and counters.

Lemont slipped from the corner, Ahmed reluctantly dogging his heels. They stuck to the shadows beneath the walls of the mosque, creeping towards the front entrance. When they were only yards away from the door, a sudden shout rang through the street, followed by a tinkling noise. A group of villagers gathered noisily about the entrance of the mosque, shouting and scrabbling around the sandy street. “Merde...” Lemont swore under his breath. Ahmed shrank against the white wall behind him, his stinging eyes first taking in the frantic crowd scrambling on the ground, then noting with alarm the enormous shadow emerging from the dust cloud down the street.

#

Sandra watched as Lemont and Ahmed darted furtively across the street. Smiling at the commotion below, then at Lemont’s obvious consternation, she turned towards the approaching shadow, expecting to see a rope ladder dangling above the minaret.

The smile left her face. “Hank? We have an issue.”