Genre: Spy/Thriller
Plot: A gold rush in the Sahara Desert
Words to use: Africa, sand, dune, nomadic, border, dispute, lawless, wild, sparse, oasis, treasure, hunt, dust, barren, luck.
Part 1
John Montgomery changed identities as some changed clothes. He had it ready as soon as he got his assignment. He landed in South Africa, Capetown, as a new man, stylish and expensive clothes, a large gold watch and pinkie ring, and expensive shoes made for him in Italy.
“Merci,” he told the concierge at the desk. He rolled up his sleeves, the spider tattoo visible, and signed the hotel register with a surname – Bliss, a French businessman specializing in gold. Now he was someone else completely. The concierge looked at it then to him, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, and handed him a package.
“This is for you, Monsieur,” he said. John thanked him and put it under his arm. He spent the evening getting his gear ready for the journey deep in the Saharan desert. His story – to look into the gold mining operation. He had been briefed about his true intentions before he left Paris. It wasn’t his first trip to Africa and, hopefully, not his last.
Grains of sand swirled like shards of glass and cut into exposed skin. He pulled his gloves higher and the scarf tighter and further up his face, meeting the thick goggles. In front of him loomed the dune that glowed orange as the sun hit the horizon to the west. Thick boots kicked into the sides of the large beast, a camel from the last outpost, trying to hurry the pace. He didn’t think it was too far now, the border having been passed already, the sparse trees from an oasis were black outlines in the distance. Usually, he kept the spider tattoo, a remnant of his youth and the dark days after the orphanage, hidden. This time with layers of cotton. Intense heat beat down on him, heading through nomadic lands to his destination — a dispute over treasure. Not usually his job, but he had been tasked by the higher ups in finding out what happened to the contact sent first. Mongoose, the first agent’s code name, had dropped off the planet according to his direct boss. He needed to find him with discretion. He was on the hunt for essential intel on something new. He scratched his head as he listened to the instructions over his burner phone. After all, going into wild and lawless lands is his speciality. His jaw tightened as the plan swirled in his mind. Anything could have happened to him during operations. Adrenaline rushed through his body. He never knew what he was walking into.
The camp at the foot of the small mountain range came into view, lit up from the setting sun. The camel ran deftly through the thick sands. A road appeared that led into camp. There were strategic outposts where men watched those coming and going. His superiors reassured him that activity was still sparse at the site, but that’s not what he saw in front of him. Anxious eyes met his approach, yelling at him in Arabic, which he met without hesitation, explaining the story given to him — His name is John Bliss, a French businessman, here to check on progress of the gold mining operation. John gave a deep sigh of relief as they put their rifles down. The intel was correct. John removed his goggles, the stark white of his eyes illuminated brightly against the dirty outline. His blue eyes itched from the brown contacts, an attempt to hide his ethnicity for the duration. His hair was already dark, but covered in a turban. His sinewy muscles on his average height hidden beneath a tunic and a long robe, layers cascading around him, hiding secret compartments, and a pair of traditional trousers artificially weathered, held up by a thick belt.
Men went back to sentry duty. The man in charge introduced himself as Amil, rested his rifle in his arms, and showed him the way to take his camel, his thick accent explaining what recent finds that had beneath the shifting sand. As John removed his belongings from the camel now tied next to the other camels, he offered to find him a tent to rest for the night. He left John with the camels and his bags, a film of dust shook loose as he detached the leather ties. The camp began to feel cozy. Fires were being started in pits, the sunset met a significant drop in temperature, and an opportunity to weave tales of ancient times on the desert plateaus and river valleys.
Amil returned with news of a tent unoccupied by someone who had disappeared one night. John’s heart fluttered, but his gaze fell flat meeting Amil’s which lingered, waiting. He turned in a sudden whisk around and John followed him farther inside the camp, passing by the intense looks of dark eyes beneath thick yellowed fabric.
Tent flaps whipped violently, the sound of cracking in a song of the desert. The night sky released their gems one by one and revealed a milky pathway. John’s eyes darted around, then watching the back of Amil until they arrived at the entrance of a tent. He pulled back the flap, waiting for John to enter before following him inside. A thick layers of carpeting kept the sand down. Amil gestured to each piece of furniture available to him and telling him to join the others. He was welcome to get food and water.
“I am sure you are quite parched,” Amil said in Arabic. “And join us by the fire.”
“Thanks. I will be happy to after I unpack and get settled,” John replied. “You said the worker who had this tent before disappeared,” John’s gaze remained fixed on unpacking his bag.
“Yes, he was here one night, and gone the next morning,” he said, shifting his rifle in his arms. They could hear laughter pushing through the wind.
“Are there any rumors?”
“Rumors? Must you ask? Rumors fly around the camp like a fever.”
“What are the men saying?”
“Some say he wandered off into the desert, some say he was taken by a wild animal. I think he left the same way he came – through the desert. No doubt the desert swallowed him.”
“Why would he just leave? Was there an argument?”
“That’s many questions.”
“I am just curious about what came before me,” John sat on the thick cushion of the cot. “I’d like some water to freshen up.”
Amil laughed. “Of course.” He shouted at a child that was running by. “Soon you will adapt to being dirty in this barren land. It is no longer the nice clean city.”
John swallowed hard and nodded. Years ago, when he started, he had to complete training in the desert. This was paradise in comparison. The water was brought in a bucket and Amil left him. As soon as he was gone, John jumped at his opportunity, looking through every inch of the tent, furniture, even the tent’s fabric, looking for hidden compartments for anything left behind. He cursed under his breath, empty handed. Luck wasn’t on his side. He removed a phone hidden within the folds of his turban. ‘Arrived.’ read the message.
John slipped it back in its home and left the tent to warm himself by the fire. Desert nights were cold and the fire felt welcoming. An older man sat on one of the stools in front, telling a story of a warrior from long ago. John only heard the end of the story, the man met an honorable death. John warmed his hands, the fire crackled, embers flying heavenward.
“Good, sir. Please introduce yourself,” the elderly man asked John.
“It’s John,” he replied in arabic.
“You must be very tired from your travels,” the elderly man said in empathy. “I’m Rashid. It’s nice to meet you.” The other men in the circle gave their names, one after another, John nodded to each man in recognition.
“And, why have you come? To mine with us?”
“Not exactly. I am a businessman specializing in gold and other precious metals. I wanted to see the progress of the mining operation for myself.”
Men looked at each other, “That’s very unusual, but you are most welcome. We have been finding many treasures. You will be pleased. We start very early, before the sun rises.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” he replied.
The wind picked up with a thrust causing the fire to throw embers. Most of the men got up from their chairs, leaving John alone. He decided to seek cover in his tent, sand blowing against his face, he coughed as he made his way back to the tent in the darkness with a sense of being followed. He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around, ready to strike. The man put his finger to his own lips, silencing him.
“Sadiqi,” he said, looking behind him. “Be careful.”
John watched him as he disappeared behind a tent.
PART 2 click here
