~ The Caspian Scrolls ~

by

I. J. Sarfeh

The three soft taps on the wooden door woke me up. Josh was already sitting up. In the dim glow of the lamp he crept toward the door, Glock in hand. I heard more taps, six this time. Josh opened the door. “Salaam, Kareem.”

Josh turned up the lamp, and Kareem walked in. He looked in his mid-fifties, wore a handlebar mustache, and was vertically challenged. He was short, really short.

I rose. “Our tour guide, I presume?”

Josh said, “Meet Kareem. He will lead us the rest of the way.”

Kareem gave a bit of a bow, and extended a hand to me. “Doctor McKenzie? I am honored. We have heard much about your skills as a surgeon.” He spoke with an accent but seemed fluent.

I nodded thanks.

Josh said to him, “Let’s get going. Sunrise is only three hours away.” Then he turned to me. “Put on your hiking boots and a heavy jacket.”

I did as he ordered. The hiking boots were Marine issue, and the heavy jacket was the same. Seeing me put them on, Josh smiled--at least his lips twitched. He said, “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

I wasn’t so sure about that.

Josh strapped on his shoulder holster and picked up his luggage. Kareem turned off the lamp, and we stepped out.

Southern California weather gets to be a bad habit. I mean, once you’re there for more than a year, you start shivering at temperatures below sixty Fahrenheit. Steam now blew out my mouth and nostrils, and my ears stung.

I asked Kareem, “Are we in the mountains?”

“About seven thousand feet up.”

The three-quarter moon, now directly overhead, brightly illuminated the surroundings. We were on a trail in a valley surrounded by snowcapped mountains. It was like one of those postcard scenes from the Swiss Alps.

We walked at a brisk pace along the trail that paralleled a stream. A half mile farther on we left the trail. Kareem led the way up a narrow gap in a cliff of stratified rock that seemed ready to crumble. My suitcase, which I had to carry because the tiny wheels couldn’t negotiate the rough terrain, was on the heavy side. But I was in good enough shape to keep up with Josh and the guy he referred to as our tour guide. Despite his fifty-something age, Kareem appeared in excellent condition. Wearing jeans and a weatherworn ski jacket, he had a spring to his step, and didn’t seem to be sucking air. Like I was.

Once out of the canyon, we walked for a mile across a barren plateau, at the end of which was a steep downhill slope. We stood at the edge, staring at the abyss below. It disappeared into a black void.

Kareem tapped me on the shoulder. “The border to Iran is down there. The descent can be treacherous, so please tread carefully. Also, there are usually no border patrols around this area, but to be safe you must be as quiet as possible.”

Like he said, the descent was treacherous. There was no trail like you see in American wilderness parks, and no wooden benches to rest your aching ankles twisting over the loose rocks. A few times I lost my footing but managed to regain control. The last time it happened Josh grabbed me by the arm. He whispered, “Want me to carry you, ma’am?”

This trip was getting to be a humiliating experience.

A couple of thousand feet farther down, trees sprung up all around us. An hour later we were on the edge of a rock-laden river bounded by forest. The air was much warmer now, and clammy. I stuffed my jacket back in the suitcase while Kareem reconnoitered the area.

He was back moments later. “No patrols. We can go across safely.”

We crossed the river about a hundred yards farther down. The refreshingly cold water came up to my knees, and the current wasn’t strong. I carried my suitcase over my head, coolie style. After clambering out on the other side, we headed into the forest. I could hear mosquitoes buzzing about my head and neck. A few landed and sucked out mouthfuls of my blood before I slapped them off. Then the itching started, and I didn’t have any insect repellant. I resisted asking Josh if he had any.

My legs, especially ankles, begged for a rest, but I refused to give in to them. All the years of civilian life had turned me into, well, a civilian.

We came to a clearing with a trail leading out from the far side. Kareem told us to wait in the shadows, and he disappeared.

I asked Josh, “What’s he up to?”

“Calling the border patrol.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I hope so.”

If that was meant as a joke, I wasn’t amused.

We walked out of the clearing and stopped some fifty feet away among the trees. Josh dropped his duffle bag and took off. I flopped onto the damp ground. He was back a few minutes later. “A vehicle is headed this way. Stay out of sight.”

After taking the Glock out of his shoulder holster, he crouched down and crept toward the clearing.

Lights flickered, and I heard the clatter of a diesel engine. The flickering stopped, the engine went silent. Then Kareem’s voice: “You can come out now. No patrols.”

Josh reappeared. He said to me, “Think you could stand up?”

“Carry me.”

“Funny.”

A relic of a mid-sized truck--I didn’t recognize the make--was parked in the clearing. I noticed the cargo bed was crammed with firewood. Kareem climbed over them, and we handed him our luggage minus Josh’s backpack. He buried my suitcase and the duffle bag under the logs then covered everything with a sheet of black canvas.

We settled into the truck cabin. It had no rear seats, so I sat in the middle.

After driving in silence on the rough trail for fifteen or so minutes, we turned onto a paved highway.

Josh said, “This is where they sometimes set up checkpoints. Be ready.”

I asked, “Ready to do what?”

“Improvise.”

Three miles later, with dawn breaking, I felt more at ease. The road was deserted, and we had seen no traffic coming or going.

At the next curve in the road my complacency abruptly ended.

A half-mile ahead of us loomed flashing red lights.