The plane was now nearing the group of red lights. Alec peered into the inky darkness of the jungle on the other side of the river. They were coming in fast and just over the river. Sweeping past the red lights, the silver bird struck the water and proceeded swiftly up the line.
Henry sat back in his seat and relaxed. “Nothin’ to it,” he mumbled.
At the base they went through the same procedure as at Port of Spain, and then were sped away to Natal to spend the night. “Tomorrow,” Alec reminded Henry, “it’s Africa!” They were well on their way to the home of the Black!
The following days proved monotonous to all the passengers except Alec and Henry. Together they shared the thrill of flying the Atlantic for the first time. Before nightfall they were on the African continent and based at Fish Lake, Liberia. Their next hop took them to Lagos, Nigeria, and then came Leopoldville, deep in the heart of the Belgian Congo. The following day they took off for their final destination, Aden, Arabia.
As they flew over a barren African plain, Alec’s thoughts turned to the trip ahead. According to Mr. Volence they were to take a train from Aden to Haribwan, which was located just southwest of the Great Central Desert. It was there that they would meet Mr. Volence’s friend, who had assured them that he would be able to acquire a caravan and a guide to take them across the desert.
It was late afternoon when the steward touched Alec on the shoulder. “There’s the Bab el Mandeb,” he said, pointing to a large expanse of water ahead. “It’s just a short hop across to Arabia, so we’ll be in Aden in less than a half-hour.”
“Are we the only ones getting off there?” Alec asked, nodding toward his friends.
“On the contrary, practically all the passengers are bound for Aden. We’ll take on some more there tomorrow, and then it’s Cairo and across the northern coast of Africa to Morocco. We’ll be back at La Guardia inside of six days with any luck at all.”
“That’s certainly getting around to a lot of places,” Alec said.
Soon they had left Africa behind and were crossing the channel of Bab el Mandeb. “It connects the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea,” Alec explained to Henry. He had been through it twice, as his ships had taken that route to and from Bombay, India, when he had visited his Uncle Ralph. As Alec’s thoughts turned to the Drake and that disastrous home voyage, he became depressed. To think that only he and a few others had been rescued of all the passengers and crew. And little had they known what was ahead of them when they had docked at Aden.
He could see the white buildings of the city ahead. His gaze turned northward, for it would be that direction in which they would go.
The plane circled slowly above its base. “Well, here we are,” mumbled Henry.
Mr. Volence, winking at Alec, said, “Only the beginning, Henry. We won’t waste much time in Aden … try to catch the first train to Haribwan that we can get. After just sitting all this time, I’m itching to pick up the trail.”
“The trail of the Black,” added Alec. He paused, then added confidently, “We’ll find him.”
“I wish I could share your optimism, Alec,” Mr. Volence said. “However, I can assure you that we won’t leave Arabia until we’ve made a thorough search.”
They were coming in now, and the plane glided smoothly toward the water. The silver hull cut the channel and the water streamed up and covered the window. A few minutes later they were taxiing to the dock. As the plane was cabled, the passengers rose from their seats, each concerned with his own business. For days they had lived in a small confined world of their own, but now it had ended and they were eager to get along.
After passing through customs, Alec and his companions awaited the car which would take them to their hotel. Ibn al Khaldun came out of the building and headed for a black sedan. He was wearing a white suit and shirt, open at the neck. His bald head was bare. Stopping, he withdrew a white silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the rivulets of perspiration from his face. His gaze turned toward them, and then he walked slowly in their direction.
“Wonder what the devil he wants?” Alec said softly.
“Probably going to bid us a fond farewell,” muttered Henry.
Ibn al Khaldun stopped in front of them, but didn’t speak. Finally Mr. Volence, to break the silence, said, “Is your home in Aden, Mr. Khaldun?”
The Arab’s gaze shifted from Alec to Mr. Volence. A few seconds passed before he replied, “No. My home is far to the north.”
Alec asked, “Anywhere near the Great Central Desert?”
Ibn al Khaldun’s beady eyes shifted again to Alec. A slight smile was on his lips, disclosing the toothless gums. He nodded but did not say a word.
Mr. Volence and Henry watched Alec, for they knew the next question the boy would ask.
“Have you by any chance ever heard of a man named Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak?” Alec asked.
Ibn al Khaldun ran the silk handkerchief across his face and then wiped the top of his skull before shaking his head negatively. “Arabia is a large and most complex country,” he replied softly, his words heavily accented. “One does not have many acquaintances in the north.” He had left the handkerchief on the top of his head and Alec was thinking how ridiculous it looked, when a slight breeze blew it to the ground in front of him. Alec bent to pick it up.
Ibn al Khaldun had also bent down to retrieve his handkerchief. Alec had his hand on the silk cloth, when he stopped short. In front of him, dangling from the Arab’s bare neck, was a gold chain on which hung a medallion … that of a bird with wings outstretched in flight.
THE PHOENIX
5
It was not until a few minutes later, after Ibn al Khaldun had left, that Alec told Henry and Mr. Volence what he had seen.
“Are you sure it was the same medallion?” Henry asked, his voice tense.
Alec dug a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew the gold chain. “It was the very same, Henry … just like this one. I couldn’t be mistaken!”
Mr. Volence’s eyes swept to the black limousine into which Ibn al Khaldun had disappeared. “Come on! Let’s trail him.” He hailed a cab and the three climbed into it just as the car ahead pulled away from the curb.
Mr. Volence instructed the driver to keep about a hundred yards behind. “All we want to do,” he explained to Alec, “is to find out where he’s staying, then we’ll inform the police.”
“But we really haven’t any case,” Alec said. “It’ll just be his word against ours.”
“Yes, I know. We might be able to learn something, though, that’ll help us. I have a few friends in the government here who might be able to throw a scare into him. I’m sure we couldn’t get any satisfaction out of Ibn al Khaldun ourselves. It’s our only chance.”
They were near the outskirts of the city when Alec noticed that the distance between the two cars was increasing. “We’ll have to step on it,” he said, “or we’ll lose him.”
The black car suddenly turned from the main road down a narrow side street. It had slowed down a bit, and the taxi driver had no trouble keeping behind. They went around the block and then arrived back on the main road.
“That’s funny,” Henry mused.
“Not so funny,” Alec said. “He wanted to find out whether or not he was being followed, and we walked right into it.”
Bending forward, Mr. Volence told the driver to increase his speed. “I’m afraid you’re right, Alec. He’s stepping on it, and we’ll be lucky if we can keep up with him.”
Ibn al Khaldun’s car swept along the highway, and in a few minutes it was obvious to all that the broken-down cab in which they were riding could not possibly keep up with the car ahead.
Ibn al Khaldun was out of sight when they reached the city limits.
“Anyway,” Alec said, “that proves he had something to do with the attack on the Black, and knew that we were suspicious of him, or he would have stopped instead of running away.”
“Not necessarily,” Mr. Volence suggested
. “It might be something else.…”
Alec was unconvinced. “I have his car’s license number, anyway,” he told them. “We can check at the police station.”
“Good boy!” Mr. Volence said.
A few minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of the station and Mr. Volence went inside while Alec and Henry waited in the cab. He returned shortly afterward. “Not much luck, unfortunately,” he told them. “The car belongs to a rental agency and the driver was ordered to report at the airport to meet Ibn al Khaldun. I’m going to call them again a little later and they’ll let me know the address to which the driver took our friend. We still may be able to learn something.”
After they had checked in at their hotel, Mr. Volence called the car rental agency only to find that Ibn al Khaldun had dismissed the car and driver soon after they had reached the city limits. The driver had informed the agency that his fare had hailed a cab immediately after dismissing him.
The following day Mr. Volence talked to some business associates about Ibn al Khaldun, but learned little. “They told me,” he informed Alec and Henry later back at the hotel, “that there are many families by the name of Khaldun in the central and north country, and that it would be a waste of time attempting to track him down.”
Henry rubbed a large hand over his two-day beard. “Guess the only thing we can do is to trek on, keepin’ our eyes open for him.”
“I have a feeling he’ll turn up again,” Alec mused.
* * *
The next day they set out for Haribwan. As they awaited their train at the station, Mr. Volence told them that he had telephoned his friend in Haribwan, and that he was expecting them.
“Has he been able to get us a guide?” Alec asked.
“No, unfortunately. He said it wouldn’t be any trouble to get a guide to take us across the desert, but going into the mountains is another story. Seems it’s dangerous country, as there are many hostile tribes and few men have ventured into it.”
Henry grimaced. “You don’t make it sound too good,” he said.
The train, with antiquated engine and wooden cars, pulled laboriously into the station. They found their seats and settled back for the ride.
“How long a trip is it?” Alec asked.
“A little over twelve hours,” Mr. Volence replied. He glanced at his watch. “We should arrive in Haribwan a little after eight tonight.”
The heat was intense and Alec covered his face with his handkerchief. Henry and Mr. Volence removed their jackets. Soon the train was on its way, and a dry breeze swept through the car.
“I guess this must be one of the hottest countries in the world,” Alec murmured.
“It is,” Mr. Volence agreed with a smile, “and the driest. But we’d better get used to it.”
Alec looked out the open window at the steppe-like tracts covered with small bushes. To the west he could see the coastal mountains gradually rising as they swept to the north. Occasionally he could see a small farm with cultivated land.
“The west and northern coasts of Arabia are the most fertile,” Mr. Volence explained. “To the east is only the Great Central Desert and the mountains toward which we’re headed. Some Arabs call their country an island, surrounded by water on three sides and sand on the fourth.” He paused a minute, then added, “Geologists say that Arabia once joined the natural continuation of the Sahara, now separated by the rift of the Nile Valley and the great chasm of the Red Sea.”
“Aren’t there any rivers at all?” Alec asked.
“None of any significance,” Mr. Volence told him. “There is a network of wadis, depressions in the surface, which fill with water, but only periodically, during the short rainy season.”
“At that rate, I don’t see how they can grow much. What do they eat?”
“It’s true there’s little tillable land, Alec. But on the coastal areas they have dates, coconut palms, grapes and numerous fruits as well as almonds, sugar cane and watermelons. They also have sheep and goats. Their coffee, too, is the finest in the world. In the desert, I suppose, the chief items on the nomad’s menu are dates and milk.”
Henry, very much interested in the conversation, muttered, “Dates and milk … that’s something to look forward to.”
As the hours passed and the train wound its way to the northeast, the country became less populated and the terrain more grim. Great sandy wastes spread before them. Barely visible now were the mountains to the west. Alec’s gaze swept over the other passengers in the car, most of whom were sleeping. There were a few, presumably British from their features, dressed in clothes like his own. But the majority were Arabs, wearing long white skirts with a sash and a flowing upper garment, which pictures had made familiar to Alec. Most of them wore a shawl held by a cord over their heads. They were of middle stature, of powerful build, and to Alec their features, characterized by a broad jaw, aquiline nose and flat cheeks, expressed dignity and pride. He could not help but think how little they looked like Ibn al Khaldun with his fat, evil face.
The medallion dangling in Mr. Volence’s hand attracted Alec’s attention. Noticing how closely he was scrutinizing it, he asked, “Any new clues?”
Mr. Volence did not answer for several seconds, then he looked up and met Alec’s intense gaze. “I was just thinking about something one of my friends in Aden mentioned yesterday about this,” he said. “He happens to be quite a student of mythology, and thought that this resembled the fabulous bird of Egypt, the Phoenix. But neither he nor I have ever seen a drawing of the Phoenix such as this one, with its wings outstretched in flight. Still, I can see what he means …”
“The Phoenix? What’s the story?” Alec asked.
“Briefly,” Mr. Volence replied, “the Phoenix was probably the aspect of the sun god and as such was worshiped. According to legend, it lived five hundred years in Arabia. The story goes that when the Phoenix finally felt life ebbing away, it laid an egg in its nest and set fire to it. Thus, it burned to death but out of the ashes a new Phoenix came to life. It represented the resurrection of the dead.”
“Gee, that’s interesting,” Alec said. “But if it is the Phoenix, what do you think it symbolizes to Ibn al Khaldun?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Alec,” Mr. Volence answered. “Perhaps nothing … maybe just a piece he carries around.”
Henry, who had been listening intently to the conversation, joined in. “It’s a secret order, or somethin’, I’ll bet.” His large hand dropped on Alec’s leg, and he continued. “So far as we know there are two of these things, the one you have and the one around Ibn’s fat neck. Now, if he didn’t try to kill the Black that night, someone else wearing the bird did, which means there’s some sort of an organization or somethin’.”
“Or,” Alec added, “if Ibn al Khaldun did attack the Black he had another medallion.”
“Well,” Mr. Volence said, “it’s something to think about. When we get to Haribwan, maybe Coggins will be able to help.”
HARIBWAN
6
It was almost dark when they arrived at Haribwan. As Alec reached up to the rack for his suitcase, he felt a renewed excitement. For Haribwan was really the beginning of their search for the Black. To the north and east was the desert, void of civilization. Haribwan was their last outpost. No longer would they be able to depend upon commercial means of traveling or hotel accommodations, for when they left this small Arabian town they would be on their own.
The other passengers left the train and Henry, Mr. Volence and Alec followed.
Outside, vendors shouted forth their wares to the new arrivals, their voices raised to the highest pitch in competition with the incessant tramp of passers-by and a multitude of donkeys and camels laden with the varied products of the desert and farms. The air was charged with every conceivable odor, and Alec sniffed sensitively.
Mr. Volence spied his friend Coggins. “Bruce!” he shouted. “It’s good to see you.”
A tall man with thinning white hair,
wearing large horn-rimmed spectacles, grasped Mr. Volence’s outstretched hand. “Charlie, you old blighter you,” he said enthusiastically, “it’s been a long time.”
Mr. Volence introduced Henry and Alec and then they made their way through the crowd. “Must be over ten years that you’ve lived here, isn’t it, Bruce?” Mr. Volence asked.
“Thirteen or fourteen years, I think it is. You lose track of time here.”
Mr. Volence turned to Henry and Alec. “Coggins, here,” he explained, “was sent by his company to do a temporary job in Haribwan, which was to have lasted a month at the most. He’s been here ever since.”
“I made it a permanent job,” Mr. Coggins explained, smiling. “This place grows on one, you know.”
“It must,” Mr. Volence said. “I recall the letter that you wrote just before you left England on this deal. You weren’t very happy about it. Remember?”
“I most certainly do,” Mr. Coggins said. “But,” and his voice became earnest, “these people, the country … well, it’s difficult to explain how I feel. You’ll find out for yourself, in time. Those who have never been here think of Arabia as a harsh and forbidding land, but it’s really warm and hospitable.”
“It’s warm all right,” Henry muttered, wiping his brow.
Finally they arrived at Mr. Coggins’ car, an early model Ford. “I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you with any better means of traveling. Still, it will get us there.” He patted the hood cherishingly.
“I’m surprised to see you have a car,” Mr. Volence said.
“There are a few of them around. But come, let’s be on our way.”
Mr. Coggins drove the car slowly through the crowded, narrow streets of the town. “Auto traffic is rare here,” he said, “and I always have to be careful. The people really resent motor vehicles, feeling that the donkey, camel and horse are adequate means of transportation. I only use the car on rare occasions such as this.” He was smiling.