“Yes, yes…” The pilot saw where he was pointing and was only too glad to comply.
As they descended, the Jordanian Air Force unit closed on their position, still high overhead. Nordhausen tried one last trick, hoping to persuade them that their delivery run was innocuous. He spoke into the radio mike again. “All’s well, RJAF. We see our dig team below… making our delivery now… Thanks for the escort. Over.” He crossed his fingers as the pilot maneuvered to land, deftly sidestepping as he set the precious cargo down first and then jogged off to the left in a powered hover.
The wild plume of dust and haze threw a mask over the whole scene below, but Nordhausen knew he had to play his ruse out to the hilt. “OK, Paul. I’m going out to talk to those buggers. You stay here and keep this pilot company.” Then to the pilot he said: “And you wait here, yes? One thousand dollars!” he reminded him of the hefty investment he had in this excursion.
The pilot gave him a nervous grin, nodding his head in the affirmative. Nordhausen opened his door and was out of the helo, bending low as he ran toward the small string of camels. There were three men, and their animals were fitted with light packs. Two wore traditional Arab robes and headdress, but the third had a pith helmet on, and the professor thought the man looked Western in appearance. They were staring at Nordhausen with blank expressions as he approached.
Paul watched the scene unfold, amazed at the mess they had gotten themselves into. He saw how Robert played to the chopper overhead. First he strode boldly up to the man with the pith helmet and extended his hand in greeting. Then he looked up at the Jordanian Air Force chopper, waving warmly as if wishing them a fond farewell. The Puma hovered for a time, and, to Paul’s great surprise, it turned slowly away and started back up the gorge.
“Well I’ll be…”
At that moment he heard the helo engines revving up again and saw the Arab pilot pull hard on the line release handle. The primary mooring cable snaked loose with a dry metallic rattle and Paul felt the small bird begin to lift off. It was immediately clear to him that this pilot had every intention of abandoning Nordhausen and his illegal cargo, and making off while he could.
“Wait!” Paul shouted over the rising din, but the Arab pilot paid him no heed. Paul had the barest moment to decide what to do. Should he fish out the professor’s Glock pistol and become a party to the hijacking? The chopper began to move gently upward.
“Damn it, Nordhausen!” Paul swore. “I should leave you here with your Ammonite and –“ he moved on reflex, doing exactly the opposite of what his words expressed. He lunged to grab their supply satchels and squirmed out of his seat harness.
“Hold on, will you? I’m getting off too!”
The pilot was more worried about the other helicopter, looking warily over his shoulder as he began to apply more power to the engine. Paul had his door open in a second and leapt to the hot sand in a whirlwind of blowing dust. Then the small blue helo lifted up, with a final burst of power, and began to edge away from the landing site. The thrumming of its engine increased, and the craft angled quickly north. Paul hunched on the ground until the downdraft subsided. He coughed, rubbing the soot from his face and eyes as he started to struggle up onto his feet. Nordhausen was at his side in an instant.
“You idiot!” he was yelling at Paul as he pulled hard to get him on his feet. “I told you to keep an eye on that bastard!”
“No, you’re the idiot here,” Paul shot back angrily. “Did you expect me to threaten him with your pistol? The man is scared shitless. He’s lucky that Puma crew is lazy today. Maybe they were low on fuel. I just can’t imagine them leaving us without an inspection. Why, your little ruse could have just as easily been interpreted as a drug delivery or something. We should all be heading for a jail cell in Amman by now.”
“Well we aren’t. My ploy worked. They thought we were telling the truth!”
“You better hope your pilot keeps his mouth shut or the RJAF will be back here in a heartbeat. Now, what are we going to do, drag your Ammonite fossil another twenty miles to the coast, build a raft with palm fronds and float the damn thing out to your tramp steamer?”
Nordhausen was still caught between his anger and the elation he felt at escaping the scrutiny of the authorities. “That no good scorpion! I should have known better.”
“Well, it serves you right,” said Paul. “Stick a pistol in someone’s face and you generally get a bad reaction.”
Nordhausen noticed the satchels. “Good, at least you had the presence of mind to grab the supplies.” The professor was quickly transitioning in his thinking and wondering how to proceed. He had to secure the fossil first. They could easily cover it with sand to keep it from prying eyes. Then they could hitch a ride with these camelmen and—
When he turned to look for the small caravan it was gone. While the professor hurried over to Paul to drag him up from the swirling dust of the downdraft, the wayfarers had spurred their camels and loped off around the rim of a tumbled rock formation. They were gone. Nordhausen’s jaw dropped with the discovery, and he immediately shouted at the top of his lungs. The only sound that returned was the haranguing echo of his own voice resounding from the canyon walls. It was worse than anything Paul could have said. He had blown the mission completely now, and he threw his canvas hat down in disgust, settling to rest on the bundled shape of the Ammonite fossil.
The echo receded and there was nothing but the dry, hot wind to comfort them now. They were alone in Wadi Rumm, over twenty miles from the coast and obviously unwelcome guests, from the reaction of the camelmen. The irony of the moment finally struck Paul and he burst out laughing.
“What’s so damn funny?” Nordhausen was in no mood for jest.
“Well it’s just that you look exactly like you did the first time we were in this desert—sitting there on the Ammonite with a bewildered, angry expression on your face. And you’re probably wondering the same thing: how the hell are we going to get back now? Am I right?”
Nordhausen glared at him and Paul relented. “OK, we got ourselves into quite a mess here. I’ll let you off the hook. We had better do something about concealing the fossil. Then we can find shelter from this damnable sun. Thank god we have at least three days food and plenty of water in the satchels. I’d run after those camels, but I don’t think they have any intention of helping us. What a scene!” He laughed again, until Nordhausen’s sullen demeanor began to melt and a wry smile played over his features. The professor rubbed the stubble on his chin and put his hat on to shield his bald head from the searing sun.
“Let’s get started,” he said halfheartedly. There’s a couple of dig shovels on the pallet. Damn that Arab pilot! I should have stuck that pistol right up his snout!”
3
They were some time, laboring to scrape the sand away from the sides of the bundled fossil until it slowly subsided into a depression in the dunes. By the time they had heaped enough sand to conceal it, they were both tired and drenched with sweat. The heat was merciless, and they were already drawing heavily on the supply of water from the satchels.
“Thank God!” said Paul as he threw down his shovel and collapsed on the sand. “I’m exhausted.”
“No shit!” Nordhausen was breathing heavily, his shirt and canvas hat well soaked with the effort of their labors. “I think we’ve covered the damn thing well enough. Give me some water, I’m dying in this heat!”
“Take it easy,” Paul cautioned. “We only brought a few liters with us and who knows how long we’re going to be out here.”