Enjoying the risen sun’s rays, he squatted against an olive tree and felt it bend. Hungry, he reached into his backpack for a baguette and wedge of Camembert before mashing the cheese into the bread. As he washed down a mouthful with a swig from his water bottle, he heard boots abrading rocks against rocks.
His wife, Linda, appeared in flannel hiking garb as she labored against the incline. She stood over him.
“You said this would be fun!”
“With those curves, I figured you’d have more power in your caboose.”
She smacked his shoulder and issued a curse in Aramaic. Then she raised her pitch and added swears in the Iraqi dialect of Arabic. Recognizing the foul words, Jake laughed.
“Now say that all again in English.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Fine, then. Divorce!”
“That’s not what you said.”
“It was close enough, you butt-head.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad. Rest with me and have a snack.”
She sat beside him.
“It’s embarrassing. I’m slowing everyone down.”
“Only the young kids are ahead of us. The old dogs are still behind us.”
“So what does that make us, if we’re not the young kids or the old dogs?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’d be with the young kids if you weren’t my anchor.”
She smacked him — repeatedly, and then she grabbed the mashed cheese and bread from his hand.
“Give me that,” she said.
Expecting a full meal with the team at the top of the mountain, he relinquished the food.
A group of Christians returning from a pilgrimage to the summit strolled by on their descent, and he greeted the two dozen people as they approached the end of their day’s journey.
“They must have gotten up early,” Linda said.
“That’s how they do it.”
He wanted to dart uphill, test his physical conditioning, and translate for the mix of young French and Australian sailors who he assumed struggled to bridge their language barrier. But he appreciated that his wife held him back because Renard had ordered him to keep pace with the bodyguards that protected his mentor’s inner circle of irreplaceable men.
Looking ahead to the next switchback, he saw two muscular figures that scanned the trail, the adjacent escarpments, and the sky for threats to Renard’s employees.
When he had met the guards, Jake recognized the unshakeable confidence of special forces personnel, and their oversized backpacks betrayed the existence of multiple firearms. Renard had justified the presence of the trained protectors by noting that his mercenary band had lost the luxury of anonymity.
Even the once-safe mountain required vigilance.
Jake heard crunching and looked to the trail below. Familiar people came into view as they rounded a bend, and Renard raised his voice.
“Good morning, Linda,” he said. “You seem troubled, my lady.”
“Jake said this would be fun, but I think he’s crazy.”
The woman beside the Frenchman, his wife, interjected.
“I agree with Linda,” Marie said. “I do these climbs only when Pierre insists. These men view climbing the mountain as a challenge like a dragon to be slain. I’d be just as happy to rent a helicopter and enjoy the view from the top.”
“The view is amazing so far,” Linda said. “I can’t wait to see the view from the top. I just don’t like these jagged and crooked rocks. It’s so hard to take a step.”
“You’ll get there,” Marie said. “I know this is annoying, but you have to be patient and humor these egotistical pigs.”
“I can’t argue with being egotistical or a pig,” Renard said. “But I take issue with the idea of a helicopter. The journey makes you appreciate the summit.”
“Yeah, come on honey,” Jake said. “It’s worth it.”
Walker and his wife rounded the bend with Cahill pacing himself behind them between the second pair of bodyguards. The Australians appeared invigorated with color in their faces.
“Okay. I’ll be fine,” Linda said. “Help me up.”
Ninety minutes later, Jake held his wife’s hand as they rounded a turn, and a chapel came into view. He crossed the doorstep and smelled stale oak. Except for a statue of Christ and a few rows of pews, the chapel was bare with a worn floor.
In the grassy yard outside the chapel, a dried-up well attracted his attention. He escorted his wife to it and peered between the bricks into a dirt-filled hole.
He walked her to a glass wall that blocked people from falling down the southern escarpment. The green plain spanned the horizon.
“It’s beautiful,” Linda said.
“Pierre tells me it used to be greener until a fire swept through almost thirty years ago.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I guess it’s recovered by now, but I’m no botanist.”
Lifting his finger to the glass, he turned to verify Linda’s attention.
“Toulon’s in that direction. That’s where our ships are hidden in a dry dock. On a clear day, you can see the town from up here.”
After an eleven-day submerged voyage as Cahill’s cargo, Jake had ridden the Specter—while still atop the Goliath—into an enclosed and covered wharf in the dark of night. He had handed his keys to his engineer officer, who missed the mountain voyage while tending to the ships’ repairs with Cahill’s engineer.
“Are you ever going to show me your ships?” Linda asked.
“What ships?”
“Oh yeah. I’m supposed to play dumb.”
“You’re not missing anything. Toulon’s okay, but we’ll be spending this vacation in nicer places. Come on.”
He pulled her towards a structure that resembled a misplaced barn but which served as a gathering room for climbers resting below the summit. Inhaling, he smelled dampness and age.
Three young French sailors labored through an English description of their national navy’s sonar training while two Australians listened. When Jake entered the room, they waved, and one said that the front-running climbers were waiting at the summit.
“If you’re hungry, you’d better follow me,” Jake said. “I’m going to hand out the food. First come, first served.”
He retreated from the room and met a bodyguard ushering him and his wife to catch up with the rest. Rounding the cabin, he lost his balance as his foot slid across dirt. Slapping his palm against a rock, he steadied himself.
“Are you okay?” Linda asked.
“Yeah. Just watch your step. The last stretch is the hardest.”
He stopped and let a young couple pass on their descent.
“They look happy,” Linda said.
After turning a last corner, Jake saw the summit. Visitors stood and sat around the six-meter tall cross that graced the rock.
“It’s not the highest point,” he said. “That’s over there to the left. But it’s in a great spot to be seen from all over.”
“I like it.”
“Well, grab a sandwich from my back pack and check it out. I’ve seen it before, and I need to pass out the sandwiches.”
He walked the upper section of the mountain, passing out lunch to the French and Australian sailors who comprised half of the mountaintop’s guests. He passed a tiny living quarters that housed a single sentinel who watched for fires and tended to travelers in need, and he found the priest on a small observatory deck.
“You hungry, Father Andrew?”
“I’m starved. What do you have?”
As the party’s strongest climber, Jake carried the bulk of its food. He had felt the weight lift from his shoulders as he had passed out a dozen sandwiches from his pack.
“I’ve got a few left.”
“Roast beef?”