Moshref's finger pointed to the right, indicating a spot where a dozen large wooden crosses stood, a man hanging on each, nailed through wrists and ankles. All the men were dead, and even the freshest corpse showed much flesh missing.
Children played around the feet of the crosses.
"We deal with them as Sura Five commands," the cyclops said casually.
Since Bashir had very good reason to believe he was the very first infiltrator to make it to the fortress, he wondered if perhaps the dozen corpses were those of truly innocent men. If so, it said nothing good about the notions of justice held by Mustafa's followers in the valley, nor about Mustafa, himself.
"I just came here to continue the fight," Bashir said. "For the sake of my brother." The best lies contain truth, Fernandez had advised him.
"Mustafa will probably want to talk to you himself."
It was several days before Mustafa made an appearance. Bashir didn't know if the leader had been there all that time or had just arrived.
* * *
"Tell me about it," Mustafa commanded Bashir. His assistant, and second in command, Nur al-Deen, sat quietly to Mustafa's side, looking intently into Bashir's face.
The three sat on cushions on the floor of a room leading off from a deep, sloping tunnel carved into the rock. Bashir had the impression—he wasn't sure quite why—that the tunnel went much further into the ground.
Bashir almost missed the question, looking about the room. The walls were bare and at least reasonably dry. The cushions rested on a rug, predominantly red, with blue, green, brown and black geometric decoration. The style was called "Baluch." The rug covered most of the floor, though a foot or two of bare rock were visible near where floor met wall. Other furniture was at a minimum, two crude and rough wooden chests, a small table, and a bookcase. There were more cushions piled in one corner but these would only be brought out if Mustafa had more guests. The guards, naturally, did not sit but stood with rifles in their hands.
"Tell me about it," Mustafa repeated.
"Ah. Excuse me, Sheik. I was just—"
"Never mind that. Tell me about it."
Bashir told his story.
"That entire party never arrived," Mustafa said, when Bashir had finished. "When another patrol went to investigate, it, too, disappeared. This was the work of the Blue Jinn."
Blue Jinn was a name the movement had given of late to Carrera. They had their reasons. Besides the eyes which were said to resemble those supernatural creatures, he seemed to them the embodiment of vicious malevolence, much as the Blue Jinn of legend.
"It was the grace of Allah and the courage of my brother that allowed me to bring word," Bashir supplied.
"Indeed. We will remember your gallant brother in our prayers. For the word and the warning you have brought us, you have our thanks. How may we repay you?"
Bashir shrugged. "To allow me to continue in service to the cause is repayment enough, Sheik. To allow me to repay the infidels for my brother . . . "
"So be it then," Mustafa agreed. "You will stay here and join our fighters for now. In time you may be sent back to continue the holy campaign to drive out the crusaders, and to gain your just revenge. For now . . . eat, rest, grow healthy, and train to serve the cause."
Mustafa turned his attention to the guards. "Assign him to the company of . . . Noorzad."
The guards led Bashir away. After he was gone Nur al-Deen announced, in his Misrani accent, "He's lying."
"Why do you say so?" Mustafa queried.
"That's the problem; I don't know why. But he is lying. I sense the touch of the Blue Jinn or one of his evil minions upon him. He should be killed."
"And lose a likely gallant fighter for the cause? I think not. Besides, my friend, you forget." Mustafa's finger pointed towards the ceiling. "We have the greatest of plotters on our side. If this man is lying, or a spy, Allah will point him out to us before he can do more harm than He is willing to permit."
A religious argument was the most difficult to refute. Nur al-Deen bowed his head slightly, in acquiescence.
Changing the subject, Mustafa asked, "How progress the arrangements for greeting our guest?"
"The new cave in which we will shelter his craft from observation"—now it was Nur's turn to point a finger skyward—"is almost complete. We're having to do it by hand as an explosion that size would be bound to attract unwanted attention from the infidel. Fortunately, we do not need to build an airfield."
"As I said, Nur. We have the greatest of plotters on our side."
* * *
Noorzad's company proved to be made up entirely of other Pashtun, Bashir discovered. Whether that was a cause for relief or not, let alone rejoicing, remained to be seen.
The commander, himself, was little cause for joy. Short, stout, ugly and taciturn, Noorzad had little to say to the newcomer. He looked Bashir up one side and down the other with a single cold, suspicious, blue eye. He asked a couple of questions, then announced, as if daring contradiction, "Marwat tribe."
The commander was frightening. Bashir bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes, sir, from around Daman. Speen-Gund. Begu Khel." Daman was a small settlement in north-central Pashtia. The later two terms were subdivisions of the Marwat tribe, Speen-Gund harking back to an acrimonious (and bloody) split within the Marwat on Old Earth. Seven centuries and a few thousand light years were no reason not to keep up a good feud.
Turning to one of his lieutenants, Noorzad commanded, "Get the names of his people. Send word to our people in Daman for anything that is known of this man. In the interim, he can dig. Take his rifle and give him a pick."
For the first time Bashir was glad that Fernandez had taken in his family. It was the custom of the Legion to punish the families of their opposition. They also had a considerable ability to identify the proper family from what they called "DNA." Bashir didn't really understand that, though he believed it. It was said by his people that, even with a suicide bombing, if the infidels found so much as a scorched bit of bone or hair, or a drop of blood, they would visit vengeance on the family responsible.
Since his brother's body had been reported as found and immolated at the site of the ambush where they were captured, there would be nothing inherently suspicious about the disappearance of his parents and siblings. That was the infidel way. That it was also close to the time honored tradition of his tribe and his larger people only gained respect for the infidels.
* * *
Bashir did not have to labor alone. With picks and shovels, litters and wheelbarrows, it seemed that Noorzad's entire company—of about ninety fighters, Bashir thought, though he could not count that high—was involved in the labor. "Labor" was an understatement.
The rock overhang underneath which they excavated pushed out perhaps four meters, or maybe even five, from the vertical. The men had chipped their way in about twice that, so that there was a cave of sorts fifteen meters deep and twenty five or thirty in breadth. Not that Bashir counted in meters.
"What is this for?" Bashir asked a squad mate, as he heaved the heavy pick up for another strike at the rock face.
"Not sure," the other answered, between pick-swinging grunts. "Some say there's a meeting scheduled between Mustafa and some of our key supporters around the world."
Bashir swung the pick, knocking away a not very satisfactory chunk of the gray rock. He lowered the pick, pausing briefly to rest on it. "Lot of work for a mere meeting."