We noticed, too, that there was no longer an arroyo. While there were immense slabs of granite and basalt and riffles of limestone, polished like marble, to our left, to the right there was only a long slope of hummocky sandstone.
"Take a look to the right," I said to Risenberg. "Does that slope give you any ideas?"
"What have you got in mind, Carter?"
"How far ahead of us would you say Karameh is?"
"Three or four miles. He had to go through the same stuff as us."
"I'm thinking that we can drive up and across the slope," I said. "With a bit of luck we might come out in front of Karameh, or right behind him."
Risenberg thrust out his chin. "We'd be taking a chance, Carter. For all we know, there might be a precipice on the opposite side. We could even get in a spot where we couldn't turn around. Then what?"
"I say it's worth a try," I said stubbornly. "The carrier has a four-wheel drive, and the slope's not all that steep."
"I say we're both nuts, but I've got to agree. It's a move the Hawk won't expect and it might give us the lead. Tell the others."
I turned in my seat toward the open hatch between the driver's section and the rear of the carrier. "Hang on back there," I yelled. "We're going up the slope."
Risenberg stopped the personnel carrier, shifted gears and backed away from the slope as far as he could. He shifted gears again and headed toward the slope, then jammed down on the gas and the enormous vehicle headed upward, the engine laboring from the effort, the huge tires grinding against the rough surface of the rock. The armored vehicle bounced and, at times, dipped; it would then rise and drop again, or we would find ourselves tilted either to the left or right, at times dangerously so. Finally, however, we were over the top and on the summit.
Risenberg turned off the engine and we stared ahead. In back, Cham Elovitz called out, "Damn it! How much more of this are we going to have to go through?"
In the bright moonlight we saw that we were confronted with about two miles of rough terrain, with a monstrous natural terrace on which were hills of various sizes and shapes. The area was truly a Brobdingnagian garden of sculptures shaped by centuries of wind; bathed in the white brilliance of the moon, it was eerie. And though I wanted Mohammed Karameh for professional reasons and Miriam Kamel for personal ones, I didn't want us to get trapped up here by the rocks. The personnel carrier was our only means of escape to Jordan.
"The moon is plenty bright," I said, "but do you think we can go ahead without turning on the lights."
"With our lights on, they could spot the beams a long time before they could hear the engine," Risenberg said. "Anyhow, there's more than enough moonlight."
"I had to give Risenberg credit; he was one hell of a driver. Carefully and expertly he moved the carrier through the rocks, shifting gears almost constantly…fighting the wheel… his feet overworking on clutch and gas pedals. At times he had to slow down almost to a full stop; at no time could he move faster than fifteen mph. A roller coaster ride was mild compared to the ups-and-downs the carrier made, its huge springs groaning. Half a dozen times one of the front wheels would slide into a hollowed depression or a large crack and Risenberg would have to gun the engine to free the rubber screaming against bare granite or rock coated with marl. At other times he crashed the big towing hook directly into toadstool-shaped structures of tufa stone, none over five feet high, crumbling them as though they had been made of talc.
Ultimately we neared the end of the highplain, this evident when we saw the rim in the distance and, beyond the rim, empty space. Cautiously, Risenberg brought the carrier to a full stop, fifty feet from the edge. He and I then got out, hurried to the edge and looked down. The three men in back jumped down and came to the edge, the five of us relieved to find that we were staring down a slope, yet one that angled very steeply.
I had guessed correctly. By cutting across the hill instead of going around on the road, we had caught up with Mohammed Bashir Karameh. His personnel carrier, moving straight south, was only half a mile away.
"Can we get down there?" Lev Wymann asked. "The slope looks damned steep to me!"
Risenberg clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, Lev. If we don't make it, you'll know it when we start sliding and the carrier comes crashing down on top of us."
We got back inside the carrier and Risenberg started the engine. He drove the carrier slowly to the edge, gave the engine a bit more gas and shifted gears. The front wheels kept rolling straight ahead until they were over the edge and the carrier was being pushed ahead only by its rear wheels. At the very last second, Risenberg shifted into neutral. The carrier stopped moving, five feet of the driver's compartment sticking straight out over the edge.
"Here we go, Carter!"
Risenberg shifted gears again. The front section of the cab dropped. The wheels touched ground. The personnel carrier began to go down the slope. I glanced at Risenberg. His face was one big mask of strain.
Down the slope we went. There was always the danger that, as the vehicle picked up speed, Risenberg wouldn't be able to dodge a large rock, in which case we might turn over or, worse, lose one of the front wheels.
Faster and faster we went, the carrier's own thirty-five tons increasing its momentum. It didn't take long before we realized that our downhill plunge was right on the verge of being out of control, that the carrier was moving as much from its own momentum as from the power of its engine. I got the feeling that Wymann might very well feel the carrier coming down on us.
Risenberg shut off the engine and applied the brakes. For several moments the carrier slowed. Then it resumed its former speed, the tires screaming in protest.
Try the emergency," I suggested. "We're at least another hundred feet from the bottom."
Risenberg used the emergency brake, but quickly pushed the lever forward, disengaging it, when the rear end of the carrier started to swing around.
Bouncing up-and-down in the seat, I leaned forward, stared through the vision slit and watched the rough ground moving faster and faster toward us. I glanced at Risenberg, who was cursing in Hebrew. It was all he could do to control the front wheels and to keep the big vehicle from turning over or the rear end from swinging around. If that happened, we'd turn over and keep rolling until we reached the bottom.
Assuming we would reach the road, we would then have the problem of keeping the front end of the carrier from slamming into the rock face of the opposite wall. We were moving downward at almost fifty mph and such a crash would crumple the front end and render the carrier useless — and us with it! The only thing Risenberg could do was apply the emergency brake at the right moment. And that is what he did.
The carrier was sixty feet from the closest side of the road when Risenberg applied the emergency brake and jammed down hard on the pedal of the regular brake. But the carrier continued to move ahead at a furious rate of speed. Risenberg turned the wheel to avoid hitting a boulder the size of a washtub, the slight turn causing the vehicle to rock violently from side to side. Brakes whining, rubber screaming, the carrier reached the end of the slope and started across what could be called a road. The instant the front tires touched the level section, Risenberg began to turn the steering wheel slowly to the right.
Realizing his strategy, I yelled through the hatchway, "Hang on back there and stay to the left."
Risenberg had a method in his madness: he was not only slowing the big vehicle, but also keeping the front end from hitting the granite face on the opposite side of the road. If he miscalculated the turn, however, the rear of the carrier would swing around too soon and we'd turn over. At the last moment, he gave the steering wheel half a turn. The cab moved to the right, away from the granite, while the left rear side swung around toward the rock. Risenberg turned the wheel again, and the left end corner of the carrier's boxlike rear slammed into the rock face. Risenberg and I braced ourselves. The personnel carrier came to a dead stop.