The Gilgamesh Conspiracy Read online

  THE

  GILGAMESH

  CONSPIRACY

  THE

  GILGAMESH

  CONSPIRACY

  By

  Jeffrey Fleming

  Text copyright © 2014 Ian J Fleming

  All rights reserved

  Thank you to Jane for your love and support.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Part One: Lost

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Part Two: At Sea

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Part Three: Found

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Part One: Lost

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gerry Tate awoke from the depths of unconsciousness and tried to resolve the confusion in her mind. She was slumped on a hard floor with salt sea water sloshing around her and slapping at her face. With a groan she clutched her throbbing head with one hand and then drew up her knees to try and relieve the nauseous spasm clenching her stomach. She heard a man screaming out in Arabic, a desperate cry of faith in Allah. She rolled over; looked around her and recalled that she was trapped inside an aircraft. The cabin was dimly lit by the white glow of emergency floor lighting and red Exit lights in the roof. She was lying in the space between the forward doors just behind the flight deck. With each beat of her heart pain pulsed through her head and she closed her eyes tightly and took several deep breaths. The aircraft was…what the hell had happened? She looked around and saw Ryan Carson, his face masked in blood. Now she remembered the crash.

  She had been standing in the flight deck doorway between the two pilots with her gun held ready to shoot them. Carson had struck her arm with a crowbar; she had pulled the trigger and the bullet had hit Carl Reece sitting at the controls in the co-pilot’s seat. She had lost her grip on the gun and scrambled out of the flight deck before Carson could hit her again and she had a vague memory of struggling with him in the narrow confines of the cabin. Then the dying co-pilot had slumped forward, pushing the control column and forcing the aircraft down to crash into the sea. Carson had been beating her until she had somehow retrieved the gun and shot him. She had slumped exhausted onto the floor spitting out blood and feeling a broken front tooth with her tongue until her addled mind recognised that the continuous electronic warble was the autopilot warning horn.

  Then she had crawled back into the cockpit and tried to pull Reece’s body clear of the controls. The altimeter showed that the aircraft was just three thousand feet above the sea and descending rapidly. Standing awkwardly at the back of the flight deck she had reached across to the other control column and tried to pull it backward but the weight of the body stopped her. Snarling with frustration she had wrenched at the dead man’s neck and managed to pull him clear. The nose of the aircraft rose up and the rate of descent eased off it so it flew low across the waves, but it was too late for her to stop it hitting the water. She took one more look at the sea, rushed back into the cabin and flung herself onto the floor. She wrapped herself into as tight a ball as possible with her arms over her head and her knees pressed against her chest and waited for the impact.

  When it came she felt herself bounced from one side of the cabin to the other, and then a blow to her head that must have knocked her out, but now, although she was bruised and battered and in pain she welcomed the knowledge that she had survived. Had Carson lived? She looked at him again and saw the deep wound on his skull, broken bone visible through his blood-matted hair. Her stomach gagged from a mixture of sea sickness, pain and revulsion; it was many years since she had inflicted violent death.

  Now she felt the aircraft rear up on the ocean swell and then sink down and she saw the sea surge in through a ragged split in the tail end of the fuselage.

  ‘Help me Gerry!’

  She looked round and saw Ali Hamsin’s frantic eyes staring at her and then she heard his scream cut short as a surge of water swamped him. She whimpered in fear and then staggered down the aisle steadying herself by seizing the seat backs. ‘My foot’s trapped!’

  He was sitting on the floor with his legs stuck under a row of seats. The water washed around her knees and she saw him take a desperate breath as the sea surged over him again. She took a deep breath and plunged her head under. The salt water stung her eyes but she found his foot trapped under the seat. She tried to push it clear and was dimly aware of him gasping with pain until the water swirled over his head again. The aircraft plunged nose down and suddenly they were both clear of the water as it poured away from them towards the nose. Gerry clung on to the seat to stop herself falling away. She took some quick panting breaths and brushed her hair clear of her face. ‘It’s your shoe that’s trapped,’ she said quickly, ‘I’ll try and pull it free.’

  He nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, yes!’ he said as she bent down just as the water closed over them again. She nearly had his foot free but the sinking aircraft suddenly heaved and she lost her grip. The water surged forward carrying her along the aisle, beating her arms and legs against the seats until she reached the front of the cabin and collided with Carson’s body and then she fell against the bulkhead by the forward doors. She felt a shock as someone grabbed her arm but realised it was Ali who had struggled clear of the seat and tumbled after her. The nose of the plane reared up as it hit a wave and he let go of her and was swept back towards the rear of the cabin. For a moment she could see the door operating lever. She grabbed hold of it as the water tried to pull her back down the fuselage.

  She tried to force herself to think clearly and then she noticed the curved arrow painted red on the side of the door and with the remains of her energy and resolution she hauled it open. The lever was snatched from her hands as the door powered away from her. There was a high pitched whine and a huge rushing of air as the slide raft inflated clear of its container in the door. Gerry was thrown back on to the floor but as she began to struggle to her feet the aircraft nose sank down and with a roar the sea surged in through the open doorway flinging her backwards. She had time for one desperate breath before she was submerged again.

  After a few seconds the water stopped swirling around and she could move her arms. Pressure was building up painfully in her ears as the aircraft began to sink. She grabbed her nose and swallowed hard. She opened her eyes, wincing from the saltwater sting and looked around. She could see the open doorway and tried to push away with her feet towards it but her right foot was snagged on something. The urge to take a breath was stealing up on her. The emergency lights failed but she could still make out the rectangle of the open doorway. In a panic she managed to wrench her foot free and swim towards the door and with outstretched hands she grabbed the side of the doorway and pulled herself out of the fuselage. She banged her face on the open door and a fresh spasm of pain shot through her j
aw. Desperately resisting the urgent impulse to inhale she managed to wait until she had swam up through the surface before taking a huge gasping breath. She bobbed back down again and caught a mouthful of seawater but she managed to swallow it rather than taking it into her lungs. She looked around and saw the curved roof of the aircraft below her as it slipped slowly beneath the surface and she was frightened that the vortex would drag her down. She kicked madly with her legs and then remembered she might attract sharks. The sea suddenly heaved past her and she screamed in terror as a large shape surged towards her but she realised it was the slide raft that had broken free from the doorway.

  She splashed towards it, and with her last reserves of energy she managed to catch hold of some straps that dangled over the side and haul her weary body on board. She slumped over the side of the raft and stared at the aircraft tail still pointing towards the moonlit sky. She saw it tilt slowly away from her and suddenly a wing tip broke clear of the waves a few feet from the raft before that too slid out of sight. She rolled on to her back and lay in the water that sloshed to and fro across the bottom of the raft. She stared up at the stars and wept tears of relief, trying not to think about how desperate her situation might be. Another spasm of pain in her upper jaw and she pushed around with her tongue, tasted blood from her swollen split lip and felt the peg of her right front tooth from which the crown had broken off.

  After a minute in the relative safety of the raft her panic ebbed and her heart rate slowed. She took stock of her position. First of all her injuries: besides the damage to her teeth she had a dull ache on the side of her head. She was fully conscious and unless she developed a blinding headache in the next day, she may as well assume her skull had not been damaged too seriously. Her right arm throbbed where Carson had hit it but despite the pain she could move her hand and fingers freely; nothing was broken. She looked down and wiggled her right foot, winced from the pain in her thigh, but decided that at least her ankle was only lightly sprained. She pulled off her shoe rubbed the joint and then lay back and stared up at the sky while her breathing steadied, occasionally spitting out the salty taste of blood and seawater from her mouth and snorting through her nose.

  ‘Help me, in God’s mercy, help me,’ came a faint cry.

  Ali Hamsin? Alive! How could that be? She had been trying to free his foot when the water had snatched her away. Now she remembered him clutching at her before the water had washed him down the fuselage. Surely he had drowned. She rolled on to her front, pulled herself up against the side of the raft and peered across the sea.

  ‘I’m over here!’

  Under the dull moonlight she saw him clinging on to a seat cushion. He lifted an arm and gave a brief frantic wave and then clutched desperately at the cushion which barely supported his weight. How was she going to reach him? She did not want to leave the safety of the raft.

  ‘Gerry, help me!’

  ‘Oh shit,’ she muttered. She grabbed hold of one of the straps and then slithered over the side back into the sea.

  ‘Swim towards me,’ she called. ‘I don’t want to let go of the raft.’

  ‘I can’t swim! The water’s dragging me down.’

  ‘Come on, you have to swim!’ she called back. She looked up at the raft and then back at him. Then she saw a line trailing in the water alongside her. She grabbed hold of it and found that it was attached to the raft. ‘Hold on, Ali. I think I can get to you.’ She wrapped the trailing line around her wrist and then paddled towards him trying to ignore the pain in her leg. She was still two metres away when the line brought her to a halt with a sharp tug at her wrist. She swam awkwardly round until her legs trailed towards him. ‘You’ll have to swim and grab my legs.’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘You must! Go on, trust in God.’

  He let go of the seat cushion and took some frantic strokes towards her as the sea closed over him. She suddenly felt him grab her foot and she heaved her legs up and stuck her hand down, felt him grasp hold of it and then she pulled him up to the surface. He clutched on to her until their faces were nearly touching.

  ‘I’m sorry to be holding you this way,’ he spluttered.

  ‘Never mind that now, Ali!’

  She took hold of the line and began to haul the pair of them back towards the raft, their combined weight straining her arms but at last they were both able to reach the straps that ran dangled down the side of the raft.

  ‘I don’t have the strength…’ he gasped, ‘to climb in.’

  ‘Listen; you’re only a light weight. I’ll hold on to these straps and lower myself down. Then you kneel on my shoulders and you’ll be able to climb in.’

  He stared at her for a moment wondering what she meant, and then nodded. ‘As God wills it,’ he said in Arabic.

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  She wrapped the straps round her wrists, took a deep breath and sank below the surface. She felt him struggling into a kneeling position on her shoulders. She gritted her teeth as his knees ground against her shoulders while he pulled himself up into the raft and then one of his flailing feet kicked her in the side of the head. She took a minute to gather her strength and then pulled herself on board next to him. ‘How did you get out?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I was struggling under the water when my foot came free and then I bumped into you. I remember being whirled around and around until I found myself floating on the surface and I grabbed the cushion. It was the will of God.’

  ‘The aircraft must have split apart as it sank.’

  ‘Perhaps. Anyway somehow we are both alive.’

  They were alone on a life raft in the Atlantic Ocean. Only yesterday morning she had woken up in a comfortable hotel room, gazed out of the window and enjoyed the sight of the waves lapping gently onto the shore and thought about going home. Now she was surrounded by the sea and unless a miracle occurred she would die out here. She stared up at the cloudy sky and occasionally glimpsed stars through breaks in the overcast. She thought about her daughter growing up under the care of another woman but after a few seconds she ordered herself to get a grip, to stop wallowing in self-pity. She thought about Ryan Carson with whom a few days ago she had been chatting happily at dinner.

  ‘Bloody bastard!’ she called out, her voice sounding weak against the surge of the waves along the side of the raft.

  ‘What did you say?’ Ali called out.

  ‘You’re awake?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘I feel like shit!’

  She felt a flash of amusement despite their situation; it was the first time she had heard him come close to an oath of any sort.

  ‘Yuh, me too.’

  To confirm her words she felt a sudden acidic surge and vomited up some sea water and the remains of her last meal.

  ‘Gerry, are you alright?’

  She snorted through her nose and coughed and spat. ‘Just throwing up,’ she mumbled.

  ‘We’re in a bad way here.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed.

  ‘That pilot, did you kill him?’

  ‘Yes. He got hold of some kind of crowbar. It must have been in the flight deck somewhere, maybe part of the aircraft equipment. Anyway I managed to get it off him.’

  ‘He was the man who took me to Guantanamo Bay years ago,’ said Ali.

  ‘What…Ryan Carson? The pilot?’

  ‘Yes. He was the one who turned up at the prison in Abuja with some other American soldiers and escorted me to the airport. I was put on a plane and flown to the prison camp. I didn’t see him again until I was taken away from the camp yesterday and put on that aircraft.’

  ‘So it was Carson! Was there an English guy with him at all?’

  ‘There was, but I haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘Describe him, then’

  ‘Come on Gerry, it’s been years. I only just remember Ryan Carson because he is such a handsome type.’

  ‘Can’t y
ou try?’

  ‘Well he was very smart, short hair. I suppose he looked like another military type actually.’

  ‘Old or young?’

  ‘Oh probably the same age as Carson, I would have said.’

  ‘Vince Parker,’ Gerry muttered to herself. ‘I bet it was bloody Vince Parker, always turning up. Those bastards are the ones who killed Philip, it was those two pieces of shit.’

  There was no more to be said for the moment. The two of them lay slumped in the water that swirled around in the bottom of the raft. Fortunately the night was mild and apart from the occasional shiver she mostly felt clammy and sweaty. And thirsty. She sunk into a torpor while the long Atlantic rollers slowly heaved the raft up and down and despite her anxiety, her exhaustion lead to periods of fitful sleep until the dawn began to lighten the sky to the east.

  She gazed over at Ali Hamsin slumped against the side a couple of feet away from her. ‘Are you awake, Ali?’

  There was no reply. She crawled over and felt his neck. There was a strong pulse. She sighed in relief and patted him on the cheek. His head sagged away from her and she realised the side of his head was smeared with blood. It was old blood but her fingers felt swollen flesh around the cut and he moaned slightly as she pressed the wound.

  ‘Oh crap,’ she muttered. ‘Come on Ali, we’ve got stuff to talk about. Don’t die now.’

  His eyes opened briefly and then closed. ‘I’m tired Gerry; my head aches badly.’ He inhaled a gasping stuttering breath and then gave a long drawn out sigh.

  ‘Ali! Wake up!’ she commanded. She felt his neck and was relieved to feel his pulse again and suddenly he resumed breathing but remained in his semi-comatose condition.

  She stood up precariously, wondering if she might see any wreckage but the aircraft appeared to have sunk without trace apart from a few small pieces of debris and another seat cushion or perhaps it was the same one that saved Ali’s life, but nothing else. She thought that there was a slight oily sheen to the surface and she dipped her hand in and smelt fuel on it. She scanned the horizon, yearning to see a ship but it was a forlorn hope, and the nearest land was Bermuda probably hundreds of miles distant.