Esme smiles brightly. "Doesn't it though? There's danger everywhere in this place. Certainly gets the blood pumping through the veins, what?"
She would have said more, but she is interrupted by the harsh voice of Abdul from behind. "More of them," he says, squinting through his binoculars. "To the south."
You twist in your saddle and look through your own binoculars, and sure enough, there they are: a small party riding in two battered military trucks, heading toward the entrance to a broad wadi between two large sandstone outcroppings. They are all clad in military uniforms, but not the same uniforms you saw on the British soldiers back in Jerusalem. Nazis.
"That's the fifth group we've seen since leaving town," says Sam. "They haven't only overrun the city, they've filled the desert too."
"They won't find it before we do," says Esme, with determination. "There's too much wilderness and not enough soldiers. They could be looking for decades. They don't have directions, and we do."
As she speaks, you hear a low, mechanical buzz from high above. Not for the first time, a military survey plane flies above you, far overhead.
The plane passes a couple more times as you ride on east through the unremitting sun. You're not too worried: you're all wearing Bedouin-style dress, and there's no reason why the four of you and your spare pack camel should attract any attention from the air: just a small group of Bedouin on the move, perhaps a scouting group or a small trading expedition. But you are concerned when you spot another Nazi search party farther along the way, still in the far distance. The groups seem to be getting more frequent the closer you get to your goal.
Next