Contract With God Part 45

'No way. You have to get yourself out of here. I'm finished. The master said it best: "Life to the great majority is a constant struggle for mere existence, with the certainty of being overcome at last." '

'Could you please leave f.u.c.king Schopenhauer out for once, Dekker?'

The South African smiled sadly at his lover's outburst and made a slight gesture with his head.

'Behind you, soldier. Don't forget what I told you.'

Marla turned and saw the four terrorists converging on her. They had fanned out, and were using the rocks as cover, while her only protection would be the heavy tarpaulins protecting the hydraulic system and steel bearings of the platform.

'Colonel, I think we're both finished.'

Strapping the M4 on her shoulder she tried to drag Dekker under the scaffolding, but could only move him a few inches. The South African's weight was too much, even for a strong woman like her.

'Listen to me, Marla.'

'What the h.e.l.l do you want?' Marla said, trying to think as she squatted next to the scaffolding's steel supports. While she wasn't sure if she should open fire before she had a clear shot, she was was sure they'd have one much sooner that she would. sure they'd have one much sooner that she would.

'Give yourself up. I don't want them to kill you,' Dekker said, his voice growing weaker.

Marla was about to swear at her commander again when a quick glance towards the canyon entrance told her that giving herself up might be the only way out of this absurd situation.

'I give up!' she screamed. 'Are you listening, you p.r.i.c.ks? I give up. Yankee she go home.'

She threw her rifle several feet in front of her, followed by her automatic pistol. Then she stood and put up her hands.

I'm counting on you, b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. This is your chance to interrogate a woman prisoner in depth. Don't f.u.c.king shoot me.

Slowly the terrorists approached, their rifles aimed at her head, each Kalashnikov muzzle ready to spit out lead and end her precious life.

'I give up,' Marla repeated, watching them advance. They formed a semi-circle, their knees bent, faces covered by black scarves, about twenty feet apart from each other so they wouldn't be an easy target.

The h.e.l.l I give up, you sons of b.i.t.c.hes. Enjoy your seventy-two virgins.

'I give up,' she yelled one last time, hoping to drown out the growing noise of the wind that turned into an explosion when the wall of sand swept over the tents, swallowing up the plane then hurtling towards the terrorists.

Two of them turned in shock. The others never knew what hit them.

All of them died instantly.

Marla threw herself next to Dekker and pulled the tarpaulin over them as an improvised kind of tent.

You have to get down. Cover yourself with something. Don't fight the heat and the wind or you'll dry up like a raisin.

Those had been Torres's words, always the braggart, when he had talked to his companions about the myth of the simoon while they played poker. Maybe it would work. Marla grabbed hold of Dekker and he tried to do the same, although his grip was weak.

'Hang in there, Colonel. In half an hour we'll be far away from here.'

91.

THE EXCAVATION.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN.

Thursday, 20 July 2006. 1:52 p.m.

The hole was no more than a crack at the base of the canyon, but it was large enough for two people pressed together. They had just managed to squeeze themselves in before the simoon hit the canyon. A small outcrop of rock protected them from the first wave of heat. They had to yell in order to be heard above the roar of the sandstorm.

'Relax, Ms Otero. We'll be here for at least twenty minutes. This wind is deadly, but luckily it doesn't last too long.'

'You've been in a sandstorm before, haven't you, Father?'

'A few times. But I've never seen a simoon. I've only read about it in a Rand McNally atlas.'

Andrea went quiet for a while, trying to catch her breath. Luckily, the sand that was blowing through the canyon barely penetrated their refuge, even though the temperature rose dramatically and Andrea was finding it difficult to breathe.

'Talk to me, Father. I feel like I'm going to faint.'

Fowler tried to shift his position so he could rub the pain in his legs. The bites needed disinfectants and antibiotics as soon as possible, although that wasn't a priority. Getting Andrea out of there was.

'As soon as the wind dies down we'll run over to the H3s and create a distraction so that you can get out of here and head for Aqaba before anyone starts shooting. You know how to drive, don't you?'

'I'd be in Aqaba already if I'd been able to find a jack in that d.a.m.n Hummer,' Andrea lied. 'Somebody took it.'

'It's under the spare tyre in that kind of vehicle.'

Which is where I didn't look, of course.

'Don't change the subject. You used the singular. Aren't you coming with me?'

'I have to complete my mission, Andrea.'

'You came here because of me, didn't you? Well, now you can leave with me.'

The priest took a few seconds before answering. Finally he decided that the young reporter should know the truth.

'No, Andrea. I was sent here to bring back the Ark, no matter what, but it was an order I never planned on carrying out. There's a reason why I had explosives in my briefcase. And that reason is inside that cave. I never really believed it existed and I never would have accepted the mission if you hadn't been involved in it. My superior used us both.'

'Why, Father?'

'It's very complicated, but I'll try to explain as briefly as I can. The Vatican has thought through the possibilities of what might happen if the Ark of the Covenant was returned to Jerusalem. People would see it as a sign. In other words, as a sign that the Temple of Solomon should be reconstructed in its original place.'

'Where the Dome of the Rock and the Al Aqsa Mosque are located.'

'Exactly. The religious tension in the region would increase a hundredfold. It would provoke the Palestinians. The Al Aqsa Mosque would end up being knocked down so that the original temple could be rebuilt. This isn't just speculation, Andrea. It is a fundamental idea. If one group has the power to crush another and they believe they have justification, eventually they do it.'

Andrea remembered one of the stories she had worked on towards the beginning of her professional career, seven years earlier. It was September 2000, and she was working on the international section of a newspaper. The news came that Ariel Sharon was going for a walk, surrounded by hundreds of anti-riot police, on the Temple Mount - on the border between the Jewish and Arab sectors, in the heart of Jerusalem, one of the most sacred and disputed territories in history, site of the Temple of the Rock, the third most important place in the Islamic world.

That simple walk had led to the Second Intifada, which was still going on. To thousands of dead and wounded; to suicide bombings on one side and military attacks on the other. To a never-ending spiral of hatred that promised little chance of reconciliation. If discovering the Ark of the Covenant meant rebuilding the Temple of Solomon on the spot where the Al Aqsa Mosque now stood, every Islamic country in the world would rise up against Israel, unleashing a conflict with unimaginable consequences. With Iran on the verge of realising its nuclear capacity, there would be no limit to what might happen.

'Is that the justification?' Andrea said, her voice cracking with emotion. 'The holy commandments of the G.o.d of Love?'

'No, Andrea. It is the right of ownership to the Promised Land.'

The reporter shifted uncomfortably.

'Now I remember what Forrester called it . . . the people's contract with G.o.d. And what Kyra La.r.s.en said about the original meaning and power of the Ark. But what I don't understand is what Kayn has to do with all this.'

'Mr Kayn has a mind that is obviously disturbed but at the same time is deeply religious. From what I understand, his father left him a letter asking him to fulfil his family's mission. That's all I know.'

Andrea, who knew the whole story in greater detail because of her interview with Kayn, didn't interrupt.

If Fowler wants to know the rest, let him buy the book I'm planning to write as soon as I get out of here, she thought.

'Kayn made it clear ever since his son was born,' Fowler continued, 'that he would put all of his resources into finding the Ark, so that his son . . .'

'Isaac.'

'. . . so that Isaac could fulfil his family's destiny.'

'To restore the Ark to the Temple?'

'Not quite, Andrea. According to a certain interpretation of the Torah, the one who is able to recover the Ark and rebuild the Temple - the latter being relatively easy given Kayn's fortune - would be the Promised One: the Messiah.'

'Oh, G.o.d!'

Andrea's face was completely transformed as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. It explained everything. The hallucinations. The obsessive behaviour. The terrible trauma of having grown up locked away in that narrow s.p.a.ce. Religion as absolute fact.

'Exactly,' said Fowler. 'Additionally, he saw the death of his own son, Isaac, as the sacrifice required by G.o.d so that he himself could achieve that destiny.'

'But Father . . . if Kayn knew who you were, why the h.e.l.l did he allow you to come on the expedition?'

'You know, it's ironic. Kayn couldn't carry out this mission without the blessing of Rome, a seal of approval that the Ark was real. That's how they were able to get me involved in the expedition. But someone else infiltrated the expedition too. Someone with a lot of power who decided to work for Kayn after Isaac told him about his father's obsession with the Ark. I'm only guessing, but at first he probably just took the job to gain access to confidential information. Later, when Kayn's obsession changed into something more concrete, he made his own plans.'

'Russell!' Andrea gasped.

'That's right. The man who threw you into the sea and killed Stowe Erling in a clumsy attempt to hide his discovery. Maybe he planned to dig up the Ark himself later on. And either he or Kayn - or both - is responsible for the Ypsilon protocol.'

'And he put the scorpions in my sleeping bag, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' he put the scorpions in my sleeping bag, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'No, that was Torres. You have a very select fan club.'

'Only since you and I have known each other, Father. But I still don't understand why Russell wants the Ark.'

'Perhaps to destroy it. If that's the case, although I doubt it, I'm not going to stop him. I think he may want to get it out of here to use it in some crazy scheme to blackmail the government of Israel. I still haven't figured out that part, but one thing is clear: nothing is going to stop me from carrying out my decision.'

Andrea tried to scrutinise the priest's face. What she saw left her frozen.

'You're really going to blow up the Ark, Father? Such a sacred object?'

'I thought you didn't believe in G.o.d,' said Fowler with an ironic smile.

'My life has taken a lot of strange turns lately,' Andrea replied sadly.

'G.o.d's law is engraved here and here,' said the priest, touching his forehead and then his chest. 'The Ark is only a wood and metal box that would cause the death of millions of people and a hundred years of war if it resurfaces. What we've seen in Afghanistan and Iraq is only a pale shadow of what might happen then. That's the reason it's not leaving that cave.'

Andrea didn't reply. Suddenly there was silence. The wailing of the wind among the rocks in the canyon had finally ceased.

The simoon was over.

92.

THE EXCAVATION.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN.

Thursday, 20 July 2006. 2:16 p.m.

Cautiously they stepped out from their hiding place and entered the canyon. The landscape before them was a scene of devastation. The tents had been ripped from their platforms and what had been inside was now scattered throughout the surrounding area. The windscreens on the Hummers had been cracked by small rocks that had come loose from the canyon's cliffs. Fowler and Andrea were walking towards the vehicles when suddenly they heard the motor of one of the Hummers roar into life.

Without warning, an H3 was heading for them at full speed.