Contract With God (38 page)

The mercenary stood up and turned around. Andrea was coming at him, ready to strike, but the soldier disposed of her by smacking her with the back of his hand, leaving an ugly red welt on her cheek. Andrea fell backwards. As she hit the sand she felt something hard beneath her.

Alryk now bent over Harel. He grabbed the big mane of curly black hair and pulled, lifting her up as if she were a rag doll until his face was next to hers. Harel was still reeling from the shock but managed to look the soldier in the eye and spat at him.

‘Fuck you, you piece of shit.’

The German spat back at her, and then lifted his right hand, which was holding a combat knife. He sank it into Harel’s stomach, enjoying the sight of his victim’s eyes rolling back and her mouth opening as she fought to breathe. Alryk turned the knife in the wound and then pulled it out roughly. Blood gushed out, splashing the soldier’s uniform and boots. He let go of the doctor, a look of disgust on his face.

‘Nooo!’

The mercenary now turned to Andrea, who had landed on the pistol and was trying to find the safety catch. She screamed with all her might and pressed the trigger.

The automatic jumped in her hands, leaving her fingers numb. She had never fired a gun before and it showed. The bullet whistled past the German and slammed into the door of the Hummer. Alryk yelled something in German and charged at her. Almost without looking, Andrea fired three more times.

One bullet missed.

Another punctured a tyre on the Humvee.

The third went into the German’s open mouth. Because of the momentum of his 200-pound body, he continued plunging towards Andrea, although his hands were no longer intent on taking her pistol and choking her. He fell, face up, trying to talk, blood gurgling from his mouth. Horrified, Andrea saw that the shot had ripped out some of the German’s teeth. She stepped aside and waited, still aiming the pistol at him - although if she hadn’t managed to wound him through sheer luck, this would have been pointless as her hand was shaking too much and her fingers had no strength left in them. Her arm ached from the pistol’s kick.

It took the German almost a minute to die. The bullet had gone through his neck, destroying his spinal cord and leaving him paralysed. He choked on his own blood as it flooded his throat.

When she was sure that Alryk was no longer a threat, Andrea ran over to Harel, who lay bleeding on the sand. She sat down and cradled Doc’s head, avoiding looking at the wound as Harel tried helplessly to hold her guts in with her hands.

‘Hold on, Doc. Tell me what I have to do. I’ll get you out of here, even if it’s just so I can kick your butt for lying to me.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Harel answered in a weak voice. ‘I’ve had it. Believe me. I’m a doctor.’

Andrea let out a sob and leaned her forehead against Harel’s. Harel took a hand away from the wound and grabbed one of the reporter’s.

‘Don’t say that. Please don’t.’

‘I’ve told you enough lies. I want you to do something for me.’

‘Name it.’

‘In a minute I want you to get into the Hummer and head west on this goat track. We’re about ninety-five miles from Aqaba, but you should be able to reach the road in a couple of hours.’ She paused and gritted her teeth in pain. ‘The vehicle has a GPS direction finder. If you see anybody, get out of the Hummer and ask for help. What I want you to do is get away from here. Swear to me you’ll do that?’

‘I swear.’

Harel twisted in pain. Her grip on Andrea’s hand was weakening by the second.

‘You see, I never should have told you my real name. I want you to do something else for me. I want you to say it out loud. Nobody has ever done that.’

‘Chedva.’

‘Scream it out.’

‘CHEDVA!’ Andrea yelled, her anguish and pain shattering the stillness of the desert.

A quarter of an hour later Chedva Harel’s life was extinguished for ever.

 

Digging a grave in the sand with her bare hands was the most difficult thing Andrea had ever done. Not because of the effort it required, but because of what it meant. Because it was a senseless gesture, and because in part Chedva had died because of the events she had set in motion. She dug the shallow grave, and marked it with the aerial from the Hummer and a circle of rocks.

When she finished, Andrea searched the Hummer for water but with little success. The only water she could find was in the soldier’s canteen hanging from his belt. It was three-quarters full. She also took his cap, even though to keep it on she had to adjust it with a safety pin she found in her pocket. She also pulled out one of the shirts stuffed into the broken windows and grabbed a steel tube from the trunk of the Hummer. She ripped out the windscreen wipers and stuck them into the pipe, draping them with the shirt to make an improvised umbrella.

She then went back to the track the Hummer had left. Unfortunately, when Harel had asked her to swear to return to Aqaba, she didn’t know about the stray bullet that had destroyed the front tyre because she had had her back to the vehicle. Even if Andrea had wanted to keep her promise, which was not the case, it would have been impossible for her to change the tyre on her own. As much as she looked she couldn’t find the jack. On that kind of rocky road the vehicle would not have been able to go a hundred feet without a functioning front wheel.

Andrea looked to the west, where she could see the faint line of the main road snaking in and out of the dunes.

She looked to the east, where the Hummer’s tracks were still fresh.

Eight miles in that direction were vehicles, water and the scoop of the century
, she thought as she started to walk.
Not to mention a whole crowd of people who want me dead. The upside? I still have a chance to get my disk back and help the priest. I have no clue how, but I’ll give it a shot.

VATICAN CITY

 

 

‘Do you want some ice for that hand?’ Cirin asked. Fowler took a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to bandage his knuckles, which were bleeding from several cuts. Avoiding Brother Cesáreo, who was still trying to repair the niche that he had destroyed with his fists, Fowler approached the Chief of the Holy Alliance.

‘What is it you want from me, Camilo?’

‘I want you to bring it back, Anthony. If it truly exists, the place for the Ark is here, in a reinforced room one hundred and fifty feet under the Vatican. Now isn’t the time for it to go floating around the world in the wrong hands. Let alone for the world to know of its existence.’

Fowler gritted his teeth at the arrogance of Cirin and whoever it was above him, maybe even the Pope himself, who felt they could decide the fate of the Ark. What Cirin was asking of him was much more than a simple mission; it weighed like a tombstone over his whole life. The risks were incalculable.

‘We will keep it,’ Cirin insisted. ‘We know how to wait.’

Fowler nodded.

He’d go to Jordan.

But he too was capable of making his own decisions.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

 

 

‘Wake up, Padre.’

Fowler came to slowly, not knowing exactly where he was. He only knew that his whole body hurt. He was unable to move his arms because they were handcuffed above his head. The cuffs were somehow pinned to the wall of the canyon.

When he opened his eyes he verified this, as well as the identity of the person who had been trying to wake him up. Torres was standing in front of him.

A big smile.

‘I know you understand me,’ said the soldier in Spanish. ‘I prefer to talk in my own language. I can handle the subtle details much better that way.’

‘There’s nothing subtle about you,’ said the priest in Spanish.

‘You’re wrong, Padre. On the contrary, one of the things that made me famous in Colombia was the way I’ve always used nature to help me. I have small friends who do my work for me.’

‘So you’re the one who put the scorpions in Ms Otero’s sleeping bag,’ Fowler said, trying to pull the handcuffs loose without Torres noticing. It was useless. They were fastened to the canyon wall with a steel nail that had been driven into the rock.

‘I appreciate your efforts, Padre. But no matter how hard you pull, those handcuffs are not going to move,’ said Torres. ‘But you’re right. I wanted to get your little Spanish bitch. It didn’t work. So now I have to wait for our friend Alryk. I think he’s abandoned us. He must be enjoying himself with your two whore friends. I hope he screws them both before he blows their heads off. Blood is so difficult to wash off your uniform.’

Fowler yanked at the cuffs, blind with anger and unable to control himself.

‘Come here, Torres. You come here!’

‘Hey, hey! What’s up?’ said Torres, enjoying the fury on Fowler’s face. ‘I like seeing you pissed off. My little friends are going to love this.’

The priest looked in the direction Torres was pointing. Not far from Fowler’s feet was a mound on the sand with a few red forms moving about on top of it.

‘
Solenopsis catusianis
. I don’t really know any Latin, but I do know that these ants are fucking serious, Padre. I was very lucky to find one of their hills so close by. I love to watch them work and I haven’t seen them do their thing for a while . . .’

Torres squatted down and picked up a rock. He stood up, played with the rock for a few moments, then stepped back a few paces.

‘But today it looks as if they’re going to work extra hard, Padre. My little friends have teeth like you wouldn’t believe. But that’s not all. The best part is when they stick their stinger into you and inject the poison. Here, let me show you.’

He brought back his arm and lifted his knee like a baseball pitcher, then hurled the rock. It hit the mound, destroying the top of it.

It was as if a red fury had come alive on the sand. The ants swarmed out of the nest in their hundreds. Torres stepped back a little further and threw another rock, this time in an arc so that it landed halfway between Fowler and the nest. The red mass was still for a moment and then charged at the rock, making it disappear beneath its anger.

Torres stepped back even more slowly and threw another rock, which landed about a foot and a half from Fowler. Once again the ants advanced on the rock until the mass was no more than eight inches from the priest. Fowler could hear the crackling of the insects. It was an ugly, frightening sound like someone shaking a paper bag full of bottle caps.

They use movement to guide themselves. Now he’ll throw another rock closer to me so that I move. If I do that, I’m done for
, Fowler thought.

And that’s exactly what happened. The fourth rock fell at Fowler’s feet and the ants converged on it immediately. Slowly, Fowler’s boots were covered by a sea of ants that grew by the second as new ones emerged from the nest. Torres threw more rocks at the ants which became even angrier, as if the smell of their smashed brothers added to their desire for vengeance.

‘Admit it, Padre. You’re fucked,’ Torres said.

The soldier threw another rock, this time not aiming at the ground but at Fowler’s head. It missed by two inches and fell on the red tide that was moving like an angry vortex.

Torres bent down once more and chose a smaller rock, which he could throw more easily. He aimed carefully and let it fly. The rock hit the priest on the forehead. Fowler fought back the pain and the urge to move.

‘You’ll give up sooner or later, Padre. I plan to spend the morning like this.’

He bent down again, looking for ammunition, but had to stop as his walkie-talkie crackled into life.

‘Torres, Dekker here. Where the fuck are you?’

‘Taking care of the priest, sir.’

‘Leave that to Alryk, he’ll be back soon. I promised him, and as Schopenhauer said, a great man treats his promises as divine laws.’

‘Roger, sir.’

‘Report to Nest One.’

‘With all due respect, sir, it’s not my turn.’

‘With all due respect, if you’re not up at Nest One in thirty seconds I’ll find you and skin you alive. Do you copy?’

‘I copy, Colonel.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Over and out.’

Torres returned the walkie-talkie to his belt and slowly began walking back. ‘You heard him, Padre. Since the explosion, there are only five of us, so we’re going to have to postpone our game for a couple of hours. When I get back you’ll be in worse shape. Nobody can sit still for that long.’

Fowler watched as Torres rounded the bend of the canyon near the entrance. His relief didn’t last long.

Some of the ants on his boots were beginning to inch their way up his trouser leg.

CAIRO, EGYPT

 

 

It wasn’t even ten in the morning and the junior meteorologist’s shirt was already soaked through. He had been on the phone the whole morning doing someone else’s job. It was the height of the summer season and everyone who was anyone had left and was on the shore of Sharm El Sheikh, pretending to be an expert diver.

But this was one task that could not be postponed. The beast that was approaching was too dangerous.