Outside Eden (33 page)

What was going on?

‘Go,’ the guard waved her on. ‘Move away from the area.’

She grabbed the steering wheel. ‘On my way.’ She made herself smile, pulled away a few yards to satisfy him, then stopped, looking back.

Across the street, a pair of black limousines pulled out of the King Saul driveway, moving slowly like a funeral.

A circle of police and army personnel watched from the perimeter. Lynne scanned their vehicles, looking for a weak link. Decided that the ambulance ahead was good enough. As was the present moment.

With a cry of, ‘Thy will be done,’ Lynne picked up the cell phone with one hand, made a screeching U-turn with the other and floored the gas pedal. She was aware of the guard’s yelling, but sped forward, bracing for impact with the ambulance blocking her way, exulting in the collision and speeding on. As the car lurched, she pressed her foot down on the pedal, and looked at the perimeter, the crowd facing the limousines . . . Wait.

No way. Was that her?

She looked again. And laughed out loud.

Her chest pounded. Holy Lord. Truly, Harper Jennings’ presence was a sign, a gift from God. ‘Thank you,’ she shouted. ‘Thank you!’ She adjusted her steering to hit Harper head on, and kept going even when Harper raised a weapon. Even as bullets shattered her window and blood spurted from her body, Lynne remained certain that she was finally succeeding and, in one stroke, avenging Travis’s death and completing the third sacrifice. That she and Travis would rise and be rewarded.

Her foot slipped off the gas pedal, her bloodied hand off the steering wheel. Fading, she praised God and Travis and used her last burst of energy to push the ‘send’ button. For the briefest of moments, she saw heaven. It was bright pure white.

Harper opened her eyes and, once again, knew she was in Iraq. A bomb had gone off; she’d flown into the air and landed on a burnt-out car. She knew before she tried that she’d be unable to move her legs. Or to feel them. Or to hear. She would be deaf and numb, like always. But where were the others? The rest of her patrol? They’d been standing at the checkpoint. A car had driven up, not slowing. And at the same time, a woman had been crossing the street, had turned and smiled, had reached inside her robe . . . Harper couldn’t remember the next part. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t feel. She turned her head, looking for her patrol. Saw blazing white light. Flames. Closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was moving. Being carried – on a stretcher? Passing flashing lights, ambulances, people scurrying. A burnt-out limo. She tried to speak, but couldn’t form words.

Inside the ambulance, someone, a man in uniform was messing with her. Attaching her to a tube. But where was her patrol?

She had to find out. Had to ask. ‘What happened?’

The man’s lips moved. She didn’t hear what he said. He closed the ambulance doors. Feeling the rumble of movement, Harper closed her eyes.

She didn’t open them again until late on the tenth of Av.

When she did, Hagit was sitting beside her, crocheting. ‘So, you’re up?’ She stood. ‘Good. I’ll tell them.’

Harper blinked. ‘Wait. Where am I?’ Her words were slurred. Her mouth was dry. Tasted metallic. She looked around, saw IV tubes, an ECG monitor. Oh God. What had happened? Where was Chloe? Hank? She lifted her head, twisted, trying to sit up.

‘Don’t even think about it.’ Hagit scowled. ‘Settle down. I’m going for the nurse.’

‘Chloe?’ Harper rasped.

‘Chloe’s fine.’ Hagit moved toward the door.

‘Where . . .?’ It took all her energy to speak.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.’

‘Hank?’

Hagit was almost out the door, but she stopped, turned around. Her expression had softened. ‘You don’t remember anything?’

Harper shivered. What had happened? She closed her eyes, trying to recall. Saw bright light and smelled flames. Oh God. ‘Where’s Hank?’

Hagit stepped back to the bed, put a hand on Harper’s shoulder. ‘The doctors will tell you everything.’

‘No. You tell me. Now.’

Hagit sighed. ‘That woman from the dig. The one who tried to kill me?’

Lynne. What about her?

‘She showed up here.’ Hagit told her that Lynne had driven to Jerusalem in a car fitted as a bomb. That Travis’s group had managed to make several of them and parked them at the dig.

At the dig? Car bombs? Harper closed her eyes, saw four brand-new rented Corollas parked in a row. Damn.

‘But why did she come here?’ Harper felt dizzy, unfocused.

Hagit shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe to make more sacrifices. Maybe to kill you.’

‘Me?’ Harper lifted a hand to her chest. Stared at it. It was covered with gauze.

‘It can’t be a coincidence that she brought the bomb to the hotel where you’d be staying. Face it. She blamed you for Travis’s death and, as long as she was setting off a bomb, she might as well get revenge.’

Harper heard a click, saw Travis disappear in flames. How could Lynne blame her for that? ‘She’s dead?’

‘She is.’

Harper closed her eyes.

‘Shhh.’ Hagit stroked Harper’s head. ‘It could have been much worse.’

What? ‘Hagit. Tell me.’

‘Okay. I’ll tell you. Lynne Watts is dead. But her bomb didn’t blow up the hotel or any other building because of you. You stopped her.’

‘I did?’ Harper tried to remember.

‘You and the soldiers. You shot her with a gun you took from our escort.’ Hagit paused. ‘You don’t remember? Really?’

She’d stolen a gun? When?

‘You shot the bomber before she could get in position, just seconds after she crossed the barricade.’

Harper saw snapshots: lights glaring on an empty street. A limousine. She tried to remember more. Couldn’t.

‘But you were too close to the bomb. You have burns.’

Harper looked at the bandages covering her arms, her right hand.

There had been an explosion. A fire.

She’d killed Lynne.

‘The explosion would have been a big tragedy if not for you and those soldiers. As it was, instead of blowing up a hotel, she made a hole in the street and destroyed a limousine.’

A what? Harper closed her eyes, saw a limousine . . .

Hank’s limousine.

Harper’s throat closed. Ice sliced through her chest. She couldn’t speak. Hank – Hank had been in a limousine. Was Hagit preparing to tell her that he’d been killed? Oh God. Hank. His sparkling eyes, his broad grin . . . He couldn’t be dead. Could he?

Hagit was still talking. ‘. . . killed four of the kidnappers, a French geologist, an Egyptian hydrologist and an Israeli driver.’

What? Harper tried to breathe. ‘Hank?’ Her voice was faint.

‘Hank was in the second limousine.’

So what did that mean? That he was alive?

Hagit sighed. ‘The explosion threw it across the street, onto its side. A chunk of the blown-up car flew onto the soldier who tackled you. He saved you. You should send him chocolates.’

A soldier had saved her? What about Hank? Why wouldn’t Hagit just tell her? Was she deliberately stalling? Putting off telling her that Hank was dead?

‘Hank?’

‘Hank?’ Hagit seemed irritated. ‘I already told you. He was in the second car. In that car, they all lived.’

No, she hadn’t told her. Or had she? Harper wasn’t sure, couldn’t remember. Her thoughts were jumbled. She saw a car speeding toward her. Then nothing. Just a disconnected image. She tried to absorb the news. She’d shot Lynne. And Lynne had blown up a limousine full of kidnappers and scientists.

But Hank had survived. Where was he? And what about Trent? Was he okay?

‘Now, I’m going for the nurse.’ Hagit headed for the door.

Harper lay back, wondering why Hank wasn’t with her in the hospital room. Where was Chloe? Questions swirled and mixed together until she couldn’t remember what they were. Couldn’t keep track of them. Her eyelids drifted down and, as she dozed off, she thought she heard a voice calling her name. Insisting that she’d been awake just a moment ago.

The next day passed in a fog of heavy medication, sleep and dreamy impressions. Harper didn’t have much pain. Once, she felt Hank’s lips on her mouth. She heard him whisper that she’d be fine, that she was a hero. That Chloe missed her so she should hurry up and get well. She heard these things clearly, but when she managed to open her eyes, he wasn’t there.

On the second day, pain woke her up. Her medications had been reduced, so she was more alert, able to stay awake. Hank was there, his back to her, talking to someone. Inspector Alon?

She tried to hear them. Alon said something about debriefing. About coming back.

Harper got out of bed for the first time in two days, wobbled on her way to the bathroom. Saw herself in the mirror for the first time, too, and gasped at her appearance. One side of her face was mottled and crusty, like the top of a crème brûlée. Her scrapes and scratches had been seared away. Her eyebrows were gone. So was a patch of hair over her right temple. Oh God. She looked ghastly.

‘You are. Beautiful.’ Hank had come into the bathroom, stood behind her. Ever so gently, he put his arms around her waist, kissed her neck. His gentleness triggered tears. ‘They said. You won’t scar.’

Wait. Something was wrong. ‘What did you say?’

‘The doctors. Said. Your arms and hand might scar a little. You have some third degree burns there. But not your face.’

Harper gaped.

‘You’ll be okay.’

‘Hank?’ It was all she could manage to say.

‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘You got hit on the head?’

‘Just a bump.’

She put a hand to her mouth, another to his chest. Was it her imagination? Was he talking more clearly? A tear trickled over her crusty skin.

‘Are you in pain?’ His brows furrowed.

She shook her head.

‘Then what?’

‘Nothing. Just you. I missed you.’

Gently, he kissed an uninjured ear. ‘I missed you, too.’

‘Hank. Do you realize? You’re talking better.’ Tears kept coming.

‘No. I don’t think so.’ He hesitated. ‘Am I?’ His mouth opened. He stood, scratched his head. ‘Do you really think so?’

Harper didn’t answer. Her hands were wrapped in gauze; she used it to dab away another tear.

Hank’s speech was almost normal, and nobody knew why. The doctors said it was unusual, but not unheard of, for aphasia sufferers to spontaneously improve. They theorized the injury to his head might have affected the change. They were fascinated, wanted to run tests.

Harper’s delight about Hank’s speech was dulled when Inspector Alon reappeared. He brought a box of halvah, but his manner was somber.

‘You should be in serious trouble.’ He sat opposite her in the visitors’ lounge. ‘You assaulted a soldier and took his weapon. But as it is, four kidnappers were killed and the rest are in custody. The prisoners for the exchange are back in prison. All but three captive symposium members and the limo driver were rescued. The woman you shot intended to cause a disaster, but unintentionally, her bomb thwarted the terrorists and saved many more lives than it took.’ He didn’t smile.

Harper didn’t either. In fact, she glared. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the hostage situation? I had a right to know that my husband was in danger—’

‘Mrs Jennings.’ Alon shook his head. ‘Keeping you uninformed was not an easy decision, but we thought it best to honor your husband’s request and protect you from the truth for a while. You and your child were safe, guarded by experienced agents—’

‘You mean Hagit? Some agent. She was captured and almost killed – I had to save her.’

‘It wasn’t just Hagit alone. We were focused on the symposium situation, but we also had people watching the rest of the country, including the small religious sect. Bringing you here would only have complicated matters—’

‘My husband’s life was at stake. Even if he asked you to hide that from me, I had a right to know.’

‘I’m sorry, but you didn’t. This is our country, our security, our decisions. We needed to minimize publicity as well as threat. To communicate only as needed. Let me ask you: if we had told you what was happening, what would you have done?’

Harper let out a breath. She got his point.

‘You and I both know you’d have gotten involved and drawn attention to the situation. In fact, as soon as you found out, you ran here like a bat out of hell with no concern for consequences.’

‘Maybe I wouldn’t have if you’d included me in your plans from the beginning.’

Alon leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘Mrs Jennings. We have quite well trained defense and anti-terrorist forces here. Even with your military background and good intentions, let me remind you again: in this country, you are merely a tourist.’

Harper stiffened. Fuming.

‘In fact,’ Alon sat back, crossing his legs, ‘after killing two men, stealing a jeep and confiscating a soldier’s weapon, if not for my intervention, you’d be in a different hospital. In prison, pending evaluation of your case.’

Harper crossed her arms, remembering her burns only when deep slow pain rolled through them. Cautiously, wincing, she uncrossed them, and looked at the window, saying nothing.

Hank joined them, bringing coffee.

‘What did the doctors say?’ Harper had trouble taking the cup, couldn’t hold it, so she pretended she didn’t want any. ‘No thanks.’

Hank set her cup on an end table. ‘They don’t know what to think. They’re baffled. And cautious.’ He sat beside Harper, touched her less wounded shoulder. ‘But we’ll talk about it later. I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation.’

Harper stared at him, dumbfounded that Hank had just articulated those sentences. Maybe she was dreaming? Or in a coma?

But Inspector Alon seemed real enough. He went on, updating them. The symposium had been put on hold, due to the violence. Relations with Jordan, Egypt, Germany and France hadn’t been helped by the incident, but, in actuality, everyone was thankful that more hadn’t died. And the important work would continue, perhaps with some of the same participants, within the year.

As to Travis’s followers, Jimmy, Wendell, Marlene, Lowell, Frank and Harold and the rest of the church council had been arrested. His other followers had been unaware of the human sacrifices, had been appalled when Travis had died attempting arson and mass murder. After being questioned, they’d been shipped home.