Authors: Don Hoesel
Tags: #FIC026000, #Secret societies—Fiction, #Archaeology teachers—Fiction, #FIC042060, #Moses (Biblical leader)—Fiction, #FIC042000, #Relics—Fiction, #Christian antiquities—Fiction
Serpent of Moses (24 page)
Romero had drawn closer, along with Duckey, who was limping. There was a trail of blood running down his pant leg.
When the buzzing sound reached a crescendo, the air around Templeton grew brighter. Jack wasn’t sure if it was a result of the ruby that now was almost white, or if something else was at work. And then just as it had occurred, it disappeared with an equal abruptness. One moment the staff was glowing and buzzing, and in the next it was as if someone had flipped a switch.
Jack hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the need for air impressed itself upon him. As he began to breathe again, he saw Templeton’s eyelids flutter.
Jack rose and left him to his private moment, corralling Romero and Duckey as he moved away. Although his friends followed him, they couldn’t help looking behind them, as if trying to process what they’d just seen. Jack couldn’t blame them; it had taken him a long time to deal with it the first time too.
After putting what he thought was sufficient distance between themselves and Templeton, who was still in Espy’s care, Jack turned back to take in the scene. Which was why he was the first one to see the men who emerged from the tree line, advancing on the group.
Duckey saw them next, and Jack took his cues from the expert, who didn’t move or raise his gun.
The black-clad men paused when they reached Templeton and Espy. Jack, despite a hiss from Duckey, started toward them. He saw a single gun shifted in his direction, but he kept his hands out and stayed on course. Reaching Espy—who was still on her knees, looking up at the apparitions who’d materialized as if out of nowhere—Jack took her by the hand and helped her to her feet. Once she was at his side, he turned to the Israelis.
“It’s yours,” he said. “Both pieces.”
One of the Israelis shifted his gun to his other hand and then bent down to take the staff. When he straightened, he brought it close to his face, and Jack saw him looking at the now-dormant ruby in the tail.
Less than a minute later, the Israelis were gone, which Jack suspected was their silent way of fulfilling their part of the bargain.
In the aftermath of the events at Cyme, all those involved resolved to keep their silence. At first, Jack had struggled with the decision, understanding that with spilling the blood of several men in a country not one’s own, there existed a certain obligation to disclose the matter to the local authorities. But if past experience had taught him anything, it was that turning himself over to a potentially unsympathetic police force was not a thing readily done. Had extraordinary circumstances not served to spring Jack and Espy from their incarceration in Australia, they could both still be languishing in prison cells.
Consequently, while they waited at the hospital for Duckey, who was having the Libyan’s bullet removed from his leg, they’d agreed to a blanket silence. Of course that silence had been tested when the police showed up at the hospital after having been called by the treating physician. They’d explained the incident away, though, and finally the police had left, if somewhat dissatisfied.
There were still some details to be worked out. Among them was how to get Duckey back to the States without a passport. Jack hoped that Duckey’s CIA friends could spring for one last favor. If not, they’d have to work something out themselves.
Duckey had been in surgery half an hour when Espy—who’d been pacing the waiting room nonstop—finally came and sat in the chair next to Jack.
“It must have killed you to let them take it,” she said.
Jack shook his head. “Not as much as you might think.”
“But it was worth an absolute fortune,” she reminded him.
“Point taken.” Then, after giving it more thought, he added, “In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that important.”
“You can’t be serious. You let a priceless biblical artifact get away and you don’t think it’s a big deal?”
Jack shrugged and leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “You’ve seen one holy relic, you’ve seen them all.”
Espy opened her mouth but nothing came out. Then after seeing Jack aim a mischievous smile at her, she couldn’t help but mirror it.
Which Jack liked because he didn’t want to think too much about it. Despite his seeming indifference, it had been difficult to watch the staff walk off with someone else. But he remembered the feeling that had come over him in the ruins: the desire, the need that had made him want to run out and reclaim the Nehushtan. What had washed over him seemed to invalidate everything he’d told Espy on the way—that there were things more valuable than priceless artifacts. It was something he’d have to continue to ponder, perhaps for a long while.
Whether Espy could follow his progression of thought or not, she didn’t pursue it and the two lapsed into a comfortable silence, one that Espy broke some minutes later.
“Do you think they’ll misuse it?”
Jack sighed. He’d asked himself the same question.
“I think there are things that were meant to serve whatever purposes God wanted them to serve. And if they disappear after serving that purpose, who are we to make that call?” he said, not even sure he meant it. All he knew for sure was that when he’d handed over the staff, exchanging it for something much more valuable, it had felt right.
That line of thinking prompted him to think about something else that felt right. In truth, it had felt right for a long time. Reaching over the armrest, he took Espy’s hand in his.
“I love you too,” she said before he could say a word.
“I’ll see you in Istanbul,” he said, which meant the same thing.
As always, many thanks go to everyone at Bethany House for their hard work and support—Dave Long, Luke Hinrichs, Noelle Buss, Jim Hart, Debra Larsen, and many others.
Thanks to my agent, Les Stobbe.
And special thanks to everyone who enjoyed Jack’s past adventures enough to want to see them continue.
Don Hoesel
, the acclaimed author of
Elisha’s Bones
,
Hunter’s Moon
, and
The Alarmists
, lives in Spring Hill, Tennessee, with his wife and two children. Don holds a bachelor’s degree in mass communication from Taylor University.
