‘Instant coffee dissolved in milk, is that right, Nuri?’
The mute smiled and shrugged his shoulders to say it wasn’t his fault.
‘I know. Perhaps tonight we’ll see water springing from a rock and all that biblical stuff. Anyway, thank you.’
Slowly, making sure she didn’t spill the coffee because she knew she wasn’t the most coordinated person in the world, even though she would never admit it out loud, she headed for the infirmary. Nuri waved to her from the entrance to the mess tent, still smiling.
And then it happened.
Andrea felt as if a giant hand were lifting her up from the ground and throwing her six and a half feet into the air before flinging her back down. She felt a sharp pain in her left arm and a terrible burning on her chest and her back. She turned just in time to see thousands of small pieces of burning cloth falling from the sky. A column of black smoke was all that was left of what, two seconds ago, had been the mess tent. Up high the smoke seemed to mix with another much blacker smoke. Andrea couldn’t work out where it was coming from. Carefully, she touched her chest and realised that her shirt was covered in a hot sticky liquid.
Doc came running over.
‘Are you all right? Oh God, are you OK, darling?’
Andrea was aware that Harel was shouting even though she sounded far away due to the whistling in Andrea’s ears. She felt the doctor checking her neck and arms.
‘My chest.’
‘You’re OK. It’s only coffee.’
Andrea stood up carefully and saw that she had spilled the coffee over herself. Her right hand was still clutching the tray, while her left arm had banged against a rock. She moved her fingers, afraid that she had suffered more injuries. Luckily nothing was broken but her whole left side felt as if it were paralyzed.
While a few members of the expedition tried to put out the fire using buckets of sand, Harel concentrated on taking care of Andrea’s wounds. The reporter had cuts and scratches to the left side of her body. Her hair and the skin on her back had been slightly burned and there was a constant buzzing in her ears.
‘The buzzing will disappear in three to four hours,’ Harel said as she put her stethoscope back into her trouser pocket.
‘I’m sorry…’ Andrea said, almost shouting without realising it. She was crying.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’
‘He… Nuri… brought the coffee out to me. If I had gone inside to get it, I’d be dead right now. I could’ve asked him to come out and smoke a cigarette with me. I could’ve saved his life in return.’
Harel pointed to the surroundings. Both the mess tent and a fuel truck had been blown up – two separate explosions at the same time. Four people had been turned to nothing but ash.
‘The only one who should feel anything is the son of a bitch who did this.’
‘Don’t worry about it, lady, we have him,’ Torres said.
He and Jackson were dragging a person in handcuffs by the feet. They deposited him in the middle of the area by the tents while the other expedition members looked on in shock, unable to believe what they were seeing.
79
AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN
Thursday, 20 July 2006. 6:49 a.m.
Fowler put his hand up to his forehead. It was bleeding. The explosion from the truck had thrown him to the ground and he had hit his head against something. He had tried to get up and head back towards the camp with the satellite phone still in his hand. In the middle of his hazy vision and the thick cloud of smoke, he saw two soldiers approaching with their guns aimed at him.
‘It was you, you son of a bitch!’
‘Look, he still has the phone in his hand.’
‘That’s what you used to set off the explosions, wasn’t it, you bastard?’
The butt of a rifle hit his head. He fell to the ground but didn’t feel the kicks or the other blows to his body. He had lost consciousness long before that.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Russell screamed, joining the group that had crowded around Father Fowler: Dekker, Torres, Jackson and Alryk Gottlieb on the soldiers’ side; Eichberg, Hanley and Pappas from what was left of the civilians.
With Harel’s help, Andrea was trying to stand up and go over to the group of threatening faces that were black with soot.
‘It’s not ridiculous, sir,’ said Dekker, throwing down Fowler’s satellite phone. ‘He was carrying this when we found him near the fuel truck. Thanks to the scanner, we know he made a brief phone call this morning, so we were already suspicious of him. Instead of going to breakfast, we took our positions and watched him. Luckily.’
‘It’s only-’ Andrea began, but Harel yanked her arm.
‘Quiet. That’s not going to help him,’ she whispered.
Exactly. What was I going to say, that it’s the secret phone he uses to communicate with the CIA? That’s not the best way of defending his innocence, idiot.
‘It’s a telephone. Certainly something that’s not allowed on this expedition, but it’s not enough to accuse this man of causing the explosions, ’ Russell said.
‘Maybe not just the phone, sir. But look what we found in his briefcase. ’
Jackson tossed the ruined briefcase in front of them. It had been emptied and the bottom cover ripped off. Glued to the base was a secret compartment containing small bars that looked like marzipan.
‘It’s C4, Mr Russell,’ Dekker went on.
The information made them all hold their breath. Then Alryk pulled out his pistol.
‘This pig killed my brother. Let me put a bullet through his fucking skull,’ he screamed, out of his mind with rage.
‘I’ve heard enough,’ said a soft but steady voice.
The circle opened and Raymond Kayn approached the unconscious body of the priest. He leaned over him, one figure in black and the other in white.
‘I can understand what made this man do what he did. But this mission has been delayed for too long, and it cannot be delayed any more. Pappas, please get back to work and knock down the wall.’
‘Mr Kayn, I can’t do that without knowing what’s going on here,’ Pappas answered.
Brian Hanley and Tommy Eichberg folded their arms and went and stood next to Pappas. Kayn didn’t even look at them twice.
‘Mr Dekker?’
‘Sir?’ said the large South African.
‘Please, exercise your authority. The time for niceties is over.’
‘Jackson,’ said Dekker, signalling.
The soldier lifted her M4 and aimed it at the three rebels.
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ complained Eichberg, whose large red nose was a couple of inches from the muzzle of Jackson’s automatic.
‘It’s no joke, honey. Start walking or I’ll shoot you a new asshole.’ Jackson cocked her weapon with an ominous metallic click.
Ignoring the others, Kayn walked over to Harel and Andrea.
‘As for you young ladies, it has been a pleasure to be able to rely on your services. Mr Dekker will guarantee your return to the Behemoth.’
‘What are you saying?’ howled Andrea, who despite her difficulty in hearing had caught some of what Kayn had said. ‘Damned son of a bitch! They’re going to extract the Ark in a few hours time. Let me stay until tomorrow. You owe me.’
‘Are you saying that the fisherman owes the worm? Take them away. Oh, and make sure they leave only with what they’re wearing. Have the reporter hand over the disk containing her photos.’
Dekker pulled Alryk aside and spoke to him quietly.
‘You take them.’
‘Bullshit. I want to stay here and deal with the priest. He killed my brother,’ said the German, his eyes bloodshot.