“Pierce!” Lazarus’s shout broke through his tunnel-vision focus on the Ark. The big man was pointing to the mouth of the passage leading back to the surface. “Who the hell are those guys?”
Pierce’s vision was so bleached by exposure to the intense light that he could barely make out the human shapes gathered there, but then a collective shout issued from the darkness. Pierce did not speak the language, but it was a phrase he recognized all too well. The battle cry of Islamic armies since the time of the Prophet Muhammed.
“Allahu akbar!”
Then, a swarm of dark shapes broke from the shadows and charged into the chamber.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Even before reaching the large hall deep within the cave, Abdul-Ahad knew that Pierce and the other agents of Masih ad-Dajjal were attempting to raise an army of jinn, just as they had done on the slopes of Jabal Musa in Egypt. The intense light radiating up from the depths, which triggered sympathetic pains in his still-burning eyes, was unmistakable.
“The jinn will be bound in earthen vessels,” he told the others as they descended toward the source of that brilliance. “Destroy the vessels, and the jinn will be freed to consume the wicked for the glory of God.”
“Will we die?” asked one of the young fighters.
Abdul-Ahad was ready with an answer. “We will be taken into the bosom of the Prophet, peace be upon him.”
When they reached the large chamber, crouching at the entrance to survey what would be their last battlefield, he saw the jinn, just as he knew he would, but he saw something else, too.
“At-tabut,” he whispered. The Chest of Assurance, which God gave to the Prophet Musa, peace be upon him. It was written, in the Holy Quran: ‘The Chest will come to you in which is assurance from your Lord. Indeed in that is a sign for you, if you are believers.’
Except the Chest was in the hands of the unbelievers.
He raised his knife high, shouted the traditional war cry and charged.
The men with Uzis reacted fastest. They raised their weapons and started shooting. The ululating of Abdul-Ahad’s fellow fighters was drowned out by the harsh report of automatic weapons fire and the screams of the injured, but even that was a glorious sound — more faithful martyrs on their way to Paradise.
Some of the unbelievers scattered. Pierce and the big man covered the old priests with their bodies, hustling them away from the fight, as if they were the focus of the attack.
Let them, Abdul-Ahad thought. The rocks will not hide them from the glory of God. Taste the punishment of the Blazing—
Something, like an invisible fist, slammed into his chest, spinning him off his feet. As he crashed onto the stone, he felt a tingling at the point of impact, then heat, then fire.
I’ve been shot.
The notion unexpectedly terrified him. This was not how it was supposed to be. Where was the ecstasy? The euphoria of martyrdom?
Fool, he thought, gritting his teeth against the pain. There is no reward for failure.
He struggled to roll over. Around him, the battle seemed to be growing more feverish, the air filled with shouts and screams. The harsh buzz-saw reports of the Uzis drowned out the screams, and the light, growing brighter and brighter again with the glory of God, filled the space.
The shooting told him that at least some of his men were still alive, still in the fight, but for how much longer?
He got to his hands and knees. His left arm collapsed, the pain bringing tears to his stinging eyes. He planted his right hand flat on the floor of the cave and pulled himself forward, toward the Chest.
The brilliance swelled around him, enfolding him with but a taste of the glory that awaited him in Paradise. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to endure it, raising his head again only when the vision faded.
A jinn stood before the Chest, as if sent to block his way, but Abdul-Ahad knew it was something else. This was the sign, promised by God.
He clawed the stone, pulling himself closer. The creature seemed impossibly far away, but after a moment, it began to move toward him.
Even though the earthen vessel contained its glory, with each step closer, he could feel its power coursing through his body. Another step and it was within his reach, offering itself to him like a sacrifice.
Yes, he thought, raising his blade. God be praised.
FIFTY-NINE
The blast tore through the Tabernacle like a hurricane. Fiona had been crouched low behind the golden table, where she had taken shelter with Gallo and Carter when the shooting started. They had no clue what was happening outside, who was shooting at whom, but they knew it couldn’t be good. Then, with no warning, she was buried under a heavy, shapeless mass of fabric.
Yet, through the mental haze induced by the concussion, she knew what had happened.
Someone, maybe with a stray bullet, had destroyed one of the shekinah creatures. Light, even the cool light contained in the body of the shekinahs, was composed of high-energy particles, and in the confines of the underground chamber, the sudden release of so much densely packed energy was like a bomb going off…in a room full of bombs.
The weight of the collapsed tent made it almost impossible to breathe, which in turn triggered a panic-fueled feedback loop. Frantic, she tore at the fabric, trying to squirm out from under it, but it was too heavy and she was too disoriented, with no sense of which direction to go. If it had been a landslide or a cave-in, she would have created a golem to dig her out, but…
But what?
If you sing to the river…
She had sung to the river, and to the pool under Arkaim, and it had listened to her. If she had learned anything in the years since being awakened to her ability, it was that intention was just as important — maybe more important — than the actual words.
And then there was the Ark.
The Israelite war-leader Yeshua ben Nun, who by all accounts was neither a priest nor a Baal’Shem, had unleashed the power of the Ark on his enemies, and even activated the Black Knight — something he surely didn’t even know about — to make the sun stand still in the sky.
Perfect knowledge of the Mother Tongue didn’t matter. All that mattered was focused intention. The mere act of speaking the words was enough to make things happen. The Ark responded to intention like a psychic amplifier.
It was practically within reach. She could feel it, resonating in the memory metal orb she carried in her pocket.
“Evaporate,” she whispered.
The heavy fabric of the Tabernacle rose into the air, as light as gossamer, and then broke apart like smoke in a stiff breeze.
Her eyes roved the chamber, surveying the damage, yet she did not merely see.
She knew.
She saw Carter and Gallo, who had been trapped under the collapsed Tabernacle with her. They were already stirring. She knew they would be fine. Pierce and Lazarus and the two Ethiopians weren’t moving, but she knew they were all still alive. Fallon, too. All were stunned but not injured. They had all sought cover when the shooting began, putting enough distance between themselves and the shekinah creatures to survive the multiple detonations.
She did not see the four mercenaries, and knew they were all gone, vaporized by the flash, along with the unknown attackers.