Sure enough, he quickly found a moldy leather wallet. Again the credit cards and various IDs were all in the names of an alias. But it was Harkin, all right. How had he died? Bennett wondered. He knelt down to examine the remains and found two bullet holes in the skull — one in the back down by the base of the neck, the other dead center in the deceased’s forehead. Harkin had been murdered, senselessly killed at the age of twenty-five. But by whom? Had somebody known they were coming, or had Harkin been cut down by a Syrian sniper? Bennett wondered whether the tunnel had been partially collapsed when Donovan and Harkin had come here. Maybe a sniper had seen Harkin, his attention drawn by the sound of the land mine exploding.
Thunder rumbled through the night sky, and again Bennett realized he would have to hurry if he wanted to avoid Harkin’s fate. There were two shovels near the mound of dirt and rock in the center of the room, undisturbed by time. That must be where they had been digging.
His heart accelerated. As terrible as he felt for what had happened to these two men, he was suddenly oddly grateful for their sacrifice and for the clues they had left behind for Mordechai and thus for him. They had come so far and gotten so close, and now he was about to discover what they had not — whether this really was the final resting place of the Key Scroll.
He peeked out the gaping hole to the northeast and scanned for signs of life but saw nothing. He could hear the choppers not far away, and he knew that U.N. relief forces were operating nearby. But the chances that they would hear him had to be minimal, he figured, so he grabbed a shovel and began to dig.
“Jack Knife to Black Box.”
“Black Box, go.”
“I’ve got something.”
Excitement spread through Mariano’s team.
“What is it?”
“Movement to the southwest, half a click from the old Syrian bunker.”
“How many?”
“Looks like just one, sir. He’s inside the collapsed tunnel. Hold on. Let me see if I can get a better angle.”
“No, don’t move,” Mariano ordered. “Nothing that could attract attention. Nomad, can you see anything from your position?”
“No, sir.”
“What about—?”
But before Mariano could finish the thought, his lead sniper broke back in.
“Jack Knife to Black Box, he just moved into plain view.”
“Who is it? Can you see?”
“Negative. It’s too dark.”
“Is it Bennett?” Mariano pressed.
“I can’t tell. But he’s definitely alone — and he’s digging.”
Mariano couldn’t believe it. Their inside source had come through for them again, giving them exact coordinates of where the Bennetts were headed, and just in time.
Then Jack Knife radioed again. “I’ve got a clear shot,” he told Mariano. “Should I take it?”
“What’s he doing now?” Mariano asked.
“Digging furiously,” came the reply. “But I’ve still got a shot. Should I take it?”
Bennett struck metal.
Exhausted, he nevertheless dug faster. The exercise was, after all, helping to warm his frozen body a little, and he was thrilled beyond belief at the possibility of what he was about to find. Soon he had uncovered a small trunk, which he promptly yanked from the ground. The lid was stuck. Bennett pulled a knife from his pocket.
Again Mariano’s radio crackled to life.
“I have the shot,” said Jack Knife. “I repeat, I have the shot. Can I take it?”
“Hold one, Jack Knife, hold one,” Mariano barked into the radio.
He pulled out his satphone and speed-dialed Farouk.
“We’ve got him,” he said the moment Farouk answered.
“Who?”
“Bennett. One of my men has him in his sights. What do you want to do?”
“Are you with him?”
“No, no, he’s on the Syrian side. I’m on the Israeli side. But I’ve got him on the other line, and he needs authorization, fast.”
Mariano’s radio came to life. It was Jack Knife again.
“He’s got something.”
“Hold on, Mr. Farouk,” said Mariano, grabbing the radio. “What have you got, Jack Knife?”
“He’s got something — it’s in his hands.”
“What—what is it?”
“It’s a box of some kind.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s trying to pry it open.”
Farouk was screaming on the other end of the line, demanding to know what was happening. Mariano explained while Jack Knife fed him second-by-second updates.
“He’s got it open,” said the sniper.
“He’s got it open,” Mariano repeated into the phone. “What do you want me to do, Mr. Farouk? Do we take him out? I need to know now.”
Bennett had no idea that his head was centered in a sniper’s scope.
All he could think of was the scroll in his hands. It was small and metal — probably copper, like the other — oxidized and encrusted with twenty centuries of dirt and filth. He had no idea how they were going to get it open. It felt as though it could disintegrate into a fine powder at any moment. Something to worry about later. For now he had to get back to Erin and get both of them out of there alive.
“Where are you?” asked Farouk.
“Tiberias.”
“How long will it take you and your team to get into the Golan?”
“Another twenty or thirty minutes — why?”
“Get moving, now,” said Farouk. “I’ll explain while you’re en route.”
Mariano was beside himself. “Fine, but what do I tell my man? He’s got the shot. I say he should take it.”
“Angel One to Base Camp, the eagle has landed.”
Natasha heard the words but couldn’t believe them.
“Base Camp to Angel One, come again?” Natasha asked, her voice trembling with emotion.
“The eagle has landed,” Bennett repeated. “I’m coming home.”
Jack Knife steadied his rifle and adjusted his scope.
He had to account for the strong breeze now picking up through the valley. He would likely have only one shot, and he had to get it right.
Farouk finally made the call.
“Tell your man to hold his fire,” he ordered.
“What?” said Mariano, apoplectic.
“Tell your man not to shoot.”
“Why not? We may not get another chance like this.”
“It’s the scroll I want, not the Bennetts,” Farouk growled.
“We can do both,” Mariano insisted. “Let me take this guy out, and I’ll go into the tunnel and recover the scroll myself.”
“No,” said Farouk. “It’s too risky. You start shooting and that whole mountain is going to be teeming with special forces. You’ll never get another chance to get in there.”
Mariano couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But if they get it—”
Farouk cut him off. “Then we’ll follow them.”
“What if they take the scroll to the authorities?” asked Mariano, nearly ready to authorize Jack Knife to take the shot anyway.
“Haven’t you been listening to the news?” Farouk demanded. “The Bennetts are wanted for murder. They’re not going to the authorities.”
“They could cut a deal.”
“Then we’ll cut their throats.”
“When?” Mariano wanted to know, eager to do the job himself.
“After they lead us to the treasures,” said Farouk. “Let them get the scroll out of the tunnels. Then follow them. If they head to the police station, kill them. But I guarantee you, that’s not going to happen. They want the treasure. That’s what they’re going after. After all, it’s the only leverage they can use to stay out of prison.”