“Yes, sir.” It didn’t take Savage long to realize that stroking egos was a way to deescalate situations. His way was to submit to the alpha male a moment before snapping his neck. “If I’ve offended you in any way,” he said with insincere contriteness, “please accept my apologies. It’s unbecoming of an emissary of the Church to act the way that I have.”
By his quick evaluation, he could probably take out two with an initial strike but not four, so he would have to draw them into complacency, build on their trust, and kill them with prompt efficiency while keeping in mind that this undertaking would be a difficult one, given their particular skill sets.
“You just keep that mindset, you hear, Padre?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good enough.” Aussie stepped aside and allowed the Vatican emissary to walk by. As Savage moved toward the Göbekli Tepe dig site, he heard their chiding comments about “the priest who isn’t a priest.”
Savage nodded internally. You got that right, he thought, and kept on walking.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Know your opponent and know him well.
That had been John Savage’s mantra throughout his military career. And there was no reason why he should change it now. After giving Alyssa a signed contractual agreement regarding future funding in the form of grants that was as worthless as the paper it was written on, he sat inside a tent that had once belonged to Montario.
He was sitting in the dark with his shirt off, the air inside hot and stifling. Through the canvas, he could see the afterglow of a campfire and hear the mercenaries talk of war stories and carry on like teenage boys rather than honorable men.
In the shadows of his tent, he softly racked the slide of his firearm, testing it.
He had already pegged Aussie as a volatile man who maintained a strong presence within the group. A man governed by bravado rather than principle. He would be the first to go.
Staring straight into darkness with his body silhouetted against the glow of the fire, John Savage quietly racked the slide of his weapon once again, listening.
The one called Butcher Boy held stoicism about him — a calculator, a thinker, and coupled with his special skills of combat, that made him the most dangerous in the group. Whereas the others shouted and carried on, he spoke softly — his words and captivating tone granting him the courtesy of his team’s silence to hear him through, a near measure of divine respect. Savage was sure they would follow him to the end.
He racked the slide again, this time louder.
The Irish boys, at least from what he could glean from their discussion, were brothers. Their names were Red and Carroll, with Carroll in a petulant state of whining and wanted to be called Magnum instead. This opened the floodgates for the others who chided him openly by refusing to call him Magnum, but Carroll. He was the weakest of the group, a marginal threat. A man Savage considered too weak to make it under his personal detail.
He racked the slide again, this time with venom in his motion.
After nearly four hours of banter, a sudden silence descended over the camp when a fifth man joined the group. Savage listened. “Come morning,” the man said, “I need you all to be rested. I want one awake, however, to see that no one leaves the encampment.”
“And should someone try to leave?” Savage could tell it was Butcher Boy speaking.
“Should anyone try to leave, with the exception of Ms. Moore, whom you are to bring back to me should she make an attempt to do so, then I expect you to act accordingly.”
“And what’s accordingly to you?”
“You shoot them,” he told them without a hint of concern. “The only person of critical importance to me right now is Ms. Moore. The others are mere field hands.”
Savage bolted upright in his chair. Did he just hear what he thought he heard?
This time Savage seated a clip, racked the weapon live, and sat quietly in the shadows.
Tonight, he would not sleep.
Obsidian Hall’s band of mercenaries sat by the fire, referring to themselves as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, a title of self-importance first mentioned by Aussie that was eagerly accepted by the others. The Vatican emissary hadn’t left his tent since early evening. And the same could be said of Alyssa Moore and Noah Wainscot, who distanced themselves as far as they could from the raucousness of Hall’s team
Hall stood on the highest knoll closest to the dig site. He no longer had interest in the site once he learned that Eden existed, considering Göbekli Tepe as nothing more than ancient stones pieced together. The carved bas-relief he surreptitiously received from Noah as a nominal fee for providing the grant, the one-time treasure, was now considered worthless since Göbekli Tepe was no longer unique. Eden had predated this site by two thousand years, making it the new treasure trove of goods to pull from.
He inhaled the dry air and looked skyward where pinpricks of lights winked back at him. With a keen eye, he found and traced the myriad of constellations, positive that they favored him with their celestial positioning — positive that he would be pulled in by the same celestial arms of inviting grace the moment he stood upon the threshold of Eden.
And then Eden would be his.
Once he had all that could be had, he would order the dispatching of Ms. Moore and her entire group, including Noah; all loose ends, and then chalk the mishap up as another horrifying tragedy.
“It’ll be all right,” Noah said, trying his best to placate Alyssa who paced about her tent like a worried cat. “They’re boys at play. But when things become most critical, then that’s when they are at their best.”
“Noah, they’re mercenaries.”
He cast his eyes downward. “I had no choice.”
“You keep saying that.” She went to the tent flap and peeled it back. The circle by the fire was quiet as Obsidian Hall spoke to his team. What he was saying, however, she couldn’t hear, so she let the flap fall back. “I’m not comfortable with this, Noah.”
“I know.”
“How could you possibly come to know a man like Obsidian Hall?”
“When your father was denied the grant, and nobody else bothered, Mr. Hall called me.”
“So you gave in, knowing who he was but not caring?”
“But you should have seen the smile on your father’s face when I told him that we were funded. I’ve never seen your father so happy.”
Her anger melted away. “Neither have I,” she said. “I remember. It was all he could talk about.”
“To me, Alyssa, it was worth it. And yes, Mr. Hall and his team may be annoying, but unfortunately, we need them.”
“And now I have to contend with that priest, since the Vatican is willing to front future grants on what they determine to be sacred matters.”
“He’s not a priest,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” She continued to pace with her arms folded across her ample bosom.
“Are you still angry with me? Is that what this is about?”
She stopped and looked at him — saw the hangdog look that was as much a part of his features as his uptown-English clip. “Noah, I’m not angry with you.” She went to him, leaned over and kissed his wide forehead. “You’re my Rock of Gibraltar,” she told him. “True, I’m not happy with Hall, you know that.”
He nodded.
“But you have the most wonderful heart of any man I know and I never want you to change that.” She kissed him again, then resumed her pacing. “I’m just anxious, that’s all.”
“Tomorrow is going to be the biggest day of your life. You should be anxious.”
“Was my father like this, Noah? Was he crazy the night before, saying it was the biggest day of his life?”
“Yes and no,” he said. “Your father paced like you did, couldn’t contain his excitement. But he always said that finding Eden was the second biggest day in his life.”