She stopped pacing. “There was a bigger day than the discovery of Eden?”
He raised his forefinger. “Just one,” he said. “The day you were born.”
Her face assembled into a glowing half-smile, so she went to him and fell into his lap and into his embrace. “I miss him so much,” she said, her words muffled against his shirt.
“I know, my dear, which makes this journey most imperative. Obsidian Hall may not be the most ethical man of character, but he will keep us safe while we continue on for your father. What we do, we don’t do for ourselves,” he told her. “We do this for him.”
She pulled back, her face calm. “As my father’s closest friend, I want you to be the first to step inside.”
He shook his head. “No, no, my dear, it’s up to you to maintain your father’s legacy. That right belongs to you.”
She let her head fall slowly back into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Thank you, Noah.”
“For what?”
“For being you,” she said.
He smiled and patted her gingerly on her back. “Up now,” he said. “Time for bed since tomorrow’s going to be a long day, albeit an exciting one,” he said, easing her to her feet so he could stand on his own. They walked to the door and peeled back the flaps. Obsidian Hall was no longer standing by the fire, neither were the members of his team, with the exception of one man, who sat with his assault weapon leaning against the block stone beside him. “See? What did I tell you? Just boys getting it out of their systems,” he told her. “No need to worry.”
She patted him on the arm. “Goodnight, Noah. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, my dear. And Godspeed.”
As she watched him walk toward his tent, she noted the man by the fire ogling him with watchdog intensity. Once Noah was safely inside, she closed the flaps and tied them. And though she went to bed with every intention of getting a good night’s rest, sleep never came.
As she lay there staring upward with her eyes wide open and her mind racing, she sighed.
Tomorrow was not going to be a new beginning, she considered, but an extended day that was started by her father.
It’s all for you, Dad.
She couldn’t help the genuine smile that was forming at the corners of her lips.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
If any morning could be considered darkly ominous, this was it. The sky was battleship gray and the air had the feel of dreary dampness.
When Alyssa left her tent, she did so wearing a yellow windbreaker. It was the first time she had worn it since the conditions finally merited it. Hall’s commandos wore uniforms in the color scheme of desert camouflage. Slung over the shoulder of each man was an MP-7 assault weapon, a blunted version of a submachine gun.
Noah, despite the chill, wore shorts with cargo pockets, carried a backpack, and couldn’t have been happier, judging by his smile. Standing next to him were two senior archeologists from the Istanbul Institute, one male, one female, late twenties, both matching Noah’s dress of cargo shorts and backpack.
The Vatican emissary, however, had no dress other than what he had walked into camp with — which was the black cleric shirt, pants, and Roman Catholic collar. The shirt was un-tucked, the tails extending to the mid-thigh region; the five o’clock shadow thicker and darker. The man looked as if he was coming off a binge.
The commandos chortled at Savage’s appearance and then Aussie pointed the weapon at him in a non-threatening manner. “Is that all you got, Padre?”
“It’s all I need.”
More laughter. What they didn’t see was the Glock concealed by the tails of Savage’s shirt. “Whatever, Padre.”
Obsidian, wearing exclusive casual wear with the creases of his white pants ruler-straight, a cream-colored Oxford shirt, and white loafers, joined the group. The backpack he carried was crafted of the finest leather.
“Are you kiddin’ me, mate?” Aussie laughed in concert with his teammates. “You look like you’re going on vacation.”
Obsidian smiled beneath his sunglasses. “You have no idea,” he said.
Alyssa looked at Hall, and then at the clouded sky. Is he wearing sunglasses to look cool? And then: “Are we all here?” she asked.
“It looks that way, my dear,” said Noah.
There were ten in all, the same number in her father’s team, an ominous number for sure. But she had not counted on the emissary.
“Is that all you’re taking, Mr. Savage?”
Again: “It’s all I need.”
While the commandos laughed, she looked at him differently. Savage appeared sad and detached — his unkemptness a key symbol of feeling indifference. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
He smiled his patented false grin of congeniality. “Everything’s fine,” he told her.
“Then perhaps you’d like to ride with me to the site?”
“I’d enjoy that,” he told her. His patented smile never left.
She nodded approval at his acceptance. She wanted Savage to ride with her group along with Noah and the two Turkish archeologists, neither of whom could speak English, with Hall and his team the follow-up.
She turned to Hall, who looked out of place. Does he not think that he’s not going to get dirty? “Mr. Hall, is your team ready?”
He turned to Butcher Boy, who nodded. “We’re ready,” he said.
For the next six hours, as they flew to Eden in separate helicopters, everyone in Alyssa’s group was chatty with the exception of John Savage, who stared out of the chopper window at the approaching tempest. She could not take her eyes off him.
Along with the man’s sadness was a certain inner quiet, she considered; a strength. But she couldn’t quite figure out the type of strength, the man was a puzzle. She knew that he was aware of her watching him but he blatantly ignored her, more intent on the distant clouds. Yet he was still handsome, she considered, despite the need for a shave and the dirt smudges soiling his shirt and Roman Catholic collar.
“I would think you’d be more excited!” she yelled over the rotors.
He turned to her and smiled. It was so obvious to her that it wasn’t real. “I am,” he said. “Just thinking, that’s all.” And this was the truth. By leaning against the interior of the chopper, he could feel the outline of his Glock pressing against his back.
“About what?”
About how and when I’m going to kill you. “Just… things,” he told her.
She reached across and grabbed his hand, more out of sympathy for a man who seemed to be filled with great sadness than anything else. He nearly reacted by pulling it away, but didn’t. He let it rest as she embraced it, her hand as gentle as silk.
“Whatever it is, Mr. Savage, it’ll be all right!” she said intuitively.
Was he showing her something?
“Yes!” he said. “I know!” And then: “There’s a solution for everything!”
When she released his hand, he flexed his fingers, sensing a wonderful strangeness in the aftermath of her touch. He looked at her and she smiled; a most beautiful smile, he considered, against the framework of a most beautiful face.
And when he smiled back, it was very real, prompting her to give him a thumbs-up. “Now that’s more like it!” she cried.
And for that brief moment — in that little snippet of time — he felt good. He turned to Noah, an older man who appeared happy as he spoke to the seniors from the Istanbul Institute over the notes regarding the Göbekli Tepe site. He saw their unbridled enthusiasm and listened to their laughter. He used to laugh like that, he recalled, when he was courting his girlfriend, who later became his wife, the woman now living with another man and raising children together.