“You have to know where that quote is from and what it refers to,” Mualama quietly replied, a bucket of cold water on Turcotte’s anger.
“Where is it from?” Yakov asked.
“The Old Testament,” Mualama said. “Exodus 19.”
That clicked in Turcotte’s mind, connected with what he had just read in the manuscript. “Mount Sinai?”
Mualama nodded. “Yes.”
Turcotte spun toward Major Quinn. “I want a complete target folder for Mount Sinai — and I want it yesterday.”
“Already on it.” Quinn was looking down at his handheld organizer, typing on the small keys.
Turcotte was moving toward the door, barking more orders at Quinn. “I want a bouncer ready to move in five minutes with another TASC-suit, as close as they can get to my size, with an MK-98. And I want whatever fire support you can get us in the Sinai.” He pulled his SATPhone out. “I’ll coordinate directly with Sherev for ground troops and choppers.” Yakov and Quinn were right on his heels.
As the door swung shut behind them, only Che Lu and Mualama were left in the conference room. The old Chinese professor was shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” Mualama asked.
“Men.” Che Lu shook her head again. “Always action first, thinking later. I suggest you translate the next chapter of Sir Burton’s manuscript.”
“I’m sure Kazin was referring to Mount Sinai,” Mualama said defensively.
“I agree with you,” Che Lu said. “But no one has stopped to think about what we just read. Why would this strange woman so easily tell Burton the location of The Mission, information that has been guarded so tightly for millennia? And the question above that — how did she know where it was? Obviously, Burton didn’t stop to think either over a hundred years ago. We need to find what the result of his lack of foresight was, or else history may well repeat itself.”
“What are you really looking for?” Mualama demanded of her.
Che Lu was surprised at the tone in his voice. “I want to uncover the truth so we may move forward.”
“The truth?” A strange grin twisted Mualama’s face, as if forced from within. “You work for Artad, don’t you?”
“I work for no one. I am like you, an archaeologist who is—”
“Then why are you so anxious that mankind ally with Artad?” Mualama cut her off.
“I just think it would be the wisest course,” Che Lu said.
“They question me,” Mualama said, indicating the space around him, “but they don’t question you. Why did you go to Qian-Ling in the first place? How did you get authority to enter when no one has ever received such permission in thousands of years?” He leaned forward, causing the old woman to step back in fear. “I think you lie too, Professor.”
Without another word, Mualama went back to the manuscript. As he turned, Che Lu noted once more a small spot of blood on his ear. She hurried from the conference room, leaving Mualama alone.
CHAPTER 21
Aspasia’s Shadow was as still as the columns of marble behind him. The sword was held in front of him with both hands, point on the floor. The gems on the garments glittered. His dark eyes had not moved for the past ten minutes, focused on Lisa Duncan’s form. She had also stopped moving, the slight rise and fall of her chest the only sign she was still alive. Her face had even relaxed, no longer contorted in pain as it had been since she put her hand in the Grail.
He’d known it would take time, but that was a resource that was in short supply. He was receiving continuous inquiries from the Airlia left on Mars via the guardian computer. That was of little consequence to him, although The Mission guardian did indicate that the Mars guardian was doing something on the red planet, the exact nature of which was being shielded. With no talons or mothership available to them, Aspasia’s Shadow wasn’t overly concerned with the Mars Airlia. The situation had changed, and they would either serve him or be abandoned as he had been abandoned by them.
China was a problem, as it had been for millennia. The shield was up around Qian-Ling, and Aspasia’s Shadow had to assume that The Ones Who Wait would be resurrecting Artad. He felt a slight chill of anticipation, something that had been lacking for a long time. He wanted to face down the Kortad Leader and end this once and for all time. He’d fought Artad’s Shadow many times, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, but always returning to the truce. Now there could be a final battle with the real Artad.
More important than all that, though, was the Grail. So he waited and watched Duncan.
“We have eight Cobras already in the air, escorting five Blackhawks carrying an assault force.” Sherev used the tip of a pencil to point at the map. “They’re here, flying low level over the Gulf of Aqaba.”
“There’s an AC-130 gunship en route from Kuwait,” Turcotte said. Cobras were attack helicopters armed with a 20mm machine gun and either Hellfire or TOW missiles, flown by a two-man crew. Its firepower, added to that of the AC-130 Specter airplane, would give them some punch.
“We’ve picked up your plane on radar,” Sherev said. “We estimate it should arrive at Mount Sinai just as my aircraft do.”
“How many men on the Blackhawks?” Turcotte was checking the TASC-suit. Sherev had raced out to meet them in an old jeep as soon as they landed. “Fifty. From Unit 269.”
Turcotte knew of 269 from his time in Det-A in Berlin. It was the most elite unit in the Israeli Army, which was saying quite a bit. That meant Sherev was using the very tip of the spear that was the Israeli Army for this mission. Judging the distance to where the choppers were and Mount Sinai, Turcotte knew they had a little bit of time before they had to leave in order to catch up to the aircraft in the bouncer.
“And intelligence on Mount Sinai?” Yakov asked. The Russian had finally shed his bulky overcoat; the dry, warm air of the Israeli desert was causing all of them to sweat. The vest Turcotte had scrounged for Yakov was stretched tight across his massive chest. The MP-5 in his hands looked like a toy.
“It’s in the middle of nowhere on the way to nowhere,” Sherev said. The pencil moved west and south from the location of the helicopters to the center of the lower portion of the Sinai Peninsula. “I have seen the Mount with my own eyes during the ’73 war. We took the Sinai Peninsula from the Egyptians. And we gave it back after the peace accords. But both sides steered clear of Jabal Mosa, which is what the locals call it.
“Superstition.” Sherev shrugged. “But in reality it is of no strategic or even tactical value. I happened to see it on a long-range recon trying to flank the Egyptian forces. It’s not even the tallest peak in the area — Mount Catherine to the southwest is a little higher. Mount Sinai is just about seventy-five hundred feet high.
“There’s a Catholic monastery at the base of the mountain. It’s been there since the sixth century — the Monastery of Saint Catherine, founded by the Emperor Justinian.”
“We know The Mission used the Romans in this area,” Turcotte said as he opened the two halves of the suit. “Maybe they put a monastery at the base to distract attention from the mountain. Or maybe it’s part of The Mission.”
“It’s possible,” Sherev granted. “But I have imagery taken from overflights, and they show nothing on the mountain.” He tossed several photos onto the hood of the jeep. They showed rough terrain, a peak in the center, another in the lower left which Sherev tapped with the pencil point. “That’s Mount Catherine. Nothing there either. The only way to get to Mount Sinai on the ground is by using an unimproved road from the coast. Very hard to get to.”