“Because we both feared for our lives,” Kinderman replied. “And, considering what happened to the poor professor, with very good reason it seems.”
Hevva arrived at the table with a steaming pot of tea. She was struggling with the weight of it and Shepherd reached out to take it from her.
“You should have told someone,” he said, pouring the hot liquid into several small glasses shaped like tulips. “The police could have protected you.”
“Protected us from whom? You just told me you thought our antagonist, the one who calls himself Novus Sancti, was Fulton Cooper. If the FBI cannot identify this person, then how could they possibly protect us from him? Whoever is behind all this has to be someone with a high level of access, someone inside the establishment and well connected, someone with a very clear agenda. The professor and I both realized this. And when we both received the same letter we knew we had to act quickly. My repositioning of Hubble served as a useful diversion, a sop if you like to the blackmailers’ demands to ‘take down the new Tower of Babel,’ it bought us some time. But it also served a practical purpose, one which was outlined right here ten thousand years ago then buried to protect the secrets and those who kept them.”
“The Mala,” Arkadian said.
Kinderman nodded. “The history of the Mala is the history of suppressed truth. At the beginning of human history things took a wrong turn. Truth was imprisoned along with the relic known as the Sacrament. But the Mala knew the history of it, and their enemies, the Sancti, tried to silence them. They established their Church to spread their version of history and declared that anyone who believed anything different from the word of their Bible was a heretic and should be put to death. So the Mala hid and buried their secrets underground until the time predicted when things would swing back the other way and balance would be restored. Over time many were drawn to the Mala, scientists whose findings challenged the Church, philosophers and thinkers who questioned the “truth.” It was an organization that allowed free thinkers to remain free. And it still is. Without their support I would never have been able to flee from America undetected. They are like the French resistance in the Second World War, only on a global scale, providing friendship, support — even a passport under a different name.” He drained his cup of tea and smiled at Hevva. “That, young lady, is delicious tea.”
She smiled shyly, picked up the drained teapot and took it back in the kitchen to top it up with hot water.
“In 1995, excavations started here and the first T-shaped stones were uncovered. The T is the Tau — symbol of the Sacrament, used by the Sancti and the Mala both. The mountains to the west are named for the Tau, and so also is the great constellation of the bull, which the ancients of our tribe saw as sacred, a harbinger of change. The rediscovery of these stones and the messages captured here told us that the time of change was coming. A time we refer to as the end of days. The established Church uses similar terms though they have demonized it as something terrible. But there is nothing to fear from the end of days. For every end also marks a new beginning.”
“Hello?”
The voice took them all by surprise, puncturing the moment and making all heads turn. It was a woman’s voice, American. They heard the faintest of footsteps outside then a tiny woman stepped through the door. She looked at them each in turn, smiling in a way that made her freckled nose wrinkle a little. Then a muffled shriek snapped their heads back around again.
A man was standing in the kitchen.
And he had Hevva.
102
Shepherd saw the man first, then the knife held loosely against his daughter’s throat. Hate boiled up inside him, but also fear. There was something in the man’s eyes, something missing, that told Shepherd he would kill his daughter just as easily as snapping a twig.
“Any weapons, let’s see them, nice and easy,” the woman said in her Sunday school teacher’s voice.
She was by the entrance, covering them with what looked like a toy gun. The man was behind them with a knife. Smart tactics. It made it impossible to look at both of them at the same time and ensured they wouldn’t get caught in their own crossfire. If Shepherd was with a partner they would automatically take one each, but he wasn’t. He was with an astronomer and a cop who had just given him his gun because he couldn’t shoot straight. He felt it now, pressing into the small of his back, hidden by his jacket.
“I don’t have a gun,” he gambled. “They don’t let you take them on international flights.”
The woman pointed her gun at Arkadian. “Nice and slow, mister policeman, take it out by the barrel then slide it over.”
“I don’t have a gun either,” Arkadian replied.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Not really.” His movement took everyone by surprise. He darted right, drawing the woman’s gun away from the rest of the group as he reached into his jacket.
Shepherd reacted too, only one thought filling his brain as he pulled the gun free from his belt.
A man is holding a knife to my daughter’s throat.
He saw Hevva’s terrified face pass through his sights as they settled center mass on the man. A gunshot boomed behind him but he stayed focused. The man started lifting Hevva up to use her as a shield.
Shepherd adjusted. Squeezed the trigger.
The man jerked backward as the bullet hit him and Hevva dropped to the floor. Every instinct made Shepherd want to run to her but his training stopped him.
A gun had been fired behind him.
He corkscrewed around, dropping down to make himself a smaller target. The woman was in a good two-handed stance, professional and well drilled, her gun turning toward him, no chance of missing at this range and almost ready to fire. He willed his gun around faster, knowing it wasn’t going to happen.
Scalding liquid hit her face and her head jerked away, pulling her aim wide. Shepherd’s gun sight settled on her tiny frame just as she was pulling her gun back toward him. The impact of the bullet threw her backward against the open door, knocking the gun from her hand and out of the door.
He looked across and saw Kinderman holding the empty glass that had contained the mint tea. Arkadian was down, sprawled on the floor and not moving. Shepherd knew he should check to see that the shooter was down and her gun made safe. He should check on Arkadian to see if he was hit. He should do all of these things like he had been taught but instead he turned and sprinted over to Hevva.
She was sitting on the floor, bright blood running through the hand she was holding to her cheek.
She should have stayed in the car.
He should have made her stay in the car.
He fell to the floor beside her and took her face in his hands, feeling the wet warmth of her blood as he checked her over, terrified of what he might find. He almost laughed with relief when he saw that the knife had just nicked her ear.
The knife man was lying on the floor behind her in a spreading pool of his own blood. He was just about breathing but the wound was sucking and foaming. Lung shot. He was drowning in his own blood. A nasty way to go but Shepherd didn’t care. “I never knew dying would feel like this,” the man whispered as he stared up at the ceiling. “I never knew it would hurt so much.” Then the sucking sound stopped and he was still.
Shepherd bundled Hevva into his arms and carried her over to the others.