The Blood Gospel (Page 17)

“Research it,” Jordan ordered. He strode to stand behind Sanderson, as jazzed as if he’d downed a triple espresso.

Sanderson’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “On it.”

“What?” she asked. “What did I do?”

“Maybe solved part of my problem,” Jordan said. “Most mosquito repellents are around two chemical bonds away from nerve gas. The first nerve gas—”

The ground gave a violent shake. Erin’s chair rolled backward, threatening to topple. Jordan held it steady as the canvas lean-to swayed, and the metal of the scaffolding creaked in protest.

She tensed as if to jump out of her seat, but he pressed her back in place. “Safer if you ride the aftershock out here,” Jordan said.

He didn’t add that there was no safe place on the damaged plateau. It wouldn’t take much shaking to split the entire mesa in half. The shock died away. “All right, the time for window shopping is over.” He turned to Sanderson. “Are you sure there’s no active gas in that chamber?”

Sanderson bent over his console, and after a moment straightened. “None, sir. Not a single molecule.”

“Good. Fetch Cooper and McKay and alert Perlman. We gear up and head down in five.”

The doctor rose as if she expected to go, too. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to stay topside until we secure the chamber.”

She scowled. “You pulled me away from my site to come here. I’m not going to—”

“I’m responsible for the four soldiers in my unit. That responsibility isn’t one I take lightly, Dr. Granger. There is a probable source of deadly nerve gas down there. I will not have a civilian casualty on my conscience as well.”

“Back to ‘Dr. Granger,’ are we?” Her enunciation was suddenly precise. She reminded him of his mother. “What exactly were your standing orders regarding me, Sergeant Stone?”

“As I told you before, to ensure the integrity of the site.” He kept his tone even and polite. He didn’t have time to deal with an angry academic who wanted to hurl herself into danger.

“How can I ensure that integrity from up here?”

“You already said the only thing in there was a sarcophagus—”

“I said that’s all I could see from up here. But what about what’s inside the sarcophagus, Sergeant Stone?”

Her tone was a couple degrees frostier than a minute before. He rallied. “I don’t much care what’s inside it, Doctor. I—”

“You should care. Because it’s open.”

He stepped back in surprise. “What?”

She tapped the screen with her fingernail, showing a spot on the picture relayed by the ROV. “Right there. That’s the lid. On its side next to the sarcophagus. Someone must have broken the seal and lifted it off.”

He wished she hadn’t seen that. It made his life a lot more complicated.

She lowered her voice. “We have no idea what might be in there. The body of a Jewish king. An intact copy of the Torah. Masada is a treasured historical site to the Jewish people. If anything gets damaged …”

He opened his mouth to protest. Instead he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was right. The Israelis would have his head if his team made the slightest mistake. Damn it. “There might be intact canisters of gas down there. If so, they could get broken open by an aftershock at any time. And we end up like the people you saw outside.”

She blanched, then straightened her back. “I understand the consequences, Sergeant.”

He doubted that she did. “Have you rappelled before?”

“Of course,” she said. “More times than I can count.”

He held her gaze. “I’m assuming you can count higher than one?”

She grinned. “I can count higher than that. Maybe even to a hundred.”

He relaxed. At least getting her down there wouldn’t be a problem. “As of now, you are under my command. When I say ‘jump’—”

She put on a serious face. “I ask how high. I got it.”

He touched his earpiece. “Sanderson, get Dr. Granger suited up in a harness. She’s going in with us.”

6

October 26, 4:42 P.M., IST

Thirty miles from Masada, Israel

Bathory twitched the blackout curtains back into place, concealing the barren desert beyond the airport hangar, wondering if that would be the last she ever saw of the sun.

She took a moment to close her eyes, to center herself. She took a deep breath and pushed back the pain that continually ran through her blood, that dull ache, always there, never forgotten, a reminder of an oath she had taken when she was much younger. The pain marked her as steadfastly as the strangling black palm print tattooed upon her white throat; both had been born at the same time, binding a promise made in blood and sacrifice to serve Him.

Her fingers rose to her throat, to touch the source of pain and promise. It also served one other purpose: for protection. It marked her as one of His chosen, elevating her. None could touch her, and all obeyed her.

She forced her arm back down, knowing she must never show a shred of weakness, especially in front of the others.

She turned to face the cavernous dark hangar, lit dimly by pools of light from overhead fixtures in the steel rafters. Her team had already boarded the helicopter, waiting on her.

One of the flight crew clanged shut the rear cargo hatch. Something bumped hard against that closing door, knocking the man back a step, leaving him visibly shaken before he got the latch closed.

She allowed a small smile, reassured. The black mark on her throat was not her only protection.

Hush, she sent forth to that rear hold, you’ll be free soon enough.

The message was not words, but a casting out of warmth and comfort.

She felt an echo back: satisfaction, hunger, and a deep well of love.

Basking in that glow, she adjusted the Kevlar and leather that hugged her form, secured the holstered Sig Sauer in its shoulder harness, and headed across the wide hangar to join her team aboard the helicopter. The chopper’s engines were already whining up for liftoff, the noise deafening in the enclosed space.

Ducking under the whirling blades, she climbed into the cabin of the specially designed Eurocopter Panther and slammed the door closed behind her. Inside, it was dark and cool, insulated and whisper-quiet. The medium-size craft would carry ten passengers, along with the additional six hundred pounds of payload secured in the rear hold.