cave entrance. Garrett fired again, and Locke fell to his knees.
Locke turned and tossed something in Garrett’s direction. It rolled toward him like a grenade.
“Take it!” Locke said. “Just let us go!”
As it rolled closer, Garrett saw the amber hue, dazzling in the backdrop of sunlight. He knelt to pick up the amulet and stuffed it in his pocket.
Locke left his pack behind and got up, desperately trying to make it outside.
Garrett shook his head and reloaded a fresh magazine. Unarmed and injured, Locke must have thought giving him the amulet was a worthy last resort. Garrett casually walked toward the cave entrance, the machine gun trained on Locke, who was limping wretchedly. Garrett’s head throbbed, but he felt elated. This was going to be too easy.
“You can never defeat me, Tyler,” Garrett gloated.
Locke stopped just outside the cave entrance and turned. He was now bathed in the midday sun. And for some reason, he had a smile on his face. Garrett shook his head again.
Locke was delusional.
Garrett’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Locke knew he might die right here, but at least he got to see that Sebastian Garrett’s golden-boy face was now a mess of blood and broken bones.
Garrett was halfway down the cave, his machine gun aiming right at Locke, his smug grin telling Locke everything he needed to know. Garrett hadn’t seen what Locke left inside the cave.
“I tried to get you to think about all the angles,” Locke said.
“I did,” Garrett said. “You lose. Again.”
Locke shook his head. “I win,” Locke said and pulled the trigger on the RCV controller.
The remote-controlled vehicle he had placed when he pretended to fall was pointed straight at the crusty box of sweating dynamite. It whirred to life, and Garrett glanced down as the vehicle accelerated past his feet. Then his head turned, and he saw the corroded boxes. Locke was sure Cutter told Garrett how delicate the explosives inside them were. So sensitive that getting hit by a five-pound toy traveling 40 miles an hour would detonate them.
Locke saw the revelation dawning on Garrett’s face a fraction too late to stop the RCV. Locke propelled himself to the side with his good leg just as Garrett squeezed the trigger on the submachine gun. Bullets coursed through the air where Locke’s head had just been.
As he hit the ground, the RC vehicle hit the box of dynamite and the cave exploded. Locke used his momentum to roll against the cliff face. He covered his head and felt the fireball fly by him, singeing his clothes.
The roof of the cave collapsed, snuffing the explosion and sending out huge volumes of dust. He looked up Mt. Ararat, expecting an avalanche. A few rocks bounced down, but that was it.
Locke sat up and put his back against the cliff.
Grant and Dilara emerged from their refuge behind a rock. Both of them hobbled over and sank to the ground next to him. Their clothes were battered and ripped, they were covered in dust and grime, and spots of blood were everywhere. Locke was sure he was even worse. He felt as bad as each of them looked. They were going to get that nice clean helicopter very dirty, and Locke couldn’t care less.
“If this is your idea of archaeology,” Dilara said, “you are never going on a dig with me again.”
“I promise,” Locke said. “Right now, I’m thinking more about finding a hotel with room service.
“All I want,” Grant said, “is a warm, comfy bed and about 20 milligrams of morphine.”
“Garrett’s dead?” Dilara asked.
Locke nodded. “He’s in that cave. Blown to bits and buried with the Ark.”
“And the amulet?”
“Incinerated in the blast. It’s gone.”
“Good, because the Ark will be excavated some day. I guarantee that.” She took her camera out. “The archaeological community can’t ignore this.”
“You, my friend, got away with something in there,” Grant said. “I saw the night vision goggles Cutter had. I’m sure Garrett had the same thing. He could have used them at any time.”
“What do you mean?” Dilara said.
“Those were Gen-Three goggles,” Locke said. “Very powerful. They amplify light 50,000 times. Garrett could have simply turned on his flashlight and tossed it away. The light from it would have been enough for him to use the goggles and hunt me down. But I took the chance that he’d panic and wouldn’t want to part with his only flashlight. That’s why I blew up the crevice entrance and blocked the light coming through.”
“What if he had gone to the cave’s exit door and opened it?” Dilara asked.
“He didn’t know about it.”
“How could you be sure?”
“Just a guess. Even though Sebastian Garrett was extremely intelligent, he had one big flaw.”
“What’s that?”
Locke smiled. “He wasn’t an engineer.”
SEVENTY-TWO
Locke stood on the balcony of his room in the Istanbul Four Seasons and drained the last of his morning coffee. Rain clouds loomed over the minarets of the Hagia Sophia, but he could see blue sky in the distance. The sun should come out just in time for his walk with Dilara.
He set the cup down and walked back inside, his leg protesting each step. The doctor said it would ache for another few weeks, but he didn’t need a cane. The bullet wound had been painful, but not serious.
Locke didn’t bother to turn on the television. He knew what would be on the news. It had been three days since they escaped from Noah’s Ark, and the world was just starting to become aware of the discovery of the map in Khor Virap. The implication that it could lead to unearthing Noah’s Ark had the media in a frenzy. Locke had been able to keep out of the limelight and let Dilara and her father take all of the credit.
Still, his role gave them some perks. After they’d found the mercenaries’ radios, they had the helicopter take them back to Van, where they were all treated for their injuries. Of course, the three dead bodies had raised lots of questions with the Turkish authorities, but Sherman Locke’s pull with his political allies in Washington combined with the evidence on Dilara’s camera convinced the Turks that the questions could be answered later, as long as they all stayed in the country for a few days.
The blood loss from Grant’s knife injury required a few nights’ stay in Istanbul’s finest hospital, where he underwent surgery on his torn shoulder muscle. His recuperation would take longer than Locke’s, but he was expected to make a full recovery. Locke and Dilara would check him out of the hospital later that morning, but they had one thing to do first.
“Ready?” Locke said.
Dilara sat at a table gazing at a small urn. It held Hasad Arvadi’s cremated remains. After the autopsy in Yerevan, the police in Armenia had expedited the paperwork and shipped his body back to Turkey. Dilara elected not to have a memorial service. Most of Arvadi’s friends and colleagues were in America, and it had been Arvadi’s wish for his native Turkey to be his final resting place.
“Dilara?”
She nodded and wiped her face. She lovingly cradled the urn in her arm. “Yes. Let’s go.”
They exited the hotel and began the short walk to the Kennedy Caddesi. They strolled slowly. Locke sensed that Dilara wanted to take her time. She finally broke the silence.
“I wish he could have seen it. He was so close.”
“I think he’d be glad you found it,” Locke said. “And he’d like that you’re dropping Kenner and going back to Arvadi.”
“It’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
