Jordan had been kicking the ball around the courtyard in front of Temple Church with three other boys, fresh out of school, when two bobbies shooed them away. It had taken him less than a minute to circle the buildings. When he returned, the cops were gone. So now he stood on the east end of the court, where he could see the front of the Master’s house-only the front, but he’d decided that’s where Creed would show up-and juggled the soccer ball with his knees. His stomach growled. He was out of candy and energy bars, and he wondered if it would be so terrible for him to slip away for twenty minutes to grab some food. Just the thought of a basket of fish and chips made his stomach noisy again.
No, no, I can’t. The Tribe’s depending on me.
Maybe he could pay a kid to get something for him, tell him his mum said he couldn’t leave the courtyard. But no local lads were there now, just a few tourists and businesspeople hurrying past.
Okay, think of something else, take your mind off your stomach.
He started counting the number of times the ball shot up from his knee without going astray. But he’d practiced so long he could do it in his sleep. It was instinctive, thoughtless, no distraction at all.
He kicked the ball as high as the church’s window tops, and a tingling shot up his spine. He froze, wondering what crazy thing his body was up to. Then he remembered that he’d taken the satellite phone out of his shirt and shoved it into his waistband at the small of his back so he could kick the ball around. It’d been there so long, he’d forgotten about its bulk and how it pulled his belt too tight in front. The ball hit the stone ground and bounced away as he struggled to get the phone out.
“Hello?”
“Creed’s in Egypt,” Ben said. “Toby spotted him.”
“Awwww.”
“He could have gone anywhere, Jordan. We needed the Temple covered. Good job.”
It would have been a better job if he’ d gotten Creed. “Okay.”
“Sebastian’s already booked your charter,” Ben said. “A car will pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
“Can I get some food?”
“Sure. We won’t be here when you get home.”
“I want to go with you.” He almost whined it and mentally kicked himself for doing so.
“We can’t wait for you.”
“Can I go straight to Egypt? Hello?”
Ben had hung up.
Elias rages through the streets, following the other men, all of them roaring. Their fury has less to do with their enemy’s ageless enmity than with its being the only way they can get through what they have to do. Each of them is allowing the high emotion of war to swallow him, dulling all other feelings, severing all other thought. Countless men sweep over these perimeter dwellings like wildfire, spreading, growing, consuming. The soldier directly ahead swings toward a wooden door and, without pausing, kicks it open and rushes in.
In the street ahead of him, one of their own-Bale-grabs a woman by the throat and raises his blade. He turns a wicked grin toward Elias and laughs. He enjoys this, Elias thinks, his already sour stomach roiling with new distaste.
Elias runs past as screams rise up behind him. The next door is his. He arcs toward the center of the dirt street, then swoops into the door. His shoulder blasts it open, and he’s in. A man bellows obscenities and charges him, swinging a blade. Elias raises his forearm, and the blade sparks against the metal strapped to it. He decapitates the man with a single swing of his sword. He spins toward the sound of crying. A family cowers in the corner-a woman, two children, eyes huge and streaming. He hikes his sword over his shoulder and rushes toward them. The children first, he thinks, end it for them. His sword slices through the air.
Elias startled awake so violently, his foot struck the table, sending the Bible and lighter into the airplane cabin’s center aisle. A chirp sounded, but it hit his ears without sparking a thought. He hunched over and buried his face in his palms, pressing his fingers into his eyes. The chirp again, and this time he recognized it. He groaned and leaned across the aisle to grab his duffel bag. He shifted it to the table, pulled out the satellite phone, pushed a button. He took a deep breath before raising it to his ear.
Ben was already talking: “-my first call?”
“What?” Elias’s voice was gravelly and slurred by the remnants of sleep. “Say that again.”
“I asked why you didn’t answer my first call.”
“I was asleep.” Sunlight filled the cabin, and he leaned his face toward the window, blinking against the brightness. Clouds stretched out below him like the snowy plains of Antarctica.
“Where are you?” Ben said.
“Hold on.” Elias placed the phone on the table. A burled walnut ledge ran the length of each side wall of the cabin, into which the designers had crafted glass holders, ashtrays, and various controls. He poked a finger into one of the ashtrays, found two inches of a burnt cigarette, and put it into his mouth. He stood, then stooped to retrieve the Bible and lighter. Once he got the cig smoking, he sat again and examined a panel of buttons set into the ledge. He jabbed one, and a large plasma television at the front of the cabin came to life, showing a map and a little airplane icon. He grabbed the phone. “Almost there. We just passed New Delhi.”
“Toby located Creed,” Ben said.
“So, Horeb?”
“He’s at the monastery. Nevaeh, Phin, and I are heading there now.” In the background Elias heard Hannah or whatever she was calling herself these days. Ben said, “We’re taking Alexa. Sebastian will keep making arrangements for us from here.”
Jutting from the duffel, the handle of the falcata caught his eye. It was the same sword Elias had used in the dream. He turned his gaze to the dwindling cig, watched it burn for a moment. “I’ll meet you in Egypt.”
“No, we’ve got it covered.”
“Ben…” Elias pinched the bridge of his nose. “What about the Haven? If Creed’s holed up there-”
“We have to do this, Elias. We’ll make amends later.”
No, we won’t, Elias thought. Once they breached the sanctity of a Haven, there was no going back. No place would ever offer any of them sanctuary again.
When he didn’t say anything, Ben said, “Creed brought this on himself. This is the end for somebody, us or him.”
Maybe it should be us this time, Elias thought. Just let it happen. But that went against everything they believed in. Go down fighting: it wasn’t just machismo or stubbornness; it was a mandate that bore eternal consequences.
“You’re the boss,” he said. “Happy hunting.” He disconnected and pushed another button on the console.
“Yes, sir?” the pilot said through a speaker over Elias’s head.
“Turn this bird around. We’re going home.”
[32]
Jagger worked his tired legs, cursing the loose gravel under his feet. Away from the two paths that led from St. Catherine’s to the peak, Mount Sinai’s rocky, steep incline was grueling in the best of places. The gravel made it a Sisyphean challenge: every step forward resulted in a backward slide that reclaimed at least half his progress. He stopped and squinted up at the outcropping ahead of him, atop of which the teen had surveilled the excavation and St. Cath’s. From the front there was no obvious way to reach the spot without climbing equipment. He assumed the backside offered easier access.
He started up again, heading for a fissure between the target outcropping and another to its left. When he reached it, he took a minute to catch his breath, then stepped through the fissure and onto a flat area. In special ops fashion, his mind instantly analyzed it: the ground here was hard, granite with a dusting of sand-not enough to capture footprints. It was protected partly by mountain cliffs and partly by the large, jutting outcroppings. These
