Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

Hummer. She ripped out the windscreen wipers and stuck them into the pipe, draping them with the shirt to make an improvised umbrella.

She then went back to the track the Hummer had left. Unfortunately, when Harel had asked her to swear to return to Aqaba, she didn’t know about the stray bullet that had destroyed the front tyre because she had had her back to the vehicle. Even if Andrea had wanted to keep her promise, which was not the case, it would have been impossible for her to change the tyre on her own. As much as she looked she couldn’t find the jack. On that kind of rocky road the vehicle would not have been able to go a hundred feet without a functioning front wheel.

Andrea looked to the west, where she could see the faint line of the main road snaking in and out of the dunes.

Ninety-five miles to Aqaba in the noonday sun, almost sixty to the main road. That’s at least several days’ walking in 100-degree heat, hoping I’ll find someone, and I don’t even have enough water to last me six hours. And that’s assuming I don’t get lost trying to find an almost invisible road, or that those sons of bitches haven’t already taken the Ark and come across me on their way out of here.

She looked to the east, where the Hummer’s tracks were still fresh.

Eight miles in that direction were vehicles, water and the scoop of the century, she thought as she started to walk. Not to mention a whole crowd of people who want me dead. The upside? I still have a chance to get my disk back and help the priest. I have no clue how, but I’ll give it a shot.

81

RELICS CRYPT

VATICAN CITY

Thirteen days earlier

‘Do you want some ice for that hand?’ Cirin asked. Fowler took a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to bandage his knuckles, which were bleeding from several cuts. Avoiding Brother Cesareo, who was still trying to repair the niche that he had destroyed with his fists, Fowler approached the Chief of the Holy Alliance.

‘What is it you want from me, Camilo?’

‘I want you to bring it back, Anthony. If it truly exists, the place for the Ark is here, in a reinforced room one hundred and fifty feet under the Vatican. Now isn’t the time for it to go floating around the world in the wrong hands. Let alone for the world to know of its existence.’

Fowler gritted his teeth at the arrogance of Cirin and whoever it was above him, maybe even the Pope himself, who felt they could decide the fate of the Ark. What Cirin was asking of him was much more than a simple mission; it weighed like a tombstone over his whole life. The risks were incalculable.

‘We will keep it,’ Cirin insisted. ‘We know how to wait.’

Fowler nodded.

He’d go to Jordan.

But he too was capable of making his own decisions.

82

THE EXCAVATION

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Thursday, 20 July 2006. 9:23 a.m.

‘Wake up, Padre.’

Fowler came to slowly, not knowing exactly where he was. He only knew that his whole body hurt. He was unable to move his arms because they were handcuffed above his head. The cuffs were somehow pinned to the wall of the canyon.

When he opened his eyes he verified this, as well as the identity of the person who had been trying to wake him up. Torres was standing in front of him.

A big smile.

‘I know you understand me,’ said the soldier in Spanish. ‘I prefer to talk in my own language. I can handle the subtle details much better that way.’

‘There’s nothing subtle about you,’ said the priest in Spanish.

‘You’re wrong, Padre. On the contrary, one of the things that made me famous in Colombia was the way I’ve always used nature to help me. I have small friends who do my work for me.’

‘So you’re the one who put the scorpions in Ms Otero’s sleeping bag,’ Fowler said, trying to pull the handcuffs loose without Torres noticing. It was useless. They were fastened to the canyon wall with a steel nail that had been driven into the rock.

‘I appreciate your efforts, Padre. But no matter how hard you pull, those handcuffs are not going to move,’ said Torres. ‘But you’re right. I wanted to get your little Spanish bitch. It didn’t work. So now I have to wait for our friend Alryk. I think he’s abandoned us. He must be enjoying himself with your two whore friends. I hope he screws them both before he blows their heads off. Blood is so difficult to wash off your uniform.’

Fowler yanked at the cuffs, blind with anger and unable to control himself.

‘Come here, Torres. You come here!’

‘Hey, hey! What’s up?’ said Torres, enjoying the fury on Fowler’s face. ‘I like seeing you pissed off. My little friends are going to love this.’

The priest looked in the direction Torres was pointing. Not far from Fowler’s feet was a mound on the sand with a few red forms moving about on top of it.

‘Solenopsis catusianis. I don’t really know any Latin, but I do know that these ants are fucking serious, Padre. I was very lucky to find one of their hills so close by. I love to watch them work and I haven’t seen them do their thing for a while…’

Torres squatted down and picked up a rock. He stood up, played with the rock for a few moments, then stepped back a few paces.

‘But today it looks as if they’re going to work extra hard, Padre. My little friends have teeth like you wouldn’t believe. But that’s not all. The best part is when they stick their stinger into you and inject the poison. Here, let me show you.’

He brought back his arm and lifted his knee like a baseball pitcher, then hurled the rock. It hit the mound, destroying the top of it.

It was as if a red fury had come alive on the sand. The ants swarmed out of the nest in their hundreds. Torres stepped back a little further and threw another rock, this time in an arc so that it landed halfway between Fowler and the nest. The red mass was still for a moment and then charged at the rock, making it disappear beneath its anger.