Topping the stairs, he saw several members of the Bible Code Team sitting on couches and peering quietly into the stormy darkness outside the windows. The boat lurched, throwing Leo back into the stairwell just as a strong hand attached to a muscled arm grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him up into the salon. It was Alon.
“You don’t want to hang around these stairwells too long when the boat’s moving like this, Cardinal.”
A rogue wave crashed against the side of the boat, causing everyone onboard to take a deep breath as the yacht tilted precariously before righting itself once again.
“Things should calm down a bit once we get closer to the Spanish coast,” Lev said, looking up from his laptop computer. “I just talked to Alex … he doesn’t expect this to last much longer.”
“That’s good,” John said, turning away from watching the rain smash against the windows in horizontal sheets. He slid down beside Ariella onto one of the two long white couches inside the main salon. Filled with priceless art, this exquisite space had inlaid blue marble floors and a white grand piano that was thankfully bolted to the floor.
Ariella patted John on the knee. “You look a little green, sweetheart.”
“How come I’m the only one on this boat who seems to be seasick?”
“Probably because you didn’t spend a whole lot of time on boats when you were growing up on a ranch in New Mexico.”
“What about Leo? He’s from Pennsylvania.”
“I have a special prayer for seasickness, John”
John closed his eyes and moaned. “I just hope this is the storm before the calm.”
Ariella smiled. “I think you got that backwards.”
“That was a joke, Ariella.” John sat up on the couch and held his hand to his mouth before bolting from the salon.
“Poor kid,” Alon said. “I’m afraid the only sure cure for seasickness is dry land. Speaking of dry land, I’d like to know what our plans are once we reach the coast.”
Lev looked up and closed the cover on his laptop. “Since we’ll be flying to the crash site in the yacht’s helicopter, we’re limited to four people. Leo and I will be going… and of course, Nava, our pilot. That leaves space for one more. I think that should be you, Alon. I understand that you’ve been to crash sites before.”
“You mean besides the one I was in last year?”
Lev smiled. “Yes. I was referring to your experiences in the military.”
Alon looked down at his reflection in the polished floor. As a former Israeli commando, he had witnessed several military aircraft crashes and been assigned to investigate two particularly suspicious crashes that had occurred along Israel’s border with Lebanon. Those crashes had not been accidents. He was haunted by the memories, not only because he had lost several good friends in some of those incidents, but also because the woman he loved was a career pilot who loved flying.
Another wave slammed against the side of the yacht.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Moshe said, still trying to take his first sip from a sloshing cup of coffee. The relentless march of towering ocean swells continued to pitch the boat up and down, forcing the old general to finally give up on his coffee and stare out into the uncertain blackness. Moshe didn’t like storms. He was also concerned by the fact that he would be in overall command while Lev was away from the yacht, and that if any problems with the Spanish authorities arose, he would be the one who would have to deal with them. “How long are you planning on being away from the boat, Lev?”
“Hopefully, we’ll only be gone a few hours. We don’t want this to be a long, drawn-out ordeal. Spanish bureaucracy can be a tedious process, and because our time is short, I don’t want to advertise our plans to them just yet. Most likely there will be a few snags when we try to land at the site, so we’ll just have to play it by ear and try to bluff our way in. The fact that we’ll have a Roman Catholic Cardinal onboard the helicopter will go a long way to keeping official interference to a minimum, especially since the crash involves a Vatican official in a country that’s predominately Catholic.”
Lev winked in Leo’s direction. “For now, I think we should try to get some rest before the Carmela arrives in port.” Lev closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, and to everyone’s amazement, he was snoring softly within seconds.
For the next several hours the others tried to catch quick cat-naps as the yacht slugged it out with the Mediterranean, until finally, the wind and rain stopped and the sea began to smooth just as the Carmela arrived at the entrance to the harbor at
Now fully awake, Leo and Lev climbed to the yacht’s landing pad behind the bridge, where they watched as the big blue and white yacht glided into the harbor and dropped anchor two-hundred yards from shore. Joined by Alon and Nava, they gulped down the last of their coffee as two crewmembers removed the waterproof tarp from the dark blue helicopter.
Climbing onboard behind Alon and Nava, each placed a pair of earphones over their ears. Leo could hear Nava verbally reading off the mandatory pre-flight checklist as a shrill whine overhead preceded the startup
Within minutes, the helicopter was rising above the Carmela’s deck and heading for a long crescent beach that separated the harbor from the rising green landscape. In the distance, they could see the jagged tops of the Pyrenees as Nava increased the angle of the blades and the chopper began to gain altitude.
From the back seat, Lev leaned forward and tapped Nava on the shoulder. “How far is it to the crash site?”
“About 40 miles from where we are now. We’re passing over the Catalonia region of Spain, just to the north of Figueres … Salvador Dali’s home town. The crash site is further inland on the side of a mountain ridge next to the small village of Setcases.”
“Any reports of the pathogen in this region?”
“I talked to Daniel before we took off. There’s been no report of any new outbreaks.”
“Keep monitoring the radio. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of our little viral friend soon.”
The snow-capped mountains of the Catalonian Pyrenees filled the chopper’s windshield as they flew over deep canyons still locked in early morning shadows. Below, they could see the headlights of cars making their way along the twisting roads, while wispy patches of dense fog concealed the tops of mountain foothills as the small helicopter passed overhead.
Leo peered into the cockpit over Nava’s shoulder at the rising needle on the altimeter. “I didn’t think this helicopter was designed for mountain flying. How much higher do we have to go?”
“Setcases is 1,200 meters above sea level.”
Leo quickly tried to make the mental conversion from metric to English units, but Nava beat him to it. “That’s around 4,000 feet, Cardinal. It’s well within our altitude range. Setcases is a beautiful village on the road that leads to Vallter 2000.”
“What’s a Vallter 2000?” Alon asked.
“A ski resort that opened back in 1997. I was there several years ago with a small group of IDF helicopter pilots. We spent a few weeks with the Spanish Air force in the Pyrenees learning the finer points of mountain flying. One weekend, we all decided to go hiking, so one of the Spanish instructors told us to check out Setcases. It’s a charming medieval mountain village with winding streets and houses made of stone. I’ll never forget the day we drove up there. The weather was beautiful and the sky was blue … the air was so clean you could practically taste the freshness. It was the kind of day that takes your breath away. We hiked across mountain streams over miles of rolling green hills until we exhausted ourselves and returned to the village for dinner. It’s one of those places where all your worries seem to disappear.”
In a rare public display of affection, Alon reached over and stroked the long black ponytail hanging from the back of Nava’s helmet. “Sounds idyllic. Too bad we can’t stay longer.”
Nava turned her head and fixed Alon with a stare known to men around the world. “Maybe we can make time when all of this is over.”
Guiding the chopper over a ridge, Nava pointed to a cluster of red-tiled roofs along a narrow road that led to the top of the mountain. Setcases literally meant “seven houses”. The village dated back to the 10th century, when seven houses were built by a father and his seven sons when they were stuck with their herds in the
