The First Apostle

ready,” he ordered.

Bronson grabbed the two booklike objects and the scroll, and backed away hurriedly. At the entrance, he passed them to Angela, then wriggled out as quickly as he could. As he emerged into the daylight, he could see the helicopter flaring as it prepared to land about fifty yards away.

“Get in the car,” he yelled.

They ran across to the Toyota and climbed inside. Angela reached over to the backseat, grabbed a towel she’d brought along and carefully wrapped the relics in it, then put the bundle in the glove box in front of her. Bronson started the engine, slammed the gear lever into first and powered the big vehicle across the plateau and away from the cave.

“For Christ’s sake, land this thing,” Mandino shouted, as he watched the Toyota roar away from the rock face.

He wasn’t worried that Bronson had already driven off—he knew that the paved road was more than a mile away and that the chopper could easily catch up with the fleeing vehicle long before it got there. His first priority was to see what the Englishman had found.

“I can’t,” the pilot said. “The ground’s so uneven I can’t risk putting it down. There are rocks everywhere. The best I can do is bring it to a low hover so you and your men can jump out.”

“Don’t explain it to me, you idiot! Just do it.”

The pilot lowered the collective lever until the right-hand skid touched the ground, then kept the aircraft level in a hover.

Mandino ripped off his headset and climbed out, followed by Rogan and the two picciotti. The four men ran across to the exposed cave entrance.

“ ‘Hic Vanidici Latitant,’ ” Mandino said, staring at the three letters carved above the mouth of the chamber. If they’d frightened Bronson off before he’d managed to search the cave thoroughly, that would be the end of the matter. If the Englishman had taken anything away from the site, they’d have to stop him. And they’d have to do it before he got off the hillside. “You,” he ordered, pointing at the smaller of his two men, “get inside and find out what’s in there.”

Obediently, the man stripped off his jacket and shoulder holster. Rogan handed him a flashlight, and he wriggled inside the cave.

Less than thirty seconds later, his head popped out again.

“There are only two skeletons in here,” he called out. “Very old.”

“Forget them,” Mandino ordered. “I know all about them. What you’re looking for are books or scrolls, anything like that.”

The man vanished back inside the cave, but reappeared after a few minutes.

“There’s nothing like that in there,” he said, “but in the far corner there’s a kind of stone box, just a hollowed-out rock with another flat stone used as a lid. It’s empty, and there’re some marks in the dust inside it. I think there was definitely something in it, but it’s been taken out.”

Mandino cursed. “Right, back to the chopper,” he ordered. “We’ve got to stop Bronson, no matter what it takes.”

24

Angela was strapped in tight, but had turned around in her seat to check behind them.

“Any sign of them?” Bronson yelled, over the roar of the engine and the crashing of the suspension as the Toyota bounced over the rutted and uneven ground.

“Nothing yet,” she shouted back. “How far to the main road?”

“Too bloody far. That chopper’ll overtake us any time now.”

The helicopter lifted off the moment the four men belted themselves in, and turned immediately to the west, heading toward the edge of the plateau and the route Mandino knew Bronson must have taken to get back to the main road.

He turned around in his seat. “We must stop them before they reach the road,” he said, and pointed to the man sitting beside Rogan. “You’re the best shot. When we get in front of them, use your Kalashnikov, and try to disable the jeep. Aim for the tires and the engine if you can. If it won’t stop, then hit the cab, but I’d prefer the two of them alive if possible.”

The man took his AK-47 assault rifle, removed the curved magazine and cleared the round from the breech. He checked that the cartridges were loaded properly, slammed the magazine back home and cocked the weapon.

“I’m ready,” he said.

The other man reached over, slid the side door of the helicopter backward and locked it in the open position.

In the front seat, Mandino leaned forward, searching the terrain below the helicopter for the fleeing off-road vehicle. Then he pointed ahead, at a plume of dust rising from the rough and barely visible track that snaked down the side of the hill in front of them.

“There it is,” he yelled.

The pilot nodded, pitched the nose of the helicopter farther down and accelerated, heading toward a point lower on the hillside.

Bronson was driving harder than he’d ever done in his life. He had no doubt who was in the helicopter. And he was equally certain exactly what would happen to them if they didn’t get away.

Angela grabbed at Bronson’s arm and pointed out to the left, where the helicopter was passing alongside, about fifty yards away at low level, effortlessly overtaking them.

“There it is,” she shouted.

Bronson took his eyes off the road for a bare second. The chopper was close enough for him to see that one of the men was holding an assault rifle.

“Shit, they’ve got a Kalashnikov,” he yelled. “Hold on tight.”

The helicopter descended in front of them, dropping out of sight behind a clump of trees.

“Are they landing?” Angela asked, frantically.

“Probably not. The pilot will try to position the chopper to block the track down to the road, so that the man with the Kalashnikov can shoot out our engine.”

“So what can we do?”

Bronson slammed the brakes hard, then swung the wheel to the left. “We get off the track,” he said.

He steered the vehicle well away from the rutted pathway, picking the best route he could between the trees and bushes, all the time keeping the jeep heading down the hill toward the road.

Bronson’s guess had been right. The helicopter pilot had dropped the aircraft down almost to the ground, and it was straddling the track, its right side and the open door facing up the hill, the man with the Kalashnikov watching for his target.

But after a couple of minutes the Toyota still hadn’t appeared.

“He must have turned off the track,” Mandino said. “Lift off again and find him.

This time don’t lose sight of him when you descend.”

In a few seconds the pilot spotted the jeep again. The Toyota was following an erratic and unpredictable course down the hill. The vehicle was swerving from side to side as Bronson drove around trees and other obstacles on the hillside.

“Drop down over there,” Mandino ordered, pointing toward the base of the hill, where trees grew thickly and the track snaked through a gap between them. Bronson would have to drive through there if he was to get down to the road.

“Do you want me to land?” the pilot asked.

“No. Just get into a low hover and stabilize the aircraft. My man will need a steady platform to give him the best chance of hitting the target.”

As the Toyota careered down the hill toward them, the helicopter swooped down.

The Toyota was less than a hundred yards away when the man with the Kalashnikov began to fire single shots.

“Showtime,” Bronson muttered as he saw the muzzle flashes. He swerved the Toyota even more violently to make it as difficult a target as possible. Then he took his hand off the steering wheel just long enough to pass