Camel lined the runners in the scope’s crosshairs - all scrambling for cover. He opened fire at 3,000 rounds per minute, effortlessly cutting down the combatants and sending bodies tumbling off into the ravine. He even managed to strafe a trio attempting to climb over the foothill. In one sweep, he guessed that half of the fifteen surviving Arabs had been taken out.
Meat pulled up and banked out over the plain again.
‘One more pass … then the marines are on their own,’ Jason said.
The Blackhawk’s final sweep eliminated all but three Arabs, whose focus had turned from attack to retreat.
‘Shit, Camel,’ Meat said, impressed. ‘That was some nice shooting.’
‘He’s the goddamn Terminator!’ Jam said.
As the chopper pulled away, Jason was fixated on the roadway, which in less than five minutes had been transformed into a living nightmare of carnage and fire. His nerves were buzzing with adrenaline, fingers trembling. Though he feared the emotional swirl of satisfaction, euphoria and indifference that this perfect devastation evoked, he allowed himself to embrace the primal urge awakened deep in his core - the lust for vengeance; the driving force that pushed otherwise rational men to commit unspeakable acts to exact justice. That’s for Matthew. Burn in Hell … all of you
But the vendetta was far from complete.
‘Now let’s get Al-Zahrani back,’ Jason said.
54
LAS VEGAS
If there was an economic slowdown in Las Vegas, it certainly wasn’t evident at the bustling work site of Our Savior in Christ Cathedral, Flaherty thought. An armada of construction vehicles commandeered the sprawling parking lot - cement mixers, flatbeds piled with steel framing and massive cable reels, and HVAC vans. Throughout the lot, building materials were organized into sectors: rows upon rows of tinted-glass panels; mountains of honey-coloured marble floor tiles; hundreds of porcelain restroom fixtures sorted by colour. And stacked three-high were clusters of shipping containers bearing various import seals.
Flaherty steered the rental car around dozens of pallets stacked with pale limestone blocks. The clear plastic wrappings were stamped: ‘AUTHENTIC JERUSALEM STONE, INC.’. A forklift had just removed a batch and was heading to the building’s south side where a huge glass-domed amphitheatre abutted the mountainside.
Near the cathedral’s main entrance, he parked in a designated visitors’ lot.
‘You think it’s smart to just barge in there?’ Brooke said, peering out at the building. ‘Shouldn’t the police be here or something?’
‘This place has a lot of windows. The pastor might make a break for it the second he spots a police car.’
‘So how do you propose we handle this?’
‘I propose we get married,’ he said, deadly serious.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Just follow my lead and you’ll get the idea,’ he replied coolly.
He turned off the car, pocketed the keys and opened his door. ‘Let me come around and get you.’
Baffled, Brooke waited for him to circle to her door. He opened it and proffered a hand. ‘Come, darling. I think you’ll love this church. I hear the wedding ceremony is breathtaking.’
Then she caught on to the ruse. ‘Ah, very clever. We’re posing as customers. I like it.’
‘Works in the movies,’ he said with a shrug.
When Brooke clasped his hand, he noted her gold Irish Claddagh ring - two hands clasping a heart and surmounted by a crown. It could easily pass as an engagement ring … If she wore it differently.
‘First, let’s fix this,’ he said. Keeping her hand out of view, he pointed at her ring, explaining: ‘This says you’re romantically available. Not good for our charade. May I?’ he said, pinching the ring with his fingers.
‘Of course.’
He pulled the ring off her finger and slid it back on with the heart facing outwards. ‘There we go. Now
He turned and pushed her door shut. Unexpectedly, he felt Brooke’s arm hook him around the waist.
Peering at him with doting eyes, she said, ‘Let’s make it look genuine, shall we?’ She leaned in and passionately kissed him on the lips. ‘Just in case anyone’s watching. How’s that?’
For a moment, he revelled in the magic of a first kiss. ‘Good,’ he replied finally, trying like hell to pass it off as meaningless. He cleared his throat. ‘Very authentic.’
She threaded her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yeah. Of course.’
Flaherty locked the car, and they set off for the main entrance. ‘Is this guy Stokes for real?’ he said, trying to take in the sheer scale of the church, its opulence. ‘Look at this place. Talk about excess.’
‘This place makes the Crystal Cathedral look like a tool shed,’ she said. A massive shallow glass dome was central to the building’s architecture, and Brooke was sure it covered the building’s nave. ‘Looks to me like his architect borrowed this design from Hagia Sophia in Istanbul.’
‘Isn’t Hagia Sophia a mosque?’
‘The Ottomans converted it into a mosque in the fifteenth century, added minarets and other Islamic touches. But it was originally a Christian basilica built by Emperor Justinian I in the sixth century.’
He gave her a how-in-God’s-name-do-you-know-this-stuff look. ‘The same Justinian that tried to reunite the Holy Roman Empire but was stopped by the bubonic plague, right?’
‘That’s the guy.’
They approached the bank of entrance doors, set beneath a soaring archway. Above the doors, Flaherty eyed a massive bronze placard shaped to resemble an unfurled scroll. The incised gospel excerpt read:
‘COME, FOLLOW ME,’ JESUS SAID, ‘AND I WILL MAKE YOU FISHERS OF MEN.’
Flaherty shook his head. ‘All this place is missing is the slot machines and swim-up bar.’
‘Don’t be too hasty,’ Brooke said. ‘We haven’t seen the inside yet.’
55
Randall Stokes’s mind was in a fog as he listened to Crawford’s painful account of a siege staged against the encampment by Al-Zahrani’s supporters. The death toll among the platoon was remarkable, given the fact that the militants who’d come for Al-Zahrani had only guns and RPGs. However, Crawford insisted that the squads assigned to clearing the cave were late to respond to the attack. Had the contract soldiers not commandeered the unit’s Blackhawk and staged a potent counter-attack, Crawford conceded, the entire mission might well have been jeopardized.
Stokes squeezed the phone’s receiver. ‘And where is Al-Zahrani now?’
‘I had him moved, just like you wanted. Problem is I don’t think he’ll make it.’ His next words were tinged with dissension. ‘This isn’t good, Randall. You should have waited to—’
‘Let’s not play the blame game,’ Stokes warned, his voice hoarse. A coughing fit came over him and he held the phone aside until it subsided. During the past three hours, his breathing had become progressively strained and gritty. It felt like his chest had been filled with pebbles.
‘You sound like shit,’ Crawford said.
‘Don’t worry about me. Just don’t make the same mistake as Frank. Don’t lose your backbone. Hear me? We stick to the plan.’
‘Wait … what about Roselli? Did he get cold feet?’
‘You could say that.’ Out the window, he noticed a silver sports sedan winding its way through the parking lot.
‘This plan of yours has gone to shit!’ Crawford blasted. ‘How am I supposed to explain this grand fuckup to the major general? I’m calling for backup.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Stokes said, his tone grave. Another coughing fit came over him, more intense this time. He snatched the square-folded handkerchief from his suit jacket’s breast pocket and held it over his mouth.
