The Samson Effect: A Novel, page 13
Arnold turned toward the door. “Let’s move to the kitchen, where we’ll have more room.”
A few moments later, the two men sat at the table with the binder open. Thomas immediately recognized the photocopied cover on the first page as the issue of The Journal of Biblical Archaeology in which he and Ellen had copublished an article.
Arnold flipped through a few pages of handwritten notes until he came to Thomas’s article. The title blazed across the top of the page in block letters: “Mental Illnesses and the Old Testament Characters.”
Thomas pulled the binder to himself. “Ah yes, it received mediocre interest.”
“Oh, not by me, Dr. Hamilton. Based on what you wrote and what I read in the rabbi’s journal, I formed a supposition that linked the Samson Effect to the behavior exhibited by those great men in the Old Testament.”
“You mean to tell me you believe all the great men in the Old Testament used the Samson Effect, and it was responsible for their mental illnesses?”
“Yes. Well, not all the men, of course. The notebook claimed Moses was the first to be given the Samson Effect. Last year, I was casually discussing your article with Benjamin over dinner one night, and eventually we both realized the other knew of the Samson Effect. He’s continually pressed me to reveal my sources; but because of my word to the rabbi over forty years ago, I could not.”
“Then why tell me?”
The glint faded from Arnold’s eyes. “Because my friend was killed yesterday, and I’m worried sick the secret will fall into the wrong hands.”
Thomas intuitively knew Arnold was speaking of Azim. “But you said the Samson Effect wasn’t lost; your friend had possession of it. Everyone I’m aware of who knows about it assumes it’s lost and is looking for it.”
“But it is lost. My friend was the protector of the secret and of the very small sample that has been guarded by centuries of protectors.” Arnold sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his belly. “Did you, by chance, hear about the incident in Hebron where a Jew reportedly bent the barrel of a gun barehanded?”
“Ambassador Ben Hur mentioned something to me about it last night.”
Well, last night I figured out the man was my friend’s student. Now he’s the new Protector.”
“How did you learn all this?”
“Because two of his students came to me last night. They knew their teacher and I were friends, and they needed a place to stay for a couple of weeks. They told me about the rabbi’s death, and Benjamin told me about the man who bent the gun. From that, it was easy to figure out the rest.”
This was as close to the ancient secret as Thomas had ever been. His muscles tensed as he realized he was about to take a giant leap forward toward the object of his two-year quest. “Where are they? May I talk with them?”
“They’re at the Wailing Wall. They should be back soon. But, Dr. Hamilton, we dare not admit knowledge of the secret to them.”
Thomas leaped to his feet. “Why not? Together, we can find the Samson Effect before Azim does.” He shuddered at the thought of that madman finding it first.
“We can’t. They have no idea about the details of the Samson Effect; only the protectors have the full knowledge. Neither do they know me like the rabbi did. They’re serious about their responsibility, and they wouldn’t hesitate to kill either one of us if they felt we were a threat to their duty.”
Thomas dropped into the chair. “Then I’m back to square one. It seems every time the Samson Effect is within reach, someone picks it up and moves it further from my grasp.”
“Patience, Dr. Hamilton. If the Lord has meant for you to find it after it’s been lost for three thousand years, you’ll find it. If not, then there’s nothing you can do.”
Thomas held his tongue, not wanting to offend the pastor. He knew if some powerful miracle drug existed, probability and chance could care less if it was him or Azim who found it.
Arnold folded his hands on the table and narrowed his eyes. “Dr. Hamilton, may I pose a theological question to you?”
“About the Samson Effect, sure.”
“Let’s assume you find it and let’s also assume it gives you great power, but it costs you your mental health—drives you to depression, thoughts of suicide, paranoia—what would you do with it?”
Thomas considered the question. It cast his theories of the mental health of the Old Testament characters in a new light. As unlikely as he thought the correlation between the Samson Effect and degenerative mental health was, he had to admit it was, indeed, a possibility.
“I thought you said this was a theological question. Sounds more like an ethical one to me.”
“Ethics is based in theology. I believe the Lord used the substance to fulfill his will and guarded it through the protectors to preserve its purpose. Now if the Lord no longer wishes to use it and removes his protection from it, do you really believe you should step into his shoes and determine who uses it and for what purposes?”
“I still don’t think it’s a theological issue. You said yourself if the Lord wants me to find it, I will. Besides, and please don’t take offense, I don’t quite know if there is a God. For all we know, the substance is a product of nature, one with amazing side effects, albeit, but a product of nature, nonetheless.”
The old pastor rested his chin on his hand, and it appeared to Thomas the glint was back in his eyes. Thomas sighed, thankful his comment had not angered the pastor. “I believe, Dr. Hamilton, based on everything I’ve read about you, that you’re a good, moral man. I also believe, whether you do or not, that the Lord may be working through you to find this because he knows your heart. He knows you’ll do the right thing if you find it.”
“And what would be the right thing?”
The pastor’s smile grew even broader. “I really don’t know. But if given the opportunity, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I just want to make sure you take into consideration all the consequences.”
The two stared at each other for a moment until Arnold slapped both hands on his lap. “Well, I suppose you’d like to see my old rabbi friend’s notebook, wouldn’t you?”
Thomas felt a chill grip his body. “You have the notebook?”
“Not the original, but I do have one I’ve recreated as best I could from memory. It doesn’t contain everything, but you’d be surprised at what’s in there.”
“You don’t know how much I’d appreciate seeing it.”
Arnold rose from his chair and walked toward the office. “Wait right there while I get it.” He stopped and turned to Thomas. “Before I give it to you, you must promise that if you find the Effect, you’ll bring it here for me to see.”
“If the notebook leads me to it, you have my word.”
A grin spread across Arnold’s face as he turned and disappeared into the office.
He returned with a blue spiral notebook. Thomas stood before him and received the notebook as ceremonially as a mayor bestowing an award to an honored citizen. He felt a lump in his throat as he reverently pulled the notebook to himself.
The solemn atmosphere shattered as both men turned their head to the squeaking stair steps. Two men stared back at them with angry eyes. One man had a manila envelope tucked under his arm; the other knelt down, pulled up his left pant leg, and drew the six-inch dagger strapped to his leg.
Chapter 15
MICHAEL ROLLED OFF his hospital bed and stepped gingerly to the closet. As he passed by the mirror, he glanced at his reflection, staring at the bruises created by the morning’s oral surgery procedure. He groaned and turned his head away. He did look as bad as he felt.
When he reached the closet, he pulled out a dress shirt and struggled to force his arm through the sleeve. The bandages around his ribs were tight and did little to keep the pain at bay. He finally swallowed his pride enough to look at Delia, who sat chiseled in her chair with her face turned away from his.
“The least you could do is help me get dressed.”
Delia remained silent for a few moments before she whipped her head toward him. “I told you, you’re being foolish! You’re in no condition to leave your room, let alone join Thomas and me in Hebron.”
“If you think I’m going to just lie in this hospital room while you two search for the Samson Effect, you’re nuts.”
Delia opened her mouth, but closed it and looked away. “Thomas was right; I should never have told you.”
Michael started buttoning his shirt and then let out a quiet groan. Every movement sent fire through his ribs. “Well, it’s good you did. I would never have forgiven you if you hadn’t.”
Delia turned to him and shook her head. “You’ve got to be the most stubborn man I know.” She rose from her chair and stepped up to him. She gently reached out her hand and started buttoning his shirt. “You can’t even dress yourself. How do you think you’ll be able to handle things in Hebron?”
Michael leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “Because I’ll have you there to protect me.”
Delia rolled her eyes and lightly punched his side. The fire from his ribs ignited every synapse around his injury and nearly brought him to his knees. “Take it easy, will you?”
“If you can’t handle a love tap, then you’re in trouble.”
Michael bit his tongue and stepped back into the closet for his pants. Behind him, Delia asked, “Do you need help with your trousers?” He stepped out of the closet, slid into a padded chair, and glared at her. “I think I can manage myself.”
He fought to show no signs of pain as he bent one leg up and slid his foot through the pant leg. As nonchalantly as he could muster, he looked at Delia and nodded curtly. When she giggled, he felt the fire spread through his cheeks; but before he had a chance to say a word, she slinked toward him and slid to her knees. Without saying a word, she leaned forward and touched her lips lightly to his side.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain.” She rolled her eyes to his and moistened her full lips. In a whisper, she asked, “Forgive me?”
Michael looked down at her and ran his fingers through her hair. He knew beyond any doubt he’d always love her. He closed his eyes and nodded. She laid her head into his lap and kissed his thigh.
“Good gracious! What’s going on here?”
Michael opened his eyes to find his uncle standing in the doorway. His uncle’s wide eyes and stunned expression were too much for him to handle. He burst out laughing as Delia sprang to her feet and smoothed her blouse and skirt with her hand.
He alternated between laughter and groaning before he finally caught his breath. “Uncle Ben, haven’t you heard of knocking?” Delia punched his side before he saw it coming. The pain chased away any humor he found in the situation. He glared at Delia, but when he saw the stern warning etched on her face, he silently sucked in the pain.
He looked at his uncle and shook his head. “Nothing’s going on. Delia is helping me get dressed.”
The ambassador stepped over to Michael and looked down at him. “And exactly why are you getting dressed?”
Michael managed to lift himself from the chair. “I’m going to Hebron with Delia and Thomas, and don’t you start in with me. There’s nothing you can say that Delia hasn’t already said. Bottom line, I’m going. End of discussion.”
The ambassador stood silently as Michael prepared to go toe-to-toe with the best negotiator he’d ever known. He fastened his belt and waited for his uncle to make his move. What the ambassador said caught him off guard and threw up his defenses for a covert attack.
“I suppose you’re right.” His uncle sighed and shook his head. “If you’re set on getting yourself killed, then who am I to try to stop you?”
Michael nodded cautiously. He had never known his uncle to give in this easily. He had the overwhelming feeling he was about to step into a trap. He reached to the table and picked up his wallet. As he slid it into his pocket, he kept his uncle in sight through the corner of his eye. “I appreciate your support.”
“Oh, you certainly do not have my support. How someone so intelligent could be so stupid is beyond comprehension. I just know how important the Samson Effect is to you.”
Delia locked her arms through Michael’s and smiled. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll keep an eye on him.” The ambassador never looked away from Michael. “I’ll arrange security for you. Just promise me you’ll not do anything stupid and you’ll stay with the men I’ll send with you.”
Michael allowed a small smile to give his thanks. “I promise.” He turned to Delia. “Perhaps the three of us can have lunch before we meet up with Thomas.”
Delia looked toward the ambassador with raised eyebrows. Again, he did not acknowledge her presence. “Sorry, but my schedule is tight today. I’ll call you to arrange a time when you and I can get together.” He turned curtly and stepped out of the room.
Michael released his hold on Delia and started after his uncle, but she grabbed his arm. “Please, let him go.”
“He may not approve of our relationship, but I’m not going to stand by while he treats you like a dog.”
“I appreciate that, but give him time. I’ll win him over quicker if we don’t antagonize him. After all, I’m starting to win Thomas over, and I have faith I’ll also win your uncle over too.”
Michael shook his head. “Thomas’s heart wasn’t corrupted with prejudice.”
* * * *
After spending two hours poring through the phone records of everyone associated with him, Azim found his traitor. The damning evidence sat face up on his desk. After futilely trying to rationalize away what the phone records told him, he finally succumbed to the truth and melted into his chair.
Rajah seemed equally stunned. He waited silently for Azim to come to terms with the traitor’s identity.
Azim took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You know what must be done.”
Rajah cocked his head to one side. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure I fully understand your intentions.”
“My intentions?” Azim could feel every muscle in his face and neck tighten as fire pulsed through his veins. “She’s responsible for Umar’s death, and she has betrayed me. I will not forgive her. She must die.”
“Perhaps there’s an explanation. Delia may have been—”
“Do not mention her name in my presence again! How could there be any other explanation for her calling the Israelis from her room the night before the attack? Answer me!”
“Azim, I don’t know—”
“You don’t know because there’s only one explanation.” Azim grabbed the phone records in his fist. “Bring her to me alive. I want her to see my face before she feels the cold hand of my justice.”
Azim clenched his teeth and squeezed the paper until his knuckles grew pale. He felt every muscle tense, and a slight tremor spread through him. The tension grew until it was focused so tightly that his body couldn’t stand it. His fist exploded on the desk, accompanied by the guttural command. “Go!”
Rajah jumped to his feet and bowed as he shuffled backward and quickly slipped out the door. When it closed, Azim felt the tension fall like chains dropping from his body. His strength drained from his body, and he poured like water into the chair.
* * * *
Aaron descended the stairs with a dagger gripped in his fist. Thomas and Arnold froze as they watched the two men until they all stood facing each other in the tiny living room. Tobin reached out and gently took the notebook from the pastor and slipped it next to his envelope.
“What’s the meaning of this, Tobin?
Tobin’s anger burned in his eyes. “If you weren’t the rabbi’s friend, you’d be dead right now.” His eyes flashed to Thomas. “Who is this man, and what does he know about what we’re sworn to protect?”
Neither Arnold nor Thomas answered. Aaron lifted the tip of the dagger under Thomas’s chin and pressed until Thomas could feel a drop of warm liquid run down his neck.
“Thomas Hamilton. My name’s Thomas Hamilton.”
Tobin nodded to Aaron, and Aaron withdrew the blade. Thomas reached to his neck and pressed his thumb on the puncture. The pastor fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him.
“Mr. Hamilton, what do you know of the Lord’s Strength?” Tobin walked to the table and glanced over the papers spread over its surface. “Oh, it’s Doctor Hamilton, I see.” He walked back to Aaron and took the dagger from him. He then stepped to Thomas and placed the tip against his chest. “Well, Dr. Hamilton, what’s your business with the secret?”
Thomas tried to swallow the lump in his throat but nothing went down. The sting of the dagger tip pulled the words from his lips. “I’ve been following archaeological clues of the Samson Effect for over a year now.”
“The what?”
Everyone turned their heads toward the door at the top of the stairs when someone knocked and then cracked it open. “Father, may I come down?”
Thomas felt the pressure from the dagger ease. Before he had a chance to think, he grabbed Tobin’s wrist and hyper extended his arm at the elbow. Tobin cried out in pain and released the dagger. Thomas kicked it away and landed his fist across Tobin’s jaw, knocking him through the tiny living room and into the kitchen.
Arnold grabbed a coffee table book and swung like a major-league slugger, knocking Aaron to his knees. He then jogged to a stunned Tobin, yanked the envelope and notebook from his arms, and tossed them to Thomas. “Run!”
Thomas looked up the stairs at the confused face of the younger pastor and then started up the stairs, calling for Arnold to follow. He glanced behind him when he was halfway up the steps, relieved to see the old pastor at the foot of the stairs. He froze when Arnold abruptly stopped on the second step, and his eyes grew wide.
A gentle whisper escaped the old man’s lips. “Run.” Thomas watched him topple from the stairs and saw the dagger handle sticking from his back.
