The Samson Effect: A Novel, page 25
He had to find a way to Azim before Azim realized the Lord’s protection wasn’t complete, before Azim drew his own blood in one of his demonstrations.
Judas somehow found the strength to rise from the chair. His broken fingers were on his dominant hand, so he would have to attack with his weak hand. He squared his shoulders and started walking painfully down the aisle.
* * * *
Thomas counted seven cars parked in front of the hangar, far less than the fifty to seventy-five they had estimated. The meeting’s low turnout most likely accounted for the scaled-back security. Only one man guarded the back door leading into the hangar. Darkness protected them as they crawled the mile across the desert and stopped just outside the illumination of the hangar’s light.
Delia checked her gun and snapped the clip into place. “If we can kill the guard, we should have clear access to the door. Once we go through, we’ll quickly lose the element of surprise. We must find Azim, Rajah, and Sofian immediately. Shoot for their eyes.”
“I’ll take the guard’s rifle,” Thomas said. “I may not be the marksman you are, but if I empty all my bullets in the face, I’m sure at least one will hit the eyes.”
“You and Michael know if we fail we’ll be dead before the evening is over.”
The men nodded soberly. Michael and Delia stretched on their stomachs and took aim at the lone guard. Thomas watched and hoped Azim hadn’t shared the Effect with the guards.
Delia and Michael looked at each other and nodded. Then, Delia leaned in for possibly the last kiss she and Michael would share. When they broke, they both took aim and fired.
Bullets silently whizzed from the pistols, one after the other, until the guard’s spasmodic body finally fell to the ground. Thomas swallowed two more pain pills and sprinted behind Michael as fast as his cracked ribs allowed.
By the time they reached the back door, Thomas was in torment. He took the guard’s rifle from Michael and leaned against the hangar, trying to catch his breath.
Delia reached for the door handle. “Unlocked,” she whispered.
Thomas squeezed his trigger and sucked in three deeps breaths to steady his nerves. Adrenaline began masking his pain, but his hand started trembling as he realized he was seconds away from possibly shooting another man. He steeled himself for Delia’s worst-case scenario: they open the door to find nothing between them and their targets to take cover behind. They’d be sitting ducks.
He was lost in his thoughts when Delia flung the door open and followed Michael into the hangar. He took another quick breath and followed behind to find Michael holding a finger to his lips. They were standing behind a large platform. Thomas saw the back of the heads of three men and heard Azim’s unmistakable voice bellowing from loudspeakers.
The adrenaline was wearing off, and Thomas’s pain began claiming its dominance. Delia made a silent gesture with her hands, and he followed her to the left side of the platform while Michael eased to the right side. As he and Delia turned the corner, they had a clear view of the empty chairs on their side of the hangar and of the aisle that separated the two sections. A robed, battered man was walking toward the platform.
Azim broke the cadence of his speech and turned his attention to the man. “Ah, Rabbi, you came to testify to these faithful few.”
The rabbi didn’t answer. He continued dragging himself forward. When he reached the steps, he dropped to his knees and tried to crawl up them; but he couldn’t make it past the first step. He slumped forward and sprawled across the steps.
“Sofian, be kind enough to help the good rabbi up here.”
Sofian went to Judas and grabbed him by the collar of his robe. He snapped the rabbi up, carried him with one hand, and dropped him upon the stage.
“You should be a little gentler with our guest,” Azim said in mock concern. “Judas, is it? Come here.”
Judas struggled to his feet but remained in place and looked defiantly toward the center of the stage. “You come to me. I have a secret message for you from the Lord God.”
Azim stepped into Thomas’s view. He smiled playfully to the crowd and stopped about six feet from Judas. “What? Allah has given you a message for me?” He played to the audience with dramatic flair. He extended one arm while holding the microphone with the other. He directed his comments to the audience. “Tell me, what is this message God has for me?”
The rabbi remained silent and immovable.
Azim paced along the edge of the stage. “It seems the good rabbi has forgotten his message. Sofian, help him remember.”
Sofian came back into Thomas’s view and swaggered to the rabbi. His smile was mischievous, and his eyes drank in the opportunity to “help” the rabbi remember. Judas stared at him through swollen blue slits, immovable from either bravery or a lack of energy to protect himself.
Thomas gripped his rifle and inched forward, compelled to intervene on behalf of the defenseless rabbi. Delia reached out a hand to stop him and sternly shook her head. He looked at the rabbi and forced himself to ease back and watch.
Sofian wrapped a hand around the rabbi’s neck and lifted him into the air. Judas’s legs kicked, frantically seeking solid ground. The words hissed from Sofian’s lips. “You had a message?”
Judas’s mouth gaped open, but no sounds came out. His narrow slits widened to reveal large, round eyes desperately seeking reprieve while his fingernails clawed at Sofian’s arm with no effect.
Thomas rocked on his knees, fighting to break free from Delia’s invisible restraint. Just as the rabbi’s eyes began to shut, Sofian dropped him to the stage. The rabbi wheezed and clutched his throat.
Azim’s voice masked Judas’s gasps. “Behold, the famed rabbi of Hebron!”
By the murmurs from the audience, it was apparent they knew of whom Azim was referring. “Able to bend steel and walk unscathed through a shower of bullets. Now look at him. Allah has given his gift to me.”
Judas coughed and defiantly struggled to his feet, wavering on weakened legs. It seemed a simple puff from Sofian’s lips would be enough to send him toppling to the ground. Sofian reached out and placed his hands upon the rabbi shoulders. “The message …”
Judas bent down, placed his hands upon his thigh, and stammered through gulps of air. “The message … from God … is …”
He lifted his robe and grabbed the dagger. In one swift motion, he stood and thrust it into Sofian’s belly. His legs buckled, but he sliced the dagger down a few inches before collapsing to the ground. Sofian looked down at the dagger protruding from his stomach and then to the rabbi. “This is your message?” He yanked out the dagger and laughed. “Now, I have a message for you.”
Sofian took a step toward Judas and stopped. Confusion swept over his face. He reached to his belly and coughed, lifting a bloodied hand. He slowly turned to Azim, raising his hand and staring at Azim with accusing eyes before falling to his knees and then to the floor.
Azim dropped the microphone and ran to him. He rolled Sofian over and stared into his lifeless eyes. His words echoed from a bewildered fog. “But how?”
Another man ran to Sofian and knelt next to him. “I warned you; Allah is punishing us for our insolence!”
Thomas heard a commotion coming from the audience and saw a handful of people running down the aisle toward the hangar door. Delia slapped Thomas on the shoulders. “Now!”
She rose and fired her gun. Thomas heard Michael’s gunfire echo from the other side of the hangar. He stood and saw four men running down the aisle with their rifles poised to shoot. His rifle seemed to gain fifty pounds as he lifted it to take aim. His spray of bullets dropped two guards instantly.
Thomas watched Rajah collapse to the floor and a puddle of blood pool under his head. Azim jerked back and slapped a hand over his bloody shoulder and then jumped from the stage and ran to the hangar door. He flew between the two remaining guards, who had dropped to their knees to take aim at Michael and Delia.
Delia gripped Thomas’s rifle and yanked him down as a burst of gunfire erupted from the soldiers. She stripped the rifle from him. “Michael, don’t let Azim get a way!”
She stood, fired, and then dropped next to Thomas. There was an eerie silence while Thomas waited for the gunfire to continue; but twenty seconds passed, and it was still quiet. He looked to Delia for direction and found her clutching her chest. He knelt and pulled her hand away from her chest.
“I’ll be fine.” She yanked her hand away. “You and Michael must stop Azim.”
“Let me take a look.”
“Go!”
He stared into her eyes and slowly nodded. He grabbed her pistol, propped the rifle in her lap, and put his hand on her shoulder.
Delia closed her eyes. “Please, hurry.”
Thomas braced himself to face the guards. After three deep breaths, he leaped to his feet and fired. He stopped when he saw the remaining guards were already dead.
“Michael!”
Thomas sprinted behind the stage to the other side. He found Michael sitting against the wall tying his shirt around one thigh.
“How bad are you hurt?”
Michael gritted his teeth as he tied the knot. “I’ll live.”
Thomas wasn’t a medic, but he knew enough to know Michael had lost a lot of blood. He then saw the wound on Michael’s other leg. He ripped off his shirt and used it to tie off the second wound.
“Delia?”
“Still alive.”
Michael grabbed Thomas’s hand, stopping him from finishing the tourniquet. “Tell me the truth.”
Thomas resumed tying off the wound. “I am. She’s hit, but she’ll live.”
Delia’s voice echoed in the hangar. “Please, go!”
Thomas smiled. “See?”
Michael nodded and grabbed the shirt. “You must stop Azim. He might not be immortal, but he’s still as strong as an ox. Be careful.”
“I will.” Thomas sprinted through the hangar, sickened at the sight of mangled corpses and blood bathing the floor. He looked through the door and saw taillights receding in the distance. Thomas clutched his side and ran as fast as he could run through the door and into open desert.
Everyone was gone. There were no cars, no soldiers, nothing. He stopped to catch his breath, cursing himself for waiting so long to go after Azim. It would be impossible, he knew, to find the seeds again. Something worse than Armageddon would be brewing while the world waited for the final jihad.
He was about to go back and help Michael and Delia when the sound of an engine racing toward him came from behind the hangar. He gripped his pistol, waiting to face whatever monster the desert had given birth to.
An army truck barreled around the corner and skidded to a stop about six feet from him. The headlights momentarily blinded him, and he heard shouts and people surrounding him.
Thomas dropped his pistol and raised his hands. He was aware of the men surrounding him, but the light kept him from seeing anything. It wasn’t until the silhouette of a tall man stepped between him and the lights that Thomas finally saw who had come in the truck. He relaxed his arms.
“Colonel Yarconi, call for a medic. Michael and Delia have been shot. They’re in the hangar.”
“Anyone else in there?”
“I don’t think so, but I’d be careful.”
The colonel issued a command, and his men began filing into the hangar. A few seconds later one of the soldiers exited. “All clear, but the ambassador’s nephew and a rabbi are in bad shape.”
The colonel nodded, and the soldier disappeared back into the hangar. Yarconi jogged to the truck and called the medics. He stopped next to Thomas before joining his men. “Send the medics in when they arrive.”
Thomas nodded and watched Yarconi disappear into the hangar. A few seconds later, he walked to the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he put the truck in gear and sped across the desert in the direction he saw Azim fleeing.
Chapter 29
THROUGH THE REARVIEW mirror, Thomas watched Colonel Yarconi sprint from the hangar toward him and heard cracks of machine-gun bullets thudding into the back of the truck. Yarconi’s image faded, and he turned his attention to finding the fleeing car, hoping it was Azim’s. As he scanned the horizon, despair crept upon him. He could not see taillights anywhere.
Thomas was about to give up and drive to Azim’s compound when he caught a flicker of light in his peripheral vision. The light stopped moving and went out. He killed his headlights and scanned the moonlit silhouettes of hills and rocky crevices for a place to hide his truck.
He found a narrow path about a quarter of a mile from the car Azim had taken and wedged the truck into it. Thomas checked his ammo clip and found two bullets and one in the chamber. He stepped into the back of the truck and looked for another weapon but found nothing small enough to carry with him. He eased out of the truck and followed the dusty, moonlit path toward the car.
The moon shined down upon him like God’s spotlight, giving him a sense of utter vulnerability. He hugged the path next to the hills until the car came into view. Thomas held his gun, pointed down, next to his thigh and slowed his pace. It didn’t make sense. Why would Azim stop in the middle of nowhere?
Above, he heard pebbles bouncing down the side of the hill. He turned toward the noise but saw nothing. An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. He ducked into a blackened crevice, trying to expel the overwhelming sense he was a walking target under surveillance. Again, small pebbles showered over him as he hid in the blanket of shadows.
Farther away, the loose gravel continued to fall. Thomas summoned the courage to step out from the safety of the darkness and saw Azim’s unmistakable silhouette walking along the length of the summit about one hundred feet above.
Thomas tucked the pistol into his waistband and started up the rocky surface. A dull pain itched in his side, but he had no pills left to keep the pain at bay.
Surely, he thought, Azim would be able to fly across the summit with ease while he struggled with every step, straining to pull his body up inch by inch. For a moment, he considered climbing back down and walking the perimeter to keep up with Azim; but he dismissed the thought, fearing Azim would disappear over the summit and lose himself in the desert.
So, he kept climbing.
Exhaustion and pain teased him, tempting him to return to the hangar. Fear prodded him to give up. Emotions whispered to him like a red devil on his shoulders: You can’t kill again; if Michael and Delia couldn’t stop Azim, what in the world makes you think you can; if he catches you, he’ll make you suffer; go back and let the colonel stop Azim.
Thomas felt his resolve weaken with each thought. His fingertips began to burn, and his arms grew shaky. He forced himself to rebut each excuse to give up. Ironically, it was fear that ultimately dragged him to the backbone-like summit. Not fear of what Azim would do to him if he caught him, but of what Azim would do if Thomas didn’t catch him.
When he finally pulled himself to the summit, he bent over and caught his breath. The summit snaked into the desert and the full moon bathed the landscape in bright light. In the distance, Thomas watched Azim’s silhouette glide across the range at a speed he knew he would never be able to catch.
He realized he would have to give up the element of surprise. He drew in his breath. “Azim!”
The silhouette took two more strides before stopping. Thomas began to shiver. He felt like he had just jabbed a stick into a hornet’s nest with no place to run.
Azim remained stationary, as if contemplating the merits of outrunning Thomas or of returning to make sure Thomas could never tell anyone he was here.
It didn’t take long for Azim to decide. The silhouette glided across the range at a speed not humanly possible. Thomas instinctively laid his hand upon his pistol, watching the silhouette grow larger at an alarming rate. He finally had to remove his hand in order to fight the urge to use the gun prematurely. He knew when he chose to fire his three bullets would mean the difference between his death and Azim’s.
Azim seemed to sense danger. He stopped far enough away that Thomas didn’t trust his ability to hit his mark. There was no doubt it was Azim, however. The moonlight shined upon him, revealing his silvery, trim beard, his bushy brows, every feature of his face.
“Dr. Hamilton,” Azim called out. “What’s done is done. Allah has ordained it. Leave now and I will spare your life until the day of the great jihad.”
“I see the blood on your shirt. I thought the Samson Effect was supposed to make you immune to bullet wounds.”
Azim glanced at his shoulder. “Apparently, I’ve overestimated its protective abilities. I assure you, though, I haven’t overestimated my strength.”
Thomas knew he had to find a way to draw Azim closer. If Azim fled, so would his best opportunity to stop him. He began walking toward Azim. “Why are you out here? Why not go to your compound, where you’d be safe?”
“I must ask you to stop right there, Dr. Hamilton, or you’ll force me to take away the grace I’ve offered you.”
Thomas kept walking. “Grace?”
“Your reprieve; the few extra months of life I offer.”
Thomas didn’t stop.
“As you wish.”
Azim’s calm, soft words sent a deathly chill through Thomas. His muscles tensed. Azim’s smile and casual steps toward him caused every sense in Thomas to heighten. He smelled the rocky hills; his peripheral vision was nearly as sharp as his direct vision, locking onto a lone bird gliding through the night sky. His hands grew clammy as he gripped the pistol. Then, in a blur, Azim charged at an ungodly speed. Thomas drew the gun in slow motion compared to Azim’s speed. Azim was nearly on him when he fired the first shot.
Azim dodged to the side. Thomas felt the blood drain from him when he realized he had missed his mark. Panic forced him to fire repeatedly until he heard the hollow clicks from the hammer of the gun. Azim stopped inches in front of him and snatched the pistol from his grasp. With one hand, he squeezed it into his fist and dropped the mangled piece of metal to the earth.
