The Second Messiah

“It sounded like footsteps.” Yasmin heard a noise beyond the door and it opened suddenly. At the sight of Jack standing there, she let out a breath and said, “You had us worried for a minute. What’s the matter?”

They both saw Father Novara appear in the doorway, armed with a pistol. He pushed Jack into the room and closed the door after him.

Yasmin, alarmed, took a step back. “What—what’s going on?”

Novara brandished the pistol. “Sit still and be quiet. Otherwise I’m liable to kill you all.”

38

NORTH OF EL LEJA

SYRIA

8:45 P.M.

The Black Hawk powered through the darkness. The dull chopping of the blades seemed to throb in unison with Lela’s pounding heartbeat.

Ari said, “This chopper’s got a FLIR system fitted to its belly—that’s forward-looking infrared to you and me. Along with telemetry units, they’ll help the pilot get a precise fix on our contact’s ground transmission.”

“Who are the people meeting us?”

“A couple of Mossad’s agents working out of Damascus. They’ll make sure we don’t get lost.”

The helicopter banked sharply, its speed slowing. Saul said, “Approaching target now, better ready yourselves.”

Lela, wearing the jeans and top Ari had given her, grabbed the bag at her feet containing the hijab gown. Nervous excitement fluttered in her stomach. Staring out the window she saw total darkness as the chopper leveled out again.

Ari reached for his bag. “Forget the window view and take a look into the cockpit. Near the center of the console you’ll see a small TV with a green screen. That’s for the passive thermal imaging equipment fitted to the chopper’s belly. It’s scanning the road and the immediate area for any human activity. With any luck, you ought to see our welcoming committee.”

The Black Hawk began to hover, its nose swinging gently left and right in a sweeping motion. Lela peered into the cockpit, past Saul and the busy crew. She noticed a miniature TV in the center console, the screen filled with thermal images in different shades of luminous green and black. Lela could make out the vague shapes of what looked like a car and a human figure standing near the vehicle, the image shot from a high angle.

“You see that? Our contact,” Saul told them, smiling. “The wonders of modern technology.”

“Target directly below,” the pilot called out, maneuvering the joystick as the Black Hawk descended. Moments later the chopper’s struts hit the ground with a gentle bump. Saul yanked open the door and a blast of warm desert air swirled into the cabin.

Lela felt a wave of anxiety as the dispatcher ushered them out. “Go, move it, quick as you can.”

Ari jumped out first and then held out a hand to her. Lela jumped and her feet hit a hard tarmac road. She followed Ari out under the whirling helicopter blades. A car waited in the vastness of the empty desert. A woman stood by the vehicle, waving at them.

Behind Lela, the Black Hawk was already lifting off again. It rose into the air and sped toward another Black Hawk hovering two hundred yards away, its lights extinguished. The two aircraft powered away, their dull chopping noise fading into darkness.

Lela and Ari reached the woman. She waited beside a gray Volvo station wagon. She appeared young and wore an Arab hijab, a coil of cheap bangles dangling from one of her wrists. Ari exchanged words with her, then the woman said to Lela, “I’m Rasha. Come, we have no time to lose.”

The Volvo’s rear door was already open and she ushered them inside.

Lela climbed in first, followed by Ari, who shut the door as the woman jumped into the passenger seat. A middle-aged Arab sat behind the wheel. He wore an immaculate suit and shirt, and he offered his hand and grinned. “I’m Uday.”

Lela noticed that the driver clutched what looked like a palm-sized transmitter, which he’d used to guide down the Black Hawk. He stuffed the transmitter into his pocket, started the Volvo’s engine, but left the headlights off.

“I’d say welcome to Syria, my friends, a wonderful country, except it’s a one-party police state that really stinks. Better fasten your seat belts, from here on we may have a bumpy ride ahead of us.”

39

ST. PAUL’S MONASTERY

MALOULA

SYRIA 8:46 P.M.

At least thirty minutes had passed, the heat in the small room oppressive. Jack wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “What’s going on, Novara? Maybe it’s time you explained why a man of the cloth is threatening us with a gun.”

Novara’s grip tightened on the pistol as he turned toward the door, and they all heard the sound of a car approaching. “You won’t have to wait much longer to have your question answered.”

The engine noise came closer, then idled for a few seconds and died. Novara took the bunch of keys from his belt and opened the door. “Escape is impossible. The door is locked and I have the only key. I’ll be back with someone who wants to meet you.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.” Novara stepped out, closing the door, then a key rattled in the lock and he was gone.