In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  Night was falling by the time they reached the small cluster of campfires and canvas tents that made up the British Museum's dig site at Hatra. Matt breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. He was exhausted and his leg pained him more than he cared to admit. Here, they could blend in and rest. The Iraqi Army would ignore them completely. He flashed Manara a reassuring smile as they neared the camp and one of the guards glowered at them. He knew J.R. -- who spent his life in dangerous territories no one else dared to tread -- was a little fanatical about security.

  Digging into his pocket, Matt found the leather wallet containing his credentials as a member of Project Prometheus. To anyone aside from a Promethean, it would be meaningless. Here, it assured them a warm welcome.

  Matt flipped open the badge and showed it to the guard, who visibly relaxed, though he remained wary. "Wait here."

  The kid -- probably an intern at the museum who J.R. discovered had experience with weapons -- ducked into a nearby tent and Matt could hear the low murmur of voices. He turned his attention to Manara as he waited, and found her expression dubious.

  "What?"

  "These are friends of yours?" She didn't sound convinced.

  "J.R. is," he assured her. "The rest are probably from the British Museum. I don't know them."

  She nodded vaguely, but her expression remained concerned and her posture was rigid with tension.

  The tent flap lifted again and a tall man with dark blond hair and a wary expression to match Manara's ducked out. He was dressed in faded jeans and a safari camp shirt. Several days' growth of whiskers covered his jaw, and his hair was in disarray. To judge by his grumpy expression, their arrival pulled him away from something fascinating. Matt grinned.

  "J.R."

  As brown eyes turned toward Matt, J.R.'s annoyed expression melted away and Matt became aware of Manara's stance relaxing beside him.

  "Matt! What brings you into the middle of this mess?"

  Matt's grin turned wry at J.R.'s reference to both his disarrayed camp and Iraq as a whole. The archeologist had no way of knowing just how much truth was in his statement.

  "An even bigger mess, I'm afraid." He watched J.R.'s curious gaze go to Manara, and he bristled possessively. He had to force himself to relax and introduce her.

  "Manara, this is J.R. Halloway. J.R., Manara." He caught the lift of J.R.'s brow as his glance came back to Matt, startled. "It's a long story."

  "Those are the best kind." J.R. flashed a teasing grin and a wink at Manara, and Matt's fists clenched against the sudden desire to punch his friend in the face. J.R. was quite the charmer, according to the Promethean women. If he laid that charm on Manara, Matt could lose her. Not that he ever really had her.

  J.R. turned his attention back to Matt, then gestured toward his tent. "So, what brings you out here?"

  Briefly, Matt explained the terrorist hunt, the ambush, and Manara's assertions their target was headed for Nineveh. As he spoke, he watched J.R.'s expression shift from curious, to worried, to grim. Finally, when he finished, J.R. sighed.

  "That is a spot of trouble," he agreed. His gaze jumped to Manara and his expression telegraphed his uncertainty about talking in front of her, despite Matt's assurance he could.

  Manara was neither stupid nor unobservant. Matt bit back a smile as he watched understanding dawn in her eyes.

  "I need fresh air." With that quiet declaration, Manara ducked from the tent and disappeared before Matt could utter an objection. His gut knotted. This felt all wrong. He was starting to trust Manara, and believed she had the right to know whatever information J.R. had to relay. Testy, he crossed his arms over his chest and faced down his friend.

  "Just what can't you say in front of her?"

  J.R. paced away a step, before turning back. "I've heard of her, Matt."

  The air stopped in Matt's lungs at that declaration. Just what did J.R. know? "How?"

  "The Bedouin of this region. They live in hiding, here in Iraq, fearful of the army."

  "I know. We met a camp of them the other day. But what--?"

  "Does that have to do with her?"

  Matt nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  "They love her, and fear her. Some are reverent and believe she's some kind of Messiah figure. Others believe she's an evil spirit, sent to tempt good men of their souls. I'm not sure which I believe more."

  Matt rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe he was hearing this; not out of scientific, logical J.R. "Superstition."

  The tightening of J.R.'s expression told Matt the other man didn't find it amusing. "I'm not so sure about that. Look at this."

  From a basket on his workbench, J.R. picked up a clay tablet much like the ones Matt saw in Manara's tent back in Syria. His heart stalled.

  "These are ancient legends," J.R. explained quietly. "The whispers of a society that lived in fear of the wrath of the goddess Ereshkigal and her demonic minions."

  "Myths," Matt dismissed them, ignoring the shiver that passed over his skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Manara, too, mentioned demons.

  "There's also mention of a young woman who led to the downfall of a king and an empire. It's said she tempted him from his vows to Ishtar and -- Matt, are you okay?"

  Matt couldn't explain the illness that gripped him as those words brought his visions and dreams rushing back. Dreams of passion and promise which seemed so sweet at the time, but now tasted of bitter salt as he croaked out a single word. "Mukarramma."

  J.R.'s eyes widened in surprise. "You know the story?"

  Matt shuddered. "Enough. More than I want to."

  Concern flashed across the archeologist's face. "Just be careful, Matt. That's all I'm saying. We don't know what she wants."

  J.R.'s parting words plagued Matt as he searched the archeological site for Manara. He didn't want to believe Manara had an ulterior motive to still be here, but she already admitted she wouldn't turn back, no matter what he did.

  He finally found her, seated on a rise above the excavation pit. Her expression in the light from the full moon caught his throat and wrenched his heart. The sadness of her expression was profound, as if she mourned the whole of the lost empire J.R. mentioned. What was it about this woman that allowed her to connect with the dead?

  "Hi." He kept his voice low as he settled beside her on the sand.

  Manara's gaze lifted, and a wistful smile pulled up the edges of her lips. "Did your friend warn you about me?"

  Her query should surprise him, but he finally understood. Manara had resources he could barely fathom. Strangely, the thought no longer bothered him. He was beginning to see her intuitive insight as nothing more sinister than a part of her unique charm.

  "He did."

  She nodded as if she expected as much. "And?"

  "And I don't think you're evil, Manara," he assured her quietly, reaching for her hand.

  Judging from the expression on her face, his admission surprised her. "What has changed?"

  He winced. He would pay for his lapse in judgment for a long time to come. "I know I owe you more than an apology, Manara. Hell, I owe you more than I can ever repay. Lately, I've been thinking..."

  He stopped, unsure he should continue. Manara's curious gaze stayed on him and he could feel her regard though his own vision stayed focused on her hand, which he stroked absently.

  "What have you thought?" she urged at last, her voice reassuring.

  "About my mother, mostly." He chickened out of what he really wanted to say. It was much easier to start here.

  "I do not understand--"

  Of course she didn't. He wasn't sure he did either. His lips twisted in a pained smile as his gaze lifted and he nodded toward the ruins half-uncovered in the pit below them. "She was an archeologist. She would have loved this. She gave up field work and became a professor when she met Dad, but she never really gave up her love of uncovering the past. And she was determined to teach me to love it." His smile turned tender. "She wasn't far off. I got bit by the bu
g early and I still remember a lot of what she taught me before she died."

  Her gray eyes lit with understanding. "She is the one who taught you to read my map."

  He nodded. "I can read cuneiform almost as well as I read English."

  Her compassionate, understanding expression got to him more than he wanted to admit. Matt shifted his gaze away and blinked, unable to face Manara. He rubbed his aching chest with his free hand, the need for her light in his life an overwhelming urge.

  Smooth, warm fingers brushed his cheek and he turned to meet the gentle concern in Manara's eyes. Their gazes locked and tension hummed between them. He heard her breath hitch and watched those beautiful eyes widen as he covered her hand on his cheek, then drew it to his lips to plant a nuzzling kiss to her palm. He couldn't resist her.

  She, however, could clearly resist him. Even as her pupils dilated and her breathing grew swift and shallow, Manara eased her hand away. "Matthew, I--"

  "Shh." He skimmed her face gently with his fingertips. "I won't hurt you, Manara."

  "I know." The words left her on a sigh he took as consent. Still, he leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of chance to pull away until less than an inch of space remained between them. This was it. Something in Matt told him this moment had the potential to forever change the course of his life.

  He hesitated for just an instant. But if he didn't kiss her, he knew he'd go crazy. So, instead of running away, he locked away his doubts and fears and dipped his head to capture her lips in a kiss that tilted his world off its axis.

  Her lips were soft, warm, and pliant beneath his. The puff of her breath brought life to his weary soul. He drew it in and moved his mouth over hers reverently, applying light pressure, before retreating just slightly.

  All too soon, the kiss was over. Manara drew away with a shy smile and a duck of her head. Matt bit back a groan, his body racing with a fire he couldn't slake. Yet, he knew he would wait. For Manara, he would wait a lifetime. That acknowledgement unsettled Matt. How could he feel so strongly about a woman he barely knew?

  He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the ruins. "In the morning, we'll move on."

  "To Nineveh?" There was no mistaking the anxiety in her voice, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't just a reaction to their kiss.

  "I have to make another stop first." He caught her curious glance and grinned to himself. "I have to speak with someone at Tall Abta. J.R.'s going to be stuck here for a while and he only has an emergency radio. I need to get in contact with my people back home. I can't do it with that a satellite link."

  She nodded slowly, as if she understood exactly what he said. However, the confusion in her eyes told him she didn't know what he was talking about. How could she? Manara had probably never heard of Project Prometheus, and he was in no position to explain right now.

  "C'mon." He rolled to his feet and reached to help her up from the ground. "Let's get some sleep."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Awkward silence hung between Matt and Manara over the next day as they crossed the twelve miles between the ruins at Hatra and the town of Tall Abta. Matt could feel the tension between them, but couldn't regret the kiss he knew was to blame. Things between them were changing, and he knew she was as aware of it as he by the furtive glances she cast him from beneath lowered lashes.

  Matt swallowed his grin. He knew Manara was curious. After what she admitted to him, and all that happened between them over the past few weeks, she had to be curious about where all the kisses and caresses could lead them. Now wasn't the time to explore the heightened sexual tension in the air. Too much danger lingered around them and he needed to concentrate on keeping her safe.

  As night fell, Tall Abta came into view and Matt breathed an inward sigh of relief. Finally, he could get word home to Prometheus that he was alive and still on the mission. Finally, he could let Julia know whose families she needed to alert of a death. He'd set up Prometheus on very specific terms, which included what happened when an agent suffered debilitation or death. Prometheus took care of their own -- paid expenses, took care of families, and dealt with the tragedy as team.

  As they hit the edge of town Matt stopped a passing man and, in Arabic, asked, "Where do I find Doctor Jonas?"

  The man gave them directions without hesitation, which was a good thing. If Leslie Jonas' cover was compromised, they would have a very large problem. Apparently, the good doctor was safely ensconced in the community.

  Matt winced as he and Manara made their way down the streets. He ignored the throbbing pain in his leg, more concerned with the glares they received from the people passing on the street. Manara seemed blissfully unaware of the latter, her attention focused on his expression and his limp.

  "Your leg has not healed properly," she chided him with a disapproving frown of her own. "You pushed it before it was healed."

  He shrugged. "I had to."

  "Why? I would have waited until you healed properly before moving on. You could have stayed in my camp as long as you needed."

  He choked out a laugh. He knew she wasn't naïve; but she was certainly innocent. "Manara, if we spent one more night in the same bed, I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions."

  He heard the tiny gasp that left her. "I thought you despised me."

  Matt shook his head and this time, the laugh he uttered was sad. "Not even when I tried. Even as angry as I was, I couldn't really hate you. But I didn't know what would happen if I stayed." He stopped before the door of a small building marked with a red crescent moon -- the Middle East's equivalent to the Red Cross the rest of the world knew meant medical help. "Here we are."

  The building they entered immediately reminded Matt of the hospice back in Manara's camp. People waited to see the doctor in the front room, laying and sitting on makeshift pallets around the room.

  Manara wasted no time. With one dismayed glance around the room, she moved immediately to the nearest pallet and crouched to address the elderly woman who lay there. Matt watched in amazement as she examined the woman, even as Shahdi's words from the hospice returned to plague him. She would save the world, if she could.

  "Not that I'm complaining about the help, but who is that, and is she qualified?" The English-accented female voice pulled Matt's attention to his right, where a petite, generously-curved woman in her late fifties stood, her frame clothed in scrubs and a lab coat. He knew the Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies worked hard to get Leslie permission to work in medical uniform, rather than the region's traditional burqa. He followed her gaze to Manara, and suppressed a smile. Leslie Jonas was not a woman easily impressed, but she looked fascinated by Manara. He chuckled, wondering what Manara would make of that kind of attention.

  "Her name is Manara. She's a healer."

  "Holistic?"

  "Sort of."

  Leslie sighed wistfully. "She reminds me of Nadira."

  Nadira Al-Hambra was the reason Leslie relocated to Iraq in the first place. The partners met in medical school, and if ever Matt saw an argument for love at first sight, he figured the two women were it. Then, a clinic bombing shortly after their move to Iraq killed Nadira.

  Matt resurfaced from his thoughts to find Leslie's attention focused on him. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

  Even though her voice dripped with teasing humor, Leslie's words sent a spike of ice straight through Matt. After all, from what he learned, he was supposed to be dead. He pushed the thought aside.

  "I assume you've been in contact with Julia."

  "Yeah."

  "I need to speak with her."

  Leslie glanced around with a frown. "I'm a little swamped here. But the unit's in my office. Have at it."

  "Thanks." He squeezed her shoulder lightly. "I think Manara's glad to help you, but keep an eye out, huh?"

  As he headed for Leslie's office in the back of the clinic, Matt wondered what he'd been really warning Leslie about.

  In the office, it took only moments to locat
e the innocuous-looking black box that housed Prometheus' link to an abandoned communications satellite they'd turned into a scrambled communications system. Picking up the handset, he dialed in the number for Prometheus Mission Control.

  The line rang only once before it was picked up and a cheery, Georgian drawl joked, "Twice in a week? This is becoming a habit, doc."

  "Julia, it's Matt."

  There was a sharp burst of static, as if she'd sucked in a quick breath and then a happily murmured, "I knew it!"

  "Julia."

  "God, Matt, it's great to hear your voice!" The emotion in her voice didn't surprise Matt at all. Julia Williams was a demonstrative, emotional woman who made it her personal mission to take care of all the Prometheans. "Is everything okay? We got reports, but nothing accurate or conclusive and Star—"

  "Star was a trap," he snapped as his anger at the older man returned full force. "Listen, Julia, we need to arrange a pieces detail in Lebanon. There's probably not much left now, but we have guys scattered all over a canyon just outside of Sidon. J.R.'s sending you the exact co-ordinates, imbedded in an archeological paper. It's not safe to talk about, even here."

  "What's going on, Matt?" Concern colored the former kick-boxer's voice.

  "I don't know, but I need you to put someone on research. I need every known resource or reference -- and I don't care how old it is -- about an organization known as the Brotherhood of Spiders."

  "You want me to send it to Doctor Jonas?"

  "No. I'll look at it when I get back." If I get back. But he left that unsaid, not wanting to worry her.

  He heard clicking in the background and knew she input his request into the computer. "How many casualties?"

  "Nearly the whole team. Only me, Pete Talladay and Trevor Watkins are alive, that I know of."

  "Got it. I'll await J.R.'s coordinates." With that, Julia signed off, leaving Matt to hang up the phone and stare out the tiny office window as he pondered his next move.