In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  As he studied her unflinching but frightened eyes, Matt had the sinking certainty that, whether he believed it or not, Manara spoke only the truth.

  "That's not going to happen," he muttered, clasping her close as if to shield her from that very future.

  "Then help me, Matthew. Get me into the temple before the Festival."

  He looked into her pleading eyes, and nodded grimly. "How do we get in?"

  Manara relaxed, relief playing across her face. "In the ruins of the public temple there is a false tile. It leads to a series of tunnels that form the maze Sargon built. Only I and Urasat know the way through to the altar."

  "So why hasn't it escaped on its own if it knows the way?"

  She shook her head. "He cannot. Long before Ashurbanipal's demon was banished, Urasat was chained to the temple by wards he cannot break alone. He cannot wander above the ground without a human host."

  Matt frowned, not liking the sound of that. "Does that mean it'll possess whoever opens the entrance?"

  She met his gaze and shook her head. "Do not worry over me, Matthew. Urasat cannot reside in any but the body of one whose bloodlust rules his reason. A person like--"

  "Al-Mawsil," Matt finished for her in a rasp. Finally, he understood how their two journeys came together. Manara needed him and his men to help her gain the destiny she sought. She saved their lives so they could save her from the death awaiting her here.

  Manara nodded as Matt's gaze moved back to her.

  Matt swallowed hard as something else registered in his brain. Looking at Manara, he prayed his hunch was wrong. "This is pretty much a suicide mission for you, isn't it? You never planned to make it out of the temple alive."

  She glanced away, that action more telling than any words could have been. Matt's heart sank and his stomach clenched. How long had he dreamed of something pure; of a love untainted by Rachel's act or his own sins? He spent a lifetime searching for salvation, for something larger than himself that would make him feel once again worthy of living. With Manara, he found more than he ever dreamed. She was his salvation. With her trust, her gentleness, and her innocence, she washed away the stain on his heart and soul. He resisted the knowledge of how he stood to lose all of that, and more, in this. His heart rebelled at the mere thought of living without Manara. He couldn't do it. Not if he let her go to her death in that temple. There had to be another way.

  "I'll get you in there, but you will not do anything foolish. Are we clear?" Manara opened her mouth to protest, but Matt cut her off with a scowl. She stared into his narrowed eyes for a long moment and he watched her swallow hard as he repeated, "Are we clear?"

  Captured in Matthew's unyielding gaze, Manara was unable to speak, aware the man who held her would not let her go until he had his answer. Resignedly, she nodded, lowering her gaze. She couldn't bear her own lie, but she would, because she knew there was no other way. She hated her deceits, hated not being able to speak the words her heart cried whenever she looked at him. She was the Poet-Priestess of Ishtar and she belonged to no man but one, and that wasn't Matthew Raleigh. Not now, and maybe never. Only Ishtar could decide his worth, once the temple labyrinth opened. So, she would accept his aid and love, and then, once the temple was clear, she would find a way to make him walk away from her.

  *****

  Nineveh was once a thriving city, the center of Sargon's power in Mesopotamia. A malicious grin slid over ruby lips as Black Widow studied the ruins of the city as the jeep sped through. Around the perimeter, Ra'id's men set up camp. Their mistake, but she wasn't about to say no to a host of sacrifices. Urasat was hungry for souls, and when he emerged from captivity, he would need sacrifices. She would happily offer him Ra'id's loyal flock.

  Her narrowed gaze skimmed over the crumbling husks of buildings to land on the remainder of an ancient ziggurat.

  "It's that one." Black Widow indicated the ruined temple, grinning as she glanced at the man beside her. "That's the Temple of Ishtar."

  Ra'id al-Mawsil nodded shortly and turned a commanding frown on her. "You will remain here. This task is mine, and mine alone, to complete."

  She ducked her head demurely, knowing he wouldn't see the gleam in her eyes this way. "Don't worry. I'll stay here, out of your way."

  A satisfied expression that nearly made her laugh spread across Ra'id's face as he nodded again and strode toward the ruined building. Little did he know, she didn't intend to go near that temple or the labyrinth beneath it; not until the demon she'd released from its sleep was distracted. Let Ra'id have his moment of glory; she intended to gain the power to control the world, and the secret of eternal youth.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The mercenary team approached the ruins of Nineveh under the cover of night, as silent as thieves. When they were within a kilometer of the site, Matt sent Trevor Watkins to have a look. The dark man returned with news that made Matt scowl and curse the ineptitude of the CIA's spy networks.

  "There's a camp down there, all right. Looks like our friend Lazarus was right, too. There's probably about forty or fifty of the bastards hanging around down there."

  "Is al-Mawsil down there?" Talladay asked, frowning.

  Watkins shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't see him, if that's what you mean. That's not to say he's not in one of the tents though. The whole lot of them seem to be waiting for something."

  Matt shot Manara a significant look. "Think he's found it?"

  She shrugged. "I do not believe so, but it is hard to say. The demon could have led him there, but I would like to believe that we would know if he had found the tunnels."

  "Me, too," Matt muttered. "Okay, folks, if we're going to do this, we'd better do it now. Pete," Matt held out his hand, and Talladay dropped the straps of a duffle bag over the outstretched palm. Manara shot him a confused glance and Matt smiled tightly. "A gift from Lazarus. Smuggled vodka and gasoline." He opened the bag to show her several bottles of two clear liquids, each plugged with a yellow clay-like substance and thick cotton strips.

  "What--?"

  "It's called a Molotov Cocktail. Hurled into a group of tents, these'll lay waste to the terrorists' camp faster than a claymore mine. We added a little extra incentive, just in case," he fingered the yellow substance. "Plastique. Adds a good measure more explosive power. If we're lucky, these'll take out a good number of the terrorists as well."

  Manara's eyes widened in horror and she paled visibly. "But that is... that is..."

  "That's war," Matt said simply, his gaze steady and dark on hers. "I won't apologize for this, Manara. War isn't a civilized game, but it's my end of the field. I can't make it clean for you. It's always dirty business."

  The stark horror of realization on Manara's face clenched icy talons in Matt's heart. Again, he stripped away her innocence, and again he would have to continue to play the bad guy. He had no time for sentiments or coddling now, and he couldn't reassure her everything would be okay. He wouldn't make her any promises he couldn't keep. This was the nasty side of his world and he would make no apologies or excuses for it. Gesturing to Talladay and Watkins, he handed them each a third of the stash of crude grenades.

  "Lighter check."

  The men pulled out butane lighters, made to survive even immersion in water, and flicked them on behind the cover of their hands, nodding when they worked.

  "Pete, you've got the left, Trevor, the right. Manara and I'll go right up the middle." Glancing at Manara's pale face, he added, "Disarm where you can. We may need information out of them. Understood?"

  Both mercenaries nodded.

  "All right. Let's move."

  *****

  The sounds of a camp at sleep filtered through the night air as Manara cautiously followed Matthew down the sandy slope toward the camp and the ruins beyond. Her gaze fixed on the ruins, drawn and held by the shift of power. She had come home, but it was a home under siege. She clutched the pistol Matthew gave her and prayed with her very soul she might survive what was yet to come.
>
  The sudden pressure of Matthew's hand on her upper arm froze her in place. Manara blinked back to awareness to find she and Matthew were only a short distance from the camp. She sucked in a breath and saw the flicker of a reassuring look across his face as he pulled out his lighter and reached into the duffle bag for one of the bottles. Swiftly, before Manara could even blink, he lit the crude grenade and hurled it toward the edge of the tents.

  Manara jumped, her heart pounding harshly as the edge of the camp burst with explosions when Matthew's grenade hit simultaneously with Peter's and Trevor's. Shouts of surprise and confusion erupted from the cluster of tents, underscored by the agonized cries of men on fire or blown apart by the blasts as Matthew lobbed more of the deadly firebombs into the burning camp. Gunfire from the right and left of the camp told Manara Matthew's men had begun their run.

  "Come on!" Matthew's terse command startled Manara, bringing her back to her own location. Her heart hammering in her throat, she willed her fingers to close around the pistol Matthew shoved into her numb hands. Blinking, Manara became aware she must have dropped it at some point. Following him closely, Manara shuddered at the change in Matthew Raleigh. Gone was the gentle man who tried to protect her even when she hadn't wanted his protection, the tender man who took her in his arms and loved her until her soul ached. This man was a hardened warrior, immune to the suffering he caused and oblivious to her own pained heart. War isn't a civilized game. Those were words Matthew Raleigh, the mercenary, believed in with his very life. Manara shuddered and wished she never had to ask this of him.

  They descended on the camp at a run. Manara struggled to keep up with his pace. As they reached the edge of the camp, gunfire erupted and she cried out as miniature explosions peppered the sand at their feet. Someone was shooting at them!

  "Behind me!" Matthew's barked order brooked no argument and Manara dropped behind him as he opened fire toward the area where the shots came from. Manara bit back a cry as the flashing image of impact, blood and death flooded her mind.

  Matthew cleared a wide path through the camp's center, dropping men right and left as he went. Unable to bear the pain she felt inflicted all around her, she was grateful for Matthew's order to disarm rather than kill. Manara went for arm and leg shots when forced to defend herself or Matthew, disabling men with wounds she promised herself she would treat once this was over.

  They were halfway to the ruins of the city when a shadowy figure to her right caught Manara's eye. Shock and terror rooted her in place as the shadow became a woman covered in black, with ruby red lips and dove-gray eyes wild with dark energy and madness.

  "Black Widow!"

  Matthew's gaze whipped around at that startled exclamation, and followed her gaze. Manara sensed him stiffen and a soft string of expletives left him. His face, when she flashed a glance his way, was wreathed in horrified disbelief as he stared at the woman standing unaffected in the midst of the fiery camp.

  "Rachel!"

  Matt couldn't believe his eyes. He refused to believe his eyes, damn it! Rachel Murray was dead and gone. Wasn't she?

  "Matthew, darling," her voice dripped honeyed sweetness. "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you."

  Matt tasted bile. His jaw clenched and his teeth ground together as he fought the urge to be ill. He always knew this day would come. He should have known no one as evil as Rachel could simply die. So why was he so surprised? Rage thrummed to the surface of his mind, and only the grip of Manara's hand on his arm stopped him from emptying the entire clip of his weapon into Rachel.

  "Shouldn't you be rotting in a hole somewhere?" He bit out the words, hoping the force of his hate alone would kill her.

  She laughed, the silvery affectation sounding sinister rather than sweet. "That's what I always liked about you, Matthew. You never let anything surprise you."

  Even his own name sounded vile to Matt's ears, coming from those lips. Hate ground down into hate, frothing in his mind. "What do you want, Rachel?"

  She smiled coolly. "Why, nothing much, darling. See if you can't extricate yourself from your... girlfriend there and come help me."

  Matt sensed Manara stiffen next to him, even as he scowled at Rachel. "The only place I'll ever be helping you is into a grave."

  "Matthew," Manara's quiet voice drew his gaze to her pale face. "This is Rachel Murray?"

  He nodded, hating to admit it, hating the rage and grief he saw reflected in Manara's dark eyes.

  "This woman is the Black Widow, an agent of the Brotherhood of Spiders. Percy warned me of her." Her gaze, dark with loathing, turned on Rachel. "She killed three of Percy's couriers."

  Rachel laughed darkly. "Oh, you poor, deluded little girl! I am much more than that." Her eyes gleamed red in the firelight. "I'm also the one who killed your darling Percy, or did no one tell you that? Would you like to know how he died? It was gloriously painful."

  Manara's face went stark white, though Matt couldn't tell if it was fury or a precursor to her fainting. Rachel's laugh told him she'd seen as well. Mercilessly, the woman twisted her daggers into Manara. "I was also the one who sent those two little girls back to the embassy. Chip, chop, and they were just the right size to fit in a box!" The gleam brightened as her gaze shifted between them. "The lovely part of it all is you can stop me, but you can't stop the Brotherhood. You've no idea what's begun. Nothing can stop the future." Her keen gaze settled on Manara, her grin malicious. "Only cowards run, remember?"

  Manara shook, and the pallor of her face was definitely rage, now.

  "It was you!" she screamed, her gaze narrowing on Rachel. "You're the one who turned Ra'id loose on my mother's temple!"

  She aimed the Beretta straight into Rachel's smug face and Matt feared for a moment that Manara had snapped. God knew, he didn't blame her. He wanted to kill Rachel, himself. But Manara wasn't a killer. Apparently, Rachel knew it, too. She laughed scornfully.

  "Don't be an idiot, girl. We both know you can't shoot me. You do that and you'll never get your precious temple back."

  Matt looked between the taunting grin on Rachel's face and the trembling, trapped rage on Manara's face. God. As much as he hated to admit it, Rachel was right. Manara's training prevented her from giving up her innocence even when she'd defied her beliefs. There was no way she'd break it now. Hot fury poured through him as his gaze turned back to Rachel. For two decades, he lived in terror of this moment and his memories. He damned sure wasn't going to let Rachel win again.

  "Maybe she can't," he said grimly, raising his own weapon. "But I can."

  Rachel turned that mocking gaze his way. "I own you, Matthew Raleigh. When I say--" Suddenly, Rachel stiffened, and a red spot appeared in the middle of her forehead even as Manara cried out in surprise. Matt whipped around to see a mysterious shadow crouched in the shadows near the edge of the camp, his weapon training on Manara. Whether he missed his target on the first shot or not, Matt wasn't about to give him the chance to correct his error. He swung his weapon around, fired in a move that was pure instinct. The shooter disappeared, and Matt had no idea if he hit his target or not.

  It wasn't important. The shooter was gone.

  He turned back to Manara to find her staring mutely at Rachel's corpse. As the flames of a nearby tent licked at the dead woman's body, Manara staggered backward, the Beretta dropping from her hand as if it burned.

  Matt caught her before she fell, holding her tight as she sobbed out bitter tears for everyone who had been taken from her.

  "C'mon, sweetheart, don't give up now. We can't stay here." Over her head, he studied the burning corpse of Rachel Murray and knew he should feel glad the woman was dead. So, why then did he have this dreadful feeling the horror was only just beginning?

  As they moved through the ruined city, Matt glanced in concern at Manara. She was too quiet since their encounter with Rachel.

  "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

  She nodded absently as they passed through massive pillars, the only remnants
of the huge gates that had once been there. Sections of colored brick remained unworn by time and Matt had the distinct feeling these gates once led to somewhere important.

  "There are gates similar to this, yet smaller, in every site archeologists uncovered of the ancient city." Manara's voice was hushed with reverence as she touched one of the pillars.

  "This is massive."

  She nodded. "Portions of it have been taken away over the years. It is said to have stood nearly fifty feet into the air."

  He whistled appreciatively as they continued on to reveal scatterings of closely packed foundations. "This place must have been really something in its day."

  She smiled, though she still looked distracted. "It was said to take three whole days for a man to cross Nineveh from end to end on foot. In its time, Nineveh as one of the largest cities in the world."

  Manara stopped as they came to the foot of the steps carved into the outside of a ruined ziggurat. Matt sucked in a breath as memory assaulted him, and he swore he'd been here before.

  Two statues still flanked the entrance to the temple as if defying anyone to remove them from their sentry duty. They were massive stone lions, each bearing the carved head of a woman. They reminded Matt of the Sphinx of Egyptian fame. Could it be that one of Egypt's greatest antiquities was but a poor copy of Babylon's hidden treasures?

  He glanced at Manara and knew she was beyond hearing what he had to say. By the expression on her face, Manara was in another world.

  It wasn't that she was unaware of Matthew's presence. She just never felt such a profound mix of relief, joy, and absolute sorrow as she did at this moment.