Gear jolting on their equipment webbing, they ran after the 4x4, leaving the Marsh Arabs behind. It took almost half a minute over the uneven ground to reach cover, the outer edge of the ruins marked by the jagged base of a pillar sticking up from the sands like a broken tooth. By now, Arnold had stopped the Toyota beside the main structure, its wheels in the water. He jumped out. ‘Where’s the chopper?’
Rosemont looked over a wall. He couldn’t see the helicopter itself, but caught the flash of its navigation lights. A reflection told him that it was less than thirty feet above the water. A couple of seconds later, the lights flared again, revealing that while the Hind wasn’t heading straight at them, it would make landfall a couple of hundred metres beyond Kerim’s position.
‘If it’s got its nav lights on, they don’t know we’re here,’ said Cross. ‘They’d have gone dark if they were on an attack run.’
‘Yeah, but they gotta be using night vision to fly that low without a spotlight,’ Arnold warned. ‘They might still see us.’
The helicopter neared the shore, the roar of its engines getting louder. Tension rose amongst the three men. The Hind was travelling in a straight line; if it suddenly slowed or altered course, they would know they had been spotted.
The gunship’s thunder reached a crescendo . . .
And passed. It crossed the shore and continued across the barren plain, a gritty whirlwind rising in its wake.
Arnold blew out a relieved whistle. ‘God damn. That was close.’
Rosemont kept watching the retreating strobes. ‘Let’s give it a minute to make sure it’s gone – Cross, what the hell? Turn that light out!’
Cross was shining his flashlight over the ruined structure. ‘I want to see this.’
‘Yeah, and the guys in that chopper might see you!’
‘They won’t. Look, there’s a way in.’ A dark opening was revealed in the dirty stone; an arched entrance, still intact. Cross waded into the lake, the water rising up his shins as he approached the passage. ‘There’s something written above it.’ Characters carved into the stonework stood out in the beam from his flashlight.
‘What does it say?’ asked Arnold, moving to the water’s edge.
Rosemont reluctantly joined him. ‘I don’t know what language that is,’ he said, indicating a line of angular runes running across the top of the opening, ‘but the letters above it? I think they’re Hebrew. No idea what they say, though.’
‘We should find out.’ Cross aimed his light into the entrance, revealing a short tunnel beyond, then stepped deeper into the water.
‘Cross, get back – God damn it,’ Rosemont growled as the other man ducked through the entrance. He traded exasperated looks with Arnold. ‘Wait here and watch for the chopper. I’ll get him.’
He splashed into the lake. Cross had by now disappeared inside the ruined structure, spill from his flashlight washing back up the tunnel. ‘Cross! Get out of there. We’ve got a job to do.’
There was no reply. Annoyed, Rosemont sluiced through the opening and made his way into the building’s heart, turning on his own flashlight. The water rose to his knees. ‘Hey! When I tell you to—’
He stopped in amazement.
The room was not large, only a few metres along each wall. But it had clearly been a place of great importance to its builders. Stone columns coated in flaked gilding supported each corner of the ceiling, bands of pure gold and silver around them inset with numerous gemstones. Not even the grime left by the long submersion in the lake could diminish their splendour. The walls themselves were covered in the skeletal ancient text he had seen outside. There were more Hebrew passages too, but the other language occupied so much space that these were relegated to separate tablets laid out around the room’s waterlogged perimeter.
It was obvious what the temple had been built to house. The wall opposite the entrance contained a niche a little over a foot high, more gold lining it. Above it was a faded painting, a stylised seven-branched menorah – a Hebrew lampstand – with several letters over it. Carvings resembling the sun’s rays directed Rosemont’s eyes to its contents.
A strange stone figure filled the nook. Its body was human – but the head was that of a lion. Wrapped tightly around the statuette’s torso, shrouding it like wings, were several metal sheets embossed with a pattern resembling eyes.
Cross stood at the alcove, examining the artefact. ‘Do you see it?’ he gasped. ‘Do you see it?’
‘Yeah, I see it,’ Rosemont replied. There was a new edge to the other man’s voice that he had never heard before, a breathless excitement – no, wonderment. ‘What is it?’
Cross gave his superior a glance that was somewhere between pity and disdain. ‘You don’t see it, otherwise you’d know.’
‘Okay, then enlighten me.’
‘An apt choice of words.’ He leaned closer for a better look at the leonine head. ‘It’s an angel.’
‘Yeah, I can see that, I guess. It does kinda look like an angel.’
‘No, you don’t understand. It doesn’t just look like an angel. It is an angel! Exactly as described in the Book of Revelation! Chapter four, verse six – “Four beasts full of eyes before and behind. And the first beast was like a lion.” And there’s more: “And the four beasts had each of them six wings about him.”’ He crouched, the water sloshing up to his chest. ‘There’s something written on its side. I know what it says.’
‘You can read it?’ asked Rosemont, surprised.
‘No – but I still know what it says. Revelation chapter four, verse eight – “And they rest not, day and night, saying ‘Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come.’” They aren’t speaking day and night – the words are written on them, always visible. That’s what it means!’
‘That’s what what means?’
‘Revelation! I understand it, it’s all coming to me . . .’ Cross stared at the angel, then turned to face Rosemont. The older agent was momentarily startled by his expression, an almost messianic light burning in his eyes. ‘You said this lake was a meteorite crater. Revelation chapter eight, verse ten – “There fell a great star from heaven, burning as if it were a lamp.” Wormwood, the falling star; it’s describing a fireball, a meteor strike – and this is it, this is where it landed! It’s the bottomless pit!’ He faced the alcove once more. ‘The prophecy, it’s true . . .’
‘All right, so you’ve had a vision from God,’ said Rosemont, his discomfort replaced by impatience. ‘We’ve still got a mission to carry out. This is a job for archaeologists, not the CIA – let Indiana Jones take care of it. We need to get Kerim’s intel on those Iraqi positions.’
‘You do that,’ Cross replied as he took out a compact digital camera. ‘This is more important.’
‘The hell it is.’ Rosemont stepped closer as Cross took a photo of the alcove and the surrounding text-covered wall. ‘You’re coming with me, right now—’
‘Mike!’ Arnold’s shout reached them from outside. ‘The chopper, it’s coming back!’
‘Shit,’ said Rosemont. The Iraqis had probably spotted the Toyota’s tracks cutting across the dried-up marshlands. ‘Okay, Bible study’s over – move out!’
He splashed back down the tunnel, readying his rifle. Cross hesitated, then almost reverently took the angel from its niche, finding it surprisingly heavy for its size, and followed.
The two men joined Arnold near the broken pillar. ‘They’ve turned out their nav lights,’ he warned.
Rosemont listened. The pulsing thunder again grew louder, coming from somewhere to the south-east. He couldn’t see the aircraft, but with night-vision gear, its pilot’s view of the lake would be as clear as in daylight. ‘We need to get away from the ruins.’
‘You sure? The walls’ll give us cover—’
‘Not against rockets. The moment they see the truck, they’ll assume we’re inside and blow the hell out of the place! Spread out and try to reach Kerim’s people.’ He started to move,
then caught sight of what Cross was carrying. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I can’t leave it behind,’ Cross replied.
‘Put it down and take up your weapon! That’s an order, Cross!’
The two men glared at each other, neither willing to back down . . . then the deadlock was broken by Arnold’s cry. ‘Incoming!’
A flash of fiery light in the sky – and something streaked overhead. The CIA agents threw themselves flat—
The rocket hit the Toyota, the truck exploding in a dazzling fireball. Two more missiles hit the temple itself, shattering stonework and causing the roof to collapse with a crash that shook the surrounding sands. Then the gunship blasted over the ruin, swinging into a wide loop above the lake.
‘Is everyone okay?’ Rosemont called. His two companions responded in the affirmative.
‘We lost the truck,’ said Arnold unhappily, looking back at the burning wreck. ‘How are we gonna get out of here?’
‘We’ll walk if we have to,’ said Rosemont, ‘but let’s worry about staying alive first.’ He glanced towards Kerim’s position. ‘We’ve still got two LAWs over there. We might be able to bring down that chopper.’
Arnold was not convinced. ‘It’d take a miracle.’
‘God’s on our side,’ said Cross, unshakeable conviction in his voice. He held up the angel. ‘We found this for a reason. The Lord won’t let us die now.’
‘We need firepower, not faith!’ said Rosemont. ‘Leave that damn thing here – we’ve got to get those rockets.’ Cross gave him an affronted look, then reluctantly placed the angel at the foot of the pillar. ‘Okay, Gabe, find Kerim. Cross, with me.’
The agents set off at a run. Rosemont searched for the Hind over the dark water, but saw nothing. He could tell from the changing pitch of its engine note that it was turning around, though – another attack could come at any moment—
More fire in the sky – and dusty geysers erupted as cannon fire ripped across the shoreline. The gunner had spotted the Ma’dan and opened up as the Mi-24 swept in. The Marsh Arabs returned fire, muzzle flashes bursting from the reeds, but the AKs were useless against the Hind’s thick armour. Tracer rounds homed in on the gunmen and hit home, screams rising over the helicopter’s clamour as bodies were shredded by a storm of explosive shells.
Cross and Rosemont dived to the ground. The gunship roared over the shore, then vanished into the blackness once again. Kalashnikovs crackled after it in futile rage.
Rosemont raised his head. ‘Jesus Christ!’ He felt Cross bristle at the blasphemy, but had no time or inclination to consider anyone’s religious sensitivities. ‘We’ve got to get those LAWs before these bastards cut us to pieces.’
They ran again, men racing past them in the other direction; fear of whatever haunted the temple had been overpowered by an instinctive urge to seek cover behind solid stone. The two agents vaulted the torn remains of several Ma’dan. ‘There!’ said Cross, spotting the campfire’s still-glowing embers.
Rosemont picked out the two crates in the moonlight. ‘We only get one chance at this.’
‘We’ll do it.’ Cross snatched up the LAW from the open case as Rosemont retrieved the second weapon from the other. Both tugged out the pins to release their launchers’ rear covers, then pulled hard to extend the firing tubes—
‘Incoming!’ Arnold cried.
The agents dropped again as the Hind swept in along the lake’s edge. Rockets lanced from its wing pods, explosions ripping down the shore. More screams, some abruptly cut off as another fusillade scattered mangled bodies.
‘No!’ Cross cried as the line of detonations reached the ruins—
The saw-toothed pillar disintegrated in a flash of flame. More rockets hammered what remained of the temple into rubble, then the Mi-24 veered back out over the lake.
Rosemont jumped up, raising the LAW to his shoulder. He peered through the sight, fingers resting on the rubber trigger bar. ‘Cross! It’s coming back around – get ready!’
But the other man was staring in horror towards the ruins. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘The angel can’t have been destroyed. It can’t!’
‘Worry about your damn angel later. We’ve got—’ Rosemont broke off as a new sight was picked out by the flickering light of burning reeds.
Something was swelling on the shore, a dirty mustard-yellow mass. It took a moment for the CIA leader to realise that it was a cloud, some sort of gas boiling up from the edge of the ruins. But it was like nothing he had ever seen before; far thicker and heavier than the smoke from the vegetation, almost like a liquid as it churned and spread outwards.
It reached a dazed Ma’dan, roiled around him – and the man screamed. Clutching at his face, he tried to run, but could only manage a drunken stagger before collapsing. The still-expanding cloud swallowed him, and his cries became a gurgling wail of agony before abruptly falling silent. Other men nearby joined the terrifying chorus as the gas reached them.
Rosemont’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Holy shit, they’re using chemical weapons! MOPP gear – suit up! Suit up!’
The United States had long accused Saddam’s regime of possessing weapons of mass destruction, and now it appeared that the proof was rolling towards them as the deadly cloud kept growing. The CIA agents had come prepared, their webbing holding a pack containing Mission-Oriented Protective Posture clothing – an oversuit, gloves and mask to protect against nuclear, chemical and biological agents – but they had not expected to need them.
Panic rose in both men as they dropped the LAWs, shrugged off their gear and tore open the pouches. More sounds of terror and death reached them as the sulphurous fog spread, swamping the fleeing tribesmen. Cross worked his arms into the thick nylon overalls and tugged them up over his shoulders, then hurriedly pulled on the gas mask before zipping up the garment and drawing the hood over his head. Rosemont sealed his own outer covering a few seconds later, closing the hood tightly around his mask before starting to don his gloves. He looked back down the shore— ‘Gabe!’ he cried, seeing a familiar figure in the firelight.
Arnold was thirty metres away, desperately trying to secure his gas mask as he ran. Its straps were twisted, costing valuable seconds as he attempted to straighten them. At last he managed it and raised the hood, but his hands were still uncovered.
He pulled on one glove, fumbling with the other as the cloud reached him—
Contact with exposed skin was enough to kill, Rosemont saw with horror. Arnold suddenly grabbed at his unprotected hand, clawing it as if being bitten by a million insects. His shriek was clearly audible even through the mask. Then he dropped, writhing in the sand before the yellow haze consumed him.
The Marsh Arabs all suffered the same fate as the wind carried the cloud along the lake’s edge. Kerim was among the last to fall, firing his AK-47 into the malevolent yellow mass in a final act of defiance before he too succumbed.
His second glove secured, Rosemont was about to run from the approaching miasma when he remembered that there were still other threats to deal with. The Hind’s roar grew louder. ‘The rockets!’ he yelled to the fully suited Cross. ‘Get the rockets!’
They retrieved the LAWs. There was nothing to aim at in the black sky, and with their thickly lined hoods up, it was hard to pinpoint the source of the noise. Rosemont took his best guess and stared down the sights, the mask’s eyepiece smearing his vision. ‘Wait for it,’ he told his companion. ‘Wait . . .’
Staccato bursts of flame as the Mil’s cannon fired—
‘Now!’
Rosemont squeezed the trigger bar. The rocket shot from the launcher with a loud bang, the back-blast smacking up a rooster tail of dust behind him.
But Cross hadn’t moved. ‘Fire, now!’ Rosemont shouted, watching the orange spot of the rocket’s motor race towards the gunship—
The Hind suddenly banked hard. The pilot had seen the incoming missile and was taking evasive action. Rosemont cursed as he realised his shot was going to miss
. . .
Cross finally fired – and Rosemont realised why he had hesitated for a crucial moment. The Hind had swerved away from the first missile . . . but would fly right into the path of the second.
The cannon fire ceased, the Hind disappearing against the black sky. The first rocket continued pointlessly along its course, but the second was still angling to meet the aircraft. The engine note changed, the pilot applying full power as he tried to climb away from the incoming missile—
A flash – and for a split-second the Hind was fully illuminated as the LAW struck home.
It exploded against the helicopter’s tail boom. The Mil’s heaviest armour was concentrated around the cockpit and engines, but even if it had covered the entire fuselage it would not have been enough to stop a dedicated anti-tank round. The warhead ripped a jagged hole through the chopper’s flank, severing the mechanical linkage to the tail rotor.
The result was instantaneous.
Without the smaller rotor to counteract the enormous torque of the main blades, the Hind was hurled into an uncontrollable spin. Engines screaming, the helicopter cartwheeled overhead, Cross and Rosemont both ducking as it hurtled past. It smashed into the ground barely fifty metres beyond them, the mangled remains tumbling through the sand in a searing ball of flaming aviation fuel.
Rosemont lifted his head, heart pounding at the close call – only to freeze in fear as the yellow cloud rolled over the two men.
Everything went dark. He didn’t dare move, or even breathe, terrified that doing so would open up a gap in his hastily donned protective gear and let in the poisonous fog . . .
Seconds passed. No pain. He risked a breath. The mysterious chemical agent had not found a way to his lungs. ‘Cross!’ he gasped. ‘Are you okay?’
No reply. Worry rose at the thought of being trapped far behind enemy lines, alone – then he heard a voice. ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’
Another gasp, this time of relief. ‘That was a hell of a shot.’
‘I was a championship hunter before I joined the Marines. I hit what I aim at.’
‘Good to know. Your suit’s holding?’
The Revelation Code (Wilde/Chase 11) Page 2