Staff of Judea

by Alex Archer

  “All right,” she said, “here’s what we’re going to do.”

  A few minutes later they were crowded by the back door, ready to make a break for it. Annja was first, then Susan, Benjamin and finally Mike bringing up the rear. Annja had taken a length of rope out of the supply pack and tied them together, one after another with about three feet of rope in between each person. “Lock hands once we get outside and just keep following the person in front of you,” she said. “It isn’t far. We just have to keep moving.”

  The wind nearly ripped the door out of her hands as she opened it, so she just let it go rather than injure herself trying to fight Mother Nature. With one last look back Annja headed out into the storm.

  The wind was far worse now than it had been fifteen minutes before and Annja had a hard time just standing upright. She bent over as far as she dared against the worst of the gusts and pushed on.

  Visibility had sunk to little better than a few inches in front of her face and for a brief moment Annja considered turning right back around and waiting out the storm in the ruined SUV. But only for a moment.

  They struggled forward. The wind pushed at them and tried to steal the air out of their lungs, as if it had suddenly become some malevolent force. Annja kept her focus, putting one foot in front of the other, not letting go of Susan’s hand no matter what. If she could do those two things, she would get them out of this alive.

  Several times they fell, sometimes singly and sometimes as a group, and Annja was grateful for the rope that held them together.

  They’d been walking for what felt like forever. Annja began to worry. We should have reached the others by now, she thought.

  Twice more the wind knocked them off their feet and the last time Annja lay there, exhausted.

  We’re lost, she realized. Must have gotten off track somewhere, wandered right past them in the storm.

  She lifted her head, but couldn’t see anything through the twisting, turning sand.

  As she climbed to her feet she had no idea which way to go.

  They were in serious trouble.

  Please. She dragged Susan to her feet behind her. Please help us.

  Then, as if in answer to her plea, a sound intruded over the wind. It was faint, but recognizable.

  A car horn.

  Someone was leaning on the horn of one of the trucks.

  Annja didn’t say anything. The others wouldn’t have heard her over the storm. She turned in the direction of the truck and began plodding forward once more, aiming for the makeshift beacon.

  The horn saved their lives. Ten minutes later the bulk of the Land Cruisers materialized out of the gloom before her and then hands were reaching out to them and pulling them through the gap between the trucks and into the shelter beyond.

  Annja stumbled over to a clear space and slid down the wall. She watched as Hamilton tended to Benjamin’s head wound, washing with water from his canteen and then wrapping long strips of gauze around his head like a scarf. When he was finished, he tried to make the young archaeologist as comfortable as possible. It still remained to be seen whether or not they were going to need to airlift him out, but Hamilton didn’t think so, which Annja took as a good sign.

  Ephraim sat next to her. He had a self-satisfied look on his face and it didn’t take Annja long to figure out why.

  “Thank you,” she told him.

  He shrugged. “Grimes suggested it. I just happened to be the one sitting there behind the wheel.”

  “Either way, that horn saved our lives, Ephraim. So thank you.”

  He beamed and for the first time in an hour Annja began to feel as if everything was going to be all right.

  There was little for the group to do, huddled up against the back wall as they were, trying to stay as far from the gritty, blowing air, and many of them dropped off into an uneasy sleep as they waited for it to pass, Annja among them.

  Chapter 15

  The storm lasted just over three hours. Annja would later find out that it was one of the strongest sandstorms to strike the Negev Desert in three decades. For now all she knew was that she was damned uncomfortable being cooped up inside a shallow cave for so long. She had sand in places she hoped never to have sand again. Her only consolation was that everyone else appeared to be as uncomfortable as she was.

  She rose to her feet, spat to try to clear the grit from her mouth—to no avail—and then assessed where they were. In the dim light she could see that some of the others were also shaking off the dust and trying to pull themselves together. Grimes and a few of his men were working on digging them out. The blowing sand had piled up against their vehicles, spilling around the sides and in between them. Thankfully the trucks had kept most of it out of their hidey-hole. Before joining those trying to dig them free, Annja stepped over to Benjamin.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  He grinned ruefully up at her from his spot on the floor. “I’ve got a whopper of a headache, but otherwise I’m okay. Might wear my seat belt next time.”

  She laughed, then clapped him on his good shoulder.

  Even with six of them digging it took over an hour to clear the vehicles sufficiently to drive away from the cave. Two of the trucks had flat tires from flying debris. Changing them, especially on loose, uneven ground like this, was going to take some time and care.

  Grimes cursed a blue streak, but there wasn’t anything he could do except work on solving the problem. They created a redundant system by using two jacks on each vehicle. Should one fail, the other should keep the truck from crashing into the sand and possibly injuring anybody. It took another hour to take care of the tires, but at last they were finished.

  While the security crew had been working on the trucks, Annja and the others did what they could to salvage supplies and gear from Ben’s ruined vehicle, including the mostly full tank of gas. When they were done they split the load, including the extra passengers, between the other five vehicles and headed off.

  The long ride passed without further incident and the sun was just setting as they arrived in the vicinity of the ruins of Ben Baraket, an ancient Hebrew trading center. In the failing light, the decision was made to camp in the lee of the ridgeline where the ruins stood and investigate the site in the morning.

  The trucks were arranged facing outward with the tents in a semicircle on the inside, just as they had been the night before. Their concern about being followed had diminished but wasn’t forgotten. The fact that they were cherry-picking sites to investigate and not dealing with them in the order they presented on the scroll eased their anxiety, as did the belief that no one could have tracked them through the fury of the day’s storm. Still, Annja thought it wise not to dismiss the possibility outright.

  The mood around the campfire that night was subdued. The day’s events and Benjamin’s injury had stolen some of their enthusiasm. Annja wasn’t concerned, though. She knew a good night’s sleep would go a long way to bringing back their excitement. And the minute they found the next cache, and at this point she was all but certain they would, they would be back to their old selves.

  * * *

  ONE MINUTE SHE WAS sound asleep, the next wide awake as her body’s natural alarm system told her she was in danger. She lay there in her sleeping bag, eyes wide open, her body tensed and ready for action. Her heart was pounding in her chest but she kept her breathing steady and even, not wanting to give away the fact that she was no longer asleep.

  Instinct told her she wasn’t alone.

  She lay there, straining to hear the slightest sound. There. The sound of the zipper on the front of her tent slowly being unzipped.

  That must have been what had woken her.

  Camp etiquette was straightforward. You didn’t enter the private quarters of another team member without first announcing yourse
lf and waiting for a reply. Especially at this late hour.

  Whoever it was, they were up to no good. That seemed clear.

  A voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her to do something, but Annja bided her time, waiting for the right moment. She didn’t want to spook whoever it was into running. She’d never figure this mystery out if the person managed to disappear into the darkness surrounding the camp.

  Lying there, her back to the tent entrance, wasn’t easy.

  Steady, Annja, steady.

  She heard the whisper of the tent flap being drawn aside and then the brush of fabric against the side wall of the entrance.

  Steady…

  Now!

  She rolled over, calling her sword to her at the same time and thrusting upward toward the looming shape above her even as the sword was still forming in her hand.

  To her surprise, the intruder turned his body away from her thrust, almost as if he were expecting her to make that very move. The sword slipped past him and then he was inside her range and dropping on top of her, trying to use the weight of his body to pin her to the ground while he shoved a cloth at her face.

  Annja turned her head, taking the cloth on her cheek instead of over her nose and mouth. It was covered with a foul-smelling liquid and even the brief whiff she got made her dizzy. Alarms began shrieking in the back of her head as she realized the intruder was trying to drug her into unconsciousness!

  She twisted her hips and thrashed her legs, trying to get out from beneath him. She was only partially successful, ending up with him kneeling between her legs, his elbows on her chest as he fought to clamp the cloth over her face. His weight bore down on her diaphragm, forcing the air out of her lungs. She ignored it for the time being, knowing the greater threat was in his hands. She grabbed his wrists, preventing him from smothering her. He tried to pull away but she held on tight. As long as she controlled his movement she’d have a much better chance of getting out of this alive.

  In the dim light she couldn’t see much, just had the sense of him looming over her, and so she was completely unprepared when he smacked his forehead into her own. Pain washed over her, but she held on grimly through it, determined not to let go. When he pulled himself back to try to do it again, she made her move. She shoved his right arm against his body, which caused his shoulder to dip lower and provided the opening she was looking for. In a flash she jerked her hips off the floor and wrapped her legs around his shoulders, crossing her feet at the ankles to lock them in place. He struggled to get free, but his left arm was now pinned beneath her leg, limiting his options. That didn’t stop him from flailing with his right, though, and Annja felt her grip starting to loosen as the extra weight on her chest made it more and more difficult to breathe.

  Now or never.

  Annja released her hold on her assailant’s hand and grabbed the back of his head with both of her own, shoving his chin down toward his chest. As soon as she had managed that she shifted her hip to the right, brought her right leg up higher so that it crossed over the back of his neck rather than his shoulders and locked her feet back together again, putting him into a triangle choke hold between her powerful legs.

  Now all she had to do was hold tightly until he passed out.

  That’s when his flailing hand finally found her face and slapped that foul-smelling cloth over her mouth and nostrils.

  Chapter 16

  Annja fought to keep from inhaling, despite her lungs already being depleted of air from her assailant’s weight. He pressed the cloth down tighter and she responded by squeezing her legs together.

  From that point it became a race to see who could hold out longer without air, Annja or her assailant. Her lungs were already burning and her body was starting to protest—her lizard brain telling her to take a breath while her rational brain was yelling at her not to even think about doing it.

  Annja rocked her hips one way and then quickly shifted back the other, using the momentum she generated and her opponent’s own weight against him to send him crashing to the ground. The motion dislodged his hand from her face and she gulped down a lungful of air as she squeezed tighter with her legs. His flailing grew weaker…and weaker…and then stopped altogether as his body went slack.

  She held on for another moment, to make sure that he wasn’t faking it, and then scrambled away from the unconscious form. Her hands were shaking from all the adrenaline that had flooded her system as she called her sword and then used her free hand to snatch up the electric lantern from the corner. She flicked the switch with her thumb.

  Light flooded the tent, showing her a dark-haired, bearded man unconscious across her sleeping bag. He was dressed in what looked to her to be traditional Bedouin garb—a sleeveless vest and long flowing tunic over loose-fitting trousers. If she had to guess his age she would have put him in his mid-thirties.

  Who the hell was he and what did he want?

  Cautiously, she stepped closer and prodded him with the edge of her blade. He didn’t react. She poked him again, harder this time, but again he failed to react. Satisfied that he was actually unconscious and therefore no longer an immediate threat, she squatted next to him and rolled him over. She studied his face for a long moment.

  She didn’t know him

  Was this one of Ephraim’s infamous Gibborim?

  Annja quickly searched him, looking for anything that might help her understand who he was or why he would try to kidnap her in the middle of the night, but came up empty. She did, however, notice his boots. Instead of the typical Bedouin footwear, this man was wearing what looked to her to be a pair of good old American combat boots.

  What on earth?

  She was moving to take a closer look when a noise from outside caught her attention. She doused the light, waited a moment for her eyes to adjust and then peered out through the open flap of her tent. She didn’t see anything unusual.

  Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything out there.

  She debated keeping her sword out for a few seconds before finally deciding against it. If the noise she’d heard was nothing, she’d have a hard time explaining the three-foot broadsword. If, on the other hand, it turned out her assailant hadn’t come alone, she could always call the weapon back to her with the speed of thought.

  She let the sword vanish back into the otherwhere and then stepped out of the tent. Around her, the rest of the camp seemed quiet, peaceful. The other tents were dark, including the one Connolly shared with Grimes. The fire had burned down so far that even the coals were barely glowing.

  It’s too quiet.

  No sooner had the thought formed than a dark shape came thundering out of the night toward her. It took a moment for her eyes to make sense of what she was seeing, and by the time she had, the horse and rider had crossed nearly half the distance that separated them. The rider was dressed like the first man had been, the edges of his desert robes whipping behind him as his horse charged forward. The ends of his kuffiya had been pulled around his face, hiding all of his features except his eyes. Both his horse and his clothing were black, allowing him to blend in with the shadows and no doubt accounting for the way he seemed to appear out of thin air.

  But what really caught Annja’s attention was the wicked-looking curved blade the rider held in his right hand.

  The horse’s hooves pounded the earth as it charged toward her. The rider rose slightly in his saddle, preparing to deliver a blow with his sword.

  A glance beyond him revealed additional riders just now emerging into the light, spread out in an arc designed to envelop the camp. The thought that there had been a sentry posted out beyond the camp in that direction flashed into her mind.

  Time seemed to slow down as she went into fight mode. Every beat of the horse’s hooves against the stony ground seemed to echo in her head, timed to match the pounding
of her heart.

  It was immediately obvious that her options were extremely limited. If she turned her back she’d be run down in seconds. There was no way she could get out of the way before the riders reached her. Dodging to the left or right would only put her in a position to be attacked by the next rider in line.

  She really only had one choice.

  Stand and fight.

  At the very least she could probably delay the lead rider long enough for others to wake up and try to defend themselves.

  So be it.

  She stepped away from the tent, moving onto open ground, giving herself as much room to maneuver as possible. “Help! We’re under attack!”

  Without waiting to see if anyone heard her, she stepped forward to face the oncoming threat. She didn’t know it, but she was smiling as she set her feet and prepared to meet the rider bearing down on her.

  Annja could see the horse’s eyes glistening in the moonlight. Her first instinct was to bring the rider down by taking out his horse, but at the last second she couldn’t. She couldn’t punish the animal for doing what it had been bred to do. So she changed her position and prepared to deal with the rider himself.

  He raced toward her, trying to spook her into running, but she held her ground. He guided his horse slightly to his left so that he would pass her on his right. His arm drew back.

  The rider was ten feet away now.

  Five.

  Three.

  Annja had a moment to take a deep breath and then horse and rider were upon her, the sword whistling down toward her unprotected head even as she sprang her trap and called her own weapon. The broadsword appeared in her hands as if by magic. One moment the rider was bearing down on an unarmed woman and the next that same woman was stepping inside his attack and bringing a hardened steel blade up to meet his descending one in a savage blow of her own.

  The rider was completely unprepared for her to turn the tables on him, and the unexpected strike, combined with the force of the blow, sent him toppling off the horse’s back in a heap.