The Last Sicarius

by Van R. Mayhall Jr.

  “We go to Herod’s palace on the northern end of the mountain,” said J.E. “This is the likely hiding place of the jars and the most easily defended area of the plateau.”

  “J.E.,” said Tomás, “we have your mother. We should consider the odds and leave by the old ramp before we are cut off.”

  “No!” said Cloe, preempting any other response. “We will help any of the Sicarii who may have survived. We will find the jars and prevent the Karik from getting them. We all agreed we would put an end to the Karik.”

  “Cloe, perhaps Tomás is correct,” said Father Sergio. “We can only do so much.”

  The monsignor drew himself up to his full height and turned and faced them. “We don’t have much time, but it is imperative that the Karik not recover possession of the jars and the knowledge that might be contained within them,” he said. “We don’t know what’s in them, but we know they are thousands of years old. Many have died both in the past and here tonight to protect that knowledge from those who would pervert and distort it such as the Karik. I say if this is the place I must die to make a stand for my faith, then so be it.”

  There was silence as the group absorbed the monsignor’s words.

  “As you say, it is your faith and your decision to die for it,” responded Tomás. “As for me and my men, our mission was to find our boss and Dr. Lejeune. We have Dr. Lejeune, and she says the boss is likely dead. Our operation here is complete, and we will depart for the ramp. We will fight another day.”

  J.E. hung his head in weariness and defeat, but he knew Tomás had made his decision. He could not disrespect a man who had fought bravely at every turn but now was done.

  “Tomás, go with God,” said the monsignor. “We are better for having been with you.”

  CHAPTER 100

  Cloe watched briefly as Tomás and his men departed for the old Roman ramp. Now there were only the four of them, J.E., Father Sergio, the monsignor, and herself. Hardly an elite fighting force, she thought.

  They moved quietly but quickly to the north, seeking Herod’s palace. Before long they came to the outer walls, now in ruins. Rapidly, they moved through the storehouses of the upper regions of the palace. The night-vision goggles were a great help and precluded their discovery since they were not using flashlights. They checked the cisterns, caves, and other areas where the jars might be stashed but came up empty.

  “We have found nothing here,” said the monsignor. “The Karik cannot be far behind us. We may be better off setting a defensive position.”

  “I think you are correct, Albert,” responded J.E. “But we will need to split up. Mom, you have to go on and search the rest of the palace for the jars. There are two more levels, and the jars could be at either. If necessary, you must destroy them.”

  “J.E., I could not destroy relics of such age and importance,” Cloe said at once.

  “If the three of us cannot hold the Karik’s men here, would you let them fall into his hands?” asked J.E.

  Cloe was silent as she contemplated the enormity of the choice. Her entire life’s work was all about preserving and translating such texts as they might find in the jars—a treasure trove of ancient writings. Yet could she countenance this material coming into the possession of the Karik? He would twist the information and misuse it for his own selfish purposes, at best. By destroying the jars, she would be keeping her promise to the pope. “J.E., I understand what must be done,” said Cloe sadly.

  “Here, take this lighter and matches. We will hold as long as we can.”

  She looked at them and realized this was a suicide mission. The Karik had four or five times their number, plus long-range rifles with those scopes she had seen take out the Sicarii.

  “Mom, we will do the best we can, but the odds are sobering,” said J.E. “If it were not critical to protect the jars, we would have gone with Tomás. He did leave us additional weapons and cartridges and some explosives. We have sniper rifles too, but the Karik will eventually triangulate us and overrun our position.”

  “The young sir is quite correct,” said the monsignor. “But suppose we plan our defense with that in mind?”

  “Ah, Albert, I definitely like the way you think,” replied J.E., smiling.

  “What are your orders, J.E.?” asked the monsignor. “We need a battle plan for all times. This is certainly the place for such inspiration.”

  J.E. turned and surveyed the ground before them, including the remnants of the old exterior walls outlining the outer perimeter of Masada from Herod’s days. “There’s enough rubble around the walls that the Karik and his men can’t sneak up on us from the outside and use the perimeter walls for cover,” he observed. “They will have to approach from the inside of the fortress walls.

  “Albert, here on the north end of Masada, the plateau narrows considerably. This will force the Karik to come at us inside of the perimeter walls through a rather narrow approach. The only good cover in the area is the ruins of the commander’s barracks a few hundred yards to the south,” continued J.E.

  “Quite so,” said the monsignor. “Once they leave the barracks, they will be in the open.”

  “How do you and Serge feel about that?” asked J.E. “You are priests. If we are successful, we will kill many people tonight.”

  The monsignor seemed to study the question and to struggle with it. Finally he said, “The Karik will give us no choice. As long as we stand between him and the jars, he will kill us all if we do not defend ourselves. Even priests are entitled to preserve themselves and what they believe in. We will fight to protect ourselves, Cloe, and you.”

  The young camerlengo was quiet for a moment and then said simply, “Yes.”

  “We need to position ourselves so the area between the palace walls and the walls of the old barracks becomes a killing field for us,” said J.E. “Albert, take a sniper rifle and go to the eastern end of the palace wall and set your sniper nest there.”

  “What about me?” asked the young camerlengo.

  “Serge, you go to the western end of the wall. You must be aware that there is a short wall there, and they may try to flank us on your side,” said J.E. “I’ll stay right here in the middle.”

  “But, J.E., that’s the most dangerous place,” said Father Sergio.

  “Not to worry, Serge,” responded J.E. “I’ve been trained for this. I’ll do my piece, and then we’ll all fall back to the inner walls of the palace right on the point.”

  “How will we know to coordinate our fire? That will be essential,” observed the monsignor. “We have to fire together and then fall back together to have any chance.”

  “My mom will take our short-range automatic weapons and ammo to the inner wall. I have an idea how I want to set the four Claymore mines that Tomás left,” said J.E. “As to communications, we will use this.” J.E. pulled a flashlight out of his tunic.

  “But that will give you away,” said Cloe.

  “Not if I use this,” replied J.E., and with respect he produced Thib’s old low-light red lens that had lit the way for Thib and Bobby Morrow in the cave of jars so long ago.

  Cloe watched as he screwed the lens into his flashlight. When he was finished, he flicked it on, and it gave a muted red glow.

  “I will hold this aloft when the Karik’s men have entered the killing field outside the wall. Count five seconds and open fire,” said J.E. “Make your shots count. Our lives depend on bringing down the odds against us. When I think we have gotten as much gain as we can, or when they have regrouped and are on to us, I will wave the light in a circle above my head. This means fall back to the inner wall. Have your path marked in your mind and make haste.”

  “What about the mines? Where will you put them?” asked the monsignor.

  “As we retreat to the inner walls, I will set up a couple of them in the corridors the Karik may use to follow us, and the rest will go just inside the last covered position the Karik’s men could use for shelter before crossing the open ground to the inn
er walls where we will be,” said J.E.

  “So whoever is left after the killing field and the mines will have to cross this area, and we will use our short-range weapons on them. I think I get it,” said Father Sergio.

  “Right, Serge, but remember that in battle, after the first shot is fired, all plans can go out the window,” said J.E. “Stay disciplined and stay to the plan, and we have a chance.”

  As they prepared to split up to take on their separate tasks, the monsignor knelt on the dusty surface and bowed his head. J.E. noticed first and joined him. The others followed.

  CHAPTER 101

  The Karik fumed at the delay. His men were still scattered up and down the various rock formations and broken walls they had used to hide behind during the assault on the Sicarii. Once the firing had begun and the Sicarii were obviously being overwhelmed, the Karik’s thugs had charged the mostly wounded women. Although they were game fighters, they were not disciplined soldiers. They had taken souvenirs, body parts and hair. The Karik had blanched and felt nauseous at the sight, and his doubts had returned. Once again the Karik had wondered whether he was really up to this. Briefly, he had wished he were back at the chalet. The sound of Noosh yelling, trying to form the men up to go north to the palace, had brought him back to the jars.

  “How long before we can go after what we came for?” pressed the Karik, his mouth dry.

  “In just a few minutes, Karik,” said Noosh. “I will have them together shortly. I should send scouts forward to make sure the way is clear.”

  “Rubbish,” cried the Karik in frustration and anger. “There is no one here but us and Dr. Lejeune. The Sicarii are all dead. Make haste. I want the jars.”

  At that point, one of the Karik’s men pushed Miguel into the circle where Noosh and the Karik stood.

  “What shall we do with him?” asked Noosh.

  “He is mine,” said the Karik. “Bind his hands tightly, and I’ll take him with me. I’ll let him see the painful death of his friend, Dr. Lejeune. Then I’ll put him out of his misery.”

  “Karik, the men report the Lejeune woman is not where we left her,” said Noosh.

  “Damn that pesky woman!” exclaimed the Karik. “She can’t have gotten far. Tie his hands and find her.”

  Noosh saw to it that Miguel’s hands were bound. The captive man hung his head and seemed to have little fight left in him.

  It took fully thirty minutes for Noosh to round up all the Karik’s men and get them briefed and prepared. At last, Noosh reported, “Karik, we are ready. What are your orders?”

  “We advance toward Herod’s palace on the northern face. That’s where the jars must be hidden,” replied the Karik. “Search everywhere. Anyone who comes across Dr. Lejeune, bring her to me immediately.”

  “As you wish, sir, but we will have to cross open ground once we get past the commander’s barracks,” said Noosh. “I think scouts are in order.”

  “Noosh, we are alone. Only Dr. Lejeune is here,” said the Karik. “But we have made enough noise that there may be others here shortly. We need to find the jars and get out.”

  “Very well, Karik,” replied Noosh, leading his men to the north.

  CHAPTER 102

  Cloe struggled under the weight of the close-quarters weapons and ammo, but she made it to the inner wall of the palace. After tucking a .45 automatic in her belt near the small of her back, she put the other guns and ammunition behind the inner wall and turned to the north. There, she saw only blackness, with a background of distant cold stars. She was gazing over the edge of the highest promenade of the upper palace. Beyond this point there was only empty space. The next level of the palace was several stories below.

  ***

  J.E. studied the nighttime landscape below him through the low-light lenses. The view was all white but painted with a soft green glow. He heard them before he actually saw them. The Karik’s men were making no pretense of stealth. They clearly did not expect any further opposition. J.E. smiled in spite of himself.

  He glanced to the east and saw the monsignor watching the incomers. A quick glance to the west told him Father Sergio was ready as well. He worried the most about Serge. The monsignor had a certain militaristic air about him, but Serge was more like Father Al—a parish priest. How would he do in a fight?

  J.E. watched as the Karik’s troops trod across no man’s land with their weapons slung over their shoulders. When most or all of them were in the open, he lit the flashlight and waved it aloft.

  Five seconds later, J.E. opened up on the soldiers in the kill zone. His fire was like a wave cutting the force in two. Several of the Karik’s men went down. The assailants divided, some going east and some going west away from the withering fire. Weapons had been unslung and now were returning J.E.’s volleys with a vengeance. They were pouring it on J.E.’s position, which they had soon located.

  J.E. hid behind his cover and listened for fire from the monsignor and Father Sergio. He heard nothing. J.E. was the only person shooting at the Karik’s men. Now they were zeroed in on him.

  J.E. peered out from his redoubt and saw that the opposition had formed up and were now rushing his position. Someone threw a grenade, but it fell short. If they were able to advance a little more, their grenades would be on target. J.E. rose up and squeezed off a few more rounds. Though a couple more of the thugs went down, the return fire was murderous. There was nothing J.E. could do but duck down and hope his friends would join the battle. He had known the priests would be conflicted about killing anybody, including the Karik’s henchmen, but he hadn’t expected them to do nothing.

  “Albert, I’m in a bad way here, and I need help!” yelled J.E. to the east.

  Just as he finished his plea, a wicked fusillade opened up from both the east and the west. The killing field was joined. J.E. raised his rifle and fired into the rushing mass. Thank God, he thought.

  The Karik’s men had been beaten back. They turned and ran like scalded dogs. Tracers from the bullets of J.E., the monsignor, and Father Sergio followed them back to the commander’s barracks, where they took cover.

  Then there was silence, the profound silence that is left in the wake of taking life. Surveying the field, J.E. could see they had inflicted major damage. Probably a third of the Karik’s force had been killed or knocked out of the fight by their wounds. This meant that whereas it had been five or six to one, it was now only three or four to one. Progress.

  There was suddenly a deadly whooshing sound that J.E. had heard many times before but could hardly believe here.

  “RPG!” he screamed. “Down!” He immediately saw that the explosive had been aimed at his position but fired high. It passed over J.E. and was still going out into the valley below. He recognized this as a sign of inexperience with these rifle-propelled grenades. Firing high was a very common error, for which he thanked God once more.

  Still, the Karik’s men would soon have their measure. J.E. took out the flashlight with Thib’s red lens on it and waved it over his head in a circular motion.

  Ten seconds later, another RPG was launched and landed exactly in the monsignor’s location. The wall he had been positioned behind blew up, laying waste to the entire area. J.E. could only hope the monsignor and Serge had gotten the signal. Now more grenades were coming in. Time to move! he decided. He emptied the magazine of his weapon, spraying the hiding places of the Karik’s troops. Then J.E. threw the sniper rifle over his shoulder and ran like a madman.

  As he crossed the open area that led to the inner wall, he was joined on the one side by the lithe figure of the monsignor and on the other by the roly-poly silhouette of the camerlengo. Both were very welcome sights.

  CHAPTER 103

  Cloe had heard the battle sounds as she searched for the jars. At one point, they had become so intense that she wanted to put her hands over her ears, lie down, and curl up into a ball. But as long as her son and friends were fighting to give her time to search, she would search.

  She ha
d been completely through the second level and had found nothing. Now she descended to the third and final level. If the jars were not here, they were probably not at Masada. But how could that be? The Sicarii themselves were here, supposedly defending them, and were now most likely all dead. Had they planned for this possibility and not told her? If the jars weren’t here, where could they be?

  ***

  The monsignor and Father Sergio ran on ahead to the inner wall while J.E. stopped at the nearest cover from there to set the Claymores. As he glimpsed his compatriots, J.E. noted that Serge seemed to be limping a bit. Well, he was clearly out of shape.

  J.E. turned to the task of setting the booby traps. He had to move quickly because the enemy was close behind. The low walls were about thirty to forty yards from the inner ramparts of the palace. This had probably once been one of the many storehouses that had serviced the fortress. Now roofless, it was only a series of stone-and-rock partitions. Although it would be good cover, J.E.’s plans would make his adversaries hiding here very uncomfortable.

  He quickly took in the area and set a mine at each end of the last row of old stones before the open area leading to the inner palace. He looked toward his pursuers and set the timers for fifteen minutes. He then used his last two mines in the two lanes that looked like they might be used as access corridors by the Karik. These he set with trip wires. If the Karik came that way or tried to retreat from the Claymores at the forward wall, he would find nothing but fiery hell.

  Having done what he could, J.E. ran for all he was worth toward the inner wall. Sporadic fire overshot him as he dove behind the covering wall. “Okay,” he yelled, “set up the same as before.”

  Then he jerked up, now noticing that the monsignor was kneeling over Father Sergio. “Albert, what is it?” he cried.