He asked, “What stories do the villagers here tell about what happened?”
Micah had the momentary impression of terror glittering far back in those odd emerald eyes.
“They say luminous beings walk the earth, and they’re taking revenge for all the atrocities committed against Africans over the centuries.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They think they’re safe. They don’t have the disease yet. Look around you, Captain. Do you see any non-Africans in this refugee camp?”
“You and Nadai.”
Even as her head turned toward the door, her gaze still held his. Finally, she broke eye contact and peered out at the firelit night beyond the church. “Other than ourselves, we’ve seen no other non-Africans since the flood of refugees stopped. It’s probably a temporary illusion, of course.”
“Why would it take longer for Africans to contract the disease?”
“Unknown.”
Micah filled his lungs and let it out slowly. They were both soldiers. She didn’t have to tell him that fighting only stopped for one of two reasons. Either somebody won, or everyone was dead. If the planes had ceased their flyovers, his side had probably not won. Some other nation had.
“To make matters worse, Captain, we need to leave here tomorrow. We’re trying to decide what to do with you. For your own good, it might be better to leave you—”
“I’m going with you, Asher. How will we be traveling?” My God, I haven’t even attempted to stand up. Can I walk?
“We bought an old fishing boat that’s been fitted with a makeshift mast and sail. Thirty feet long. It’s got to be fifty years old. The sail is basically a rag. I imagine we’ll spend most of our time paddling it. But it’s the best we could do. We’ll head down the Nile to the sea. After that … we’re going to play it by ear. We think the boat is seaworthy if we stay close to shore and the waves don’t get too high. We’re trying to make it home to America.”
Home. Longing filled him.
Anna picked up the lamp and rose to her feet. “Try to rest, Micah. This is going to be a long, difficult journey. You’re going to need your strength.”
“Affirmative, Captain Asher.”
When she’d gone, and the woven door closed, he listened to the soft voices outside, endeavoring to hear what they were saying to each other. He only caught a phrase here and there, things like devastation and mass graves.
After a time, he reached down the front of his combat suit and drew out the tracker. It switched on with no apparent effort. So it wasn’t an EMP. That would have knocked out every electronic device in range. Unless, of course, he had not been in range. Or, was the tracker EMP-shielded? If so, no one had informed him of that fact. Everything on the screen looked perfectly normal, huts, people moving, fires burning …
As he tried to fall asleep, one thought kept waking him: deprivation theory. Anthropology 101: people who feel they’ve been deprived of something, even something as abstract as justice, will do anything to obtain it.
Everyone they were going to meet on their journey home would be suffering from some kind of deprivation.
No wonder everyone wants a gun.
CHAPTER 22
When Anna exited the door of the little church, Martin bowed to the African man he’d been talking to, and said, “Forgive me, Bailiri. I need to speak with my friend.”
“Yes, of course.” The man waved him away.
As Martin trotted across the sand toward Anna, he surveyed the vast refugee camp. Fires extended for as far as they could see, rising and falling with the slightest undulation of the floodplain. This time of the season, insects should have been buzzing in the brush, crops and grass near the water, but all Martin heard was the hum of endless human conversation, punctuated by the laughter of children.
When their paths collided, Martin said, “Who is he?”
“Army captain. Micah Hazor.”
“What’s he doing here?”
Firelight reflected from her face. “He’d like to know that as much as you would. He’s badly injured. Doesn’t remember much. He asked me to search for the other members of his team, though, so that’s my next task.”
He took note of Anna’s determined expression. “That’s a very dangerous plan, Anna. Where are you going to start? It’s late. There’s a mass of humanity here. Though we haven’t seen anyone sick, if you start wandering around the camps, you probably will. Do you want to take the chance of contracting this plague? What’s more important to you? Staying alive long enough to get the Marham-i-Isa to a lab? Or looking for Hazor’s team?”
“Hazor’s team,” she said matter-of-factly.
Anna’s gaze drifted eastward to the ruins of the ancient Egyptian temple at Karnak. From here, he could just make out two standing obelisks that soared above the 3,500-year-old sacred complex.
As though speaking to herself, Anna softly said, “When Hakari brought me here four years ago, he knew the plague was coming. He was hunting for the cure. Obviously, we didn’t find it back then. So, he returned to Egypt three years ago.”
“Why?”
“He must have thought we’d missed something.”
“Well, for one thing, you didn’t find the Marham-i-Isa on that first trip.”
“True, but … It’s more than that.” She gestured to the obelisks. “When we were here together, he took the time to point out the pyramidions.”
He looked out at the magnificent ruins that shone in the firelight. “The what?”
“The obelisks are four-sided and culminate in a small pyramid-shaped tip, called a pyramidion. Pyramidions have four triangular faces, plus a square base. Put two pyramids together, base against base, and you have an octahedron. Four. Everything is based on four.”
“Everything?”
“Sure. For example, DNA is composed of four chemical elements: carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, and phosphorous.”
He shrugged. “So?”
“Mystical geometry, Martin.”
“Are you saying that the maze is based upon mystical geometry? I thought you said it was molecular.”
“They are not mutually exclusive. Life is sacred, and the basic prerequisites for life are the triangle, the hexagon, and the circle.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.”
She exhaled the words: “Try to see this in your mind. The crystalline structure of phosphorous is a tetrahedron; it’s composed of four triangular faces. Nitrogen and carbon are hexagons. Oxygen is basically two connected circles. See what I mean? Life is geometry. And that geometry is sacred, because life is sacred. Ancient mystical geometers believed that geometric forms revealed the mind of God at work in creation. So did Hakari.”
She kept staring at the obelisks as though she expected them to shout some secret message to her.
“So, you came here with Hakari four years ago. And you were at Bir Bashan four years ago. And you excavated at the megalithic tombs of Malta four years ago. Were there any other stops on the Hakari maze tour?”
“Ashkelon, Israel.”
He was stringing disparate facts about her life together, but it meant virtually nothing without an overall context to place them in.
She stared hard at the pyramidions that capped the obelisks. “There’s something … something here … he wants me to understand.”
“Anna, look at me. Do you realize that Hakari may have sent you on a wild-goose chase?”
Anna stared into his eyes for less than a second, then pointed to the north. “I’m going to start looking for Hazor’s team at the next fire and work my way down the river until dawn. Please take good care of that little jar in your pack.”
“Can’t this wait until morning, Anna? If Hazor’s men are out there, they aren’t going anywhere.”
“They could be hurt, Martin, even dying. If I were alone and hurting I’d want someone to find me. So, if they’re out here, I’m going to find them.”
Martin expelled a breath. “My God, you can be irrati
onal. Okay, let me think just for a minute.”
She gave him a faint smile. “One minute. Then I’m off.”
His thoughts were spinning around all the possible ramifications of such a search. After all, America had just bombed villages across Africa, and not everyone in this part of the world had liked Americans to start with. They’d like them even less now. Then there was the small fact that an epidemic was raging.
“All right, Anna, if you have to do this thing, let’s do it together. But you’re also looking for Yacob, right? You said you were supposed to meet him here. Tell me what he looks like so I can help you search.”
“Just ask if anyone has seen an American.”
“Christ, you can’t even tell me what he looks like? What harm could that do?”
Anna frowned at him. “Are you sure you want to help me? Do you understand what you’re offering to do? Think about this.”
“In fact, I do understand, and it scares the hell out of me.” Memories of the dying villagers in Bir Bashan still haunted his dreams. Especially the little boy with the see-through chest. “But I’m not going to touch anyone, Anna. And if I can tell they’re sick, I’ll stand far enough away that I won’t be exposed. I’ll shout questions from the edge of the camp.”
“And be mindful of paramilitary groups of extremists who hate Americans—”
“I’m no hero, Anna. I’ll get out of there as fast as I can.” With false bravado, he patted the pistol on his hip. He’d never shot more than a target in his life. The very thought of pulling the trigger on another human being made him ill, but if it came down to protecting his life or that of someone he cared about, he was pretty sure he could do it.
Anna smoothed her hand down his arm. It was a strangely intimate gesture, filled with warmth, and the first real crack he’d seen in her waking-time emotional armor since before Bir Bashan. “I appreciate your help, Martin.”
“No problem. Let’s get moving.”
He strode southward along the Nile. The wind was redolent with the odor of thousands of unwashed bodies. If there was plague in this part of Africa, he suspected he would encounter it tonight … and if it were airborne, rather than transmitted through touch … he would be exposed. In this chaos of humanity, it would be unavoidable.
CHAPTER 23
OCTOBER 6. EL KARNAK.
The lavender gleam of dawn penetrated the brush door, waking Micah. Scents of breakfast fires and boiling grains rode the cool morning breeze. For the first time since Bir Bashan, his belly knotted at the scent of food. That had to be a good sign. Outside, voices carried in the stillness. He could hear Anna Asher talking in that curiously deep female voice. In the distance, dogs barked.
All night long, he’d been working out his strategy for this morning. He had two goals, and he had to accomplish both. He needed to convince Asher and her friend that he could travel, and he had to get a gun. Other than his physical condition, his biggest problem was that he had no money.
Micah took several deep breaths to prepare himself, then he rolled to his side, and managed to prop himself on one elbow. God, it hurt. His body felt like every muscle had been pummeled with baseball bats.
“Stop being such a chicken,” he growled, sounding very much like his older brother, Matthew, when they were kids. He imagined Matthew crouched in front of him with that drill sergeant look on his face, daring Micah to fail. The army had made him tough, but his four brothers had made him tougher. He forced himself to sit up. For a few seconds, he couldn’t breathe.
Sucking in a deep breath, he methodically began unfastening the straps on his combat suit, getting out of it. The black shirt and pants he wore beneath were ripe. He pulled them off, tossed them aside, and dragged over the pot of water and linen washcloth that Jahaza had left for him to clean up. The water contained some sort of plant that smelled faintly astringent. Willow, maybe? He took his time. It felt unearthly good to wash. He spent a few minutes cleaning the inoculation sites on his wrist and arm. The swelling had gone down some, but the one on his wrist still hurt like crazy, as though his body couldn’t quite deal with the vaccine, if that’s what it had been. As he washed, he massaged the wound, trying to rinse out any pus or other contaminant that might have infected the injection site.
The rest of his body surprised him. He had bone-deep bruises everywhere, but especially across his ribs. He didn’t recall being slammed to the ground, but he must have been. An explosion behind him would have hurled him forward. Is that what had happened?
When he finished bathing, he placed the soiled cloth in the pot and touched the golden cross resting on his collarbone. It felt warm.
Just keep fighting and you’ll make it out of this.
He resolutely reached for the fresh clothing. The flax-colored linen smelled clean. Slipping it over his head was like being beaten with a stick. The pants proved even more challenging. Getting them over his legs was easy, but to pull them over his hips required an undignified process of bouncing around the floor. He tied the drawstrings around his waist, and watched brush-filtered dawn light scatter the interior of the little church. The big test was going to be getting his socks and combat boots on. He dragged them over and exhaled hard. It took a while. When he’d finally laced them up, he shoved the tracker down inside his right sock. It would be safe there until he found something to carry it in.
Now he had to get to his feet.
He rolled to his hands and knees, got a few good breaths into his lungs, and braced a hand against the wall while he slowly dragged himself up. His legs shook. He braced both hands against the wall next to Jesus, and looked the dark man in the eyes while he took a few moments to let his legs get used to the idea of walking. “I’d appreciate a little help here, Lord,” he groaned.
The dark man didn’t reply, but his eyes seemed to gleam brighter.
Micah had been raised Baptist, but he’d long ago let that fall by the wayside. He hadn’t attended a church service in a decade, not even at Christmas, which grieved his mother. I’ll do better, Lord. I promise.
Pushing away from the wall, he took two steps, then another two. After five minutes of walking around the church, the trembling in his legs eased off. Weakness in his knees continued, but in a few days he’d be all right. He felt certain of that.
Like an old man, he groaned as he reached down to pick up his combat suit. Tucking it under his arm, he walked to the brush door, and shoved it open.
Asher and her friend, who stood around a campfire, stopped talking and stared at him. Behind them, the Nile ran wide and blue, twinkling with the colors of dawn.
“My God, I don’t believe it.” Asher set down the cup she’d been holding, and instantly ran to Micah. As she gripped his arm to help steady him, she said, “I thought we were going to have to carry you to the boat.”
“Not this morning,” he replied, “though I make no guarantees about this afternoon.”
She smiled, and he swore his heart warmed.
“How are you, Micah?”
“Starving. What’s for breakfast?”
“A mixture of boiled tef, oats, and barley.”
“God, what I’d give for bacon and eggs.”
“You and me both.”
Anna smiled again, studied him for a few long moments, clearly assessing his strength, then said, “Slip your arm over my shoulders. Let me support some of your weight. You can sit down once we get to the fire.”
“Yes, Captain.” Micah slid his right arm over her shoulders, and they slowly made their way across the camp to the fire. She was stronger than she looked. Every time he stumbled, she stood like a stone wall beside him, keeping him on his feet.
Twelve huts comprised the village, but the refugee camp that spread around it was enormous. Campfires dotted the vista in every direction. Soft strains of conversations carried, and he could see children playing.
“Martin?” Asher called. “This is Captain Micah Hazor.”
“Good morning, Captain Hazor.” Martin Nadai ex
tended his hand, and they shook.
He looked to be about Micah’s age, thirty, with blond hair and new beard. He had a football player’s face, with a square block of chin and hazel eyes. Seemed like a nice guy, just soft and intellectual. Micah tended to evaluate people based upon how good he thought they’d be in a fight. There was no question that if the road got rocky, he could count on Asher to guard his back. But Nadai?
“Good morning, Professor,” Micah said.
“I would have come to see you last night, but we were out walking the camps, asking if anyone had seen American soldiers.”
“Any luck?” Hope knotted his belly.
“No. Sorry.”
“Thanks for trying.”
“But how about a cup of coffee?” Nadai asked.
“You have coffee? That’d be great.” Micah’s spirits lifted. Coffee reminded him of sitting around the breakfast table with his family in Atlanta. He was worried about them. He wished he had some idea of what was happening in America.
“Sure do. We’ve been hoarding our last bag, doling it out like gold dust.”
As Martin reached down to pull a soot-coated backpacker’s pot from where it sat in the ashes, Anna quietly said, “Want to sit down, Hazor?”
“Badly,” Micah whispered to her.
Anna Asher lowered him to the ground in front of the fire. It amazed him that he’d made it this far. But the longer he stayed upright, the more he believed he could do this. He could get in a boat and sail around the world for home.
Martin filled a battered plastic cup with coffee and handed it to Micah. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Micah sipped. The rich flavor tasted like the nectar of the gods. He had momentary glimpses of coffee shops scattered around Georgia and warm memories filled him.
Anna Asher watched him with her brow slightly lined. “Where are you from, Captain Hazor?”
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