“It’s just, I can’t bring myself to see Astarte be fed all that … rubbish … about women being inferior to men.”
“You know, all religions have archaic beliefs. The Jews call themselves the ‘Chosen People’—well, does that mean they think they’re superior to everyone else? Looking at it from the outside, you could see why people would be concerned it does. But the Jews I know don’t feel that way.” He smiled. “At least no more so than any other group of people.”
“That’s not the same thing at all. I would have no problem with the Mormons teaching Astarte that women were superior.”
“Fair point. Maybe a better analogy is the whole original sin idea taught in the Catholic Church. Or better yet, the story of Lilith—God makes her a demon because she won’t let Adam always be on top during sex. Then he makes Eve, who is supposed to be all obedient. That’s a pretty misogynistic message. But there are plenty of Christian women who are strong and assertive.”
“Sure, it happens. People can rise above their teachings. But what about all the little girls out there who hear those stories and buy into all that sexist poppycock?” She slapped her thighs with her fists. “They end up cowering in some corner, afraid their drunk husband is going to beat them.” She sniffled. “I know,” she whispered, “my Mum was one of them.”
Cam reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I know. I understand.” He kissed her head. “And I’m not saying you’re not right to be concerned about this. But by shielding Astarte from all this chauvinism, we’ve also taken away some stuff that’s pretty important to her. She’s lost her family already. I think it’s hard for us to ask her to walk away from her faith also.”
Amanda nodded. “I get that now. I do.” She swallowed a sob. “I just hope it’s not too late.”
They sat in silence for half a minute, Cam stroking her hair. She sighed, blew her nose and smiled through reddened eyes. “Enough of that. I have some movies we could watch. Or at least try. Maybe distract ourselves a bit.”
Cam smiled. “Sort of like the drive-in. Did you bring any popcorn?”
“Sorry, only a couple of granola bars.”
“A movie sounds good. I’m not sure what else we can do.” He opened his door. “Might as well get comfortable.” He slid into the backseat and waited for her to join him.
She opened her door, slid up against him and smiled sadly. “We’re in the back seat, out in the desert, in the middle of the night. And neither one of us has an amorous thought in our body. This raising kids thing is tough.”
Maybe it was the sense of looming danger outside the compound fence, or maybe the need to wear Willum out so she could steal the fuel cell, or maybe the kick of adrenaline as her body prepared for the heist. Whatever the cause, the sex with Willum was the best it had ever been. Round one ended fairly quickly in a desperate, almost-violent coupling, but round two was more ballet than boxing match. Though he moved one way and she another, their bodies in rhythmic concert, they remained permanently joined at the pelvis like a pinwheel spinning on a stick. Finally they climaxed a second time and the sounds and smells of the night slowly refilled his tent.
“That was amazing,” Willum breathed. “I’m ready to die now.”
Clarisse propped herself up on one elbow. “Not bad.” She kissed him lightly. “I guess old Randy is on his own up there.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m really beat.”
“You sleep, darling.” She never called him that. “I’ll take care of the compound.” She shifted her weight, the movement confirming to him what she said. “Sleep. You need it.” She kissed him again on the forehead. “I’ll let myself out.”
She waited a few minutes, rolled out of the tent and puttered around for another ten until she heard him begin to snore. Snoring usually occurred during a deep sleep cycle, so now was her chance.
She pulled an insulated lunch bag from her backpack. Inside was a dead but still-warm tabby cat she had poisoned earlier in the day. Illuminating her way with a small flashlight, she found the hatch, climbed down the ladder and tossed the cat against one wall of the passageway. If Willum happened to awake, her story would be that she heard a cat screaming, came down to investigate, discovered a rattlesnake slithering away from the cat into the laboratory, and followed the snake to try to kill it. Not a great story, but Willum would have no reason to doubt it.
She flicked on the light to the lab. Where would he keep the prototype? Paranoid as he was, he probably hid it away. She looked for a safe or even a locked file cabinet but found nothing. As she wandered to the back corner of the lab, she spotted a six-sided glass box the size of a small fish tank—inside the glass walls sat a shiny cube of metal with tubes and wires running from it. There it was, just sitting on a workbench.
She reached down and began to lift it, thinking to herself how odd it was that he hadn’t hidden it. Something caught as she pulled up, as if the fuel cell had been connected to the table with putty.
A flash of light blinded her as a burst of furnace air threw her across the room. She flew through the air for what seemed like many seconds, surprised that her thoughts had turned to Astarte. Would the girl be frightened when she awoke, alone? Clarisse waited, suspended above the ground, floating and dreamlike, expecting any moment to crash to the floor. And then she realized she never would.
Willum stumbled to his feet, disoriented. Had the earthquake occurred in his sleep or for real? Voices yelled outside, alarmed. So it had been real. He replayed his dream—he had been walking in the desert and the ground began to shake beneath him. Beneath him. The laboratory.
Fumbling for his glasses, he stepped into his slippers, flicked on a light and found the hatch. As he lifted it, a wave of acrid smoke blew over him. He lifted his t-shirt shirt over his mouth and nose and, waving the smoke away, descended the ladder and pushed his way into the lab. He flicked at a light switch but nothing happened—the explosion must have knocked out the lights. Stumbling in the dark, his foot stubbed against a body. An icy fist squeezed his heart. He dropped to a knee and probed the body, his hand dipping into warm, sticky blood. The smell of charred flesh penetrated his shirt and filled his nostrils; he swallowed back a sour gag. He found a head, covered by thick hair. Using his watch, he illuminated the face. Clarisse. Hand shaking, he felt for a pulse. Nothing. Gasping and coughing, he retreated from the lab to find some fresh air. He hoisted himself up the ladder, closed the hatch, pounded the wall and vomited. Dropping to the floor, he began to sob. She had just shared his bed, called him darling. Was it all a ruse? Or was it possible she had a legit reason for being in the lab?
A few seconds later his body froze, his sadness turning to dread. There wasn’t any white powder of gold inside the fuel cell prototype—it was a fake, just in case the feds stormed the compound. The real one was locked away in a safe; Willum planned to take it with him if he needed to flee. But there was a half-gallon jug of the powder he had produced for future experimentation stored in a lead chest nearby. If the explosion blew open the chest….
A fist pounded on the door, jarring him out of his stupor. He opened it to Boonie. “What’s going on, boss?”
“It was Clarisse. I think she was trying to take the fuel cell.”
Boonie looked at him blankly.
“I booby-trapped it so the feds wouldn’t get it if they stormed the compound.” It had never occurred to him that one of the residents would try to take it. Especially Clarisse. “She’s dead.”
Something almost like anger passed across Boonie’s face, but Willum didn’t pay much attention to it. “We need to get everyone away from here. That explosion may be releasing radioactive particles into the air.”
Sprinting through the compound, Willum banged on the pod doors, rousing the residents. The night wind blew steadily across the desert. His Geiger counter read increasing, but still safe, levels of radiation. The explosion was likely the equivalent of a dirty bomb—anyone in close proximity could be exposed to potentially-letha
l levels of radiation. A dirty bomb’s reach was limited, but that was small comfort to those in its direct path. Including himself.
“Everyone, move to the back side of the complex,” he yelled. Unlike in the mountains, the wind here often blew east to west, pushing the radiation toward the front gates. He opened the supply pod and pointed at a dozen hazmat suits hanging along one wall. “Rattler, get some help and distribute these suits to the guards.”
He barged into the bath house, tore off his clothes and slippers and stuffed them into a plastic garbage bag. He turned the water as hot as he could stand it and stepped into the shower, scrubbing his skin, hair and beard with his fingernails and an abrasive loofa brush. He felt incredibly selfish doing so, but on the other hand his clothes and skin were covered with radioactive particles—he had become a lethal weapon himself.
After scrubbing his skin raw, he jogged toward the front gate, wearing only a towel and waving his arms. “Listen to me,” he called to the soldiers. “We’ve had a radiation leak.”
A young sergeant stepped forward, smirking, his eyes on Willum’s ample white belly. “What, do you think we’re nine years old?”
Astarte. Was she still in Clarisse’s pod? Willum turned. “Do what you want. But don’t blame me when your dick shrivels up and falls off.” He ran toward Clarisse’s dome, the towel barely covering his own dick. “Has anyone seen the girl?” he yelled. Why hadn’t she woken up?
Cam sprinted from the SUV, the echo of the explosion rolling across the desert still fresh in his ears. Yelling from inside the compound mirrored the chaos of the soldiers near the front gate. He angled toward the friendly soldier he and Amanda had spoken with earlier. “What’s going on?”
“Explosion inside. Maybe also a radiation leak. We’re all pulling back—wind is blowing this way.”
Amanda had matched his stride. “Our daughter is in there.”
“I know.”
“I’m going in,” Cam said.
The soldier shrugged. “Do what you have to do. I’m not going to stop you.”
“I’m going too,” Amanda said.
Cam put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, please don’t come. We need your ovaries. Go back to the car. I’ll find her.” He kissed her quickly and handed her the keys. “Seriously, get back.”
He turned and ran to the gate, shouting. “I need to get in. Open the gate!”
A guard recognized Cam and the gate latch clicked open. Cam pushed through. “Are those Hazmat suits?”
The guard nodded.
Cam didn’t ask permission. He grabbed the top one, kicked off his shoes and began to pull the yellow rubberized suit on. “Which dome is Clarisse’s?” he asked.
“Middle one.”
“Thanks.” Cam slipped on the hood, snapped it in place and ran toward the cluster of domes as fast as the bulky outfit and his injured leg allowed. Most of the compound residents were fleeing toward the back of the compound but Cam noticed Willum’s hulking form moving through the mass, giving orders. He saw Cam running toward him and raised his rifle. “Identify yourself,” he commanded.
Cam stopped. “It’s Cam Thorne.” His voice echoed inside the hood. “I’m here to get Astarte.”
Dressed only in a pair of ill-fitting shorts, Willum nodded and lowered his gun. “Nobody’s seen her. I was just going to check Clarisse’s tent. Follow me.”
Cam spoke as they jogged, Willum’s belly bouncing. “Did the explosion release the radiation?”
Willum nodded.
“Where was it?”
“In my lab.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder. “Under the saucer.”
“Shouldn’t you be wearing a Hazmat suit?”
“I got a heavy dose already when I went into the lab.”
Cam stopped. “Shouldn’t you get some treatment?”
Willum shrugged. “Not much they can do for it. Come on.”
At least they were upwind of it now. Willum pushed open the pod door and flicked on a floor lamp near the entrance. A couple of dozen tents along with a few hammocks were scattered around the perimeter of the dome; a few couches, a television set and a couple of picnic tables helped fill the vast space in the center of the room. “Clarisse’s tent was over here.” Willum cut across to the far corner. “This one.”
Cam pushed open the flap and dropped to one knee. “Astarte? Astarte?”
No response. Where else could she be? Struggling inside his suit, and now sweating profusely, he crawled through the opening. A clump of blankets piled in the back corner of the tent caught his eye. Could she be sleeping through the commotion? He pulled the top blanket aside. His shoulders slumped. Nothing.
Cam and Willum spent the next hour searching the compound but could not find Astarte. Nobody had seen her since she said goodnight and joined Clarisse in her tent.
Gathered in the back of the compound with the other residents, Cam removed his hood. He gulped some water and toweled the sweat off his face. “The one place we haven’t looked is your laboratory,” he said to Willum. “Is it possible she was in there with Clarisse?” The possibility hit him like a fist to the gut; he reached for a tree to steady himself.
Willum bit his lip. “I suppose it’s possible. It was pretty smoky in there and I couldn’t see much.”
“I’m going in.”
“Give me a minute to put on a Hazmat suit. I’ll come with you.”
Ten minutes later, flashlights in hand, Willum led Cam into his saucer.
Cam said, “It’s really smoky in here.”
“Good. The saucer is containing the radiation.”
The suits they wore contained respirators, but they wouldn’t protect against high levels of radiation. Willum held the Geiger counter out in front of him as he walked to the hatch. Cam crouched to lift it. “Careful when you open the hatch,” he said to Cam, his voice echoing. “If there’s anything smoldering down there, the oxygen will ignite it.”
Cam nodded. He opened the hatch an inch and waited a few seconds. Nothing. He opened it further and waited for Willum to get a reading from the Geiger counter. Willum nodded and Cam, using his flashlight to guide the way, descended the ladder. Thin gray smoke filled the passageway; despite the respirator, Cam could taste ash as he breathed. Willum joined him at the bottom of the ladder and again read from the clicking Geiger counter. “It’s getting higher. We don’t want to stay down here any longer than we have to.”
At the entrance to the lab Willum took a final reading. “Steady. But no more than five minutes.”
One walking clockwise and the other counter-clockwise, they circled the lab, their flashlights arcing back and forth. Cam was looking for Astarte, in fact desperate to find her. But the last thing he wanted to do was actually find her. Not here, not like this. They met in the middle of the room. “Anything?” Cam asked.
Willum shook his head. “No. And all the closets are locked. She’s not here.”
Cam surveyed the room once more with his flashlight, looking for any clue. Nothing. “Okay.”
Willum bent over Clarisse’s mangled body. “Can you give me a hand?”
Cam nodded. They couldn’t leave Clarisse here. He moved around to grab her under the armpits.
A sob erupted from Willum’s hood. “I killed her. I booby-trapped the fuel cell.”
Cam clasped his shoulder. “That sounds like blaming the victim. She was stealing from you.”
Willum shook his head. “And it wasn’t even the real prototype. That one’s locked away.”
Cam bent down to help with the body.
“Wait,” Willum said as they began to lift. A Ziploc bag partly protruded from one of the pockets in her cargo shorts. He pulled it out.
“What is it?”
“It’s the white powder of gold.”
“Was she stealing it, along with the fuel cell?”
Willum shook his head. “No. This bag went missing about a week ago. I thought I just misplaced it.”
“Well, what was she doing wit
h it?”
Willum stared at Clarisse’s body. “I have no idea.”
Cam and Willum wrapped Clarisse’s body in a sheet and carried it to a locked storage room in a remote corner of compound. They spent another hour searching the compound for Astarte. Finally, exhausted from the exertion and heat created inside the Hazmat suits, they retreated to the rear of the compound with the other residents, who had made a fire and set up some tents.
As Willum addressed the residents, Cam gulped some water and poured the rest over his head. “Any updates?” Willum asked.
A few men looked at each other, apparently unsure of how the chain of command fell now that Clarisse was dead. Finally Rattler stepped forward. “The army pulled back for awhile, but now they are redeploying, using soldiers in Hazmat suites. But they’ve allowed us to open the gates. Anyone who wants to leave can.”
“Okay. Spread the word. People can leave if they want. But tell the guards to be alert. This kind of chaos is a great chance for them to attack.”
Rattler nodded. “They say they have a Hazmat team ready to come in. I refused to open the gate.”
“Good. How are the radiation levels?”
“Beginning to fall.”
Willum exhaled. “Anyone seen the girl?”
“No.”
“Why aren’t we using the bunker?”
“According to Boonie, it collapsed from the explosion. I think it was built to withstand a hit from above, but not from the side.”
Willum nodded. “We’ll need to shore that up.” He glanced at Cam. “Fully-stocked bunker, with food and cots and running water and a generator, and we’re out here getting zapped by radiation. So much for great planning.”
Willum turned back to Rattler. “Speaking of Boonie, where is he?”
Rattler shrugged. “Last I saw he was helping hand out the bunny suits to the guards.”
“Okay.” Willum checked his watch. “It’s almost three now. We’ll camp out here for the night. Rotate the guards every hour—it’s hot as hell in those suits. In the morning we’ll look for the girl again.”
Powdered Gold: Templars and the American Ark of the Covenant (Templars in America Series Book 3) Page 25