Cautiously, he found his way down from his perch onto the main ground where she lay and approached her, his cane clanging loudly against the stone walkway.
"Ma'am?" he said softly.
If she was aware of his presence, she didn't show it. Her weeping continued unabated.
He gently placed a hand on her arm and attempted to hoist her back to her feet. "Are you all right?" he asked.
The woman took one look at him and screamed in horror. She riddled him with a flood of Hebrew, none of which he understood. But her body language and her facial expressions communicated clearly enough to break the language barrier.
Daniel froze in shock as he gazed into the old woman's eyes. The expression she gave him was as harsh and fearful as the one Lisa had shown the day he'd murdered a man in cold blood.
It occurred to him that with his shaggy hair, bushy beard, and ragged clothes, he didn't look all that different from the men who'd thrown her to the ground just moments ago.
He backed away from the woman, who continued railing at him in Hebrew. "I'm sorry," he tried to say as he continued to back away, chilled to the bone. But it did no good. She shouted even louder; he was uncertain if she was trying to attract attention to her plight from anyone who might be nearby or simply scare him off.
She rattled off an unending diatribe in Hebrew, and whatever she was saying, he got the message. He turned and ran from the sight of her fearful eyes.
Twelve hours later, the entire team had come together to continue the search for survivors. Payton had joined them as they migrated to an area of town known as Manahat, one of the few remaining areas of town they hadn't yet covered. Historically rich with agricultural significance, the neighborhood had been transformed in modern times to a sophisticated urban sprawl, complete with a hillside housing development, a high-rise devoted to technology advancement, a shopping mall, a contemporary football stadium, a train station, and more.
Much of Manahat's beauty had been lost in the quake, with many of the hillside homes swallowed up by the earth, but Grant barely noticed the aesthetic damage. He was emotionally numb, worn out, but persisted in going through the motions of searching the wreckage. He had to. He couldn't stop until he was sure there was no one left to save.
Payton spent his time carting bodies out of the wreckage, or hacking his way into places blocked by piles of rubble. He never spoke a word, no matter how many bodies he carried away. He just kept working.
Most of the others behaved similarly. Alex had barely spoken since they found the dying baby. Morgan seemed to have run out of interesting historical anecdotes to share, as now she and Fletcher had dedicated themselves to manual labor, like everyone else. Julie, Lisa, and Daniel were sifting through dirt with shovels. Hector and Nora worked silently too.
Only Wilhelm seemed to still have some signs of life left in him. Somehow his spirit hadn't shattered as everyone else's, and he was often found playing with local children or raising the spirits of the adult survivors. Everyone he came into contact with seemed enlivened by his newfound warmth and kindness.
But otherwise it had been a silent day. The few times anyone spoke, Grant thought he heard quiet talk of growing tensions throughout the region. He himself had taken time to stop a small insurgency's attempt at infiltrating the city late the previous evening. And every time he spoke to Amiel, be it in person or over the radio he'd been given, the rescue operations supervisor spoke of new security restrictions that had been put into place throughout Israel.
The Holy Land had been laid waste. A battlefield with no battle. And what remained of Israel stood convinced that the battle was yet to come.
Grant was retrieving a dead body from the rubble of the fallen Technological Centre and placing it in the large pile of corpses they'd collected this day, when he spotted Amiel running toward him through the building's central plaza.
Amiel was screaming, "Guardian! Guardian, my friend!"
When he caught up with Grant, he seized him by the elbow and spun him around. "You're in danger. You and your people must leave at once!"
"What?" Grant asked. "Why?"
"Word has reached my government of the destruction to the walls around the Old City-"
Grant was downcast. "Please, I'm sorry about that. I deeply regret-"
Grant was cut off when Amiel held up a hand. "They were merely walls. Anyone who has been here and seen the things that all of us have seen knows that such things no longer matter. After all that you have done for us ... And truthfully, the absence of the walls has made getting supplies in and out of the Old City an easier task on all of us.
"But outside of this place, the perspective is not the same. My government intends to apprehend you by any means necessary for damaging what they see as `an irreplaceable piece of our history.' There is also talk about your `hijacking' of an airplane. I believe they are misguided, but they will not hear my words."
"Don't worry," Grant reassured him. "I'm not going anywhere until this is done. There's no power in the world that can force me to leave."
Just over Amiel's right shoulder, Grant saw Payton's eyes focus on something far away, in the distance. He followed Payton's gaze and saw a man standing at the top of the nearest rise, about half a mile away, hands in the pockets of his tailored suit and watching them all. He had silver hair and a passionless face.
Is that Devlin... ? No, it can't be.
Unless it is ...
Grant's gaze returned to Payton's position, but he was gone, vanished from where he stood. The silver-haired man atop the hill turned and walked away.
What just happened?
"My people are bringing more than mere guns," Amiel answered, urgency evident in his voice. "Entire infantry divisions are being mobilized. I have no doubt that you could defeat them all, after what I have seen your awesome powers accomplish. But at what cost? If you try to fight this, the survivors of this city will get caught in the crossfire.
"I am sorry, but I must plead with you to leave, my friend. Your work is done, in any case. No survivors have been found for over ten hours now; we both know there is nothing left to search for. You have done more than five hundred men could have in the same amount of time, and my people will not forget this."
Grant stopped what he was doing, at a loss for words, his shoulders slumping. "I never meant for it to end like this. What will you do? Where will you go from here?"
"We will rebuild, of course," Amiel replied as if it were obvious.
Grant merely shook his head, taking in the sights of infinite misery and destruction around them. "How?"
Amiel's features hardened, his back stiff. "This is not the first time our jewel of a city has been destroyed. My people are used to overcoming odds where others see the insurmountable. We learned the importance of hope long before your people first sailed to America's shores. And you and your friends have reminded us of that hope. I was wrong when I asked God why He had abandoned us in our hour of need. He did not. He sent you."
Grant offered a worn smile at Amiel's profound words, but he was still distraught at the notion of running away. He looked to Alex for some kind of help, but her exhausted face seemed resigned to this fate. All of the others had stopped what they were doing as well to watch this exchange between the two leaders.
"I don't know how to just leave you all here," Grant lamented.
Amiel smiled. "No matter what our governments and leaders may fear you are capable of ... We know what you have done for us, how you have saved us and cried for us and comforted us. Hundreds of thousands who were pulled out of the destruction owe their lives to you. All of you. We will remember this, and the story of what has happened here will be passed down to our children. History will know of the man named Guardian who stood between the City of God and the angel of death. Now I beg you. Go, my friend. You must, please go."
Grant sighed again as Amiel turned to go. It was time to leave.
But maybe not for all of them ... A thought struck him just then.
"Amiel?" he called out, and the young Jewish man returned. "I'd like to leave one of my people here with you. One who doesn't have as famous a face as the rest of us, who could stay and help you all but could more easily be hidden than our entire group."
Amiel studied him, considering this. "We would be grateful for the help, but who of your people could you spare? Do you not need them all for whatever tasks lie ahead of you?"
"Wilhelm?" Grant called out.
Wilhelm stood from where he'd been sitting cross-legged and playing a game of jacks with some locals. He ran up to Grant's position eagerly.
"It's time for the team to leave," Grant explained. "It's not safe for us here anymore. But if you're so inclined, I'd like for you to stay behind and continue to help out here. For as long as you feel up to it."
Wilhelm was taken aback by this. "But ... But why me? You don't even know me."
"I trust you," Grant replied simply.
"My powers won't help these people."
"That may or may not be true. But I've seen you with them, and they like you. They're put at ease by you, and you come alive around them. You need each other."
Wilhelm looked around, still confused. "I don't know..."
Grant placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine. And when you feel that you've done all that you can do, head back to L.A., to the reserve safe house, and wait for us there."
Wilhelm straightened himself. He was bewildered but determined to serve. "Very well. If these are your wishes, I will do my best, Guardian."
"It's Grant, actually," he replied, smiling at his young friend. "My name is Grant Borrows. I don't usually reveal that to people I haven't known very long, but I think you've earned it."
"Grant!" Morgan clutched at his arm. He hadn't seen her approach, but now she stood just over his shoulder. Her other hand was pointing to the mound where the bodies were being stacked.
Hundreds of the dead had been piled here, and on order of the local health administration would soon be set on fire to reduce the chances of any sort of plague outbreak. It was an uncivilized act undertaken in desperate times.
But Grant's attention soon focused on what Morgan was pointing at. It wasn't the mound itself, but the trickles of red liquid that flowed down its sides and pooled in the shallow ground below.
"The earth is bleeding," Morgan whispered.
"The fertile soil... ?" Grant replied, dumbstruck. He faced her.
"`The most fertile soil shall bleed and forever stain the firmament,"' she recited. "It's the second Unholy Marker."
Their eyes locked. A silence passed between them, an entire unspoken conversation.
I caused it, Grant said to himself, still holding her eyes. It's the second Marker, and once again, it's my handiwork.
"Of course!" Morgan cried, a realization dawning over her. "This entire region is unusually conducive to farming for a desert climate. In fact, the first known farming settlements in recorded history have been found here. It's been a mystery to scientists for centuries, how a specific region-this cradle of civilization running from part of Egypt up toward the Mediterranean and then across to the Persian Gulf-could be so accommodating to agriculture. This phenomenon prompted an Egyptologist from Chicago many years ago to coin a phrase that has come to describe this entire region. He called it `the Fertile Crescent."'
"Fertile Crescent," Grant repeated. The phrase sounded familiar. He'd probably heard it in school as a child. "`The most fertile soil shall bleed ..."' he repeated.
"And we're standing right in the heart of it," Morgan concluded.
Grant rubbed at his tired eyes, not sure if he was ready to accept all of this.
Alex approached, seeming to have overheard some of what they'd said. "What's she talking about, Grant?"
He hesitated, looking deeply into Morgan's eyes once more. "The Prophecy is coming true."
Flight 1004 to London
The team's flight from Israel to England was less eventful than their last flight. The disguises they had used before were all but useless now, so Fletcher hastily created new ones. Most of his computer equipment had been left behind in storage in Los Angeles, but he'd brought a few laptops along, just in case.
The new disguises were even less convincing than the originals, having been thrown together so quickly. Most of the team had had to settle for just trying to hide their faces behind sunglasses or under hats.
After lying low for most of the day following their exit from Jerusalem, they'd traveled to nearby Amman and booked a red-eye flight to London Heathrow from there. Lisa had once again used her unique talents to get them on the earliest possible flight, but they happily settled for whatever seats were available on this airplane. They sat scattered throughout the economy section, but Grant was just relieved that everyone made it onto the same flight.
Their numbers had dropped down to nine now, since Wilhelm had opted to stay behind. Payton never rejoined the group after he'd vanished from their midst in Jerusalem. Was that really Devlin they'd both seen in the distance? The man was so far away, it could have been anyone.
Morgan got a call from Payton a few hours later with a brief message that he would meet them in London in a few days.
The nine of them spent the first few hours of the flight trying to sleep after the toil and drudgery they'd left behind them. Exhausted, they slumbered, but the horror they'd seen did not quickly abandon them.
Grant had been through several of these days-long search and rescue operations now, beginning with the days following the destruction of Morgan's old home, the converted asylum where she'd once housed the Loci. It never got any easier. The way you lose parts of yourself to the pain and grief ... a piece of you always stays behind in that place where you rescued some and couldn't help so many others. More than anything, the indignity and injustice of it all gnaw at you when you try to sleep, in the coldest, quietest part of the night.
It may not have been Grant's first time, but it was the rest of the team's first. So he knew exactly what they were feeling and how they would never quite be the same again from this day on.
Alex, seated next to Grant, slept only in spurts. No one talked about it, but she seemed to have come the most unhinged by the events in Jerusalem. It was understandable, Grant surmised. Never before had she been surrounded by so many ferocious, unfettered emotions at one time. It was too much to shut out; it was more than she probably ever thought she would be exposed to. Grant guessed that she'd been saturated with so much external grief and pain that maybe those powerful feelings were lingering in her system, refusing to leave her alone. Kind of like a hangover.
When Alex did manage to sleep, she woke up with bugged-out eyes. She refused any offers to talk about it, but the offers themselves were few and far between because everyone else had their own demons to wrestle with from their time in Jerusalem.
Daniel found no rest either. Everyone was used to his internal retreat, but when the flight attendant reminded him to buckle his seat belt before take-off, she'd had to say it three times before he registered her presence.
Julie, who sat next to Morgan four aisles in front of Grant and Alex, quivered more than usual following the hours of hard work she had put in. But as was her custom, she was working hard to hide it.
Grant's thoughts obsessed around Devlin. Was that really him? And if so, was his presence there in any way related to their discovery of another Secretum substation? Or was he merely watching Grant again?
He switched gears, wondering about this strange barrier that had been erected around much of downtown London. Would his powers help him get past the barrier? Were the Loci there-these Upholders of the Crown-responsible for its existence? Who were those people, and where had they come from?
And then there was the bleeding of the fertile soil ... The second Unholy Marker. Leaving only one more to go. The end shall be marked by a scar revealing man's deepest hollow.
He was lost among so many thoughts when it slowly dawned on him th
at Alex was awake. Not only that, but her bleary eyes were fixed on him. In his peripheral vision, he could see her studying him closely, unblinking. Finally, he irritably turned to her and snapped, "What?"
Her eyes seemed to be searching her memory as she searched his face. "Your eyes are blue, aren't they?"
"Last time I checked. Why are you asking me this?"
"Hey easy, tiger," Alex said. "I couldn't remember, is all."
"Whatever."
"Don't `whatever' me, pal. You're not the only person here who's having a hard time with the state of the world. The way you let your temper flare back in Jerusalem ... I hope all that thinking you're doing includes some long and hard meditation on where that thing on your finger came from. I can feel the influence it wields over your emotions. You keep it in check, but it's always in there."
Grant glanced fleetingly at her own ring finger, then returned his gaze to his window. "If you're right about the influence my ring has over me, then you're not exactly pure as the driven snow, yourself."
Alex stared at him, crossed her arms, and to Grant's great surprise, had nothing to say for once. She merely sat back in her seat and looked straight ahead.
He suddenly felt very foolish. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just stressed out. It never gets any easier, what we do."
They sat in silence for several minutes. Alex's entire countenance had changed during their time in Jerusalem. When he'd first met her she'd been so alive, so carefree, so articulate yet playful. Now, only a handful of months later, frown lines furrowed at the corners of her mouth, her eyes were puffy, and creases often showed between her eyebrows. She had been opened to a world of vulnerability and reality. She was no longer the person he first met.
Something occurred to him just then. Morgan may have been his guide, setting him on the right path. And his sister Julie may have been his conscience, holding him to that path.
But Alex had become his equal. No one understood the daily realities of what it was like to do what he did better than her.
Fearless (Dominion Trilogy #2) Page 15