Bunny was the first to speak. “Not sure if it is useful, but the word “gospel” was used eighty times in the Bible.”
“I'll keep that under my hat,” Rebecca said.
“Okay, eighty is usually represented by the tarot card known as the tower,” Stark's mother stated. “However that interpretation is pretty scattered. It may take me more than a minute to figure this out,”
Stark watched as the jets blew past the helicopters. “Guys, you better get out of there, like now.”
He expected to hear the roar of the seaplane’s engines, but it was all quiet on that front.
“Lopez?”
“Working on it,” Lopez growled back.
Working on it? When did Lopez work on anything? He just made it happen.
Something must be really wrong.
* * *
Brandt urged his team toward the seaplane. He had to grab Rebecca by the hand, get her moving. She was still trying to dig down to the foundation to see if it was lead.
At this point Brandt didn’t care what the place was made of, he just cared they had four minutes before the place blew.
They were all at the seaplane, which was at a standstill.
What the…
Normally you had to jump into a moving vehicle around Lopez.
“What's wrong?”
“Damn thing won’t turnover,” Lopez stated. “The things been a clunker since we stole it, but I thought I had it fixed. Apparently not.”
There is no sense in freaking out or cursing Lopez out. If the plane wouldn’t start, the plane wouldn’t start.
“Options?”
Lopez shrugged. “Run for it.”
“Run for it? Seriously that’s the only option we have?” Rebecca asked.
Lopez indicated to the desert surrounding them. “Got a better options?”
Just then, three men burst out of the bunker. Luckily Davidson had set up on top of the seaplane's wings and took them down in three shots.
They couldn't stand around lollygagging. Threats were coming at them from all sides. He had to make a decision.
“Move out.” If they had to run, they had to run. There was a light rain. The ground was muddy, but the salt helped keep it together. It shouldn’t be a bad run.
Davidson scrambled down from the seaplane as they all moved north toward the sea. Only Rebecca stood planted.
“Run, seriously?” Rebecca whined.
“Unless you’d like to hang around for those combat helicopters.”
He took her hand and pulled her along. They had to move fast, or they were dead.
* * *
When Brandt said run, he meant run.
Not a jog. Not a trot. A full-out run.
It was in moments like these that Rebecca really regretted letting her gym membership lapse.
She glanced over her husband, whose jaw muscles were clenched as he ran.
“You okay?”
“I'm fine,” Brandt wheezed.
Like Hell he was.
She knew that look. She hadn't seen it since the early day’s right after his knee surgery. The joint may have been cleared for active duty, however, not a sprint across the desert.
Simultaneously, Rebecca heard a Jeep, helicopter rotors, and jet engines. Brandt hadn’t been lying, the Iranians were really after them.
She glanced over at Brandt’s watch to realize the four-minute count down was nearly done.
Behind them the nuclear base blew sky high. The night sky blazed alive, lighting the desert. Unfortunately, the blast lit the sky as well. Now she could see, not only hear, the Jeep, helicopters and jets coming for them.
They could never reach the sea and swim out to international waters before they were caught.
Then suddenly a van came careening at them, going backwards. The men’s guns were up as the back doors flew open. A man of Middle Eastern descent raised his hands.
“Don’t shoot. I’m here to help,” he said in a thickly Palestinian accent.
Brandt didn’t slow them down a bit as he shouted “Get out of our way.”
The man pointed behind them to the multitude of threats heading their way as the driver stopped the van, then put it in drive, pacing them. “You're not to make it. This is the only way.”
Her husband's shoulders shrugged forward. “And why should I trust you?”
“Because if Americans are caught blowing up an Iranian facility, it's World War III.”
“And if you are Iranian yourself?” Brandt asked as they ran, but Rebecca noticed that they slowed just a little bit.
“I’m not Iranian. I am with the cult you are trying to track down.”
* * *
Vanderwalt sat across from the fake priest. His fingerprints had come up clean. The guy was a big fat zero, but that didn't worry Vanderwalt. It just made it a fun challenge.
The man seemed vaguely familiar, but Vanderwalt couldn’t place him.
He didn't even bother to act the tough guy. Vanderwalt knew that he looked far younger than his years, had an approachable style and didn't look capable of any hardball tactics, so he didn't even try.
He brought the fake priest tea along with some cookies. He allowed the man to go to the bathroom whenever he wanted and kept the small interrogation room a pleasant seventy-two degrees.
Vanderwalt found slathering suspects with honey was far better than squirting them in the eye with vinegar. Especially these cult members. Usually they were Chatty Cathy’s. Blabbering on about how superior they were, and how the evil capitalists were to blame for everything under the sun.
But not this one. He'd kept his mouth shut the entire time, only flinching when the medic tended to the man's temple wound.
The woman was no better. Of course with the amputated tongue, the woman could not speak. However when offered pen and paper, she just shoved it back at him.
So Vanderwalt was focusing on the fake priest. “I don't get it, mate. Why go to all the trouble of staging stigmata and then do it so poorly?”
The man's eyes flickered briefly as his jaw muscles worked up and down.
Good to know the man had an ego.
“I certainly hope you aren’t seriously considering following your dreams of being an actor.”
The man actively frowned at that.
Wait a minute. Vanderwalt snapped his fingers, pointing at the fake priest. “You, you are the actor from that internet provider commercial.”
The first look of panic crossed the man’s face.
Vanderwalt laughed hardily. “Yes, you’re the guy that binge-watches Game of Thrones!”
Oh, now he had him.
* * *
Very, very, very shortly, Brandt’s team was going to be within somebody's range. It didn't matter who it was. The Jeep, the helicopters, or the jets. They would be mowed down soon.
Their only viable option at this point was the van keeping pace ahead of them. The cultist’s van.
Brandt wasn’t exactly the most trusting guy around, and in a situation like this never. But this wasn’t about trust, it was about survival. Salt crunch underfoot. They must the near the water. So close, but on foot they couldn’t reach the shore in time. And even if they did, they would have to swim five miles in their clothes to reach international waters.
That just wasn't going to happen.
As much as he hated cultists, this one might be their only way out.
“Fine,” Brandt conceded. “We will hitch a ride.”
The man nodded vigorously waving them in. The older man grabbed Davidson’s hand and helped him into the Van. The sniper immediately went to the corner of the interior and pointed his gun at the man. There would be nothing underhanded going on if Davidson had anything to do with it.
Quickly the team was in the van, and the cultist closed the doors behind them only seconds before gunfire erupted. It must have been the Jeep from the now-destroyed bunker.
Whoever was driving the van, hit the gas and they sped away.
&n
bsp; “Not that I don’t appreciate the help,” Brandt said, especially since if they had stayed out there, they would have been mowed down, “But I don’t get it.”
The man spread his hands open. “I mean you no harm.”
“Isn’t that kind of the definition of a cult?” Prenner asked.
“For some yes, for me no,” the man said.
Everyone hit the floor as they took fire from above.
“How are we getting out of Iran?” Lopez asked.
The man pointed through the front window. Ahead of them was a boat with the ramp down on the shore. They bumped their way onto the boat as it took to sea. The jets passed over, circling back around.
With the new circumstances, their orders must've changed. Because one or two good missiles and they would be on the bottom of the Caspian Sea.
* * *
Bunny listened intently as the line went dead. Not dead, she could hear the boat’s engine, but no one was talking.
Why weren’t they talking?
There was so freaking much to explain. Why weren’t they talking?
She knew Brandt was stoic, but come on. He needed to at least throw her a bone.
A ding distracted her for a moment. It was an email. From Vanderwalt. The MI-5 guy. No one, of course, should have this secret email, but he was MI-5 after all.
Bunny clicked it open and read its contents aloud. “Fake priest an actor. Stigmata chick a Syrian refugee. Working on what all this means, but thought I'd give you a heads up.”
Bunny didn’t even bother to try to make sense of it, she just passed the information along to Rebecca.
Rebecca replied, “We've got some non sequiturs here as well. Once we get out of Iran we will pow-wow.” Bunny looked over to Stark who gave a thumb’s up.
“Four. Three. Two. They are officially out of Iran.”
But still on the Caspian Sea. Depending on which country they planned to land in, it would take them a few hours to get to shore.
Bunny hoped they used that time wisely.
* * *
Rebecca had urged her husband to sit down. He needed to take pressure off that knee, and she needed him to stop glaring at their rescuer.
This man might be the best lead they’d ever gotten on any mission.
She stuck her hand out. “I’m Dr. Rebecca Brandt.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” the man said, pumping her hand vigorously. “You went up against the Knot, the Disciples of Moshe, and even the Cultus. A truly impressive resume.”
“Thank you.” Rebecca responded.
“Oh and I am Sallah, a member of the Foremen. Very, very pleased to meet you.”
Rebecca could tell that Brandt wanted to butt in and ask a bunch of pointed questions. She was very proud of him as he kept them to himself.
“The Foremen, I have not heard of them.”
The man’s head bobbed up and down. “We have been very secretive.”
“Up until now.”
“Well, the game is afoot, is it not?”
Rebecca smiled. For a cultist he was awfully personable. “Apparently. The Chinese drilling operation flushed you out, didn’t it?”
The man smiled widely. “Nice try to get me to speak out of turn.”
“I do try,” Rebecca said.
“Okay, bottom line,” Brandt interrupted. “Are we kidnapped? Being held hostage? What?”
The man frowned. “No, as I stated, we are rescuing you.”
Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “For what purpose?”
The man leaned back against the boat’s wall. “So that you may help us.”
“Why would we do that?” Prenner asked.
Sallah’s smile returned. “So that we may help each other. I have seen what happens when cults go against you. There is ruin. I decided that it doesn’t have to be that way. That we can work together, without duress.”
Rebecca tried to wave Brandt off. She didn’t think this was helping anything, but her husband barreled on.
“Why in the world would we ever help a cult? Why?”
Sallah’s face blushed red. “To save mankind?”
* * *
Brandt really hated cult members. But it turned out he really, really hated friendly ones. He just wanted to smack that smile off Sallah’s face.
He greatly preferred those arrogant, smirking, a-holes to this guy. He didn't want to give in to the man’s charm.
“Sallah, how can we help you?” Rebecca asked.
“Not that we are going to,” Brandt interjected.
His wife gave him one of those looks so he backed off…for now.
“You have a brilliant mind, Dr. Monroe. And we have a problem that you could help solve.”
“But you won’t tell me what it is exactly that we are looking for?”
“No, no,” the man tsked. “If God has not seen reason to tell you, who am I to?”
Rebecca frowned, but her tone was still friendly. “Then again, how can I help, tangibly? And you can hold off on the flattery.”
Sallah smiled deeper. “We have tried to find the Chinese drilling site, but so far have not had any luck.”
“I don’t see how it could hurt,” Rebecca stated to her husband. “They are stuck. We are stuck.”
Brandt didn’t like it, not one bit. Sharing information with a cult? Just two hours ago that would have seem ludicrous. But now, sailing over the Caspian Sea with the man that saved them from the Iranians, cooperating with them was sounding less and less ludicrous.
He nodded for his wife to go ahead.
“Dr. Chen sent me a coded email that lead us to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, however they turned out to be --”
“In Assyria. Yes, I read your Note to the editor in Archeology Today. Was it ten years ago?”
His wife smiled warmly at the guy. People could flatter you all they wanted, but reading Rebecca’s papers, even a note to the editor from a decade ago was the way to her heart.
“Yes,” his wife replied. “I think that was only the first amongst many to lead us on this treasure hunt. Chen had to be careful in case the email was intercepted. He couldn’t just blurt out what had happened.”
* * *
“And what did you find at the site?”
“What besides an Iranian nuclear missile site?” Lopez chuckled.
“Yes, beyond that,” Sallah answered with a straight face.
“The only pertinent thing I found,” Rebecca stated, “Was that the outline of the gardens was eighty x eighty x eighty.”
“Eighty x eighty x eighty?” Sallah mumbled. “That does not ring any bells.”
“Nor to me,” Rebecca stated. ‘However, I believe that it has to do with numerology.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all they had.
“Yes,” Sallah stated, still seeming far off and disconnected to the conversation. The smile had fallen from his face as his brain worked overtime.
“I have someone working on that angle,” Rebecca continued.
“Good, good,” Sallah stated absently.
“Did you have an insight?” Rebecca asked.
“No, no,” Sallah reassured her, “But in some ways it does make sense. As you must know, numerology was a great passion for the Assyrians.”
Yes, Rebecca did know that. “But is it something more than that?”
Sallah bowed his head, but did not answer. Clearly though, he had a lot more to say on the matter, but didn’t feel like sharing.
“Sallah, if you wish us to help you, we must establish trust. I understand that the Foremen have a secret, but beyond that, you’ve got to share with me what’s going on.”
Rebecca glanced to Brandt. He was glaring at Sallah. He wasn’t one for patiently picking apart a problem. He liked to go at it full steam ahead. And in many situations, it broke the problem open. But here, here she didn’t think that would work. Luckily Sallah had avoided eye contact with her husband.
Wise move.
The man frowned but finally loo
ked up at her. “I was only thinking that we plan to land in a remote part of southeastern Azerbaijan…”
For a moment Rebecca didn’t understand how that was significant. It made sense since it was about the only American-friendly state to have shoreline along the Caspian Sea.
But how did it fit into the larger riddle?
CHAPTER 7
Bunny wasn’t sure if it would be considered helpful or rude to interject. In the end, she just didn't care. Well, she was going to let Davidson make that call.
She signaled for Stark to isolate the feed to the sniper.
“Davidson. See if this seems pertinent,” Bunny said.
“Go,” Davidson whispered. Both Rebecca and Sallah were still discussing the problem. It wasn’t going anywhere fast.
“If we take the Assyrian alphabet, assuming the first letter is equivalent to ‘a’ and go around that alphabet eighty x eighty x eighty, it spells out ‘Alat’ which is a small coastal town in Azerbaijan. It is also the home of Christo-Assyrians.”
There was silence, then Davidson cleared his throat. “Rebecca, I think you should hear what Bunny has to say.”
The line clicked as Stark turned the feed on for everyone to hear. Bunny quickly recapped her theory.
“Good work,” Rebecca said.
Why did praise from a mentor still make Bunny feel warm inside?
“There’s more,” Bunny stated.
“Let’s hear it.”
“If we translate eighty x eighty x eighty into numeric Assyrian letters, it spells out ‘hiqrir.’
“Okay…” Rebecca said, clearly not sure where Bunny was going with this.
“Hiqrir was the ancient Assyrian name for the Caspian Sea peninsula near Alat.”
“Guess we are going to Alat, then.” Rebecca stated.
“Well, that’s not all.” Bunny hesitated. “This was the most problematic of all. Eighty x eighty x eighty …the eightieth sentence of the eightieth page of the eightieth chapter, when applied to all religious texts, it brings up, “Death to the infidel.” From several sources.”
“Great…” Rebecca replied.
“I just thought I should warn you,” Bunny explained.
“Thanks, Bunny. That’s helpful.”
* * *
Davidson kept his gun trained on Sallah. The guy seemed friendly enough, however so had Davidson and Levont when they first showed up and look at how that went.
The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set) Page 8