The first one must have hit solidly, as Davidson aimed at the other Jeep and fired.
“I hit both in the engine block. Their radiators are blown. They won’t be using those vehicles to chase us down.”
Sallah frowned though. “They will still chase us down on foot. The militia is not known for giving up.”
True, true. This country had been at war for over decade, with no clear winner. Brandt’s team was worth a lot of money to these rebels. Which meant they needed to haul ass.
“Stark, where is the nearest vehicle?”
“Stark’s mom here. There is a small village just over the ridge, but I don’t think they have any cars.”
“That’s fine, we’ll make something work.” Brandt answered.
He indicated to Prenner to get them moving. It was time to get the Hell out of Ethiopia.
* * *
Once they had reached the ridge, her husband had sent Lopez down to the village to figure out some kind of transportation while they stayed to guard their rear.
Davidson had already sunk the boat that the militia had used to get across the lake. That, however, was not necessarily slowing them down. Sallah had been correct, the militia were following them on foot. They had sent one man back towards the village, presumably to get a car.
This was going to be close.
The corporal had best come up with something good, as the militiamen trotted in formation.
“Alright!” Lopez shouted from behind them. “Get in.”
When Rebecca turned around she found the corporal with a goat drawn carriage. She blinked twice to make sure her eyes weren’t fooling her. Nope, those were goats.
“Lopez…” Brandt growled.
“What?” Lopez retorted. “We’re in Ethiopia, Sarge, what did you expect?”
“Not goats. That’s for sure,” Brandt replied.
“Then you really don’t want to know how much I paid for them. So get in already.”
Rebecca looked to her husband. There really were no other options. She headed down the hill following the other men. Brandt was the last to budge.
The “carriage” looked like it had been built from the chassis of an old rusted SUV sans the seat covers. As ugly as it was, it was equally uncomfortable.
“Buckle up!” Lopez yelled.
Sure enough, there were seatbelts, and even though they were being drawn by goats, Rebecca fastened her restraint.
Lopez snapped the reins and the goats jerked forward. “Ya! Ya!” Lopez shouted as the goats went faster and faster.
Yep, this was going to be an interesting one.
* * *
Brandt’s teeth rattled in the back of his head. Goat carriages were about as comfortable as they sounded. Surprise, surprise.
They were nearly to a nameless village that had a small airstrip to the north. So far the militia had not yet caught up to them, probably because they weren’t looking for a goat carriage.
They had gotten lucky, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, so only their jackets were drenched.
Rebecca sat next to him in deep concentration. It was that look. The look like nothing else mattered except for what she was thinking about, and that had made him fall in love with her. Even though she couldn’t decode Assyrian, that didn’t keep her from trying. She would turn the camera right and left, cocking her head, trying to make sense of the dots that lined Noah’s tomb.
She was so cute when she was out of her depth. Not that he would ever tell her that, of course.
Soon they pulled up to a small village. He wasn’t even sure it was a village. It was basically six mud huts that weren’t looking so good after the rains. No church. No bar. No restaurants. Not even a six-room hotel.
The funniest thing was that no one in the village batted an eye at six adults riding in a goat carriage. As a matter of fact, to the villagers, this seemed completely natural.
Children surged around them begging for treats or coins. This time as much as it broke his heart, they couldn’t oblige. The children living in poverty would once again sell information that rich Americans were in town. They needed to get out of there pronto.
Within the blink of an eye, they were through the town and headed to the airfield. There was no way this small of a village could possibly afford an aircraft, therefore the planes must belong to the militia.
So, Brandt didn’t feel bad at all about stealing one of their planes.
Lopez pulled the goats to stop and started releasing them. The village, after all, would benefit from their presence.
“Find us a plane,” Brandt ordered the corporal. “And a plane, Lopez. Not a large stork, eagle, or dragon, a plane.”
Lopez flashed that warm smile of his and laughed. “Ah, come on, if I found a dragon, you’d totally ride it.”
“Perhaps,” Brandt conceded. “But I want a plane this time.”
* * *
Stark felt Bunny’s hand stir under his. Then her eyes fluttered open.
“Nurse!” Stark yelled, banging on the call button.
While his heart soared that Bunny was awake, that meant that the drugs weren’t doing their work, keeping her quietly asleep while her body healed.
“Shhh…shh,” Stark encouraged as Bunny began to fight against the trach tube and all of the catheters.
A nurse ran into the room, “What’s…”
Her eyes dilated she realized what the problem was and ran right back out the door.
Stark had to practically lie on Bunny to get her to stay still.
She was desperately trying to talk through the tube, but of course couldn’t say anything.
“It’s okay,” Stark reassured her. “You are getting better, but you need to relax.”
After about ten rounds of that, Bunny finally settled down. Her eyes, her beautiful green eyes asked the question for her.
“You have inflammation of the lungs, which has led to a body-wide inflammation that caused a bleeding disorder.”
He watched her irises dilate in horror.
“No, no,” Stark said. “They’re treating it. You’re getting better. They’re just keeping you sedated so you don’t fight the tube and you don’t feel the pain.”
She seemed to relax a bit and relaxed her head back down to the pillow.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving you,” Stark reassured her.
The nurse came back in and pumped some medication into one of the lines.
Bunny’s eyes fought going back to sleep, but finally they fluttered slower and slower. Just before she went back into slumber, Bunny mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
Stark had been holding it together pretty well, but with that he burst into tears. He certainly wasn’t meant for this kind of dangerous life.
* * *
Rebecca was happy to see that Lopez had indeed stolen a plane, a real one. There was an engine and everything. They weren’t going to have to flap their arms to get out of Africa.
They still didn’t have any signal though. Even their sat phone was out of reach.
She was so eager to get all this new information to Stark and his team. The reams of information they had attained was truly spectacular. Her mind still spun from the grandeur of it all. How she wished she could’ve stayed for weeks there. Bats and all.
But, of course, the militia had to hurry them out. She worried for what would become the tomb after the rebels had stripped it of anything valuable. At least valuable to them. She was sure that they did not realize how incredibly valuable the tomb would be to tourism.
Rebecca looked out the window, as Africa rolled past. They were heading north because, well it was the only direction to go. They flew over the Sudan and the Western Desert of Egypt. Even though the small plane had a small fuel tank, they couldn’t land in either country. And to the east was even worse. Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and Iraq.
No, they were shooting for heading out of the Mediterranean and landing in Cyprus. It was by far the most neutral country they could reach. Since they had no direction y
et, it was their best bet and the island was centrally located to Europe, Asia, and Middle East.
Rebecca looked down at her watch. The four-hour flight had been nearly halved by Lopez. They should be landing at the Larnaca airport within the hour. As a matter of fact, the carpet of sand beneath them had just yielded to the blue seas of the Mediterranean.
The storm was worsening, but at the least they were inside the plane.
Finally her phone picked up signal, and she shot off the pictures to DC.
Hopefully they would have some answers soon.
CHAPTER 15
Despite being given a direct order not to follow up on the lead, Vanderwalt hurried down the frozen streets of Hammerfest. The Norwegian city was the northernmost city in Europe. It was frozen three hundred fifty days out of the year. The entire town was the same color, a lovely shade of off-white ice.
A building could’ve been originally painted a lavish purple and bright gold and within a week it would be a grayish white. Even the signs were encrusted with frost. If it weren’t for the glowing neon lights on the inside of the establishments, you could never tell them apart.
Although Vanderwalt wasn’t quite sure why you would need to. Apparently nearly every storefront was either a pub or a bar or a bar-pub. Guess if you stayed frozen for most the year you would want to drink, a lot.
Luckily, Vanderwalt wasn’t frozen most of the time, so he had little interest in these establishments. No, the money trail for hiring the actor priest had led to an antiquarian bookstore, The Bibliophile, or in Norwegian, a bunch of “u’s” and “k’s” and umlauts.
Vanderwalt laughed, blowing steamy breath out of his lips. There was a light snow blowing, just enough to dust his jacket, making him appear like the buildings. He felt he could pass for a Hammerfester, or whatever they called themselves.
He opened the only door on the block that didn’t have a glowing Heineken sign in the window. A string of bells jingled as he stepped into the warm bookstore. This wasn’t one of your commercial bookstores with Patterson and Evanovich staring back at you.
Instead, it was well stocked with first editions. It had some of the classics, such as Poe, Austin, Twain, and rows upon rows of native Norwegian authors. While the selection was diverse, Vanderwalt doubted it could have funded the hundred thousand dollars to hire an actor to play a miracle specialist from the Vatican.
This bookstore smelled of leather and stale paper. Vanderwalt had to admit that it was a little bit of a turn on. After all, he’d lost his virginity in a library, so yeah, there were some fond memories.
The crusty old man behind the counter kind of killed the mood. It was like the attendant had become Hammerfest itself. His hair and mustache were the color of the town and his skin was unhealthy pale.
He had those mean eyebrows, you know the ones that had hair growing in every direction, and could cover the man’s eyes completely if he was irritated enough.
Unfortunately, Vanderwalt had to speak to the man. “Bok av Enoch?”
The man’s heavy brows put it in his eyes. “No,” was the only word that escaped his lips.
Vanderwalt cocked his head and gave a sigh. He had not come all the way up to Hammerfest and its ice encrusted streets, risking frostbite by just walking down the main street, to get shut down like this.
From a spy craft perspective, there were several ways to approach the problem.
However, Vanderwalt was cold and tired.
From his left pocket he pulled a wad of 100 pound notes. The man seemed distinctly unimpressed. So Vanderwalt reached his right pocket and pulled out his Glock and laid it on the glass counter.
That got an eyebrow up.
While Vanderwalt didn’t speak Norwegian well, he thought he kind of got the point across.
“Take one or the other, mate.”
The pound notes disappeared behind the counter. Vanderwalt retrieved his gun. He was glad to see that the man had chosen the easy way.
“I don’t have this Book of Noah,” man said in heavily accented English.
Vanderwalt cocked his head again. The gun could always make a reappearance.
The man put up his hands in surrender. “But I know who does,” he said, shoving a business card at Vanderwalt.
Vanderwalt looked at the card. It was for another antiquarian bookstore in Venice, Italy. At least the scenery would look better.
“These are the people that paid you to hire the actor?”
The man nodded his head solemnly. “I only do as they ask.”
Wasn’t that always the excuse for some of the evilest acts of mankind?
* * *
Brandt was glad to be on the tarmac as Lopez refueled the plane. After the goat carriage and small cramped plane, his knee was really acting up. Under Rebecca’s watchful eye, he didn’t feel like he could give it the full stretches it needed, at least not without a lot of questions asked.
The plan was to lay low in Cyprus until something broke. He had been to the island a few times and found it an odd but pleasing mix of Greece and the Middle East.
Lopez was happy because the food here was spectacular.
Rebecca leaned up against Brandt. “So what are we going to do to kill a few hours?”
Her intention was clear. Obviously his wife did not know how badly his knee hurt. But seriously, they needed to spend more time in the field if this is how it made Rebecca feel. He just needed to get his knee straightened out.
“Probably spend it at an all-you-can-eat buffet, if Lopez has anything to say about it,” Brandt answered.
Rebecca frowned. “I was thinking something a little more private.”
Oh, he knew what she was talking about. His knee just wasn’t up for it.
Luckily, his phone buzzed and he read the text. “Meet me at Venice.” It was from Vanderwalt.
“What’s in Venice?” Rebecca asked.
And, as if Vanderwalt could hear her, his next text stated. “The Book of Noah.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows went up with that. “If we can get our hands on that and get the translation from the tomb, we would be rolling.”
“Alright,” Brandt stated. “Time to head to Venice.”
“Ah, come on,” Lopez grumbled. “We’re in Cyprus. Who knows when we will be back…?”
“He’s right,” Davidson stated. “We all know he flies better on a full stomach.”
Even Prenner stepped forward. “We are only a few hours out of Venice and if Vanderwalt is coming from England, we’ve got him beat by at least an hour.”
“Unless, of course, he is already in Italy,” Brandt stated. He put his hands up before anyone else can argue or Rebecca could weigh in. He quickly texted Vanderwalt, “Where are you now?”
“Arctic Circle,” was the response. “Tell Lopez his meal is on me.”
“Oh, yah! I’m getting the dessert buffet as well,” Lopez stated, pumping his arm up-and-down.
Brandt knew when he was defeated, and this is one of those times.
Prenner was already heading to the door. Rapidly they made their way into the airport. They passed several small cafés and even a Burger King on their way to the restaurant. Who would eat at a Burger King in Cyprus? As they passed by it looked like a bunch of American families with children. Yep, that was probably right. If Rebecca and he had the children with them, they’d probably end up at BK as well.
Instead the team headed to the far side of the terminal. There was a pretty good Cypress restaurant called the Kouzina there. For a chain, it had pretty authentic food. And as Lopez had pointed out, it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. Which basically lost profit when Lopez walked in the door.
Seated quickly, but that was really a misnomer. The team really just walked by the table the hostess pointed out and headed straight to the buffet. This was not at all like an American buffet. There was no station for prime rib, or ham or whatever chunk of meat that was available. The buffet had far more fresh foods and vegetables. Tabouli and hummus were featured an
d for the meat selections, there were more traditional dishes.
Moussaka, the Greek equivalent of lasagna, was very popular and took up a whole section. Then there were the skewers, soulva, which came in whatever type of meat you wanted… beef, lamb, chicken, and pork. Lopez’s first plates were piled with skewers.
Then they came to the yogurt section. Dear God, there were so many to choose from. There were at least 12 varieties. Then, you could add your own fruits and nuts. Rebecca took a long while in this section.
“Heaven…” Lopez murmured as they found the seafood section. There wasn’t the usual fried shrimp and baked salmon. Oh no, Cyprus was in the middle of the Mediterranean. There was cuttlefish, octopus, sea bass, and a dozen other types of fish that Brandt didn’t even recognize.
That didn’t seem to matter to Lopez or the other men, they just piled on some of each and would figure it out at the table.
Lopez grabbed another plate, while balancing two on his arm. Because he definitely needed room for dessert.
Of course, the standby baklava. But that was the least sweet item on the buffet. There were loukoumades, which were basically donuts swimming in syrup, because you know donuts really need more sugar.
Then there was soumada, which was an almond spread packed with honey. Rebecca put some on her bagel.
Loaded up, they headed to their table. Brandt loved the fact that they seldom talked over meals. Instead, all you heard was enthusiastic chewing and grunting with pleasure.
His team had been right. They did need this break. And it really would’ve been a crime if they’d left Cyprus without eating.
Brandt looked to his watch. They’d only been here 10 minutes and Lopez was already into his second plate. However, he doubted if they would leave the restaurant under an hour, because Lopez was known to take second and third helpings.
Then off to Venice, to find out what Noah had been up to.
* * *
Rebecca was so very glad that she had been wearing loose-fitting pants. They were no longer loose-fitting, however. All the men had gone back for seconds, but Lopez and Prenner had gone back for thirds… All three plates, third helpings.
She had no idea where they put it. Rebecca barely finished her plate, but she had to admit she had picked some dessert off Brandt’s plate. She’d tried to be good and just have a coconut bagel. But she just couldn’t resist the honey soaked baklava on the side of her husband’s plate.
The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set) Page 16