7

by Van R. Mayhall Jr.

  “Good evening, Dr. Lejeune,” said a handsome young officer. “My name is Jacob, Captain Ariel Jacob. I’m your liaison and guide.”

  “Hello, Captain Jacob,” said Cloe. “This is my son, Captain J.E. Lejeune, US Army, Monsignor Roques, and the father curator. We also have with us four members of the pope’s personal Swiss Guard contingent.”

  She saw respect flash across his face. He turned to J.E. and shook his hand. “Captain, your reputation goes before you.”

  “Thank you, Captain Jacob,” replied J.E. “What do you have for us?”

  The young Israeli spun on his heels and faced the noncommissioned officer standing next to him. “Sergeant, gather their bags and possessions and bring them to the terminal.”

  “Sir!” said the man and relayed the orders to the waiting soldiers.

  “Dr. Lejeune, if you and your party would please accompany me,” said the captain.

  They entered the small terminal building and proceeded to a medium-sized conference room. The wood-paneled room included a large central table and comfortable bucket chairs. There, they were offered hot coffee and food.

  “Please refresh yourselves,” said the gallant young captain. “We have much to do, and you will need your strength.”

  Cloe had slept for most of the flight; she was famished. Everyone was hungry, and they all filled plates and sat at the table.

  Cloe looked out the window as she ate spicy lamb, fresh vegetables, and flatbread. A number of sentries placed at strategic intervals protected the outside perimeter.

  Captain Jacob walked to the head of the table and secured a map on the large display board so all could see. It was a map of the area from Iraq to Israel.

  “Here’s the situation. We are here,” said Captain Jacob, pointing to the tiny area of the map that formed the Jewish homeland. “You want to go to southern Iraq about here.” He indicated an open area south and west of the Euphrates River.

  “You will note that Syria and Jordan lie between us and your destination. The fighting in Syria continues to be an extremely bloody civil war with the Islamic State now controlling large parts of the country. Assad is only marginally in charge, but his aircraft and air defense systems are first-class Russian products. To stray into Syrian airspace would be to invite disaster.”

  “But why fly at all?” asked J.E. “Surely we’d be better going overland?”

  “Possibly, we could do that, but it’s between six and seven hundred miles from here to there, and it’s some of the roughest territory in the Middle East,” said the young officer. “There’s a much greater chance of discovery as well.”

  “Okay, so it looks like we don’t drive,” said J.E. “Unless you have something I don’t know about, there isn’t a helicopter with the range to get us there and back. I don’t expect we’ll find fuel on our trip. We have civilians with us, so parachuting in is not an option even if there were a viable way to get us back. Is there a landing strip nearby?”

  “There’s only a dirt strip for small aircraft,” said Captain Jacob. “You are correct on the tactical side as to the equipment, but we have on occasion been able to borrow an Osprey from your navy.”

  “Of course! An Osprey, it’s just what we need!” exclaimed J.E.

  “What’s an Osprey?” asked Cloe.

  “It’s a troop/cargo carrier with vertical takeoff and landing capabilities,” responded J.E. “It can fly at twice the speed of most helicopters and has extended range that should get us there and back.”

  “Right. It can land and take off like a helicopter, but it flies like a conventional airplane,” added the young Israeli.

  Cloe smiled as she watched the two young officers discuss the operational capabilities of the aircraft.

  “All right, that’s it then,” she said. “We have a ride. When do we go?”

  CHAPTER

  46

  Huddled in the foyer of the Ursuline Convent, Zack, his colleagues, plus Doris and Bully stood in front of the staircase to the library. It was roped off, and there was a sign that said No Admittance.

  “According to the history in the guide book, it’s the oldest building in the Mississippi Valley, having been constructed in about 1750,” said Mel. “Listen to this … when the French Quarter of New Orleans burned in 1788, the old convent was one of the few buildings spared.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing,” said Zack. “We hear a lot about the Great Chicago Fire but not much about the one in New Orleans.”

  “Here’s something more astounding,” said Mel. “‘When the Ursuline sisters came to New Orleans from France, they brought a large, life-sized statue of Mary. When they left the convent as the fire advanced through the city, they took with them what they could. One thing they left at the convent was a small tabletop version of the statue of Mary they called Sweetie. They left her facing the south where the approaching fire was burning out of control.’”

  “Well, what happened?” asked Louie impatiently.

  “Funny thing …” said Mel, continuing to read from the book. “When the conflagration was down the street from the convent, a storm of unprecedented fury came raining down torrents of water. The fire was finally put out just across the last street separating it from the convent. Eight hundred and fifty out of eleven hundred structures in New Orleans were destroyed in the fire.”

  “Now that’s a story,” said Rey. “I’ve got to see this place.”

  “Hmmm,” said Mel. “Here’s something.”

  “What is it?” asked Doris.

  “Well, it seems a good portion of the library is taken up by a special research project,” replied Mel.

  “What’s the research project?” asked Zoe.

  “It’s not real clear,” said Mel, remembering her computer search. “Something about a trove of ancient jars being discovered in the Middle East and ending up at the Ursuline library.”

  “Well, that is special,” said Rey. “But there’s nothing in the guidebook about that.”

  “There wouldn’t be. When I checked last night, it had just gone up on the website, and that section of the library is not open to the public,” said Mel. “Supposedly the jars date from the first century.”

  Zack looked around the little group. He smiled at his odd collection of new friends. He was certainly a long way from Iowa.

  “Hey, it’s a library,” said Louie. “Get over it. It’s bound to have some strange stuff. Anyway, who cares if it’s open to the public? We’re on a mission from God—right?”

  “I got that, Louie,” said Mel. “But here’s something from an underground blog that says one of the research areas involves fragments from a diary or journal thing that may contain a message from Christ about the end of times.”

  “Who posted that?” asked Zack.

  “Don’t know,” said Mel. “Someone with the name ‘end of times.’”

  “How can we believe anything like that?” asked Zack.

  “Maybe we can’t, but whoever he is seems to have pretty good inside information,” replied Mel. “The detail is impressive.”

  “The end of times? You mean like when up is down and down is up and everyone is going crazy?” quipped Rey.

  “Right,” said Zoe. “I’m involved in a Bible study group, and we have read a good deal on this. It’s when plague, violence, and evil seem ready to overrun the world, when the Vatican has been sacked and the religious worldwide are being hunted and persecuted.”

  “My God!” said Zack. “Are you saying this is the end?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” said Zoe. “It’s funny, though; we are in unprecedented times that bear some resemblance to the end-of-times forecast in the book of Revelation. Lo and behold, we happen to be on a field trip to a place where they are studying a text in which Christ might have provided guidance on the very subject.”

  “If you roll tha
t up with how we all got here, I say you have a four-alarmer going on,” said Louie sardonically.

  “What do we know?” asked Zack.

  “Niche much,” said Anna.

  “We know we are all here in New Orleans for a purpose, but we don’t yet know the purpose,” said Zack. “We know someone wants to stop us, so what we have to do must be important to somebody.”

  Anna doubled down and said, “I believe I received my card from an angel—from God. I believe each of you did as well.”

  “Maybe you got it from the devil,” said Louie. “The big meathead who gave me my card looked more like a demon than an angel.”

  “Oh, Louie, you can’t mean that,” said Zoe with a look of gentle admonishment.

  Louie looked at her, softened, and said, “Maybe not, but who knows for sure?”

  “I think if you look at Robby, you’ll see the face of God for sure,” said Mel. “No, we are sent for good.”

  “But what about that hound?” asked Louie. “The devil is known to work through animals—what do they call them? Familiars?”

  “I think you’re mixing up your mythology,” observed Zack. “Familiars, usually cats, were mainly thought to be the sidekicks of witches. Bully fought with the rest of us at Morning Call.”

  “You’re right—he did,” responded Louie reluctantly. “I felt the energy. It felt good.”

  “Mel, when you did your computer research last night, did you come up with the name of the lead scientist on the project? Maybe we can go up and talk to her or him,” said Zack.

  “Uh, it’s a woman, an ancient languages expert from the University of Washington at Seattle,” said Mel. “She’s attached to LSU now, which is underwriting her research.”

  “What’s her name?” asked Zack.

  “Dr. Clotile Lejeune,” said Mel as she jumped the velvet rope and headed up the ancient staircase.

  CHAPTER

  47

  The Osprey was as advertised—quick and spacious. It easily accommodated all of Cloe’s group plus the young Israeli captain, five of his men, and all their gear. They first flew south-southeast across Jordan and then along the border of Saudi Arabia and Iraq. The pilot had said this would be the safest route. Even so, they flew at about two to three hundred feet above the ground once out of the mountains. It was nerve-racking at first to watch the blacks and browns of the desert rush by at such a low altitude.

  “I don’t see how the pilots can fly this low and this fast,” said Cloe to J.E., who sat next to her. “One small mistake would be fatal for all of us.”

  “I talked to the pilot about that before we took off,” responded J.E. “The plane is equipped with a special guidance system that does this automatically.”

  “You mean no real person is flying the plane?” questioned Cloe. “Some robot has my life in its metallic hands?”

  “Yep, and good hands they are,” responded J.E., laughing. “Far more accurate than humans. Plus, they don’t get tired.”

  “All right. I guess it is what it is,” said Cloe. “What time do we get in?”

  “I just checked with the pilots,” said the monsignor, flopping down on the seat across the aisle from them. “He says we are on time and will be at Uruk in about an hour, maybe less.”

  “What’s our plan once we get to Uruk?” asked the curator. “By all accounts, it’s a pretty big place.”

  “Right, but from aerial photos, we know about where the dig is located. We’ll then need to seek out Reverend Klein,” said Cloe.

  Cloe felt the vibrations as the big Rolls engines increased the air speed of the plane.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said J.E.

  Just then, the Israeli captain yelled to them from the flight deck. “Buckle in … tight! We have a problem.”

  “What is it?” asked J.E.

  “We are about to get some attention from the Syrians,” said the young officer. “Specifically, we have inbound Syrian jets.”

  “How could they find us at this altitude?” asked Cloe.

  “Possibly there is a traitor somewhere along the line.” Captain Jacob grimaced. “But more likely we have been detected on Russian look-down radar.”

  “I’ve heard of look-down radar, but I thought the US was the only country with this technology,” said J.E.

  “No, Russia and the Chinese each have this capability,” said the Israeli.

  “What is it, and what does it do?” asked the monsignor.

  “It’s positioned in an airplane that flies high, and the radar looks down, much like sonar does on the water,” said Jacob. “It can spot moving objects even though they would be blind to conventional radar because of the arc of the earth.

  “It has a sophisticated computer that can be very effective in locating objects that regular radar can’t see. Turns out the Russians are operating one for the Syrians.”

  “Okay, things are going to get hot. How long do we have?” asked J.E.

  “At most, twenty minutes,” said Captain Jacob. “Tel Aviv reports the long-range jets are launched from south of Damascus, and given our speed and their much greater speed, they can be on us about then.”

  “What’s our armament? Can we win a fight?” asked the monsignor.

  “We have a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on the lift gate,” the officer responded. “It can be operated only when the gate is down. We have a pod of missiles and an electronic belly Gatling gun.”

  “Yes!” said J.E. “This baby is really well equipped.”

  “Most don’t have that kind of ordnance,” responded Jacob. “But this plane is special. Still we have no hope against four Russian state-of-the-art fighters, even with Syrian pilots. They will chop us up and spit us out.”

  “Well, that’s very interesting, boys,” said Cloe. “We’re trapped in a machine that can neither outfight nor outrun the enemy. We are a bright, moving target—a bull’s-eye on their look-down radar. Is that about it?”

  “Simply put, that’s about it,” said Jacob.

  “Can we expect help from Israeli or US fighters?” asked the curator.

  “We are too far for the Israeli jets with planning, logistics, and refueling tankers in place,” said the Israeli officer. “The US has removed its assets and has nothing in theater that could help us.”

  “If this plane can’t outrun and can’t outfight the Syrians, maybe it can hide.”

  “What? What do you mean?” asked Jacob.

  “I mean … land the damn plane!” asserted Cloe.

  CHAPTER

  48

  Ten minutes later, they were on the ground. They had landed in the flat, sandy bottom of a valley between two ridges of hills, about five to seven hundred feet in height.

  “Shut down the engines. Get everything as dark and cold as possible,” said J.E. “We need to be invisible.”

  “J.E., you and the captain said the look-down radar relies on movement to spot its prey,” said Cloe. “If we are still and quiet, they may not see us.”

  “I think that may be right—at least until daylight,” responded J.E.

  “If we survive the night, we can worry about the light,” said the monsignor. “Right now, all lights out … everyone quiet.”

  The tailgate was lowered, and Cloe and the others ran for the sand mountain nearest them in case the plane was bombed. They took refuge in the lee of one of the huge sand berms forming one wall of the little valley.

  “We shouldn’t have long to wait,” whispered the Israeli.

  Just then, four shadows, ink against the black night, flashed overhead from the north, headed south. The jets screamed like eagles in search of their morning meal. They were briefly visible against the faint starlight and then gone.

  “Well, they missed us,” said the father curator.

 
“Maybe, or maybe they just overran us,” responded the monsignor. “Let’s stay quiet and hunkered down for a while.”

  Sure enough, as Cloe scanned the obsidian southern sky, a few minutes later the sound of multiple jet engines once again hit them. This time, they had the low guttural noise of a prowling reptilian predator on the scent of its quarry. Cloe shivered and thought this sound was even more frightening than the previous flat-out roar.

  “They’ll use everything they have to find us,” said J.E. “Everyone, stay down, still, and quiet—no matter what.”

  As Cloe stared transfixed, the jets, mere points of dark on the night sky, silhouetted against the stars, began to crisscross the area. At intervals, they would randomly drop flares and fire machine-gun rounds, attempting to spur some response.

  “They can’t stay on station long,” said the monsignor. “At some point, they will need fuel and will have to leave.”

  “That’s unless the Russians have a tanker up there to refuel the fighters,” said J.E. “If that’s the case, they can stay with us indefinitely.”

  “Pray they do not,” said the monsignor.

  After a few minutes, the fighters formed up and headed north at flank speed. Cloe heard the eagle screech as the afterburners of the jets kicked in and then listened as they faded away. Was it her imagination, or was there disappointment in that sound?

  “Okay … they’re gone,” said J.E. “We have no time to lose. They will be back, and at daylight ground forces will be searching for us.”

  “J.E.’s right,” said the monsignor. “The fighters will return, and this time they will have the logistical support to stay here until we are found.”

  “What’s our timeline?” asked Cloe.

  “I’d say two hours,” said the Israeli. “That includes landing, rearmament, and changing of pilots. Two and a half hours max.”

  “Agreed,” said J.E. “We need ground transport. Let’s go see what’s on the Osprey.”

  They spent thirty minutes inventorying the aircraft in the soft glow of its red, low-light system.

  “We have a camo net,” said J.E. “Captain Jacobs, can you detail your men to lay out the camouflage and cover the Osprey?”