by Ronie Kendig
“That is our belief,” Iliescu said with a sigh. “And we suspect they still hold great power and influence throughout the world today. For centuries, they have had some of the best fighters and assassins.”
“Like Tanin.”
Lips tight, Iliescu nodded.
“Obviously not,” Maangi said. “We’re still alive.”
“Maybe they want us alive,” Tox muttered, not buying into the arrogance of thinking they’d escaped those arrows out of sheer luck. “Where are we headed?”
“Syria.”
“What’s in Syria?”
“Ti Tzaddik,” Ram interrupted.
“The guy Sokolov mentioned.”
Ram nodded. “He has more knowledge on historical events than any encyclopedia you could pick up.”
Tox eyed his friend, wary that Ram knew of this guy. “Wait—” He wagged a finger. “In Bhavin’s journal, he mentioned meeting with ‘Ti.’ Could that be the same guy as this Tzaddik?”
“Possibly. Maybe Tzaddik asked him to steal a censer?”
“Maybe he was trying to find them like your sister was.”
“Maybe.” But Ram didn’t look convinced.
“Okay, listen,” Iliescu said, “Robbie will get you up to date. Keep us posted. I’ve got a meeting.”
The screen blanked out, the wall of the plane regaining its presence. Tox roughed a hand over his face, then glanced at Ram. “Fill me in. Ti Tzaddik.”
“I met him on a mission about three years ago. His knowledge is”—Ram shook his head—“there’s no explanation for how he knows what he knows. But he knows.”
“Sort of like you.” Tox let the words hit then went on. “So we hope he knows something about this plague and the censers?”
“And the AFO.” Ram lifted a paper from the printer and held it up. “This symbol—the one Cell kept running up against, that we found in Bhavin’s journal. The arrow you collected outside the museum had this symbol. I’ve seen it before, too, on a ledger in Tzaddik’s possession.”
“So he knows about the AFO.”
“Probably.”
“Speaking of the arrow,” Thor spoke up loudly, “initial reports are that it might have phosphorus or something in the shaft.”
“That’s sick.”
Maangi huffed. “Iliescu said the AFO were deadly. So if they wanted us dead—how’d they keep missing at the museum?”
“This path,” Dr. Cathey mumbled from the far end of the table, “it leads to Resheph and Sheol.” His keen eyes looked around the table, and he shrugged. “That’s what the Israelites believed.”
Ignoring the professor’s words, Tox leaned forward. “Where’s Ti located in Syria?”
“The Citadel of Aleppo.”
“The Aleppo Codex,” Haven said.
Tzivia sighed. “But ignore Resheph and Sheol.”
“What are they?”
“Resheph was the figurative personification of death,” Tzivia said, her tone flat, annoyed. “Sheol was the name for hell.”
“Manuscripts, scrolls, codices, and people do not agree that Resheph was merely the name for death,” Dr. Cathey countered. “Some words used around it indicate the possibility it was a spirit, or even a real person.”
“Stop it,” Tzivia snapped. “It’s bad enough you lure them with taunts of miracles and curse-inducing plagues—do not insult our intelligence by suggesting Resheph is a person.”
“I have seen many Westerners discount the supernatural, reducing God to what they can explain and hold in their hands,” Chiji said, his long, ebony fingers forming a cup before him.
“And how is it our beliefs are insulting but yours are intelligent?” Ram asked Tzivia, his calm nature exuding confidence.
“Mine rest in science.”
“So you have found the source of the plague?” Ram challenged, not with malice but with more of that confidence.
“Okay, enough.” Tox had been on the receiving end of Ram’s maddening confidence before. He smoothed a hand over his short crop, noticing a tender spot. He winced and refocused. “When do we land?”
As if to answer, the plane began its descent. “We’re landing at a private airstrip under a faked transponder,” Ram said. “We’ll split up and head into Aleppo. It’s a hot spot for extremists.”
“Why?” Haven asked.
“They’re demolishing anything cultural—including many attempts on the citadel itself.”
“So it’s not safe?”
“Most of this region isn’t safe.” Cell gazed out the window as the ground slowly became closer.
A tone sounded on a phone, and Tox glanced over. Haven lifted her smartphone and swiped a finger across it. A moment of confusion rippled through her thin eyebrows. She covered her mouth as she watched something, her expression still a mask of confusion.
Haven’s eyes went wide. She yelped.
Something primal in him detonated when she lurched back, holding her phone out as if it had a disease. “What?”
She jerked to him, eyes pools of a turbulent sea. She shoved the device at him with a strangled cry.
Tox braced her, afraid she’d collapse as he glanced at the screen. A video. He thumbed it.
Quiet . . . a broad sidewalk . . . the buildings were European. Someone walked into view. He couldn’t gauge age because of the perspective, but he guessed it to be a young person. A teen in uniform. School uni—
“No.” Tox’s heart slowed. His mind powered down, recognizing the form.
Beside the person filming, a crossbow glided into view.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Haven whispered. “It’s Evie.” She pressed against his side, her face in his chest.
A hand with a flaming arrow tattoo in the crook between the thumb and forefinger. The arrow launched from the crossbow.
The camera never wavered as the arrow sailed across the distance. Haven cried out and Tox held her tighter.
Thud!
In his arms, Haven jerked when the arrow pierced Evie in the back. His niece pitched forward with a scream. She lay on the sidewalk, unmoving.
A voice demanded, “You failed our first warning. Stop before more die.”
35
— Day 12 —
En Route to Syria
Tox wrapped his arms around Haven, a piece of him tearing at the brokenness in her sobs. At what he’d just witnessed. He cupped the back of her head, wanting to give her reassurance. Wanting to say it wasn’t Evie. Wanting to promise she wasn’t dead. But he’d seen his niece. Seen what those phosphorus arrows did to a body. Over her shoulder, he met the grief-stricken gaze of Chiji.
Ram lifted the phone from Tox’s hand and glanced up, his own phone to his ear.
“Please,” Haven sobbed, her forehead pushing into his chest. “Please tell me that wasn’t her. Tell me she’s not . . .” She shook her head, her body trembling.
Tox tucked his chin, his cheek against her hair. “We’re going to find out.”
Her fingers coiled around the sides of his shirt, twisting and squeezing. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
“Hey.” Tox adjusted his hold. “Hey.” There was one reassurance he could give her. It was the only one he had. He slid his hand along the side of her neck and used his thumb to push her gaze to his. He hated the rawness, the vulnerability there. “I promise you . . .” Breathing was a chore, staring down at her innocence with a lethal vow. “I promise,” he whispered again.
Her breaths came in gulping spurts and struck his cheek as she searched his eyes for some hope.
“Whoever did this . . . I’ll hunt them down.”
She slumped against him in what felt like a whoosh of relief. Her arms encircled his waist, and she clung to him. Tox held her, startled. By how much that promise to her fueled him. How much he didn’t want to let her down. Or let her go.
“I’m sorry,” Haven whispered through her tears as she drew back. “I’m sorry.”
Tox peered at her. “For what?” Her eyes were streake
d, hair mussed, but Haven owned a natural beauty.
Her chin dimpled as she fought more tears. “For losing it.”
He almost snorted. “We got blown up. Raced through Israel. Then saw an awful video of my—our niece . . .” The words tasted like bile and he found he couldn’t finish them, not gazing into her eyes like this. “I’d be ticked if you didn’t lose it.”
A smile tugged her lips up.
“Tox.”
He looked up and found Ram staring, a solemn expression gouged into his hazel eyes. That wasn’t good. Immediately, Tox knew the video was no illusion. Evie had been hit. He mustered strength from the dregs of his courage, from having to see Haven’s grief when the news was delivered. He slid his gaze to the side, where Levi Wallace stood, hands on his belt, head tucked. Angry. Grieved.
Tox caught his gaze. Gave a thrust of his chin. Levi straightened.
“Haven,” Tox said, angling back. “I need to address this.” He held her shoulders, guided her to Levi. Something in him twisted as the agent stepped so easily and seamlessly into the hole Tox had left.
That . . . that was where she belonged. With someone who wouldn’t bring her hurt and pain. Someone who had no history or bodies in his wake. Someone who didn’t put her in the path of explosions and dangle her life within Death’s grasp.
He made his way down the aisle to Ram. “What’d you find?”
Holding Tox’s phone, the mute feature selected, Ram said, “It was her. The president got word as my call was put through.”
Tox covered his eyes, as if he could shield himself from the tragedy. “Is she dead?”
“No.”
Practically tasting the hesitation in that clipped answer. he glanced at Ram.
“But it’s not good.” He handed the phone to Tox and stepped back, tapping his Bluetooth, indicating he’d be making calls.
Roughing a hand over his face, Tox blew out a breath. Canceled the mute and lifted the phone. “Galen.”
“I don’t have much time. I’m flying to England. She’s critical.”
Tox squeezed his eyes shut. Shook his head. Breathe. “I’ll find them.”
“You’d better,” Galen ground out. “I want them dead.”
“For once, we agree.” He really had no right to ask, but Tox had to. “Keep me posted?”
Silence gaped, then, “I will. Oh, and Tox—you’ve got whatever you need to hunt them down.”
The call ended. Tox balled his fist. He leaned back against a seat and closed his eyes. He needed that image of Evie on the sidewalk in the front of his mind so he could work with focused determination. But he desperately wanted that image seared out of his mind. He didn’t want to think of her like that. Of her being boiled alive.
“You okay?”
Pulled straight by Haven’s soft voice, Tox did his best to avoid her eyes. “No. But I will be.” Once he gave a double tap to whoever had done this.
“You talked to Galen?”
This time he met her eyes. And felt that vortex that’d erupted when he’d held her. It sucked him in like deadly backwash from a jet. “Yeah.”
She inched closer, her dark blond hair loose around her shoulders. “What—” She swallowed. “What’d Galen say?”
“She’s alive.” He nodded, trying to reassure himself Evie would stay that way. “Report is that she’s critical. But alive. He’s flying out to be with her.”
“Good.” She breathed and laughed. Trembling.
The plane dipped down, marking its descent.
“Heading into Syria.” Tox grabbed the distraction and touched her shoulder, concerned this leg of the mission might be too much too soon for her. “You up to this?”
She lifted her chin. “More than ever.” Though Haven had pulled herself together, it wasn’t hard to see she was on the verge of collapse. That the strings holding her together were thin and frayed. She was strong but not designed for combat.
“It’s okay if you need a break.”
Haven frowned at him.
“Tox,” Tzivia called. “We’re landing. Ram wants you.”
“Yep.” Tox looked over his shoulder and gave a curt nod, then turned back to Haven.
“Go.” Haven mustered a smile, but they both knew it was fake.
Tox felt like a heel leaving her and making his way to Ram, who was on the phone. But he also felt a huge dose of relief. Things were getting too weird with Haven.
Ram glanced up as he pocketed his smartphone and Tox slid into the seat beside him. “Contacted SAARC. The AFO made a mistake targeting the president’s daughter. Every agency, both American and British, is tracking down those responsible for this. ICE and NSA are on alert.”
“They won’t find them.” Tox knew that in his bones.
With a solemn nod, Ram agreed. “They seem to have amazing luck escaping attack sites.”
“This Tzaddik . . . you think he’ll be much help?”
Snorting, Ram shook his head. “I know you think I’m being underhanded, but there’s a limit to what I know. And I can only hope he’ll be the help I want him to be.”
“That makes two of us.”
The tires screeched as they hit the tarmac. They jerked forward as the reverse engines roared, the plane’s tail wiggling as it strained to slow the momentum. The aircraft lumbered to a stop.
“Here they come,” Cell announced, watching a herd of SUVs tearing up the tarmac toward them.
“Yeah,” Maangi said, “but are they ours?”
Either way, they were sitting ducks on the plane. “Everyone to the door,” Tox shouted, pushing out of his seat. Herding them to the front of the plane, he kept an eye on what was happening through the windows. Two of the vehicles swung around, facing away from the plane. Another pair broke off, one going to the front, one to back. “Protective perimeter.”
“They’re ours.” Ram hurried to the hatch and opened it.
Light exploded across the interior. Pain stabbed Tox’s eyes, the agony probing into the dark recesses of his brain, then punching into his stomach. Nausea churned. This was going to be a lot of fun—being in a desert with a borderline migraine. His shades cut a lot of the glare, but not enough to completely eliminate the pain.
Tox noted Haven watching him seconds before Wallace urged her out of the plane, followed by Cell. Wallace glanced at Tox, his eyes looking more like a raccoon with each passing hour. Tox had really messed up his nose. Maybe he owed the agent an apology.
“Want a push?” Wallace asked. “It’s only a ten-foot drop.”
Forget the apology. Yet the humor from the agent was unexpected. Anger. Animosity. Jealousy, Tox expected. But this?
“Sarge, I could break his legs to match his nose,” Thor offered.
“You were right.” Wallace pointed to his bruised face. “I shouldn’t have left her.”
What was Tox supposed to say to that?
“I’m glad you were there for her when that call came in about your niece,” Wallace continued, “but . . . if you hurt Kasey . . .”
That sounded like a challenge. A game of one-upping. And Wallace stood there staring him down, something in his eyes. Tox nearly laughed when he finally realized the FBI agent wanted a piece of him. “Try.” Because if the guy didn’t, he’d be itching for it the rest of the trip.
The broad-shouldered agent stilled, locked on Tox, who waited, knowing full well Wallace would take the opportunity. “You’re a legend,” Wallace finally said.
“Remember that when you fail.”
The fist came from Tox’s right—flying hook at his head. Tox caught it, twisted the arm, and threw Wallace up against the hull of the interior. Pinned him to the gray vinyl, knocking a meaty oof out of him.
Tox released him, nudging him aside, out of strike range, then hopped from the plane into the truck bed. “Try a little harder next time.”
36
— Day 12 —
Aleppo, Syria
Dark clouds seemed to have invaded her life, even if the sk
y over Aleppo was startlingly blue. With the threat against the team and Evie in a hospital fighting for her life, Kasey felt like she sat in a vehicle made of paper rather than armor-plated, reinforced steel. They lurched away from the tarmac, away from the others, and rushed into a gnarled city littered with debris and destruction. The heat was insufferable, especially beneath the hijab they’d handed her as soon as she’d left the plane. It was designed to make her blend in, not suffocate, but she was sure one less female wouldn’t bother any of these men.
The devastation of the city proved heartbreaking—but what hurt more was the people. They walked the streets, oblivious to the giant craters and crumbling buildings. And yet—they were affected. The women walked a little quicker. Held their children closer.
Kasey ached to hold Evie, for her niece to once more be the little girl who rushed into her arms and squealed in delight.
Only as she was able to watch a mother and son reach an intersection did Kasey realize how slow the vehicle was going. She checked the speedometer on the dash. Forty-five. It didn’t feel fast enough.
Until the next corner threw her into Maangi’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, pushing herself free.
“I promise not to tell Tox.”
Surprise spurted through her at the teasing, partially because it insinuated she was Cole’s girl. But she wasn’t. She shot the olive-skinned Maangi a look, only to earn a wink from him.
She adjusted in her seat between him and Levi. “Are we sure they’re taking us to the right place?” Through the back window, only dust and more buildings.
“Look.” Maangi leaned forward, pointing beyond Levi’s window. “Watch down the alleys to the parallel street.”
Kasey peered out of the trouncing SUV. In between buildings and down an alley, a blur of black whizzed in and out of view in a heartbeat. She held her breath. Was that . . . ? It happened again. “That’s them—the other vehicle?”
“One of them,” Maangi said.
The revelation distracted and calmed her. Minutes later, after a few more jarring turns, they glided to a stop in front of a long line of squat dwellings. Levi climbed out, blocking her view as he checked their surroundings. He finally stepped back and offered a hand.