Conspiracy of Silence

by Ronie Kendig

  Air cut off, Tox tensed. Knew he was in trouble. Just couldn’t lose the arrow.

  Using his legs, Tanin flipped Tox sideways. Onto his back. He landed hard, his right arm pinned beneath Tanin’s bulk, which prevented Tox from using the arrow. Glass crunched beneath him, shards cutting his upper arms and the back of his head.

  Laid out on Tox and arm still hooked around his neck, Tanin angled his left side up to throw a hook. It connected solidly. Bounced Tox’s head. Hammered glass into his scalp. Made his teeth rattle. Spots dotted Tox’s vision.

  But Tanin wasn’t paying attention.

  Tox switched the arrow to his left hand. With a growl, he stabbed it into the fleshy area beneath Tanin’s ribs.

  The assassin howled. A quiet click sounded. Followed by hissing. Glowing. Searing heat rushed over Tox’s hand. He yanked away. Flesh bubbled, spiraling a sickening vapor into the air. Holding his breath, Tox shoved Tanin off of him.

  Tanin scrambled back. Gaping at the ever-widening hole in his side where the phosphorus boiled through muscle and ligaments the way hot water melted ice, Tanin dropped his shoulder to the ground. Shock widened his eyes. A gargled cry mixed with the hissing of the phosphorus. His face reddened.

  Bile rose in Tox’s stomach. Climbed up his throat. He covered his mouth and nose with the back of his hand, unable to look away. It was a horrible death. And something in Tox forbid him from turning his back.

  Tanin’s eyes bulged, ready to pop from their sockets. Shoulders and head thrown back, he pitched himself away from Tox as other bodily fluids mixed with blood, snaking around the broken vials of virus.

  Tox scrabbled to safety, farther from the searing chemical, mindless of the glass cutting his hands and backside. He struggled to his feet and wobbled, determined to put more distance between them. It took less than two minutes for Tanin to go from writhing in seizures to lying still in death.

  “Tango down,” Tox muttered, feeling the fire in his lungs. Defeat pulling at his limbs. Weary, he glanced at the floor, the dark stains around the broken glass. His head spun. He bit back a curse. “Vials . . . broken. I’m exposed.”

  47

  — Day 15 —

  Barcelona

  “Cole!” Kasey’s heart thudded. She sprinted back toward the stadium, armed with the antigen. When he reported that Tanin had vials, she’d sprinted down to the hazmat area and secured the antigen from the onsite lab. At least the match was still going—if she’d had to battle crowds getting down and back, she’d have had no chance. “I’m coming with the antigen.”

  “Hurry.” The word leaden with exhaustion and death pushed her.

  A man deliberately stepped into her path. Her heart backed up into her throat.

  Then he dropped.

  She glanced at him, surprised at the hole in his chest. Blood spread out in an ever-widening circle.

  “Keep going, Haven,” Ram said calmly. “We’ve got you covered.”

  Around the bend another man dove into her path, brandishing a knife. She drove her shoulder into his, clapping his wrist so he lost the blade. But it sliced along her wrist.

  With a yelp, she rammed her hand into his throat. He gasped and fell backward, pulling her down with him. She worked to protect the antigen as she fought back. Writhed. Used her limited FBI training to incapacitate him. Exhausted, she dragged herself to her feet, tripping the first few steps.

  Her leg was wet. With a gasp, she glanced down at the medical bag she wore cross-body. “No,” she breathed, unzipping it. Her heart plummetted. The vials were broken.

  “Haven, you’re not moving.”

  The words propelled her, but she thrust her hand into the bag, ignoring the stinging pain as the glass cut her. Running, she groped for an intact vial, panic nipping at her heels. Cole’s life was in her hands and she’d fumbled! She fought back a sob. This couldn’t be—

  Her fingers closed around an unbroken vial. Exultation raced through her. Sped her feet. She barreled into the door of the maintenance room where Cole was dying.

  It flopped back. She rushed headlong toward the wall. Used it to bounce her down the other side. A boot stuck into the aisle. “Cole!” She whipped around the corner and dropped to his side.

  Propped against a steel grate, he didn’t respond. Sweat and blood coated his face. Dark sweat rings were visible even through his black tac shirt.

  Kasey lifted the antiserum vial, hesitating before she stuffed it into the syringe, noticing the blood on her hand. The cuts from the glass.

  “It was glowing . . .”

  She jerked her head up, staring into Cole’s blue eyes. Eyes hooded in pain. Then looked at the cut on her wrist. Her heart thudded.

  “Arrow?” he asked.

  “Knife,” she breathed.

  “Doesn’t matter. Airborne now. You’re exposed, too,” he whispered and rolled his gaze to her hand. “Use the syringe.”

  “No, you first.” Kasey forced a smile. “I have more,” she said around the fear pressing against her. She couldn’t let Cole die. Not after just finding him again.

  The left side of his mouth twitched up. “You’re a bad liar.”

  “It’s a half-truth.” Tears blurred her vision. “I don’t know how many broke when he attacked me.” After wiping her hand of the slick blood, she aimed the syringe at his arm.

  “You,” he muttered, pushing her hand away.

  “Cole—”

  His grip on her hand tightened. “You.”

  ****

  — Jerusalem —

  Joseph watched in amazement as the rabbis went through one ritual after another. Tzivia bounced at his side, her nerves vibrating loud enough for him to feel them.

  “Airborne,” she whispered, looking at her phone. “It’s going airborne. That will speed it up. They’ll die within minutes.”

  Joseph gritted his teeth. Prayed God would show Tzivia the work of His mighty hand.

  Yadon dipped each censer in the small bowl. Oil dripped from them, and Joseph could not help but marvel. The story of the oil—a gallon that was never used up. Still here after centuries? It was mind-blowing.

  “Tox is infected,” Tzivia gasped. “He’s going to die!”

  Joseph held her hand. “Pray for him, Tzivia.”

  “I—”

  “Believe!”

  Yadon lifted the censers on a platter and uttered a prayer.

  Please, God. Please stop this plague. Intercede through the warriors you’ve put into play. Joseph’s prayer was simple but enough.

  “This is insane,” Tzivia muttered, no conviction in her words. “Tox—”

  Hissing and popping pervaded the area as Yadon set the censers in the fire. A strange, spiraling scream snaked through the room. He motioned to two rabbis, who rushed forward with metal tongs. They removed the censers and hurried them to a great steel door in the wall. Another rabbi opened it. A cauldron of fire roared in the furnace, devouring the oxygen.

  Yadon nodded. “Return them to the fire.”

  The rabbis did as instructed. Fire leapt. Bronze glowed. Then blurred into a puddle, crackling amid the flames.

  Crack! Pop!

  A heat wave shot out of the cauldron. Blasted Joseph and Tzivia, knocking them back a couple steps.

  “It is done.” Yadon’s eyes were weighted with concern. “You have an answer about the Codex?”

  Awed, Joseph nodded. He met Tzivia’s eyes, silently praying he was right and the plague had been stopped. “The marks—they’re not permanent. Thefarie revered the holy text as much as the Jews. He would never desecrate it permanently. He used a thin layer of paraffin. They can be scratched—gently—off.”

  Shoulders squaring, chin raised, Yadon hesitated. “You are sure?”

  “You have the leaves. Try it yourself.”

  ****

  — Barcelona —

  A blast of warm air hit Tox. Rustled Haven’s hair from her shoulders. He smiled, sensing a change. Tox touched the side of her face. Forced her hand
back to her own arm. “Do it.”

  A dark form loomed over Haven.

  Tox saw the pipe coming. “No!” He shoved Haven sideways with a strangled shout. The pipe nailed her in the crook of her neck. She dropped to the side

  An AFO agent stood above him, teeth bared.

  Tox had no fight left, not with his veins boiling from the plague. But he would not let the AFO kill Haven. With a swing of his legs, he swiped the agent’s out from under him.

  He heard the thud. Saw the man’s head bounce.

  As the AFO agent groaned, trying to drag himself out of the fog of a head injury, Tox reached across the floor for his weapon. His arm felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

  The man staggered to his feet. Tox lifted his weapon. Breathed, the room spinning around him. He aimed. His arm wavered.

  The agent sneered. Tox blinked to clear his vision. He fired. Fired again. And again.

  The weapon shoved his hand to the ground. Defeat conquered him.

  The virus ate his strength but not his determination. He groped for the vial by Haven’s head. Too far. He dragged himself, which felt like rolling a boulder uphill. Curled his fingers around the syringe. Propped himself on his arm. His head lolled forward.

  Hurry! Before you pass out and she dies! Doing it meant he would die. But it was turnabout, wasn’t it? Maybe this would redeem him . . .

  Tox aimed the needle at her arm. Slid it into her skin. Pressed the plunger.

  Cement rushed up at him. Cracked against his skull.

  48

  — Day 16 —

  En Route Stateside

  She was there, right before him. Standing in judgment. Accusing.

  “You weren’t supposed to be there,” he said.

  Angry eyes held his, then Brooke pointed to the side. He followed her finger to the bench where Haven sat reading a book to a small child. Evie.

  “I tried to save her,” Cole said.

  “You killed us both.”

  “No!”

  “You will taste the fire forever!”

  “No. I didn’t mean to.”

  “Now she’s dead.”

  Haven lay on the ground, blood churning like pool waters, carrying her out of his reach. He swam, his legs not cooperating as he plunged through the bloody waters. She began to sink. “No.”

  She slipped out of reach.

  “No!”

  “Cole. Cole!”

  His eyes snapped open. Light blinded him. He cringed and looked away, his breath like fire—broken ribs, probably. He took inventory of his position—on a gurney—and his injuries: hand stiff and bandaged, thanks to the phosphorous burn and bruised knuckles. A large bandage on his arm where the arrow sliced it, and the itching at the back of his skull warned of more stitches thanks to the broken vials he’d been slammed against.

  “Cole, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

  He jerked, recognizing the voice. “Haven.” She swam before his eyes, hair unbound, green eyes sparking.

  She smiled. “Yeah?”

  He hooked an arm around her neck. Pulled her to himself, her hair agitating a bit of fire—another phosphorus burn, he guessed. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Hey, hey. You need a license for that stuff,” Cell’s voice boomed.

  His nightmare faded, melting the prison of unconsciousness from his mind, and Tox released her. Turned to look at Cell sitting in a chair, his arm in a sling that held it against his chest, and blinked. “You survived, too?”

  Cell grinned. “Don’t sound too disappointed, Sarge.”

  “Nah, it’s good.” Tox felt drunk. Or hungover. Whichever one had more pain.

  Ram entered the rear of the plane. “Back from the dead?”

  “Seems so,” Tox mumbled, stealing another glance at Haven, who stood nearby. “What . . . where are we?”

  “Headed back home,” Ram jutted his jaw at him. “Grab a shirt and food. We’ll debrief in the galley.”

  Peeling himself off the mattress took everything in Tox. Upright, he wobbled.

  Haven was there, a hand on his shoulder. “Easy. You were pretty messed up.”

  “He’s always messed up,” Cell said.

  She held out a shirt. “Grabbed it from your gear.”

  “Last I knew, I was dying. What happened?”

  “Got the power shut down,” Ram said. “Stopped the turbine from pumping the plague into ten thousand lungs. A few got sick.” He paused. “The plague seems to have fizzled out, though, almost before we got the antigen to the infected.”

  “A few died.” Cell nodded. “Bad guys, mostly. And poetic justice, Tanin dying by his own arrow.” He followed Ram to the front of the plane. “Nice.”

  The sound of Tanin boiling alive would stay with Tox forever. He eyed Haven, still drunk on relief that she was alive, and threaded his arms through the shirt. He slumped back against the gurney. Couldn’t stop staring.

  She noticed, too. Lowered her gaze. Stepped back. “They’re waiting.”

  “I don’t care,” he mumbled. And he realized he didn’t. But he should. He had to find out about the AFO. Abidaoud. The censers. He stood, getting his bearings. Looked at her. Beautiful, intelligent, quick, observant Haven. “You are.”

  Confusion riffled her thin eyebrows as he started away. “Excuse me?”

  Move. Go to the galley. Before you do something stupid.

  But he turned back to her. Stood staring at the gray hull of the plane. Then slowly, mustering his courage, he met her gaze. “You’re worth the risk.”

  Surprise parted her lips.

  Tox stepped in and pulled her close. Slipped a hand beneath her neck and captured her mouth with his. After a quick intake of breath, she slid her hands up his back and he tightened his grip on her.

  “Hey, Sarge!”

  Tox ignored the call. Cupped Haven’s face, lifted from her lips and gazed at her green eyes. Then kissed her again.

  “Yeah!” Clapping, Cell shouted, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  Haven’s laugh broke the kiss, and she ducked against his chest as the team applauded.

  Ram smirked. “We decided to bring the debrief to you, but . . .”

  “About time someone dug that heart out of your butt,” Thor said.

  Chiji smiled, nodding. “Make it good.”

  “Yo,” Cell said, grinning stupidly as he held up a phone. “President’s on the line.”

  “Evie,” Haven breathed.

  Tox took the phone. “Hey.”

  “Cole! So glad to hear your voice.”

  Amazingly, he was glad to hear Galen’s too. “How’s Evie?”

  “She’s fine. A little weak, but she’ll recover completely.”

  Arm still hooked around Haven, Tox breathed a little easier. “That’s good to hear. Real good.” He nodded to her, and she leaned against him once more. That was good, too. Real good.

  “Hey,” Galen said, “so I just got a call from the Office of the Pardon Attorney.”

  Tox’s heart spasmed.

  “Looks like you’re a free man. Haven called him about an hour ago and gave her recommendation.”

  Tox stared down into endless green eyes. “Did she?”

  Her eyebrows rose in question.

  “Well, when you get a chance, come back. Let’s have dinner.”

  Dinner? “Sure.” He ended the call and shook his head. “Evie’s fine.” How was he so lucky to have someone like Haven believe in him so resolutely? Could he ever be the man she thought him to be?

  “How are you feeling?”

  He looked up, surprised to find Robbie Almstedt there. “Like I got hit by a Mack Truck.” When Haven moved to the table across from the gurney, he focused on the mission debrief.

  “You look it, too.”

  Maangi passed him an orange juice. “Drink up.”

  Tox guzzled, then nodded to Almstedt. “Where are we?”

  “We’ve averted one disaster—for now. Lost eight to the virus, but it’s neut
ralized. Ms. Khalon and Dr. Cathey destroyed the censers.”

  Destroyed? Bet that hurt Tzivia. “Nur Abidaoud?”

  Annoyance tugged at Almstedt’s stoic features. “Vanished. We can’t find him—but we won’t give up. And Tanin’s dead, thanks to you. Ambassador Lammers can rest in peace.”

  “Tell him about Einar,” Ram said.

  The spoiled prince. “Tell me what?”

  “His father was killed in a terrible accident leaving the World Cup. That’s the official report anyway.”

  “And the unofficial?”

  “Arrow through the heart.”

  “So they have more than one assassin shooting those things.”

  “They probably have dozens,” Ram said.

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Tox fought the urge to give up. Walk away. “They don’t know how to lose, do they?” What would the world look like now with the AFO racking up another victory?

  “I would not be so down, Russell. Defeating them this time, stopping this plague—it’s an enormous win.”

  Tox pushed out of his chair. “Whatever the AFO is putting together, we haven’t even skimmed the surface. This isn’t a win. It’s a beginning.”

  Author’s Note

  In a novel it is understood that some suspension of disbelief must be applied—it’s fiction after all! However, when a story touches elements ripped straight from history—and in the case of Conspiracy of Silence, the Bible—the challenge is greater for an author to craft a believable, compelling story. Regarding the setting of certain events within Conspiracy, I took literary license a little further than I normally do.

  At the writing of this novel, the location of the Israelite camp has not been resolutely and definitively determined. Many scholars believe the location to be in Syria, and to an extent, the Bible agrees. Yet there are those who believe Saudi Arabia more likely. Both have their reasons and “evidence.” However, for the sake of variety, since the prequel novella, The Warrior’s Seal, is set in Syria, and for the sake of conversation, I chose to explore the lesser-known and lesser-held location of Saudi Arabia as the site where the Israelites camped before entering the Promised Land, and therefore, the place of Tzivia Khalon’s archaeological site.