‘It’s generally considered to be the region between Elim – the location of the twelve wells – and Mount Sinai, where Moses received the tablets containing the Ten Commandments from God,’ Nina explained. ‘Except nobody knows which mountain that is any more. It’s extremely unlikely that it’s the modern-day Mount Sinai in Egypt, because that location doesn’t fit any of the descriptions of the journey in Exodus or other books of the Torah or the Bible.’
‘So how does that help us?’ Dalton demanded.
‘I think she knows something more, Mr President.’ Cross turned back to Nina, awaiting an answer.
‘It’s only a theory,’ she insisted.
‘A theory you thought was important enough to hide. So tell us.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. There’s a list in the Old Testament of the places the Israelites visited during the Exodus.’
‘The Book of Numbers,’ said Cross.
‘Right. I think there are forty-two stations?’ Another nod. ‘They start out in Egypt, and after forty years in the wilderness end up on the Moab plains, in modern-day Jordan. But the part that caught my attention is the journey from the Wilderness of Sin to a place called Dophkah.’
‘Numbers chapter thirty-three, verse twelve: “And they took their journey out of the Wilderness of Sin, and encamped in Dophkah.”’
‘Dophkah is in the Timna Valley, in southern Israel,’ said Nina. ‘Part of the Arabah desert. It’s an archaeological site – copper’s been mined there since at least the tenth century BC. That gives us a specific location to use as a starting point.’
Cross gestured towards the doors behind the pulpit. ‘Show me.’
The group went into the control room. He brought up a map on the video wall, zooming in on Israel to centre upon the Timna Valley. ‘There’s your starting point, Dr Wilde,’ he said. ‘Now where do we look?’
‘That’s a whole lot of nothing,’ Dalton remarked. Highways ran parallel to Israel’s eastern and western borders, heading to the country’s southern tip at the Red Sea, but between them the map was almost empty.
Cross tapped at a touch pad. The view changed to a satellite image. Features appeared, but they were all natural: rugged desert hills and mountains, their colours a universally arid sandy-brown. ‘Numbers thirty-three eleven tells us that the Israelites came from the Red Sea, so this’ – he swept a hand over the area south of Timna – ‘must be the Wilderness of Sin.’
‘Big area to cover,’ said Simeon. ‘Even if we stick inside the Israeli borders, that’s got to be a hundred square miles of desert.’
‘But it’s there somewhere,’ Cross said to Nina. ‘It’s all in Revelation. The moon is a reference to Sin; the twelve stars tie it to the Exodus. It makes sense. And following your line of thinking about an important religious site, the “place prepared of God” is most likely somewhere that the Israelites set up the Tabernacle. Yes?’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes,’ she replied. The Tabernacle was a portable shrine carried by the Israelites on their journey, containing their holiest treasures, including the Ark of the Covenant. ‘If they stayed at this place for some time, they could have set up a semi-permanent place of worship.’
Dalton took a closer look at the satellite view. ‘Why would anyone stay in that godforsaken hellhole?’
‘Because God gave them what they needed to survive,’ said Cross. ‘He provided water to drink, and manna to eat.’
‘There’s been water there in the past,’ Nina added. She pointed out channels cut into the mountains. ‘And that’s how I know what to look for.’
All eyes turned to her. ‘Well?’ said Dalton impatiently. ‘Tell us!’
‘It’s all there in Revelation,’ she answered. ‘Distorted as usual, coded, but John’s still telling us what he learned in Pergamon. The Woman of the Apocalypse was pursued into the wilderness by a dragon – one of the guises of Satan. God protected her, helped her reach the place prepared for her—’
‘“And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle, that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place”,’ Cross cut in.
‘But he also defended her while she was there,’ Nina went on. ‘She was pregnant, and the dragon wanted to devour her child right after it was born. He failed, but sent a flood to kill her in revenge. And I’m sure you’re about to give me the relevant quote,’ she said to Cross.
‘Chapter twelve, verse fifteen,’ he said. ‘But I’ll spare you the full text.’
‘Good. Because it’s the next verse that holds the answer. You can quote that to everyone if you like.’
He frowned, but recited the words. ‘“And the earth helped the woman, and the earth opened her mouth, and swallowed up the flood which the dragon cast out of his mouth.”’ A long pause, during which Cross and his followers exchanged glances, as if waiting for their own revelations. None came. ‘How does that help us?’ he demanded.
Nina gave him a faint but cutting smile. ‘It helps a lot, if you know something about geology as well as archaeology. Remember that John is describing his hallucinogenic interpretations of the Elders’ writings. They wrote about a flood – possibly a flash flood, which in the desert can happen miles from where any rain actually fell. But the earth opened up and swallowed it before it reached the Place in the Wilderness.’ She paused, waiting for a response. ‘Seriously? Did nobody do Geology 101? The only thing that could be is a sinkhole! A sinkhole swallowed the flood – and those things don’t just disappear. It’ll still be there!’
Realisation filled Cross’s eyes. ‘The sinkhole will mark the angel’s location!’
‘Finally!’ said Nina. ‘Yeah, that’s right. That’s what I worked out this morning. Somewhere in that desert’ – she gestured at the screens – ‘is a sinkhole, either near or actually in a water channel. And somewhere very close to that . . . is your last angel.’
Everyone regarded the satellite map. ‘So how do we find it?’ asked Dalton.
‘Hell if I know,’ she snorted. ‘If there are any more clues in Revelation, I haven’t figured them out. I don’t know who the Woman of the Apocalypse is meant to represent, or what the reference to her being “clothed with the sun” means. She’s pregnant – for all I know, it’s a prophecy about me.’ She indicated her bulge, before remembering Cross’s threat and putting her arms protectively over it.
‘We don’t need any more clues,’ Cross decided. ‘We can locate all the sinkholes in the region from the satellite imagery, then find any archaeological traces near them from the air.’
‘Oh, you can, can you?’ Nina said scathingly. ‘Maybe I should have traded my PhD for a pilot’s licence.’
He ignored the comment. ‘We know we’re looking at waterways, so that’ll cut down the area we need to check.’ He turned to Dalton. ‘I know people in Israel who can get us free access to their airspace, and hopefully even provide military assistance if we need it. If you can call on your diplomatic contacts to get us into the country without drawing attention . . .’
‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘But that’s the fourth angel – what about the third one?’
‘We’ll have it soon. Simeon? Get some people and meet Mr Chase at the airport.’ He faced Nina again. ‘If your husband’s sensible and hands over the angel, I’ll let him live.’ Simeon clearly did not approve, but said nothing. ‘I can be magnanimous.’
‘I can’t,’ she replied with cold anger. ‘You were going to kill my baby. That’s not something I’m willing to forgive. If I ever get the chance . . . I’ll kill you.’
She couldn’t tell if the threat had affected Cross or not. ‘Take her away,’ was all he said.
19
Eddie emerged from the arrivals gate at VC Bird airport to see his name in crooked marker pen on a piece of cardboard. He had expected a reception committee, but at the back of his mind throughout his flight was the thought that it might not be friendly. However, he knew this one had been arranged by a friend simply because he ha
d acquired some extra initials: E. B. G. Chase. ‘Cheeky bastard,’ he said with a grin.
The man holding the card was not the one he had called, but a middle-aged Antiguan wearing a battered baseball hat and a long baggy shirt bearing patterns of shells and starfish. Eddie approached him. ‘I’m Eddie Chase. Are you Nelson?’
‘Thas right,’ the man drawled, giving him a broad, lazy smile. ‘Nelson Lightwood, at your service. At your service,’ he repeated, for no reason the Englishman could determine. ‘Tom ask me to take you to Jolly Harbour. Jolly Harbour.’
‘That’s great. That’s great,’ Eddie replied, unable to resist gently ribbing him.
Nelson either didn’t notice or didn’t care. ‘You wan’ me to take your luggage?’
Eddie had only a carry-on bag, and wasn’t planning to relinquish it – for the moment. ‘No, that’s okay. You’ve got a cab?’
‘Outside. The white Toyota.’ He jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the exit. ‘The Toyota.’
Eddie saw as he stepped into the humid heat outside the terminal that while Nelson was being accurate, he was not being specific; about a dozen taxis were lined up at a stand, all white Toyota vans. He wondered why there were no American vehicles, the US being much closer, before realising the answer: the former British colony, like Japan, drove on the left. ‘The one with the flower,’ his driver offered.
‘Tell you what, just show me.’ He followed the nodding Nelson down the rank, glancing back to see if anyone was paying him undue attention.
A tall black man with a close-cropped haircut looked away just a little too quickly, while one of the three Caucasian men near him was almost giving a masterclass in how to look suspicious. All four wore similar white outfits, feebly disguised under jackets. Eddie remembered seeing the black guy lurking near the exit when he’d met Nelson. He had company, then, but he would have been surprised if he hadn’t.
‘This one, my friend,’ said Nelson. The dented Toyota Hiace minibus looked little different from its neighbours, though Eddie was amused when he spotted its identifying feature: a fake sunflower on the dashboard. ‘Step inside.’ He pulled back the sliding side door.
Eddie took a place on the rear bench seat. The interior had seen a lot of use, but otherwise appeared to be a perfectly normal island taxi. Of more concern was the object beneath the driver’s seat – a half-empty bottle of vodka. Hoping it was only enjoyed after its owner finished his shift, he waited for Nelson to amble around the vehicle and climb aboard. ‘Okay, my friend,’ said the Antiguan. ‘Jolly Harbour.’
He pulled away. They passed the four waiting men, all of whom watched them go. Eddie looked back as the cab cleared the end of the rank to see the whole group make a beeline for a parked car.
The taxi left the airport grounds and headed south-west around the outskirts of the capital, St John’s. ‘How long will it take to get there?’ he asked.
Nelson shrugged. ‘Who can tell? This is rush hour.’ The traffic didn’t look to Eddie any heavier than he would expect of a quiet Sunday afternoon in England, but the squealing brakes and sudden swerves of other drivers suggested that the Antiguan attitude towards road discipline was a lot more lackadaisical.
‘Well, there’s no hurry.’ He looked at the bag on his lap, then over his shoulder. The silver Honda his tails were driving was a few cars behind. ‘You got a map of the island?’
‘Sure, man.’ Nelson passed him a brochure. St John’s was in the island’s north-west quarter; Jolly Harbour, his destination, was down on the south-western Caribbean coast. The distance between the two was only about seven miles, but he doubted that any part of the trip would be on a motorway.
Of more concern was that once past the southern fringes of St John’s, there only appeared to be a few small villages dotted along the route, nothing but green between them. ‘The way we’re going – does it go through open countryside?’
Nelson nodded. ‘Oh yeah, man,’ he said, turning to peer back at him. ‘We goin’ along Valley Road, very pretty along there, very pretty. You get a good view of Mount Obama there, yeah.’
‘You might want to get a good view here,’ Eddie suggested, seeing a stationary bus looming in the taxi’s path.
Nelson gave him another languid smile and looked ahead, slowing just in time to avoid a collision. ‘No problem, man. I been driving here thirty-three years, thirty-three years. Not dead yet.’
The Honda was still holding position not far behind. ‘You ever had any trouble in that time?’ asked the Yorkshireman. ‘I don’t mean with cars, but with their drivers. Or anyone else.’
An amused grunt. ‘You think we in paradise? Ha! We got some not very nice folks here, same as anywhere. I can take care of myself, my friend.’
‘Good. ’Cause you might need to.’
Nelson used the mirror to meet his eyes, for the first time showing a hint of steel behind the sleepy front. ‘Tom told me why you come here. Don’ worry. I don’ lose a passenger yet.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Eddie settled back, occasionally glancing through the rear window to check on their tail.
The taxi made its way around the periphery of St John’s. The brightly painted houses became smaller and more basic as they moved away from the capital’s centre, before finally petering out. ‘Valley Road,’ Nelson announced. ‘Valley Road.’
Eddie saw lumpen tree-covered hills rising in the distance beyond a rippled plain of farmland and forests. According to the map, the road was the main route to the various villages and resorts in the south-west. It was hardly an interstate, though, the bumpy highway only two lanes wide. What little traffic there was seemed content to amble along at no more than thirty miles per hour, Nelson giving a toot of the horn to warn the driver of an old pickup doing half that speed that he was about to overtake.
The Antiguan glanced at the truck as he passed and chuckled. ‘That guy, he smokin’. Say, you smoke? I get you all hooked up, man. All hooked up.’
‘No thanks,’ said Eddie. ‘Not my thing.’ Another look back. With fewer cars on the road, the Honda was running out of cover. Its driver held position behind the dawdling pickup before seeing that his quarry was pulling away and making a hasty pass. They were now in open countryside. ‘How far to the next village?’
‘Jennings, about two kilometres,’ Nelson told him. ‘Then another kilometre to Bolands. Bolands.’
Bolands was not far from their destination. If something was going to happen, it would be here, as far as possible from any witnesses. ‘Stay sharp,’ said Eddie. ‘I think we’re going to have company—’
The words had barely emerged when the Honda surged forward, catching up with the taxi in seconds. It drew alongside – and the black man in the passenger seat pointed a pistol from his open window, waving for the cab to turn down a track to the left. Nelson yelped a Creole curse. ‘Better do it,’ Eddie told him.
The Toyota pulled off the road, stopping a short way down the muddy track. The car halted behind it, angling to block both the view of anyone passing by and the cab’s escape route. ‘This all fucked up!’ Nelson protested as the four men climbed from their vehicle. ‘Fucked up!’
‘Just stay calm,’ said Eddie. He shifted to the middle of the rear seat, putting the bag next to the sliding door, and picked up the vodka bottle. As the men advanced, he slipped it under his right arm, holding it in place by the neck.
The door was hauled open. The black man leaned in and pointed the gun at the Yorkshireman, who raised both hands to chest height. ‘Toss away the keys,’ he ordered Nelson. His accent was American. The wide-eyed driver obeyed, dropping the keys from his window. ‘Okay, Chase. Keep your hands where I can see them. Where’s the angel?’
‘In the bag,’ Eddie replied.
The gunman’s gaze flicked to the holdall. ‘Bring it out. Slowly.’
Eddie picked it up with his left hand and carefully clambered from the taxi, keeping his other arm against his side to conceal the bottle behind him. The three white gu
ys, to his relief, didn’t have guns, but the biggest held a tyre iron, repeatedly slapping it against his open palm.
‘Okay, put it down.’ The Englishman lowered the bag to the ground. ‘Washburn, open it. Make sure the angel’s inside.’
One of the other men squatted by the holdall and pulled back the zip. Inside was a thick roll of bubble wrap surrounding an object about a foot long. ‘I brought your precious bloody angel,’ said Eddie as the man tugged at the plastic cocoon. ‘Where’s Nina?’
‘Safe. Until we don’t need her any more,’ the black man replied dismissively.
‘And I suppose that now you’ve got the angel, you don’t need me either?’
‘You got that right.’ He scowled. ‘You killed a lot of good men in Berlin, Chase. That makes you a threat to our plan – God’s plan.’
Eddie eyed the gun, which was fixed unwaveringly on his chest. ‘What, you’re just going to shoot me in the street?’
‘This isn’t New York. By the time the cops respond, we’ll be long gone. We’re leaving this island soon anyway—’
‘Simeon!’ said Washburn. He had peeled open one end of the thick wrapping to reveal the head of an eagle. ‘It’s the angel!’
Simeon glanced down to see for himself—
Eddie brought his elbow outwards, dropping the bottle – and whipped his hand down to catch it.
The gunman was transfixed by the sight of the statue for a split second too long. His eyes snapped back to Eddie – as the bottle smashed against his gun hand, shards lacerating his skin.
He screamed as the alcohol seared the wounds and reflexively pulled the trigger – but the impact had knocked the pistol away from his target, the bullet whipping past the Yorkshireman to clunk into the taxi’s bodywork.
Eddie swept one leg up and kicked Simeon’s bleeding hand. The gun was sent spinning into the tall bushes beside the track. The American let out another cry.
Washburn jumped up, fists balled, only to reel away with a shriek as jagged glass slashed his cheek. Holding the bloodied bottle like a knife, Eddie backed up past the taxi to give himself more room to manoeuvre.