The Samson Effect Chapter 29

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THROUGH THE REARVIEW mirror, Thomas watched Colonel Yarconi sprint from the hangar toward him and heard cracks of machine-gun bullets thudding into the back of the truck. Yarconi's image faded, and he turned his attention to finding the fleeing car, hoping it was Azim's. As he scanned the horizon, despair crept upon him. He could not see taillights anywhere.

Thomas was about to give up and drive to Azim's compound when he caught a flicker of light in his peripheral vision. The light stopped moving and went out. He killed his headlights and scanned the moonlit silhouettes of hills and rocky crevices for a place to hide his truck.

He found a narrow path about a quarter of a mile from the car Azim had taken and wedged the truck into it. Thomas checked his ammo clip and found two bullets and one in the chamber. He stepped into the back of the truck and looked for another weapon but found nothing small enough to carry with him. He eased out of the truck and followed the dusty, moonlit path toward the car.

The moon shined down upon him like God's spotlight, giving him a sense of utter vulnerability. He hugged the path next to the hills until the car came into view. Thomas held his gun, pointed down, next to his thigh and slowed his pace. It didn't make sense. Why would Azim stop in the middle of nowhere?

Above, he heard pebbles bouncing down the side of the hill. He turned toward the noise but saw nothing. An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. He ducked into a blackened crevice, trying to expel the overwhelming sense he was a walking target under surveillance. Again, small pebbles showered over him as he hid in the blanket of shadows.

Farther away, the loose gravel continued to fall. Thomas summoned the courage to step out from the safety of the darkness and saw Azim's unmistakable silhouette walking along the length of the summit about one hundred feet above.

Thomas tucked the pistol into his waistband and started up the rocky surface. A dull pain itched in his side, but he had no pills left to keep the pain at bay.

Surely, he thought, Azim would be able to fly across the summit with ease while he struggled with every step, straining to pull his body up inch by inch. For a moment, he considered climbing back down and walking the perimeter to keep up with Azim; but he dismissed the thought, fearing Azim would disappear over the summit and lose himself in the desert.

So, he kept climbing.

Exhaustion and pain teased him, tempting him to return to the hangar. Fear prodded him to give up. Emotions whispered to him like a red devil on his shoulders: You can't kill again; if Michael and Delia couldn't stop Azim, what in the world makes you think you can; if he catches you, he'll make you suffer; go back and let the colonel stop Azim.

Thomas felt his resolve weaken with each thought. His fingertips began to burn, and his arms grew shaky. He forced himself to rebut each excuse to give up. Ironically, it was fear that ultimately dragged him to the backbone-like summit. Not fear of what Azim would do to him if he caught him, but of what Azim would do if Thomas didn't catch him.

When he finally pulled himself to the summit, he bent over and caught his breath. The summit snaked into the desert and the full moon bathed the landscape in bright light. In the distance, Thomas watched Azim's silhouette glide across the range at a speed he knew he would never be able to catch.

He realized he would have to give up the element of surprise. He drew in his breath. "Azim!"

The silhouette took two more strides before stopping. Thomas began to shiver. He felt like he had just jabbed a stick into a hornet's nest with no place to run.

Azim remained stationary, as if contemplating the merits of outrunning Thomas or of returning to make sure Thomas could never tell anyone he was here.

It didn't take long for Azim to decide. The silhouette glided across the range at a speed not humanly possible. Thomas instinctively laid his hand upon his pistol, watching the silhouette grow larger at an alarming rate. He finally had to remove his hand in order to fight the urge to use the gun prematurely. He knew when he chose to fire his three bullets would mean the difference between his death and Azim's.

Azim seemed to sense danger. He stopped far enough away that Thomas didn't trust his ability to hit his mark. There was no doubt it was Azim, however. The moonlight shined upon him, revealing his silvery, trim beard, his bushy brows, every feature of his face.

"Dr. Hamilton," Azim called out. "What's done is done. Allah has ordained it. Leave now and I will spare your life until the day of the great jihad."

"I see the blood on your shirt. I thought the Samson Effect was supposed to make you immune to bullet wounds."

Azim glanced at his shoulder. "Apparently, I've overestimated its protective abilities. I assure you, though, I haven't overestimated my strength."

Thomas knew he had to find a way to draw Azim closer. If Azim fled, so would his best opportunity to stop him. He began walking toward Azim. "Why are you out here? Why not go to your compound, where you'd be safe?"

"I must ask you to stop right there, Dr. Hamilton, or you'll force me to take away the grace I've offered you."

Thomas kept walking. "Grace?"

"Your reprieve; the few extra months of life I offer."

Thomas didn't stop.

"As you wish."

Azim's calm, soft words sent a deathly chill through Thomas. His muscles tensed. Azim's smile and casual steps toward him caused every sense in Thomas to heighten. He smelled the rocky hills; his peripheral vision was nearly as sharp as his direct vision, locking onto a lone bird gliding through the night sky. His hands grew clammy as he gripped the pistol. Then, in a blur, Azim charged at an ungodly speed. Thomas drew the gun in slow motion compared to Azim's speed. Azim was nearly on him when he fired the first shot.

Azim dodged to the side. Thomas felt the blood drain from him when he realized he had missed his mark. Panic forced him to fire repeatedly until he heard the hollow clicks from the hammer of the gun. Azim stopped inches in front of him and snatched the pistol from his grasp. With one hand, he squeezed it into his fist and dropped the mangled piece of metal to the earth.

"Perhaps you're fortunate, Dr. Hamilton. You'll not have to face the wrath of my army when I purge mankind of evil."

"You? I thought it was Allah and his army."

"Good-bye, Dr. Hamilton."

Azim thrust out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Thomas's throat. Thomas felt himself being lifted and his legs instinctively kicked wildly in the air. His mouth gaped open and he sucked for air, but nothing entered or left his lungs. He grabbed Azim's arm and pulled, but it was like pulling against a steel bar cemented into the earth.

Thomas began to feel light-headed. Azim wasn't going to crush his throat in a quick, merciful death. He was going to let the life slowly drain from him. When he realized his death was imminent, Thomas gave up the struggle; and a calm peace enveloped him. He looked into Azim's wide eyes. Insanity and a perverse joy dripped from them. Arnold Willingham was correct; the Samson Effect did induce mental illnesses.

The eyes... He heard Delia's words echo in his head. Go for the eyes.

He summoned his last store of energy and lifted his arm. He forced his fingertips apart and thrust his hand forward.

Thomas fell to the earth and gripped his throat, wheezing and gasping for air. Azim covered his eyes with both hands and pierced the night with a terrible shriek. Thomas pulled himself to a sitting position and watched Azim stumble, blood covering his hands.

"My eyes! I'll kill you! I swear by Allah I'll kill you!"

Azim bared his teeth and began swinging his arms in front of him. Thomas scooted away, knowing a blow from Azim's arms would be like getting hit with a pipe wrench. Azim jerked his head toward Thomas, following the sounds of loose gravel as he scooted back.

Thomas picked up the mangled pistol, narrowly missing one of Azim's swinging arms. He continued sliding back, leading Azim to him. He stopped when the hill lost its slope, and the wall fell straight down to the desert floor.

Azim was still flailing and cursing. Thomas felt the wind from his swings as he drew back and bounced the pistol off the summit and over the edge. Azim jerked his head toward the sound and faced the cliff. Thomas drew in his legs and rocked back. Azim turned his head toward Thomas who rocked forward and kicked with all his might.

Azim did not scream; he fell silently to the desert floor.

Thomas crawled to the edge and peered down. Azim's body lay sprawled below, his neck broken and a black spot growing in the sand under his head. He rested before working his way down to retrieve the seeds from Azim.

* * * *

Thomas sat in the chair next to Michael's hospital bed, again. Delia slept in the chair next to him, bandaged but in remarkably good condition. Michael, however, wasn't as lucky. The doctors told them he had aggravated his broken ribs, and the bullets in his right thigh had cracked his femur. Now he wouldn't be able to ignore the doctor's orders for bed rest even if he wanted to.

"Sorry, we never did get to play a game of tennis. Looks like you're going to have to wait a little longer before you claim your first victory over me."

"Don't be sorry. I've already beaten you in the biggest competition we've had."

"When?" Michael leaned forward but sank back into his pillows when the pain hit.

"Both of us faced the most powerful man since Samson, and I'm the one still standing."

"Only because you didn't get shot."

"Say whatever you want. I faced and defeated Azim, and I'm the one still standing."

The knock at the door stirred Delia from sleep. When the man poked his head through the door, Thomas froze in disbelief.

"Looks like you've seen a ghost," Delia said with a grin.

"I have."

Dr. Clifton Winfred stepped into the room followed by another man Thomas didn't know. "Clifton, you're dead … the bomb, I heard reports you died when Abbey Hall was bombed."

"A little broken up, perhaps, but very much alive."

An overpowering joy bubbled up in Thomas. He drew his boss into a bear hug. "That's the best news I've heard in months."

Clifton drew back awkwardly after a few seconds, red in the face. "Well, good to see you. I've been working with the Israeli government in Tel Aviv to beg them to reschedule the dig, and I heard you were here. Thought I'd stop by and personally inform you that your sabbatical is over."

"I think I'd better find a lawyer before I try to go back home."

The gentleman with Clifton stepped forward and extended his hand to Thomas. "That's why I'm here. I'm with the American consulate's office." He gestured to Delia. "Your friend has provided ample evidence proving you had nothing to do with the bombing. You're free to go home whenever you wish."

It was finally over. All Thomas could think of was getting back to the campus coffeehouse, kicking off his shoes, and drowning himself in the richest, smoothest, Sumatran coffee he could buy.

The man from the consulate's office handed Thomas an envelope and took his leave. Clifton stepped to Michael's bed and shook his head. "Delia tells me you and Thomas found the Samson Effect. Quite an amazing story, as she tells it."

"All true."

"And the existing seeds were found burned to a crisp?"

Thomas knew that no one in the room would forgive him if they found out he had destroyed the seeds after he had killed Azim. He saw the pain in Delia's eyes. For her sake, he didn't dwell on the fabricated details. "Yes. The only weapon I could find in the truck to defend myself with was a flamethrower. Azim left me no choice."

He thought of how close he had come to taking all the seeds from Azim. He had even held them in his hands, rolling his fingertips over their smooth surface. But after he had witnessed how destructive they could be and how they had driven Azim deeper into insanity, he knew what he had to do. He had watched Azim's body burn until he was sure the seeds had been destroyed.

Clifton's words pulled him from his thoughts. "But what were you two doing in the middle of nowhere?"

Delia seemed to have collected herself and answered. "My brother had set up a place in the hills to grow the seeds. He knew they'd never be safe with him in the city."

Clifton shook his head and patted Thomas on the back. "You had quite an adventure." He looked down into his hands as he moved his fingers around the brim of his hat. "I'm sorry I doubted you. Suppose you'll be glad to return to your mundane life of teaching."

"I don't know," Thomas said as he rubbed his two-day-old whiskers. "I'm thinking about extending my sabbatical."

"Extending it? You've been away for three months."

"I'm thinking of going to Khirbet Seilun for a month or two."

"Near the ancient site for the city of Shiloh?" Clifton shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious."

Thomas reached for his hat and put it on.

"What's in Shiloh?" Delia asked.

"Thomas," Michael said, "You better not go without me."

"What's in Shiloh?" Delia again asked, a little more sternly. "Isn't that where Israel stored the Ark of the Covenant?"

"That's not what he's after," Clifton said as he rolled his eyes. "He's going to try to find a telephone that links to God himself."

Delia looked completely dumbfounded. Thomas laughed and stepped to the door. "Clifton, I'll see you soon." He turned to the hospital bed. "Michael, get well."

"Don't you dare go without me!"

Thomas stepped out of the room. He heard Michael cry out his name and then yell for the nurse. He knew he'd see Michael soon, but it felt good to watch him sweat.

Thomas left the hospital and took a bus across Israel to the Dead Sea. The pamphlet he was reading had pictures of swimmers floating effortlessly in the extremely salty water. Because of its high salt content, he read, nothing except bacteria could live in the sea, hence its name.

It was the perfect place to kill all possibilities of anyone abusing the Samson Effect again.

The bus brought him to Lot's Wife, the boat charter he had made reservations with for a day trip at sea. He gathered his bags and stepped off the bus, scanning the sea of people until he saw him. Thomas whistled and waved his hand.

Judas slowly hobbled his way on crutches, and the two met next to the ticket window. "You don't look too bad," Thomas said.

"The doctor said I'll live." Judas looked at the yellow manila envelope tucked under Thomas's arm. "So, what did you need to see me about?"

Thomas handed Judas the envelope. "It's the notebook."

Judas took the envelope and weighed it in his hand. "What about the key?"

"Sorry, but that's everything."

Judas looked over the sea and sighed. "Well, I should be thankful you were kind enough to give the notebook back."

"It's clear to me it belongs with you." The two shared an awkward silence before Thomas turned to the ticket window.

"Dr. Hamilton."

Thomas turned.

"Next time you're in Hebron, maybe you could stop by for a cup of tea. I don't have many friends with whom I can talk about my role as Protector."

Thomas nodded and smiled. "I'd like that." Judas started to hobble away. "Rabbi, something's been bothering me that I hope you could help me with. How were Azim and his men killed so easily?"

Judas paused and looked at the sand. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the plant alone isn't enough to perfect the mixture. Without being mixed with another ingredient, the man who takes it is just as mortal as you and me. The other ingredient also helps control its maddening side effects."

"I suppose you wouldn't be willing to share with me what the ingredient is."

Judas looked up from the sand and smiled. "I do have some responsibilities, Dr. Hamilton."

The two men shook hands and Thomas boarded his boat. Thirty minutes later, he was leaning against the rail watching the waves roll as the boat sliced through the water. He wondered what Arnold Willingham, if he were alive, would have said if he could hold the seeds in his hands.

"Well, Arnold, I found it. You almost had me pegged wrong when you said I'd do the right thing." He dug through his bag and pulled out the single seed he had taken from Azim. He rolled it between his fingers one last time, relishing its feel. He then dug out the cylindrical key and held it in his other hand. Afraid to give it much more thought, he wedged the seed in the hollow portion of the cylinder.

Birds glided through the air next to the boat, and two swooped to the water when Thomas let the key fall into the sea. The key disappeared in the frothy white waves, and the birds returned to their flight.

Exhaustion finally extended its dominance over him and he went into the cabin and found a corner seat between an old woman and a young man. He slipped into the seat and pulled out a slim pocket Bible to read about the object he was seeking at Khirbet Seilun: the "telephone to God," as Clifton referred to it. He read a passage from the book of Exodus; but before he finished, his eyes drew closed. A blanket of contentment enveloped him. At least this search would be far more pleasant.

* * * *

The young man seated next to Thomas waited until he heard a snore come from the doctor. He carefully eased over and glanced at the passage that still lay open in the doctor's lap. It only took a few moments for him to realize they were both on the same page. He smiled, knowing his boss would be happy that he had found the doctor and that, apparently, the rumors of his search were true. He reached into his robe and gently rested his hand upon the revolver.


THE END


About the Author

Tony Eldridge has done in-depth studies in Old Testament history, and his writings have been published in numerous national magazines. Eldridge grew up in Westfield, Indiana, and currently lives with his wife Emily and their twin boys in Forney, Texas.

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The Samson Effect Chapter 28

Navigation:
Chapter 1
Table Of Contents



FOR THE FIRST time in his life, Michael cursed his uncle. He looked at his watch again. The man from the Foreign Ministry was supposed to have met him across the street from the Tomb of the Patriarchs thirty minutes ago. Thomas knew Michael better than anyone. He could see Michael's pain and disappointment buried beneath his anger.

Michael leaned over the front seat and took the keys from the ignition. "I can't wait any longer. I'm going to the hangar. You two get out."

Delia grabbed his arm. "What are you talking about?"

"I said, get out. I'm not about to drag you two into the arms of death with me."

"Then don't go," Thomas said.

"Have you come up with a brilliant plan? You know as well as I do Azim must be stopped tonight."

Thomas struggled to find words of wisdom that would deter Michael, but he hit a dead end. In frustration, he blurted, "You can't…"

Michael leaned back in the seat and rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "Even you know I'm right."

"I'm going with you."

Thomas whipped his head toward Delia. "You can't be serious." He looked from one to the other. "What are you going to do? Just walk up to him and beat him into submission?"

Neither answered.

"At least get a weapon. Azim's men cleaned out everything you brought."

"Not everything." Michael stepped out of the car and opened the trunk. He was back a minute later with two pistols and a box of ammunition. He loaded the pistols and handed one to Delia along with an extra clip and a handful of bullets.

"You two are serious, aren't you? In case you've forgotten, we're dealing with an enemy of biblical proportions. Biblical, Michael! Jawbone of an ass and fiery furnace proportions."

Again, neither answered. Thomas threw himself back into his seat and shook his head. Then, the fire flared in his side again.

"This is as far as you go, my friend. I never intended to entangle you so deeply in this. I'll call for someone to pick you up when we leave."

Thomas didn't move. Where was he going to go? How long could he outrun the authorities; long enough to be swept away by Azim's army of Samsons? He knew Michael was right; they didn't have the luxury of waiting for the cavalry. They had to do something tonight if they had a prayer of stopping Azim. He laid his head against the headrest. "Give me a gun." The words caught in his throat. He never would have thought he'd ever have to shoot another human.

"Thomas, please—"

"You said it yourself. It's now or never. Besides, I don't exactly have any place to go." He reached his arm into the backseat. "Well?"

"I'm afraid I only have two guns. If you go, you'll be unarmed."

Thomas knew it wasn't logical, but a wave of relief swept over him. "Well, I guess I'll have to trust you two for protection, won't I?"

"You know the guns probably won't stop Azim."

"I'm going."

* * * *

Two of Azim's men pulled the battered rabbi from their car and dragged him to the hangar door. Judas held his left hand in his right hand, trying to keep his three broken fingers from touching anything. The pain in his fingers far surpassed the pain from the lacerations on his face and the burns on his arms. He wished they had killed him, but he knew Azim was eager to see the famed rabbi from whom the Lord had departed.

The door slid open, and his escorts threw him into the hangar. He stumbled and fell at Azim's feet. "So, this is the mighty rabbi." Azim rolled Judas onto his back with his foot. "How long before I need another dose in order to keep my strength?"

Judas didn't answer. Azim reached down and picked him up by his tunic, holding Judas in midair. "Answer me." When he refused to speak, Azim threw him to another man fifteen feet away. "Sofian, see what you can do to get him to talk."

Sofian wore the grin of a boy who was about to pluck the wings from a fly before squashing it in his hands. As he bent down to pick Judas up, Judas choked out the answer through bloody, swollen lips. "Two weeks."

Judas heard Azim's shoes click on the concrete as Azim approached. He tried to lift himself when the clicks stopped next to him, but his rubbery arms buckled under his effort.

"Thank you, Rabbi. The more you cooperate, the less painful your death will be." He picked Judas up again and carried him to the back row of folding chairs his men had set up in the hangar. There were at least one hundred chairs but fewer than ten people huddled together in the first row. He felt his strength drain away, and he had to stretch out on the two chairs next to him. He closed his eyes and listened to Azim release his anger behind him.

"This is it? Ten people?"

"Azim," Rajah said, "the religious leaders don't know you yet—"

"Yet! But they will, and when they do, they'll regret their arrogance toward me. These ten people shall be rewarded for their faith when I lead Allah's army to victory."

Judas heard Azim's footsteps fade away toward the makeshift stage up front. "Bring him."

Sofian grabbed Judas's right foot, yanked him to the floor, and dragged him down the aisle as if he were dragging a dog by the collar. Once they reached the stage, Sofian lifted him above the platform and tossed him at Azim's feet. When Judas opened his eyes, he was looking out over the chairs at people who were clearly bewildered by Sofian's show of strength.

Azim's voice thundered through speakers across the empty hangar. "My dear friends, thank you for answering my invitation on such short notice. As I said in my invitation, today is the day Allah has chosen to begin fulfilling his promises through his prophet Mohammed. Today is the day you and I can answer his call and be rewarded by our great faith in him."

Judas tried to pull himself up, but his strength was gone. He listened to Azim tell the sparse crowd about Allah's gift to him, and Azim promised a demonstrations that would prove he was Allah's new prophet. Despair washed over Judas as Azim revealed details about the gift with uncanny accuracy. He was the first protector since the days of Moses to lose the Lord's Strength to Yahweh's enemies.

He was so weak. As hard as he tried, he was powerless to do anything to stop Azim. Then, Sofian made his task nearly impossible by grabbing him like a ragdoll and dragging him back to a folding chair behind the meager crowd. Conflicting emotions washed over Judas as he melted into the comfort of the chair while despair enveloped him as he realized he would have to watch Azim shining victoriously on stage.

Then the demonstrations began.

Azim stepped up to a sedan parked on the stage and ran his fingers delicately across the fenders. "When the jihad begins, I will have thousands of soldiers all over the earth. Some will be operating the bullet train between Paris and London; some will be on Wall Street. Everywhere there's power and fortune, my soldiers will be there, awaiting my command to strike. When they do …" His forearm shattered the driver's window, and he ripped the door from the car with one hand and tossed it to Rajah, who caught it like a Frisbee. "… my soldiers will be as strong as we are."

Prayers and praise to Allah rang out from the meager audience. To accentuate his strength, Azim bent down and gripped the front of the car. With but a little show of exertion, he lifted the front end and held the car as steadily as a pair of jacks. He looked over his guests and stoically accepted their praise and reverence. He put an exclamation on his exhibition by dropping the car. It crashed down upon the stage and rocked on its shocks to a halt.

"Imagine what thousands like me will be able to do in the name of Allah."

A sickening feeling bubbled from the pit of Judas's gut. He silently mouthed a prayer to Yahweh, pleading for the gift to return to him as the Lord had granted to Samson, one last time, to kill his enemies. He waited but felt nothing except pain from his injuries. His hand drifted to his thigh. Through his robe, he felt the hilt of the dagger strapped to him.

Judas finally accepted that the strength was not going to return upon him. He prayed for just enough strength to stagger on his feet far enough to thrust the dagger into Azim's belly. He also prayed that what his rabbi had told him about the secret was correct. If so, Azim would die tonight.

He had to find a way to Azim before Azim realized the Lord's protection wasn't complete, before Azim drew his own blood in one of his demonstrations.

Judas somehow found the strength to rise from the chair. His broken fingers were on his dominant hand, so he would have to attack with his weak hand. He squared his shoulders and started walking painfully down the aisle.

* * * *

Thomas counted seven cars parked in front of the hangar, far less than the fifty to seventy-five they had estimated. The meeting's low turnout most likely accounted for the scaled-back security. Only one man guarded the back door leading into the hangar. Darkness protected them as they crawled the mile across the desert and stopped just outside the illumination of the hangar's light.

Delia checked her gun and snapped the clip into place. "If we can kill the guard, we should have clear access to the door. Once we go through, we'll quickly lose the element of surprise. We must find Azim, Rajah, and Sofian immediately. Shoot for their eyes."

"I'll take the guard's rifle," Thomas said. "I may not be the marksman you are, but if I empty all my bullets in the face, I'm sure at least one will hit the eyes."

"You and Michael know if we fail we'll be dead before the evening is over."

The men nodded soberly. Michael and Delia stretched on their stomachs and took aim at the lone guard. Thomas watched and hoped Azim hadn't shared the Effect with the guards.

Delia and Michael looked at each other and nodded. Then, Delia leaned in for possibly the last kiss she and Michael would share. When they broke, they both took aim and fired.

Bullets silently whizzed from the pistols, one after the other, until the guard's spasmodic body finally fell to the ground. Thomas swallowed two more pain pills and sprinted behind Michael as fast as his cracked ribs allowed.

By the time they reached the back door, Thomas was in torment. He took the guard's rifle from Michael and leaned against the hangar, trying to catch his breath.

Delia reached for the door handle. "Unlocked," she whispered.

Thomas squeezed his trigger and sucked in three deeps breaths to steady his nerves. Adrenaline began masking his pain, but his hand started trembling as he realized he was seconds away from possibly shooting another man. He steeled himself for Delia's worst-case scenario: they open the door to find nothing between them and their targets to take cover behind. They'd be sitting ducks.

He was lost in his thoughts when Delia flung the door open and followed Michael into the hangar. He took another quick breath and followed behind to find Michael holding a finger to his lips. They were standing behind a large platform. Thomas saw the back of the heads of three men and heard Azim's unmistakable voice bellowing from loudspeakers.

The adrenaline was wearing off, and Thomas's pain began claiming its dominance. Delia made a silent gesture with her hands, and he followed her to the left side of the platform while Michael eased to the right side. As he and Delia turned the corner, they had a clear view of the empty chairs on their side of the hangar and of the aisle that separated the two sections. A robed, battered man was walking toward the platform.

Azim broke the cadence of his speech and turned his attention to the man. "Ah, Rabbi, you came to testify to these faithful few."

The rabbi didn't answer. He continued dragging himself forward. When he reached the steps, he dropped to his knees and tried to crawl up them; but he couldn't make it past the first step. He slumped forward and sprawled across the steps.

"Sofian, be kind enough to help the good rabbi up here."

Sofian went to Judas and grabbed him by the collar of his robe. He snapped the rabbi up, carried him with one hand, and dropped him upon the stage.

"You should be a little gentler with our guest," Azim said in mock concern. "Judas, is it? Come here."

Judas struggled to his feet but remained in place and looked defiantly toward the center of the stage. "You come to me. I have a secret message for you from the Lord God."

Azim stepped into Thomas's view. He smiled playfully to the crowd and stopped about six feet from Judas. "What? Allah has given you a message for me?" He played to the audience with dramatic flair. He extended one arm while holding the microphone with the other. He directed his comments to the audience. "Tell me, what is this message God has for me?"

The rabbi remained silent and immovable.

Azim paced along the edge of the stage. "It seems the good rabbi has forgotten his message. Sofian, help him remember."

Sofian came back into Thomas's view and swaggered to the rabbi. His smile was mischievous, and his eyes drank in the opportunity to "help" the rabbi remember. Judas stared at him through swollen blue slits, immovable from either bravery or a lack of energy to protect himself.

Thomas gripped his rifle and inched forward, compelled to intervene on behalf of the defenseless rabbi. Delia reached out a hand to stop him and sternly shook her head. He looked at the rabbi and forced himself to ease back and watch.

Sofian wrapped a hand around the rabbi's neck and lifted him into the air. Judas's legs kicked, frantically seeking solid ground. The words hissed from Sofian's lips. "You had a message?"

Judas's mouth gaped open, but no sounds came out. His narrow slits widened to reveal large, round eyes desperately seeking reprieve while his fingernails clawed at Sofian's arm with no effect.

Thomas rocked on his knees, fighting to break free from Delia's invisible restraint. Just as the rabbi's eyes began to shut, Sofian dropped him to the stage. The rabbi wheezed and clutched his throat.

Azim's voice masked Judas's gasps. "Behold, the famed rabbi of Hebron!"

By the murmurs from the audience, it was apparent they knew of whom Azim was referring. "Able to bend steel and walk unscathed through a shower of bullets. Now look at him. Allah has given his gift to me."

Judas coughed and defiantly struggled to his feet, wavering on weakened legs. It seemed a simple puff from Sofian's lips would be enough to send him toppling to the ground. Sofian reached out and placed his hands upon the rabbi shoulders. "The message..."

Judas bent down, placed his hands upon his thigh, and stammered through gulps of air. "The message... from God... is..."

He lifted his robe and grabbed the dagger. In one swift motion, he stood and thrust it into Sofian's belly. His legs buckled, but he sliced the dagger down a few inches before collapsing to the ground. Sofian looked down at the dagger protruding from his stomach and then to the rabbi. "This is your message?" He yanked out the dagger and laughed. "Now, I have a message for you."

Sofian took a step toward Judas and stopped. Confusion swept over his face. He reached to his belly and coughed, lifting a bloodied hand. He slowly turned to Azim, raising his hand and staring at Azim with accusing eyes before falling to his knees and then to the floor.

Azim dropped the microphone and ran to him. He rolled Sofian over and stared into his lifeless eyes. His words echoed from a bewildered fog. "But how?"

Another man ran to Sofian and knelt next to him. "I warned you; Allah is punishing us for our insolence!"

Thomas heard a commotion coming from the audience and saw a handful of people running down the aisle toward the hangar door. Delia slapped Thomas on the shoulders. "Now!"

She rose and fired her gun. Thomas heard Michael's gunfire echo from the other side of the hangar. He stood and saw four men running down the aisle with their rifles poised to shoot. His rifle seemed to gain fifty pounds as he lifted it to take aim. His spray of bullets dropped two guards instantly.

Thomas watched Rajah collapse to the floor and a puddle of blood pool under his head. Azim jerked back and slapped a hand over his bloody shoulder and then jumped from the stage and ran to the hangar door. He flew between the two remaining guards, who had dropped to their knees to take aim at Michael and Delia.

Delia gripped Thomas's rifle and yanked him down as a burst of gunfire erupted from the soldiers. She stripped the rifle from him. "Michael, don't let Azim get a way!"

She stood, fired, and then dropped next to Thomas. There was an eerie silence while Thomas waited for the gunfire to continue; but twenty seconds passed, and it was still quiet. He looked to Delia for direction and found her clutching her chest. He knelt and pulled her hand away from her chest.

"I'll be fine." She yanked her hand away. "You and Michael must stop Azim."

"Let me take a look."

"Go!"

He stared into her eyes and slowly nodded. He grabbed her pistol, propped the rifle in her lap, and put his hand on her shoulder.

Delia closed her eyes. "Please, hurry."

Thomas braced himself to face the guards. After three deep breaths, he leaped to his feet and fired. He stopped when he saw the remaining guards were already dead.

"Michael!"

Thomas sprinted behind the stage to the other side. He found Michael sitting against the wall tying his shirt around one thigh.

"How bad are you hurt?"

Michael gritted his teeth as he tied the knot. "I'll live."

Thomas wasn't a medic, but he knew enough to know Michael had lost a lot of blood. He then saw the wound on Michael's other leg. He ripped off his shirt and used it to tie off the second wound.

"Delia?"

"Still alive."

Michael grabbed Thomas's hand, stopping him from finishing the tourniquet. "Tell me the truth."

Thomas resumed tying off the wound. "I am. She's hit, but she'll live."

Delia's voice echoed in the hangar. "Please, go!"

Thomas smiled. "See?"

Michael nodded and grabbed the shirt. "You must stop Azim. He might not be immortal, but he's still as strong as an ox. Be careful."

"I will." Thomas sprinted through the hangar, sickened at the sight of mangled corpses and blood bathing the floor. He looked through the door and saw taillights receding in the distance. Thomas clutched his side and ran as fast as he could run through the door and into open desert.

Everyone was gone. There were no cars, no soldiers, nothing. He stopped to catch his breath, cursing himself for waiting so long to go after Azim. It would be impossible, he knew, to find the seeds again. Something worse than Armageddon would be brewing while the world waited for the final jihad.

He was about to go back and help Michael and Delia when the sound of an engine racing toward him came from behind the hangar. He gripped his pistol, waiting to face whatever monster the desert had given birth to.

An army truck barreled around the corner and skidded to a stop about six feet from him. The headlights momentarily blinded him, and he heard shouts and people surrounding him.

Thomas dropped his pistol and raised his hands. He was aware of the men surrounding him, but the light kept him from seeing anything. It wasn't until the silhouette of a tall man stepped between him and the lights that Thomas finally saw who had come in the truck. He relaxed his arms.

"Colonel Yarconi, call for a medic. Michael and Delia have been shot. They're in the hangar."

"Anyone else in there?"

"I don't think so, but I'd be careful."

The colonel issued a command, and his men began filing into the hangar. A few seconds later one of the soldiers exited. "All clear, but the ambassador's nephew and a rabbi are in bad shape."

The colonel nodded, and the soldier disappeared back into the hangar. Yarconi jogged to the truck and called the medics. He stopped next to Thomas before joining his men. "Send the medics in when they arrive."

Thomas nodded and watched Yarconi disappear into the hangar. A few seconds later, he walked to the truck and climbed into the driver's seat. Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he put the truck in gear and sped across the desert in the direction he saw Azim fleeing.





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The Samson Effect Chapter 27

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"I HATE TO break this up, but shouldn't we be going?"

Michael and Delia ignored Thomas's plea and held their embrace, unable to kiss because of Delia's split lip. Thomas left the cell and pulled the two dead men inside. Once finished, he gripped his side and slid to a sitting position against the wall.

"Thomas, what happened to you?"

"He broke a rib or two. Couldn't stand me getting all the sympathy."

Delia looked with concern from one man to the other. Thomas reached into his pocket, pulled out three more pain pills and swallowed them dry. "Can we finish catching up after we get out of here? Delia, you can get us out of here, can't you?"

"Maybe. My brother's men are crawling all over the place. Fortunately, many left with him a few minutes ago. We'll never have a better opportunity to try."

They grabbed the rifles dropped by the dead men. "Uh, Thomas, maybe Delia and I should take these."

Thomas grudgingly gave up his rifle to Delia but made no argument.

They followed her up the stairs. She cracked the door and waited until the hallway was clear before sprinting out. They heard footsteps coming toward them from around the corner and ducked into a supply closet. They remained silent until they saw the shadow under the door pass by.

When he felt it was safe to whisper, Michael asked, "Where are we going?"

"Before she died, mother had a room at the end of the hall. If we make it there, we have a chance."

"I memorized the map of this compound," Michael said. "There's no room at the end of the hall."

One look from Delia silenced Michael. "As I was saying, if we make it there, we should be fine. The tough part will be slipping through the window and sprinting across the open courtyard without being spotted. If we make it to the back gate, we just slip through it and lose ourselves in the bazaar a block away."

"This may be a stupid question," Thomas said, "but doesn't your brother have guards to protect the rear of the compound?"

"He has two, but the one on duty right now is lying in the cell we just left."

"Let's hope he hadn't planned on being gone long enough to find someone to watch his post for him."

They followed Delia's plan without incident and in five minutes found themselves lost in a sea of merchants and shoppers. They made their way to the spot where Michael had left his car. "Praise be to Allah, it's still here," Delia said.

Michael gave his keys to Delia and jumped into the backseat. He stretched out, forcing Thomas to the front seat. Delia started the car and eased it down the alley and onto the road.

She drove around the busy streets and caught them up on her brother's insane plan. When she finished, Thomas felt ill.

"Where's the plant and the seeds?" Michael demanded.

"I don't know. I haven't seen them since we left the lab. If I know my brother at all, I'm sure he'll have them close to him until he arranges to have them planted."

"You said something about him going to a hangar."

"Probably the abandoned hangar outside Hebron. He uses it every so often. It's big and private."

"Well, let's go," Thomas said. "We have to stop him."

"You don't understand. This hangar is in the middle of a flat area of desert. He'll be able to see us coming from a mile away. There's no way to sneak in. It's why he often meets there."

"We can't just let him carry this out. If he does have the seeds on him, we have to find a way to get them back before he grows them in some hidden-away location.

This may be our only chance."

"I know that! But you didn't see him. He has the gift. It'd be suicide to approach him, and you two look half-dead already." Thomas noticed the knuckles gripping the steering wheel were white. She slowed her breathing. "Do you understand if he sees us alive again, his patience will be gone? He'll kill us on the spot."

"I believe Michael and I are very clear about his intentions for us."

"I want to stop him as much as you do. I'm out of options. I'm open for suggestions."

She was right, Thomas thought. It would be suicide to confront Azim tonight, or perhaps ever. Besides, after his performance on Michael's roof, he felt the least qualified to create a plan. "I wish I did have a suggestion for you. What do you think, Michael?"

He glanced in the backseat. Michael had his ear to the cell phone. He identified himself and launched into an abbreviated account of what had just happened to them and of Azim's plan. He never said another word except "Thank you" before ending the call.

"Who was that?" Delia asked.

"That was our ticket to see your brother tonight."

* * * *

The Council convened in a conference room at a Tel Aviv bank located a few miles from the airport. All ten members were present. The ambassador finished his call with Michael and reviewed with the Foreign Ministry official the plan he and Michael had just created. When they completed their conversation, they joined the others around the table.

A hush fell over the room as everyone waited for the ambassador to speak. "Let me begin by apologizing for my nephew's foolish and reckless behavior. Fortunately, he's come out of hiding. He's been able to successfully grow the seed."

Excited murmurs filled the room.

"Unfortunately, he lost the plant and the five seeds it had produced to Azim Ebadi."

The excited murmur turned to anger and fear. The ambassador stood and slammed his fist onto the tabletop. The sharp crack silenced everyone. "Let me finish!"

He had everyone's undivided attention. "Azim and two of his top men have ingested the plant." The ambassador swallowed. "They're as strong as Samson." By the time he had told them of Azim's master plan, everyone at the table looked like broken men.

"We must get the seeds," the general said.

"We have a plan to accomplish just that. Jonathon has an agent in the foreign ministry who has infiltrated the Palestinian leadership in Lebanon. He's been invited to attend Azim's 'coming out' party tonight. I've arranged for him to pick up Michael—"

"Hasn't your nephew done enough?"

Everyone stared in silent anticipation, no one yet hinting as to whether they agreed with the general or not.

"No one feels as badly as I do about what he's done, but lest you forget, no one has seen the seeds in over three thousand years, and they'd still be lost if it weren't for Michael."

The general glared at the ambassador but finally submitted with a nod. The ambassador took a deep breath and continued. "As I was saying, I've arranged for Jonathon's man to pick up Michael and take him to the hangar. That should get him close enough to find a way inside."

"This is your brilliant plan? It's a suicide mission," the general scoffed.

"I didn't say it was brilliant, it's just the only plan we could put together under the circumstances."

"There's no way he can do that without help. Listen to me. I've planned and participated in hundreds of covert operations in my career."

"I'd welcome any suggestions from you, General."

"Yarconi and his men are good. Call him. Give him the objectives and let him draw up the plan."

The ambassador nodded. "Thank you, General. I'll call him when we adjourn." Speaking to the entire Council, he said, "I'll contact each of you when we hear something. I'll be here for the evening, so anyone who wishes to stay, may. I'll also call the rabbi and have him join me here immediately. I don't want him in Hebron tonight. Any questions?"

The general parted his lips but looked around the table and eased back into the chair.

"Something on your mind, General?"

The general stared at him for a moment and then shook his head.

"If there's nothing else, we're adjourned."

he Council members rose from their chairs and the buzz of conversation filled the room. The ambassador had picked up the phone to call Colonel Yarconi when the general stepped up to him. He lowered the phone. "I take it you did have something to say."

"It's about Michael. I felt it best we talk in private."

The ambassador squeezed his lips and nodded. "I appreciate that. What is it?"

"When you contact Yarconi, make sure your nephew is not involved. He'll only be a liability."

"There's no way Michael's going to stand by and not do anything, even if I order him to."

"Find a way to keep him away from the hangar, even if you have to have him arrested."

* * * *

"Tobin, Aaron, I want you to leave at once and meet Ambassador Ben Hur at this address in Tel Aviv." He handed Aaron a sheet of paper. "Tell him I said it's my sworn duty to protect our secret, and I'm going to do what I have to do to carry out that duty. Stress to him that the Lord will take care of everything. Things are not as hopeless as they appear."

The two men looked at Judas, their eyes begging him to let them stay behind and face whatever challenges he was facing. However, they obeyed without question.

When they left, Judas thought of the altar room. Part of him was glad the key was gone. It might have proven to be too much of a temptation to take another dose of the mixture. He would face Azim as a mortal man and kill him this very night. He dropped to his knees in prayer, asking for the Lord's favor and praying that his rabbi was accurate when he delivered the oral knowledge of The Secret to him. He stayed in prayer until twilight and then rose, retrieved the dagger from his bedroom, and strapped it to the inside of his thigh.

Before he left, he changed into his rabbinic robe and tunic. He felt the dagger against his leg with each step. He continued his walk through the streets of Hebron until he arrived at Azim's compound. Without fear, he stepped up to the guard at the front door. He ignored the rifle barrels only inches from his chest.

"Tell Azim Ebadi the Protector of the Lord's Strength wishes to speak with him now."




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The Samson Effect Chapter 26

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SMALL WISPS OF dust rose behind Thomas and Michael as they sprinted from the safety of the craggy rocks, across the open desert, and finally to the back corner of the compound wall. Thomas threw himself against the wall and sucked in oxygen as he watched Michael take the last few painful steps to him. So far, he heard no gunshots or shouts from the guards, but he knew it was only a matter of seconds before at least one guard walked his post to the rear of the wall. If he showed up before they made it over the ten-foot wall, Thomas knew it was over for them.

Michael stumbled to Thomas's feet, clutching his ribs in his arms. His grimace silently cried out in pain. Thomas stooped to help him to his feet. "Michael, I don't think you can handle my weight. Umar did major damage to your ribs; three months isn't enough time for you to do this."

Michael's hair matted to his forehead, and his face was covered with a moist sheen. "I'll be fine." He took out his leather wallet and bit down on it. He then turned to the wall and knelt down, bracing his palms against the flat surface.

"You don't have the strength to do this."

Michael looked over his shoulder and shot a commanding look at Thomas. He gave one curt nod and furrowed his brows, emphasizing that Thomas needed to act now. Thomas knew the soldiers were somewhere just around the corner. He nodded and rested one foot on Michael's shoulder.

Michael took three deep breaths and nodded. When Thomas felt him rise, he thrust himself up, scratching at the wall's smooth surface for any opportunity to remove weight from his friend.

Somehow, Michael kept rising. Thomas's fingertips finally found the top of the wall and his adrenaline did the rest. He lay on his stomach and straddled the top of the wall. He looked down at Michael, who was pulling himself to his feet. He reached down a hand and gripped Michael's wrist. His adrenaline was gone, and it took every drop of strength in him to pull Michael to the top.

Thomas swung his legs inside the wall and was about to ease himself down and drop inside when Michael's leg knocked him off balance. He tumbled down behind the shed and heard a loud snap when he hit the ground, followed by a stabbing pain in his side. He rolled to his back and gripped his lower left side. He knew immediately he had cracked a least one rib on the cinderblock that had broken his fall.

Michael dropped beside him, and they both gritted their teeth and held their sides to keep the pain from betraying their presence. Michael scooted to the edge of the shed and poked his head around the corner. A few moments later, he scooted back to Thomas.

"I didn't see anyone in the courtyard or in the house through the windows. If Yahweh is with us, we'll only have to worry about the guard on the roof."

Thomas dropped his arms and leaned against the shed. He closed his eyes and felt Michael gently lifting his shirt. When Michael's fingers explored his wound, the stabbing pain flooded back.

"Broken."

"No kidding, Sawbones." Thomas shook his irritation from his head. "Let's focus on getting into the house; we'll worry about this when we're inside."

Even in the pain, they made the trip from the shed to the house with relative ease. Michael slipped his key into the lock of his utility door, and they silently stepped inside. After a careful search, Michael declared the house vacant. They spent the next few minutes tending to their wounds. The ever-present footsteps above reminded them they weren't alone.

"Let's get what we came for," Thomas said when Michael finished applying the bandage to his ribs. Michael nodded, and Thomas slipped off the countertop. With every step, his appreciation for what Michael had endured grew stronger.

They walked into the garage and through a door at the other side. Thomas stopped cold. As he looked around the room, he saw everything from handguns and assault rifles to crossbows and knives either on the wall or behind glass-covered cabinet doors. "What in the world is a linguist doing with an arsenal like this?"

Michael milled about as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be around such an arsenal. "I'm a Jew living in Hebron, remember? And not just any Jew, but the nephew of the ambassador to the U.S." He swung a rifle with a telescope onto his shoulder and handed one to Thomas.

"What's this for?"

"This is how we get out of here and, in your words, 'walk out the front door, to boot.'"

"Wait a minute. The soldiers may be in our way, but they're not the bad guys. I'm not going to put a bullet into an innocent man."

"Relax." Michael walked to a desk drawer and unlocked it. He picked up a box with a blue label and read it. When he seemed satisfied he had the right box, he opened it and pulled out a tray of odd-looking needles. He divided them into two piles of four.

"These are harmless tranquilizing darts. The rifles are made especially for them. Once they find their mark, the man drops instantly, albeit safely." He began loading one group into his rifle. "Ever shoot a rifle?"

Thomas shook his head.

Michael stopped loading for a second, clearly unhappy at Thomas's lack of experience. He shrugged it off and continued loading his rifle. "Don't worry, the guns are made for even a novice to use. All you have to do is line the crosshair on your target and pull the trigger. There's no noise and no kick. Just takes a steady hand."

Thomas still didn't like the thought of shooting a man, even if it was with just a tranquilizer dart. Michael loaded his rifle and handed it back to him.

Michael picked up a duffel bag and packed it with two pistols, two silencers, a GPS tracking chip and a handheld GPS monitor, a lock-pick set and two Tasers. He then walked over to the desk and pulled a three-ring binder from the drawer. "This is perhaps the most important item."

"What is it?"

"It has, among other locations, a detailed map of Azim's compound. This will give us the best chance at navigating through it undetected."

Thomas was duly impressed. Michael's high-tech, 007 gadgets made him feel they just might have a chance in spite of their injuries.

He followed Michael to the attic door and eased up the ladder behind him. Only the knowledge that Michael's injuries were worse than his kept him from entertaining the thought that he wouldn't be able to continue. They moved to the only window in the attic. Thomas glanced outside. The view overlooked the flat part of the roof where the soldier patrolled. Michael set down the duffel bag and pulled the rifle from his shoulder.

"I'll take out the guy on the roof. When I do, crouch and slip out to the west side and wait for the guard to move to the middle of the wall. When he does, put a dart in his neck. If you aim for a clothed part of his body, you'll run the risk of hitting something that will deflect the dart—"

"And that would be bad."

"Very. Just take a breath and wait for your shot. When you take it, make sure he's out of view of the other soldiers. Then crawl to the front and meet me."

Thomas nodded and watched Michael ease into position at the window. He cracked it open and stuck the barrel through the opening. The guard had just finished surveying the rear of the compound and headed toward the front. Thomas held his breath when the soldier glanced in their direction, but Michael remained steady. The soldier finally glanced away and continued his walk to the front.

When the soldier reached the center of the roof, Thomas saw him grab his neck and fall unconscious to the ground. He had hardly heard the shot at all.

Michael nodded, and Thomas eased through the open window and crouched to the west side of the roof. Michael exited the window behind him and crouched around the dormer to the east side.

When Thomas drew near to the edge of the roof, he dropped to his belly and bit his tongue to endure the fire that burned in his side. He saw the soldier facing toward the front of the compound and waited for him to turn and head back to the rear. When he passed by, Thomas put the crosshair on the center of his neck.

He pulled the trigger and the soldier fell silently to the ground. A euphoric feeling washed over him that made him temporarily forget his pain. He turned to find Michael already halfway to him. He gave Michael the thumbs-up sign and met him toward the front of the roof.

"Piece of cake," Thomas whispered.

"Good. Three down and three to go." They peered over the edge of the roof. One soldier sat on a rock in the shade of a tree eating his lunch. The other two walked together. Thomas could barely hear their muted conversation.

"This is going to be easier than I thought," Michael said. "Let's go for the two with the guns first. On three, you take the one on the left and I'll take the one on the right, then we'll both go for the one eating lunch."

Thomas nodded. "Poor guy." They dropped to their stomachs and took aim.

"Ready?"

Thomas nodded.

"One … two … three …

Michael's target fell immediately, but Thomas's had bent down just as he'd pulled the trigger. The soldier eating lunch grabbed his gun and leaped to his feet. He screamed out a warning and pointed to the roof but fell to the ground when Michael found his mark.

The remaining soldier spun with lightning-quick reflexes and sent a shower of bullets in their direction. "Shoot!" Michael commanded.

Thomas felt paralyzed. Bullets whizzed by. He knew Michael was out of shots, and he had only two left. "He's going for the radio. Shoot!"

Thomas sucked in a breath and looked over the edge of the roof. The soldier was jogging toward the truck while pointing his rifle behind him and firing blindly. Thomas looked through the telescope and followed his moving target. When the soldier was a few feet from the truck, he fired.

The soldier didn't fall.

Thomas's hands began to shake, knowing he only had one shot left. He looked through the scope. The soldier flew all around his field of vision.

He knew he had only seconds left before the compound would be swarming with soldiers. He took a deep breath and started to pull the trigger.

Before he knew what happened, the rifle flew from his hands. Michael dropped down beside him and immediately pulled the trigger. The soldier stiffened and fell to the ground with the radio mic in his hand.

They waited in silence for an unaccounted soldier, but no one else appeared. Michael stood, surveyed all four sides of the compound, and then tossed the rifle to his feet.

"Piece of cake."

They returned through the attic and retrieved the duffel bag. Within minutes, they walked through the front door. They limped down the steps and looked at the damage they had done. They then dragged themselves to the garage and slipped into Michael's sedan. They both popped a few pain pills before Michael started the car and headed for Azim's compound.

A few minutes later, they pulled into an alley and parked next to a trash container. Michael pulled out the map of Azim's compound and began explaining the layout to Thomas. It seemed vaguely familiar to Thomas, especially when Michael pointed out the cell Azim had cast them into when he first arrived in Hebron.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got this map."

Michael gave him a knowing smile and then explained his plan and the route they would take into the compound. Thomas cringed at the thought of more sneaking around while his side was still on fire. However, the thought of finding Delia kept him focused on Michael's words as he followed the route along the map.

A tapping sound on Michael's window caused them both to freeze. They slowly looked up to see the car surrounded by men aiming their rifles at them. Thomas thought of the high-tech spy gadgets in the back seat. He shook his head and let out a sigh.

Michael forced out the word through clenched teeth. "Azim!"

* * * *

Delia sat across from her brother, horrified that he had already processed and consumed the plant. She thought of the three Jewish men who were cast into the fiery furnace and of the young rabbi who had bent the steel barrel of a rifle. The thought of her brother possessing power that made him nearly indestructible made her sick to her stomach.

"I'm sure you've figured out by now Allah has given me the strength of Samson. I can't explain what it's like knowing that no power on earth can stop you."

He paused for her to comment, but she remained silent. He shrugged and continued. "So you see, sister, one of us will die tonight, but it can't be me." He waved a dismissive hand at Rajah. "I gave him the same gift, yet he cowers. He was much braver before he became indestructible. Look at him."

Delia turned to see Rajah. He sat, wringing his hands and mumbling about doom while rocking in his chair.

"Sofian, on the other hand, is strong. He knows the future Allah has laid before us."

She looked into Sofian's eyes. They were hollow, almost as if his own soul had been taken from him and replaced with a demonic spirit. Somehow, she knew he would never again cower to her. Unadulterated fear pulsed through her body. She felt as if she were caught in the inner chambers of hell.

Sofian smirked and held a pistol to Rajah's head. Delia knew he wanted nothing more at this moment then to put a bullet in Rajah's head.

"Put down the gun," Azim said in a pacifying voice. "Rajah will come around. He's just adjusting to the gift."

Sofian stared coldly at Azim and pressed the pistol's muzzle onto Rajah's temple.

"I said put down the gun."

The authority in Azim's voice caused Sofian to reluctantly obey, though his eyes told everyone he didn't like it.

When the tension dissipated, Azim continued. "Tonight, we meet with the leaders of our faith. We will demonstrate Allah's gift and lay out our plan to recruit soldiers for the greatest, most glorious jihad ever. When the day is declared, my indestructible soldiers will come out of obscurity all over the world and accomplish what rulers throughout the ages have desired: global domination. All the earth will be Islam."

All vestiges of her brother were gone. Delia looked at him, knowing that arguing or reasoning with him would be futile. She shook her head. "You're mad, Azim. This can never work. The world won't sit by and let you take over. All you'll end up doing is causing a lot of bloodshed; but, in the end, you will die."

"That's right, Azim," Rajah said. "Listen to her. Our enemies are all around. Can't you see that?" He glared at Sofian. "Even he'll look to usurp your power. It's in his eyes."

Sofian gave a half smile and rolled his eyes. Azim got to his feet and held out his hand to silence everyone. "Enough. Rajah, Sofian, let's go."

Someone knocked on the door, and Sofian opened it. The man on the other side insisted on speaking to Azim. Sofian stepped out of the way, and the man walked briskly to Azim. He leaned in and whispered something into his ear. Azim's head snapped up in surprise. "Are you sure it was them?"

The man nodded.

Azim mulled over the information, and a smile crept across his face. He leaned in and whispered something into the man's ear. The man nodded and left the room. Azim turned to the guards. "Take Delia to the cell and keep her there until I return."

Each man grabbed one of Delia's arms and led her out of the office and down the hall. She turned to see her brother lead his group the other way down the hall. She shook free of the men. "I know the way."

The men looked at each other and held tightly to their weapons, but they allowed her to remain free of their grip. When they reach the doorway that opened to the stone staircase that led down to the cell, they nudged her with the tip of their rifles and ordered her through the door. She complied while her mind began creating a plan for her escape.

The narrow staircase was only wide enough for one person at a time to descend. She slowed her pace in order to give herself a few more precious seconds to solidify her plan. Halfway down, however, she began thinking about Michael again. She knew her grief had to wait; otherwise, she would risk making a fatal mistake. This time she found it difficult to remove the images of him turning his back on her and the hurt on his face when he believed she had betrayed him. Her heart ached knowing he died before they had a chance to hold each other one last time.

The man behind her nudged her forward, snapping her from her thoughts. Once they reached the bottom, she slowed and let the men move to her sides. One of them dug into his pockets and pulled out a key ring.

The moment they stepped around the corner, she spun and drove a palm into the nose of one of the men. The feel of the impact told her he was dead before he hit the floor. Her inertia sped her spin, and she almost simultaneously kicked the other man's head against the wall. Within seconds, both men lay dead at her feet.

She picked up the keys to the cell and dragged one of the men to the door. She unlocked the thick heavy door, forced it open, and started to drag in the first body. When she looked into the cell, her legs grew rubbery; and she stumbled against the doorframe for support.

Thomas and Michael sat against the wall looking equally stunned. She quickly recovered, and every ounce of hopelessness in her instantly vanished. "You're alive! But how?"

Michael pulled himself to his feet. "We came to rescue you."



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The Samson Effect Chapter 25

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AMBASSADOR BEN HUR dragged himself into his bedroom at 11:30 p.m., unusually early for a Friday evening in Washington, DC. He passed by his wife and slipped into their adjoining bathroom. He leaned forward and sighed at his reflection. His crow's feet were deepening and his hairline plowed deeper into his gray hair.

He shook his head, remembering how it wasn't too many years ago his diplomatic duties carried him deep into the night. But not anymore.

He started brushing his teeth, when he heard his private line ring in the bedroom. He glanced at his watch; less than twenty minutes until his aging body demanded its rest for the evening. He didn't hear a second ring and assumed his wife had answered the phone. He fought to keep this inconsiderate late-night intrusion from fanning his anger.

When his wife came into the bathroom with the cordless handset, his anger began to simmer. "Who is it, my dear?"

She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "It's Michael. He needs—"

Upon hearing his nephew's name, adrenaline coursed through his veins, waking every cell in his body as he yanked the phone from her. "Michael, you have some nerve disappearing for three months. Where in heaven's name are you? What have you done with the seed?"

"Uncle Ben, I need your help. I…Thomas and I lost the seed. Azim's got it."

"What?" The ambassador slammed his palm against the wall, startling his wife, who looked at him with sickening worry. He spun away from her and marched into his closet. "How could this have happened? How could you have been so foolish? You should've come to me when you found the seed."

The ambassador began changing into his navy-blue pinstriped suit while fumbling to keep the phone to his ear. "We were going to call you today but Azim knew we were on our way to pick up the plant and followed us. We were betrayed."

The ambassador stopped buttoning his shirt and leaned against the closet door. "Plant? You found a way to grow the seed?" The harsh tone in his voice softened. With those few words, Michael had vindicated his dedication to the Council's purpose. His satisfaction was short-lived when he remembered Azim. "Betrayed? I told you that Jezebel would turn on you when she had the opportunity. Your hormones have cost us—"

"It wasn't Delia. Hanna told Azim."

"Hanna? Don't be ridiculous. She wouldn't have—"

"Listen to me! I'm not going to argue about how or why Azim was able to find out about the plant, I just need you to send someone to help us get it back."

"No. Stay where you are. I'll find a way to recover the plant."

"Azim has Delia."

The ambassador's lips quivered in silence.

"Look, Thomas and I are on our way to Hebron. Help us if you will. Regardless, we're going."

"Don't be a fool, Michael. The peace in Hebron is fragile. If you and your American cowboy friend go in there with guns blazing, you'll make it nearly impossible to get the plant back. Please, wait where you are. I'll send someone to take care of things."

"Do you know the kind of damage Azim could do if he and his men consume the plant? We're going."

The line disconnected. The ambassador knew profoundly what would happen if Azim found a way to prepare and consume the plant. He finished dressing and met his driver downstairs. On the way to the Ronald Reagan International Airport, he called his pilot to have him prepare to leave as soon as possible. He then called Colonel Yarconi and ordered him to Hebron to detain Michael and Thomas without creating an international incident. His last call before boarding his flight was to arrange an emergency meeting of the Council upon his arrival in Tel Aviv.

He had done everything he could from this side of the Atlantic. He prayed the Lord would interfere with whatever plans Azim had until the Council could meet. And he prayed, fervently, that his nephew would not make matters worse.

* * * *

The sun's rays over Hebron's desert felt heavy upon Thomas's head and neck. He and Michael had made it undetected to the craggy hills a few hundred yards behind Michael's compound. The landscape they surveyed seemed serene except for six soldiers the Israeli army had dispatched to protect his home. Michael leaned against the rock and grimaced.

"You okay, Michael?"

"I'll be fine." He ran his fingertips across his ribs and smiled. "That sprint to the table in the greenhouse didn't help much."

Thomas looked around the rocks. "Why don't you stay here and tell me how to get into the compound. I'll bring back what we'll need."

Michael shook his head. "If they catch you without me, they'll detain you. We don't have the time for them to learn you're no threat."

"It's your home. Why don't we just walk up to the front door? They're protecting it for you."

"Uncle Ben made it clear he didn't want you or me to proceed. I've no doubts he's issued orders to detain us if we're found. I can't let that happen. The longer we wait, the less of a chance we have of finding Delia in time."

Thomas looked back at the compound and counted the soldiers again. "If you're right about your uncle, we'll need to do this quickly. This is one of the first places they'll look for us." He shook his head. "I don't know how we're going to make it across open desert without being spotted. And even if we do make it, we have no idea how many soldiers may be in the courtyard or the house."

"Hey, where's that competitive spirit of yours?"

"I've never had an open desert between me and assault rifles, and an invalid in tow."

"True," Michael said, "You've only had to deal with the bombing of your office, escaping U.S. authorities, being locked in a dungeon, caught in the crossfire of a shootout, escaping seconds before your execution—"

"Okay, okay, I get your point—"

"This will be a piece of cake, even with an invalid in tow."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "So, how are we going to get in?"

"I've been watching the soldiers walk their patrol. If we wait until the two soldiers on either side of the compound walk from the rear toward the front, and if the soldier on the roof lingers long enough before walking towards the back, we should have enough time to make it to the right corner of the wall. We scale it and drop behind the shed in the corner of the courtyard."

Thomas stared unblinkingly at him. "Yeah, piece of cake. And if the stars and moon line up, we'll be able to walk out the front door, to boot."

"I'm serious; this can work."

"Okay, let's say we make it to the corner undetected. How do we get over the ten-foot wall?"

"That's the part I'm dreading. You'll have to stand on my shoulders and once you're on top of the wall, pull me up."

"Are you crazy? You can't hold my weight in your condition."

"Look, my ribs have been healing for three months. They're fine. Besides, I have a better chance of lifting you than trying to pull you up the wall."

"I can't believe we are even thinking of doing this. There's no way it can work."

"It has to work, for Delia's sake."

The determination on Michael's face set Thomas's resolve. He sighed and shook his head. "Tell me why you think it's absolutely necessary for us to risk this."

"Because I have the weapons and equipment we'll need if we're going to try to penetrate Azim's compound. Think of this as a dry run."

Thomas threw up his arms. "Okay, let's do it."

They waited a few minutes until everything finally fell into place. The two soldiers patrolling the sides of the compound reached the rear at the same time and turned to walk toward the front. The soldier on the roof lingered for a moment before turning from the rear and heading to the front. Thomas felt a hollow feeling of anticipation grow in his stomach. Michael pushed him forward. "Go."

He sprinted into the open desert, and a sense of vulnerability washed over him. Now, only one thing focused in his mind: making it to the wall. When he had covered half the distance, a troubling thought raced through his mind and threatened to paralyze him where he stood. How were they going to get out of the compound once they got in?

* * * *

Delia sat on the edge of her bed locked in her room. The guard outside her door refused to answer her command to release her. She paced the floor and thoroughly searched the room for anything that would help her escape. She knew better than anyone what was going to happen when Azim grew tired of letting her worry about her predicament. Blood was not enough to stay his vengeful fury.

She walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside for the tenth time. And, for the tenth time, she spotted the armed guard faithfully patrolling his station below. The fear and respect toward her the guards had once shown were gone. It infuriated her that they treated her as a common enemy and not as the sister of Azim.

The thought of Michael entered her mind again. Each time it did, she conjured the strength to expel it. Now was not the time to grieve. If she did, she knew she'd have nothing left in her to find even the remotest chance of escaping.

She drew on every tactical experience she had, knowing no plan was perfect, not even one of her brother's. Somewhere there was a flaw. If she could find it, no matter how small it was, she knew it could be fatal.

She prayed to Allah she hadn't missed it.

The door opened, driving her thoughts away. Her escort stepped in and gripped her arm. "Come!"

She shrugged her arm free and conjured up the cold, steady expression she knew sent fear into others. "Hello, Sofian." Her penetrating stare didn't have the effect she was seeking. Sofian's eyes squinted as a smile curled from the edge of his lips. His reaction turned her blood cold and sent a shiver up her spine. Something about him was very different.

Sofian led her from the bedroom, through the maze of hallways, and to her brother's plush study. When she stepped into her brother's office and saw him sitting behind his desk, her blood froze. Azim stared at her, anger flaming from his eyes. He held out his hand and gestured to a chair across the desk.

She obeyed his silent command and waited for him to speak first. He rose from his chair with a smile and walked around the desk. Her flesh began to crawl as she awaited his twisted habit of greeting her. It was his ultimate show of dominance over her, one she had never been able to stand against. Even now, she felt herself turning into the frightened little girl only he could bring out in her. He approached and leaned into her. Fear paralyzed her every move except for the shallow breaths that stabbed her lungs.

His lips hovered so close to hers that she felt his warm breath upon her. She tried to summon the inner strength to pull away from him, but it never came. She resigned herself to the abhorrent display of affection and waited with closed eyes.

Moments dragged on and then the warm breath disappeared. She tensed, awaiting the touch of his lips while fighting the urge to retch. But even with her eyes closed, she sensed his presence receding from her. She opened her eyes and caught a blur of motion in her vision followed by an intense flash of white light. Her neck twisted violently to one side, and a warm numbness seeped into her face. She lifted her head to her brother, who was massaging his right fist in his left hand. She lifted her fingers to her lips and felt the warm, sticky ooze. The numbness went away, replaced by a stinging, throbbing pain. She felt a pebble roll upon her tongue and spit it to the floor. Gliding her tongue along her teeth, she discovered a hole created by a missing upper front tooth.

For the first time in her life, she wasn't afraid of her brother. Hatred fueled her fury. She hated what he had turned her into. She began to laugh, seeing the blood spray from her mouth through her peripheral vision.

"You find this a matter to laugh about, sister?" He spewed the words through clenched teeth.

Her laughter regressed to a bloody smile. "I do, brother. Oh, I do very much."

He cocked his head and squinted with curiosity. "And what, by Allah, do you find so funny?"

"The fact that you're a little man who thinks he's big." Azim's face reddened and his fist clenched. "And before the night's out, I will kill you." For a brief moment, Delia saw in her brother's eyes the fear she had often witnessed in her targets' eyes the moment they knew they were about to die. Never, until this moment, had she seen it in her brother. As quickly as it came upon him, however, it left him.

"You'd be wise to hold your tongue, Delia. It's only by my grace you're alive for the moment. I may be a small man, but not too small to hold your insignificant life in my hand."

Brother and sister stared into each other's eyes, neither blinking nor looking away. "Why," Azim said, finally breaking the silence, "did you betray me? Why did you turn your back on Allah for a Jew?"

Delia appraised Azim's sincerity as genuine. Somewhere in her hatred for him, a glimmer of familial love flickered. "I didn't betray Allah. My dedication to him made me try to stop you. Not me, brother. You betrayed Allah by the evil you've done in his name, by what you've turned your own sister into."

She had no tears for Azim. Only pity. "Set your things in order, Azim, for today I finish his will."

Delia knew she had just cut off any hope of reconciliation between her and her brother. Fate had been set. Tonight, only one of them would be alive. She entrusted the outcome to Allah's hands.

Azim's voice roused her from her thoughts. "Before you die, I want you to witness Allah bestowing his glory upon me. Your last thought before death will be confirmation that I've been his faithful servant." He shook his head. "You could have been by my side when it happens."

Azim lifted his phone and called for Sofian and Rajah. They entered the office followed by two armed men. "Make everything ready at the hangar. Tonight, we begin laying the building blocks for Allah's new kingdom. The three of us will unite the world to his cause. The final jihad is about to sweep upon the infidels, purifying the earth for Islam."

Delia saw the maddening hubris deep within her brother's eyes, far beyond his usual arrogance. Something was happening in his mind. Her anxiety was more potent over this than when she contemplated her own death. "What do you mean, Azim?"

His lips curled into a smug smile. "Yes, I want you to hear, to know the plan Allah has put into my heart. You'll understand I am truly his prophet and humble servant."

"Please, Azim, no," Rajah insisted. Delia heard panic in his voice. "We mustn't tell her. If too many people know, all could be lost."

"Silence!" Azim's command echoed in the office. "Nothing can go wrong. The future has been ordained. Now sit!"

Rajah turned to Sofian with wide, pleading eyes. "Please, help make him understand!"

Sofian shook his head and a few chuckles escaped his lips, but he didn't respond to Rajah's pleas. Delia watched the strange scene unfold before her, nearly convinced she must be in the midst of a nightmare. Rajah always spoke with calm wisdom, but now he looked and acted like a frightened child.

Azim's glare locked onto Rajah. He stepped up to Rajah and extended a hand, wrapping his fingers around the frightened man's throat. His lips curled into a snarl as he lifted Rajah effortlessly into the air. "I said sit."



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The Samson Effect Chapter 24

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FOR THREE MONTHS, Thomas and Michael waited with the women for the botanist to do her thing. Thomas vividly remembered the euphoria that swept through the house when she had called less than two weeks after receiving the seed to report the appearance of tiny sprouts. The daily updates Michael, in his excitement, had insisted on receiving grew monotonous for everyone and quickly turned into weekly updates. Even the botanist seemed surprised at the sprout's rapid growth. Her own excitement was evident as she reported one week that she had not been able to identify the plant. It was a new, undiscovered species.

A few weeks ago, however, they had received a call from her that rivaled the excitement of her initial call. The plant had produced five seeds that were quickly maturing. Last night she had asked to meet so Thomas and Michael could pick up the plant and four of the five seeds in exchange for the promised research on its discovery. Since tomorrow was the Sabbath and the facility would only have a skeletal crew of nonorthodox Jews, they agreed to meet then at 6:00 a.m.

Thomas lay in bed and looked at the clock. Midnight. Although he had consumed no caffeine, his body felt like it was jacked up on ten pots of coffee. He and Michael had invested over a year of their lives searching for the Samson Effect. They both suffered injuries and lived under the threat of death, and they both lost people close to them. As far as he knew, he was still a wanted man in his own country.

But in less than six hours he would be holding in his hands the thing responsible for all of it.

His bedroom door cracked open, followed by a soft rap. It wasn't Hanna; she never knocked. A deep voice called from behind the door. "Thomas, you awake?"

Thomas rolled over and turned on the lamp sitting on the nightstand. "Yeah, come on in."

Michael slipped in and sat at the foot of the bed. "I'm having a tough time sleeping myself. I can't believe it. It actually exists." He gripped Thomas's leg and squeezed it in excitement. "Do you know what this means?"

"Hey, I'm as excited as you, but you do know there's a possibility this is still just a legend. We may find out this plant is nothing more than a heck of a burger topping." He tried to look serious, but Michael saw through him.

"You can't wait to see what it's like to be Samson, can you?"

"I'm serious." He couldn't maintain his facade any longer. A betraying smile stretched across his face. "No, I guess I can't." After a brief fantasy played through his mind, his deeper analytical thinking surfaced. "We're going to have to test this thoroughly and build safety nets into our experiments, especially on how it affects mental health. If it's more than a legend, then there may be a correlation between it and mental illnesses I've researched."

Michael's spirit did not dampen one iota. "Sure. Absolutely. We'll be very cautious." He squeezed and shook Thomas's legs again. "I can't wait to walk up to it tomorrow, pluck off a leaf, and see how quickly the strength starts flooding into me."

Thomas bolted from the bed and towered over Michael. "That's exactly what I mean about safety! You've no idea what—"

Michael fell onto his back, holding his stomach while laughing. "I'm kidding, Thomas. Take it easy. Of course we'll be careful."

Thomas felt his cheeks flush. He sat down on the bed next to Michael and shook his head with a smile. Of course Michael would take safety seriously. Michael sat up and patted him on the back. "We better get some sleep. Tomorrow morning is already here."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Is Delia still putting the pressure on you to tell her more about the plant?"

"Are you kidding? It's become a nightly chorus by now. 'Don't you trust me? Don't you love me? How can you shut me out?' I tell you, she was wonderful for a while, but now I believe she's taking it personally."

"What do you tell her?"

"The truth. I do love her; and when I'm positive we're all safe, I'll tell her." He looked at Thomas and shook his head. "Don't worry, I didn't tell her anything."

"Oh, it's not that. Lately, Hanna's been needling me for more information too. To tell the truth, I think Delia's put her up to it. Hanna doesn't like to appear weak in any way; and every time I tell her no, I can see the humiliation in her eyes. Makes me feel like a louse."

"Are they still drinking on the verandah?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Yeah. They're strengthening each other up to slowly chip away our resolve. I think I liked it better when they hated each other."

"Well, why not come clean now? Once we get the plant, there will be nothing to hide anymore."

Thomas thought for moment. "Why not? We've been here three months and all has been quiet. We have to leave in a few days when your friends return anyway. Let's go find them."

They entered the upstairs media room and walked through to the balcony. The women sat at a small round table sipping wine from their nearly empty glasses. Michael picked up two clean wine glasses from the shelf next to the sliding door before entering the veranda. The women hushed their conversation, acknowledging their entrance with smiles and tipped glasses.

Thomas pulled up a chair and sat while reaching for the wine bottle in the ice bucket. "Mind if we join you?" He pulled out the bottle and shook it. It was empty. "Looks like you two had a pretty good time tonight."

The women looked at each other and started giggling. Michael sighed and looked at his watch. "It's late anyway." He pulled up the fourth chair and wedged himself up to the crowded table. "We wanted to talk with you anyway."

Delia drained the last of her wine and smiled. "About what?"

"Well, you two have been patient beyond expectation, and Thomas and I figured it was safe enough to bring you fully into what's happening with the Samson Effect."

Delia's mouth flew open, and she looked at Hanna with a look of genuine surprise on her face, which Hanna parroted. "Really?"

"Really," Thomas answered, taking Hanna's hand. "Thank you for putting up with us."

After telling them about the plant's new seeds and their planned trip to the lab in a few hours, Delia leaped to her feet and swooned, steadied by Michael's arm. "This calls for a toast. I'll be right back with a bottle of wine."

"Let's hold off until tomorrow night, okay?" Michael said with a touch of concern in his voice.

"Nonsense! This is too big." She took a step and staggered.

"At least let me get the wine, then. You come sit down."

"No!" Everyone looked at her when she exclaimed. She smoothed her blouse with her palms and took deliberate steps to the sliding door. "I'll be fine." She didn't wait for a response but kept walking with dogged determination.

The three eased uncomfortably into their chairs, knowing it would be futile to try to stop her from her mission. "Guess you can see which one of us had the better part of the bottle," Hanna said sheepishly.

Thomas and Michael answered Hanna's endless questions about the Samson Effect with zeal. After ten minutes, Michael looked at his watch and stood. "I'd better make sure she's all right."

No sooner had the words left his lips, than he saw Delia enter the media room carrying a bottle of champagne. She stepped onto the veranda and held the bottle between her legs. When she popped the cork, champagne bubbled out. She brought the bottle to her lips, trying to capture as much as she could.

"I thought this called for a real toast."

Hanna giggled and extended her glass, receiving as much champagne on her arm as in her glass. The men smiled and extended their glasses as well. With their glasses full, Michael helped Delia to her seat and offered a toast. "To the sweet reward of costly perseverance." They raised their glasses and sipped their champagne. Five minutes later, Thomas helped Michael carry Delia to bed.

* * * *

At ten till six in the morning, the four met the botanist at a side entrance to the lab. Michael and Thomas had made a half-hearted attempt to talk the women into waiting for them at the house; but after they heard about the seeds, the men knew it was futile. Michael introduced everyone to Rachel, who warmly returned their greetings before leading them to her office.

Once in her office, sipping the fresh coffee she had offered, they seated themselves around her desk. All eyes locked onto the potted plant sitting on the corner of her desk. Thomas looked at the delicate flowers that bloomed at the end of thin bamboo-like stalks. Any other day, he would have confidently sworn it was an orchid.

Rachel glowed over the interest they showed in her plant. "Isn't it beautiful?" They silently nodded, lost for words.

"Is this the …" Michael was too overwhelmed to finish his question.

A puzzled look covered Rachel's face for a moment before being replaced by a comprehending smile. "Oh no, this is my prized orchid." She gently touched her fingertips to the flowers. "It's one of the rarest in the world. I only bring it here for special guests."

Thomas's shoulders, along with the others', instantly sagged. Rachel looked hurt but quickly recovered. "I suppose you're anxious to see the product of the seed you've entrusted to me. I want you to know it's garnered a lot of interest among the staff. It wasn't easy to dodge their questions. It was only when I took the lab director into my confidence that he blessed my secretive work."

"You told someone about it? But you promised. I specifically asked you—"

"I know, I know, but something like this is hard to keep hidden. It doesn't exactly blend in with anything else." She paused. Everyone's attention was riveted to her. "It was your promise of full disclosure and collaboration that actually swayed the director to give me the freedom I've needed to nourish it with the secrecy you've insisted on."

Michael was clearly struggling over her decision to involve someone else, in spite of her promises not to. Thomas knew Michael was wondering the same thing he was wondering: how many others knew about the plant?

Rachel ended the awkward silence by standing and gesturing to the door. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you what I mean about it not being able to blend in." She stepped to the door, followed by the group. Thomas felt like he was about to enter a new, unexplored tomb. In a few seconds, they found themselves standing in a greenhouse full of trees and plants in full bloom. The heavy, wet air was a noticeable contrast to the cool night air in which they had arrived.

Rachel stepped through the maze of plants and stopped next to the plant they had all come to see. She didn't need to point it out. With only a few steps into the room, everyone saw the plant they knew had come from the thick seed. Rachel was right; it truly was like nothing they had ever seen.

"We've dubbed it, 'The Burning Bush.'" Rachel stepped aside to let the four eager people examine it more closely. It was a small shrub planted in a five-gallon container. The trunk broke out in all directions about an inch above the soil. The branches looked like a handful of millipedes scattering in every direction. Tall, thin, green leaves shot horizontally up along the branches. They were as narrow as fern leaves but grew between six and ten inches long. None was at an angle; they all grew straight up.

As Thomas reached out to touch the leaves, the slight breeze from his hands caused the leaves to dance. The leaves themselves were dark green with a burgundy tint to them.

"Watch this," Rachel said. She reminded Thomas of a child who had found a strange bug along the creek and was eagerly coaxing people to witness her good fortune. She picked up a clipboard that hung on the wall and began waving it back and forth a few inches from the plant.

The leaves caught the breeze and began dancing. With the light reflecting off the leave's red and green sheen, Thomas instantly understood just how aptly they had named it. The leaves looked like flickering flames burning the bush. As the breeze died away, so did the botanical flames.

Everyone was speechless.

"Well?" Rachel finally asked. "What do you think? Didn't I tell you it was unlike anything you've ever seen?"

"Yes you did," Michael answered in awe. He stared at the plant so intently he looked like he was in a trance. He reached for the pot and hefted it into his arms. "Thank you," he said, without breaking his gaze from the plant.

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. "When you share your findings on the plant with me, that will be thanks enough."

Thomas cringed. He knew it was coming eventually, and when it did, sparks would fly. He took a step back and waited for the fireworks to start.

Michael broke his gaze from the plant and looked at Rachel. His hesitation was just enough to let Thomas know this was going to be harder for him than he thought. "Rachel, I … we need to—"

"You'd better not be telling me what it sounds like you're telling me. We had an agreement. You promised."

"And I will follow through on that promise. This plant is more important to

Israel's national security than you could imagine."

"Spare me your cloak-and-dagger story. We had an agreement, and I mean to

hold you to it."

As if summoned by the power of her mind, a security guard entered the greenhouse. He stopped about ten feet away and stood silently, as if waiting for Rachel's order to attack. Thomas saw the pistol holstered at his side and began to feel the fingers of circumstance wrestle control from him once again. Banking on the premise that they were all on the same side, more or less, he decided to defuse the confrontation and negotiate a deal everyone could live with.

"Rachel, Michael's right. He should have been more open with you, but he was trying to protect you. A number of people have died over this plant already." He paused to study her reaction, but her determination did not waver. "You can go with us and when we're sure it's safe, you can have everything you need to begin your research today."

Thomas's spirits rose when she seemed to contemplate his offer. No one made a sound. They looked at her and waited. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "I'd better get the director on the phone." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Before Thomas could think of a convincing way to stop her, the security guard started walking toward them. Rachel's fingers paused on the cell's buttons. "Please take that plant and hold it while we sort this out."

The guard kept walking, passing by Michael and the plant. A look of anger crossed Rachel's face. "I said … wait a minute. Who are you? Where's Matt?" Her anger melted into confusion, and then her eyes grew wide as the guard reached for his gun and leveled it at her head. She stumbled backwards, pleading through barely coherent words. "No... please..."

The gunshot echoed in the greenhouse, causing the four of them to gasp. Thomas watched Rachel slump to the floor and then followed the security guard with his eyes toward Michael. Out of instinct, he folded Hanna into his arms and turned his body so he was between her and the guard.

Three more men entered the greenhouse where the guard had entered. One had a rifle trained on the group. When Thomas saw the other two, he felt his knees weaken. It was as if he was caught in a nightmare, unable to flee from the monster.

"Azim!"

"Hello, Dr. Hamilton. I must commend you and Michael on a job well done. I knew my faith in your abilities wasn't misplaced. Rajah, please get the plant."

Michael offered no resistance. He handed the plant to Rajah and slumped like a man thoroughly beaten. Only when his narrow eyes lifted to Delia did Thomas see a semblance of strength in him. Venom saturated his words. "You really had me fooled."

Delia vigorously shook her head. "Michael, I—"

Michael turned his back, stopping her in midsentence. He tried to remain stoic, but his quivering lips betrayed him. Delia looked shocked rather than angry. She closed her eyes in resignation, but she couldn't keep a lone tear from falling when he turned his back on her.

"Enough!" Azim cried out. He nodded to the security guard. "Give us five minutes, and then take care of them." He gestured to Rachel's body. "Take care of her too."

The guard nodded and walked over to a wheelbarrow leaning against the wall behind him. He wheeled it next to Rachel's body and then looked at his watch.

"Time to come home, sister. You and I have a lot to talk about." He turned and led her toward the exit, whispering something into her ear. Rajah and the other armed man fell in behind.

Thomas felt Hanna pull away from his embrace and take a step toward Azim. He attempted to pull her back, afraid Azim needed little encouragement to put a bullet into her on the spot. She shook off his hand and kept walking.

"What about me, Azim?"

The moment turned surreal for Thomas. Hanna smiled and had the worshipful look of a prom queen enamored with her quarterback boyfriend. Azim stopped and looked back at her. Hanna took it as her invitation to run to him. The love she had in her eyes for him stabbed at Thomas again and again. He let her slip from his fingers like quicksilver, feeling totally naked and exposed. As if she wanted to cast one more stone at his heart, she turned and gave him a wicked smile.

She reached her hand to Azim, who wrinkled his nose at it and scoffed. "Get away from me, Jewish swine."

The smile faded from Hanna's face. "What? Azim, I love you." She reached for his hand again but he used it to backhand her cheek. The force of the blow made her stagger backward a couple of steps before it sent her sprawling on her backside.

Thomas jogged to her and knelt down. Anger bubbled inside, but he didn't know quite where to aim it. He reached to gently wipe the blood from her swollen lips but she pulled her head away in defiance. The word choked from his throat. "You?"

Contempt oozed from Azim. "You think I'd have anything to do with an Israeli sow? The thought makes me sick." He turned on his heels and led the rest unceremoniously to the door. "Five minutes," he said to the lingering guard before exiting.

Hanna cried out and sobbed, unable, or unwilling, to hide the tears. Michael looked at Thomas, his eyes widening in comprehension, then streaked with terror. "Delia," he whispered. He turned to go after her in spite of the armed guard blocking his path.

Thomas grabbed his arm. "No, Michael. Not yet." He felt Michael tug against his arm but ease up as he sized up the guard. Resistance oozed from him, leaving him limp. He turned to Hanna and looked down at her. He summoned the vilest substance he could and spit it on her face. Hanna didn't look at him. She still sought after Azim, holding an arm outstretched toward the door.

Her betrayal ate at Thomas. It took all of his will to replace the humiliation and hurt with anger. He pulled Michael aside, leaving Hanna to wallow in her own broken spirit.

Thomas checked his watch. "We've got less than five minutes to clear our heads and find a way out of this or Delia is as good as dead."

Michael nodded.

Thomas hoped his friend's head was clearing. It would take every ounce of mental prowess they had to get out of there alive. He subtly surveyed the room for anything that would give them a fighting chance. The wheelbarrow and Rachel's body were next to the guard, about seven feet in front of them. Rachel's cell phone had cracked into two pieces when it fell and lay a few feet away. Thomas was growing uneasy, fighting the thought that everything was futile.

Then he noticed the shelf under the table next to Rachel. A pair of manual hedge trimmers with twelve-inch blades rested on the shelf. The crude outline of a plan formed in his head as he quickly surveyed the rest of the room. He glanced at his watch. Two minutes left. He prayed the guard would hold off, taking the five-minute countdown ordered by Azim literally.

He walked next to Michael and nodded toward the space behind him. "See that table?" Michael looked at a table full of plants about six feet behind them and nodded. "I'm going to go over and check Rachel's body. When you see me place my fingers on her neck to check for a pulse, I want you to run as fast as you can for that table, flip it over, and hide behind it."

"Why? What are you going to do?"

Thomas checked his watch. "No time to explain. Just trust me."

Michael looked into his eyes for a moment and then nodded. Thomas turned and headed for Rachel's body. His plan would result in their salvation or their massacre. Success hinged on perfect timing.

The guard thrust his gun at Thomas and babbled something in Arabic. Thomas looked at him as he knelt next to Rachel. The guard glanced at his watch and smiled, keeping his gun trained on him.

Thomas took a deep breath, hoping Michael was watching. He held out his fingers and applied them to Rachel's neck. The silence seemed to last an eternity but he finally heard Michael's footsteps pounding the floor followed by a loud crash. Trusting the guard had averted his attention to the commotion, he reached for the hedge trimmers and in one swift motion swung around as he stood to his feet. When he stopped, all twelve inches of both blades stuck into the guard's abdomen. He and the guard stood face-to-face, eye-to-eye. Without blinking, Thomas pulled the handles apart with all his strength and felt the blades separate inside the guard.

The guard's mouth fell open, and Thomas watched the life fade from his eyes. He heard the pistol hit the floor and released the trimmers. The guard crumpled to the floor, and Thomas picked up the pistol.

The greenhouse was silent. He turned to see Michael's head slowly appear from behind the table. Then he turned to Hanna, whose cries were replaced by an occasional sniffle. She stood and walked to him.

He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, yet at the same time he wanted to use his own backhand to give her lips a twin cut to match the one Azim gave her. When she held her arms open, his own arms opened as if they had a mind of their own. Her body pressed against his.

"Everything's going to be okay."

When she squeezed her arms around him, his body nearly melted. She held him for a moment and then pulled away from him just enough to look into his eyes. She smiled as a tear fell from each eye. She gently ran her hands down each of his arms.

"I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

The pace of her hands quickened. It registered in Thomas's mind what she was doing, but not in time to stop her. She gripped his hand and pulled the pistol's muzzle into her stomach. Her fingers found his trigger finger and it was over. She fell forward into his arms.

His reaction surprised him. He felt pain and hatred, but they were overshadowed by pity. He knelt and laid her body peacefully onto the floor. Michael ran over and stared. Thomas stood, tucked the pistol into his waistband, and walked to the door. "Let's find Delia."




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