The Samson Effect Chapter 2

Navigation:
Chapter 1
Table Of Contents

THOMAS LOOKED DOWN at the speedometer. Sixty. He caught himself weaving around cars, but he had no memory of driving from the archaeology building to where he was on Fifty-sixth Street. His mind was reeling from the explosion. He thought of turning around at every light, but he knew the bomb was meant for him. His survival instincts kept his foot on the gas pedal and his car aimed toward the airport.

He picked up his cell and dialed Michael's number. For the third time, Michael's voice mail answered that no one could take his call and prompted him to leave a message. Thomas squeezed the phone and slammed it down on the armrest. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and took in three deep breaths. "Calm down, calm down." He eased off the accelerator and exhaled through his mouth. The clock on his radio display read 6:45. The campus radio station would be playing uninterrupted classical music until midnight. He turned on the radio and pressed the first preset. Instead of Mozart, Thomas heard the excited voice of a student reporter. He reached over and turned up the volume.

"The explosion at Abbey Hall happened about thirty minutes ago. Details are still sketchy, but here's what we do have. According to Chief of Campus Police Bill Redgrove, police have not been able to determine the cause of the explosion or if there were any casualties. One witness told me a few minutes ago that she left the building about ten minutes before the explosion and that the cleaning crew was there along with Dr. Clifton Winfred, chair of the archaeology department, and Dr. Thomas Hamilton, professor of biblical archaeology. I must impress, however, there have been no positive identifications—"

Thomas reached over and turned off the radio. He picked up the cell phone and hit redial. After a few seconds, he slammed the phone down again.

He reached the airport exit and turned onto the lane leading to long-term parking. He maneuvered into the valet parking lane and asked the attendant to put the car in the garage. He took the ticket and waited for the bus to the international terminal.

* * * *

Thomas picked up his boarding pass for the chartered flight to Tel Aviv that Michael had arranged. He stood in the security line, anxious to pass through the checkpoint and board his plane. He fought to push the evening's events out of his mind so as not to appear in any way like someone security would be suspicious of. The line moved at a snail's pace, but he was comforted with the thought his charter wouldn't leave without him.

In front of him, a young woman struggled to maintain control of two young children, issuing threat after threat, but having little impact on the rambunctious children. He glanced up at one of the television screens hanging in the terminal. A CNN correspondent was reporting from the scene of a smoldering fire. When Thomas recognized the building as Abbey Hall, he tuned out the unruly children and focused on the closed-caption text scrolling across the bottom of the muted television. Then the image changed to a picture of him taken from the yearbook. Below, the text read that police were looking for Dr. Thomas Hamilton for questioning related to the explosion.

Thomas tore his eyes from the screen, scanning the crowd to see if anyone was pointing a finger at him; but everyone seemed oblivious to him, caught up in their own little world. He casually turned to see a row of monitors extending down the terminal with his picture plastered on them. He felt immediate relief when a live shot of the reporter in front of the smoldering Abbey Hall replaced his image.

When he felt someone tap his shoulder, he involuntarily flinched. He turned to see a man in a suit point over his shoulder. "Sir, they're calling for you."

Thomas turned to see a security screener walking toward him, speaking in an agitated voice. "Sir, please step over here!"

Thomas's heart raced, and his body went into flight mode. He fought his instinct and stepped out of line, following the screener to a table. "Sir, please remove your shoes."

Thomas smiled. "My shoes? Sure." He leaned down, slipped off both tennis shoes, and handed them to the screener for inspection. A second screener asked him to empty his pockets while using a wand on him. Apparently convinced he posed no threat, the screener gave Thomas back his shoes and led him through the security checkpoint.

Thomas retrieved his items, stuffed them into his pockets, and found a chair to sit in while he slipped his shoes on. With his trembling hands, it took him three attempts to tie the first shoe. As soon as he finished, he grabbed his keys and wallet and set off at a fast pace to the chartered flights gate.

As he approached the gate, he once again saw his image on CNN. He dropped his head and walked past the television. When he looked up, his gaze locked onto an armed security guard who smiled and nodded to him as he passed. Once again, he let out a sigh when he passed by the guard. His confidence strengthened as he realized his gate was just around the corner.

His body stiffened when he heard someone call out, "Sir, stop!" He turned to see the security guard power-walking toward him with his hand on his gun. His fight-or-flight instinct kicked in again, but this time he ran. His intellect told him he had no chance to escape and running would make matters worse, but he ran anyway.

Thomas prepared for a Good Samaritan to jump to the guard's aid, but, surprisingly, people simply stepped aside to let them pass. He skidded around the corner, right into the burly arms of two waiting men. After one slapped a giant paw over his mouth, the men manhandled Thomas past his gate. Before his mind could register what was happening, the men burst through a nearby door and dragged Thomas down a flight of dimly lit stairs. At the landing, they passed through another door before coming to a stop.

One of the men turned to look at Thomas. "If you want to make it out of here and see Michael tonight, you'll do as we say. Understand?"

Thomas's wide eyes moved from one man to the next. When he nodded, the guard removed his hand from Thomas's mouth. Thomas recognized the Israeli accent. "Michael sent you?"

"We were sent to make sure you arrive in Israel safely."

"But how are you going to get me on the plane? After 9/11, this airport will be locked down until they find me."

"In less than fifteen minutes the search will be called off, and you'll walk to the plane unmolested."

Thomas looked at each man. Part of him believed them, but the other part knew he'd be tackled and shackled the moment he stepped into the open.

No one spoke for the next ten minutes until one of the men placed his hand to his ear and then turned to the other. "All clear."

The other man opened the door. "Dr. Hamilton, if you'll please come with us."

Thomas paused and then stepped through the door, bracing himself for a gang tackle. The stairway, however, was empty. He followed the men to a door marked "Boarding" and walked through to the outside. A small private jet with stairs leading into the cabin sat a few yards away. As he walked toward the plane, Thomas felt a chill run through him. Workers were busy driving luggage to the airliners parked at the gates and refueling planes. It was as if nothing had happened, as if there was no breach in security at all.

When they arrived at the steps, the two men stopped. The man with the earpiece looked at Thomas. "This is as far as we go."

Thomas stared at him and cocked his head to one side. "But how—"

The man held out his hand to stop him. "Don't worry about it. Just enjoy your flight."

Thomas turned and climbed the steps. As he ducked into the cabin, the first things his eyes saw were the firm legs of the woman who greeted him. As his eyes slowly rose, he saw that they were connected to a slim, beautiful woman wearing a white blouse and a dark navy jacket. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled into a bun, revealing a creamy neck with just a hint of bronze.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Thomas looked around the flying office before nodding. "Vodka, straight."

The woman smiled and walked to the bar. In a few moments, she was back with a shot on the rocks. Thomas took the drink and sipped it, waiting for the plane to take off. Behind him, he heard a commode flush, water run, and then a man in blue khakis and a polo shirt stepped through the door and took the seat across the table from him.

He extended his hand. "I'm Ambassador Benjamin Ben Hur. I pray that you're comfortable."

Thomas shook the man's hand. "Yes, thank you."

The ambassador pushed the button and spoke into a speaker. "We're ready to take off."

Almost immediately, Thomas heard the whine of the jet engines and felt the plane starting to roll. The woman took her seat next to the ambassador, and the three buckled their seat belts. Within minutes, the plane was climbing and soon leveled out.

The ambassador was reading over papers from his briefcase. Thomas finished off his vodka and set the glass on the table. "Excuse me, Ambassador, but what just happened back there?"

The ambassador peered over his glasses at Thomas. "What do you mean?"

"Without trying to sound flippant, you know very well what I mean. How did you get the police to forget about me?"

The ambassador put down his papers and smiled. "I assure you, Dr. Hamilton, they haven't forgotten about you. As for arranging your way through airport security, let's just say my position carries with it certain privileges."

"And why would an ambassador choose to exercise those privileges for me?"

The ambassador turned to the woman and nodded. "Of course, Ambassador." She unbuckled her seat belt, walked to the front of the plane, and disappeared behind the cockpit door.

"Michael is my nephew. I know of his pursuit of the Samson Effect. In fact, my money is funding his search for it. I understand you and he are very close to its discovery."

"Your nephew hasn't told me what he's found yet, only that he's convinced it'll lead to the discovery." Thomas picked up his glass and swirled the ice around. "If the Israeli government is involved, he must've found something conclusive."

"The Israeli government is not involved. This is something between him and me, and now you."

Thomas leaned back in his seat. "May I ask you what you intend to do with the Samson Effect if we discover it?"

The ambassador responded without pause. "My only concern is to keep it out of a certain Palestinian man's hand." His eyes bore deep into Thomas. "Can you imagine what would happen if a band of terrorists found, then used, the Samson Effect?"

Thomas didn't respond; he didn't need to. Both men knew what would happen if the discovery fell into the wrong hands.

* * * *

When he stepped off the plane, Thomas turned to see the hatch close behind him. He reached into his pocket for the only thing he had brought with him aside from the clothes on his back: his cell phone. As he walked away from the plane toward the terminal, his pulse quickened when he spotted the Israeli soldiers patrolling their post. The two soldiers closest to him had not taken their eyes from him since he had landed. He patted his pockets for his passport, which he knew sat in his bank's safety deposit box.

He pulled out his cell and hit redial just as a black sedan pulled up to him. The backseat door flew open and a familiar voice ordered him inside. The moment he closed the car door, the sedan took off.

"I trust you had a good flight, my friend."

A surge of relief washed over Thomas. "You have no idea."

"Let me guess; in the last twelve hours, you managed to sneak out of your country as a wanted man." Michael grew serious. "I'm sorry about Clifton. I never would have believed he, or you, would be in danger in the U.S."

Thomas rubbed his jet-lagged eyes. "I think I'm still in shock at all that's happened. I didn't even get a chance to go home and pack. No passport, no clothes, no money … nothing."

"It's a good thing you didn't go home. At last report, the police have been to your apartment and apparently found evidence you've been planning the bombing for some time."

Thomas strained against his seat belt as he turned and leaned toward Michael. "What? How could that be? It wasn't me who did that."

"I know, and so does my uncle; but as it stands now, if you go back home, you'll be arrested for murder."

Thomas slumped into his seat, wondering how in the world this could be happening to him. Michael put his hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Don't worry, my friend. Arrangements have been made. You will be relatively safe with me."

Thomas's head whiplashed to his friend. "Relatively? You don't inspire much confidence."

"Well, you'll be safe from U.S. and Israeli authorities. The Palestinians, now, that's another issue."

Thomas looked out of his window as an armed Israeli waved the car through a gate. Once on the road to Hebron, Michael caught him up on the parchment he'd found and told him about Caleb's murder. He promised to show Thomas the parchment as soon as they arrived at his home.

After a few moments of conversation, Michael nodded at the window. "This is Hebron."

Thomas looked out at the ancient desert buildings and dusty footpaths that ran throughout the city as a throng of people milled about the various shops. All around, he saw soldiers walking among the people and armored vehicles patrolling the streets. Puzzled, he turned to Michael. "The soldiers look Israeli to me. I thought you said it was Palestinian soldiers who stood by when you and Caleb were attacked."

"I did. Even though the Palestinians control most of the city, Israel maintains a strong police presence to keep the peace. What happened to Caleb and me demonstrates just how powerful our enemies are."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the attack was well-planned. A diversion was set up to draw the soldiers away while Azim and his men tried to get the parchment. The Palestinian guards were lookouts to let him know when the Israelis were on their way back."

Thomas shook his head. "But how did he know you'd found the parchment? Sounds like he was waiting for you."

"There are a lot of things I don't know about Azim, but this I do know: he's both intelligent and dangerous. If we let our guard down at all, it will mean our lives."


Read The Samson Effect in BookBuzzr format now. I will unlock a new chapter each week as I post new chapters to the Samson Effect serial release blog.



To Purchase The Samson Effect

Paperback: The Samson Effect
Hardcover: The Samson Effect