The Samson Effect Chapter 6

Navigation:
Chapter 1
Table Of Contents



THE JEEP SPED away from the apartment less than fifteen seconds after the attack through the bedroom window. The streets were empty, giving the driver and the gunman a clear escape route. A few sharp turns later, the driver pulled through an open gate, which two men awaiting his arrival immediately closed.

The driver skidded to a stop and killed the engine. He and the gunman flew from the jeep and jogged through a doorway into their rabbi's home. The doormen slammed and locked the door behind them as they strode down a hallway into the room at the end. An elderly man behind the desk stared unblinkingly at them.

"Well?"

The gunman stepped forward. "It is done, Rabbi."

The rabbi simply nodded once then whispered, "Good, Judas."

He placed his frail, wrinkled hands on the desk and pushed his chair away. His arms trembled as he struggled to pull himself from the chair. Judas and the driver, Simon, slipped around the desk to help him up.

The rabbi reached for the cane propped against the desk and hunched his weight over it, beginning the slow, arduous journey across the room. Simon and Judas waited patiently for the rabbi to reach the bookcase. He leaned his cane against a wall and grabbed a shelf with his left hand. His trembling right arm reached up and pulled a thick volume from the shelf. His arm began to shake under the weight of the book. Judas started toward him.

The rabbi reached with his left hand to grip the book, stabilizing his hold on it. He slowly turned to see Judas behind him.

"Rabbi, let me carry that for you."

The rabbi shook his head. "No, but you can help me back to my seat." He turned to the driver. "Simon, please bring my cane."

A few eternal moments later, the rabbi was back at his desk with the book lying before him. He looked each man in the eyes then took a breath. "It's time for me to decide. You've both served Yahweh well." His eyes came back to the driver. "Simon."

Simon approached the desk. "Rabbi."

"Simon, faithful Simon. I know you will be faithful to the Lord's call until death."

"Yes, Rabbi."

"And I know you will serve Judas as faithfully as you've served me."

Behind, Judas's eyes widened for a moment and then relaxed as he glanced to the floor. He prayed his hands would not betray his nervousness.

Simon turned to his new rabbi and smiled. "I will serve him faithfully until death." He held his gaze for a moment and then turned back to the elderly rabbi.

"I know you will." The rabbi opened the book and pulled out a small bottle from its hollowed-out pages. He lifted it in his trembling hands and then called Judas to him. Judas walked past Simon, slowing just enough to squeeze his
friend's shoulder before walking up and kneeling before his rabbi.

The rabbi pulled the cork from the bottle and swiveled his chair until he faced Judas. He lifted the bottle over Judas's head and slowly poured the thick oil. Judas remained frozen, accepting the anointing from his mentor.

"Judas, the Lord anoints you to carry out his work, searching out and protecting his sacred strength. May he be with you in life, in death, wherever he calls you to go." When the bottle was empty, the rabbi set it on the desk. "Rabbi Judas, arise."

Judas lifted from his kneeling position and mouthed a silent prayer. The rabbi turned to Simon. "I have much to discuss with Judas. Please, leave us alone."
Simon nodded and backed his way from the room and shut the door. When the two were alone, the rabbi nodded for Judas to take a seat across from the desk. He sighed before revealing the ancient secret he possessed.

"Judas, you know most of my life has been devoted to protecting a great secret of our God. Today, unclean gentiles and Jews who have left their faith have jeopardized that secret."

Judas looked into the sunken eyes of the frail, wrinkled man. In his youth, Judas remembered the strength that exuded from this man. The secret he was protecting had exacted a heavy toll on the rabbi.

The rabbi continued. "I'm old. My body cannot keep up with my mind's fervent desire to continue the search and to protect the secret. Over four thousand years of sacred history now falls on your shoulders to protect until the day when your frail body entrusts the service to another."

Judas felt the weight of responsibility, and yet, at the same time, felt the exhilaration that tensed every muscle and sped his beating heart. "Rabbi, I'm ready to die for my God." He shifted his eyes away, hesitant to hasten the rabbi's disclosure. However, he looked back at the old man and drew in his breath. "Please, tell me the secret of the Lord's Strength."

The rabbi smiled. "Yes, my son. It's time for you to know. You must swear not to reveal to anyone what you are about to hear. Not even to Simon. The secret must be yours until you choose your successor."

Judas's eyes fixed on the rabbi. He reached for the old man's feeble hand, gently clasping it in his. "On my soul, I swear to keep this secret."

* * * *

Thomas looked at the blood splattered over Michael and Delia, but he could not find the source of the bleeding. After what seemed an eternity, Michael slowly lifted his head and rose to his knees.

"Delia, are you all right?"

Delia blinked and pushed herself to her knees, wiping the blood from her face. "I think so. I don't feel any pain."

With Thomas's help, the two slowly stood. Once on their feet, the three found the source of the splattered blood. A severed pig's head rested at the foot of Michael's bed. Delia grabbed Thomas's shirt from his bed, wiped the blood speckles from her arms, and stormed into the bathroom.

Thomas grabbed his pants and threw them on while Michael sat next to him at the foot of the bed. The door to the room opened. Fahd ran in with a pistol pointed at them. He looked scared. "Wh—what you done?" he cried in broken English.

The two men held up their hands, waving their open palms before their face. "Fahd! Put down the gun. Delia's okay. Please!"

Fahd's eyes darted from man to man to pig's head. Thomas could see his white knuckles wrapped around the trigger. The muzzle of the gun shook in rhythm with the boy's trembling body.

"What you done?" the boy cried out again.

Then Thomas saw the trembling die as a stone-hard look came over Fahd. His eyes no longer showed terror, but resolve and hatred. "Delia," Thomas yelled, "now would be a good time to get in here!"

The bathroom door opened and everyone turned to see Delia walk through the door. "Fahd, it's okay. Put down the gun."

Thomas turned to see Fahd's anger melt into overwhelming joy. He lowered his pistol and put it into his waistband.

Delia sat at the desk and picked up the phone. In a few seconds, she was speaking in her native tongue. Thomas strained to find one familiar word, but he found no context in the conversation. Then, abruptly, Delia hung up the phone and looked up at them.

"Azim is sending men over now to clean the place. He's made arrangements for us to finish getting ready before we leave this morning to find the cave—"

"What?" Thomas cried. "Delia, your brother can't seriously expect us to go out today." He waved his hand at the pig's head. "Whoever did this knows who we are and what we're looking for. It'd be a suicide mission."

"That's exactly what Azim expects us to do. He'll find out who did this and
he'll take care of them. Until then, he'll post guards to watch over us at a distance."

"But—"

"No buts; it's not negotiable." Delia stood and stepped to the door. "Collect your belongings and come with me. The building's owner lives directly above us. He's waiting for us now." She grabbed a duffel bag and stepped to the door. "Fahd, wait here until the men arrive to clean this place."

Fully heartened he wasn't facing cold-blooded murderers, Fahd nodded and pulled out his pistol. Delia looked back to Thomas and Michael. "Well?"

They looked at each other and then began collecting their belongings. They then followed Delia out the door and up a flight of stairs. She knocked on the only door on the second floor, and a tall, muscular Palestinian man dressed in khakis and a plaid shirt opened the door. He stepped aside for her to pass. The man's burrowing eyes, however, locked onto Thomas. As he passed into the room, Thomas bumped into the man and swallowed hard, feeling as if he had bumped into a mountain. The man, at least a head taller than him, stared down with narrow eyes and a mouth turned down into a frown.

Once inside, Thomas saw three other men at least as big as the doorman. All were dressed in similar Western clothes, and all wore the same expression that told Thomas they would as soon gut him as speak to him. That was all the encouragement he needed to remain silent.

A plump, elderly woman appeared and examined Delia's blood-stained top. She gripped Delia's arm and led her out of the room and down the hall. Thomas and Michael looked at each other, then around the room. Neither man dared to speak a word. Michael stepped to a sofa and silently watched for any prohibition against sitting. The three men held their hard gaze, but didn't stop him from sitting.

Following his slow, deliberate lead, Thomas edged over to the sofa and sat next to Michael. While they waited for Delia to return, Thomas scanned the room. It wasn't exactly what he expected to find in a Hebron home. In the middle of this unfamiliar, foreign, desert country, the room was an oasis of his Western home. The couch, coffee table, and chairs were Victorian French design. Mounted on the rich mahogany wall was a plasma television and stereo unit attached to Bose speakers. Nothing in the room hinted of his image of the Middle East.

A booming voice startled Thomas. He and Michael turned in unison to see the man who had just entered the room. "Welcome to my home, gentleman. May I offer either of you something to drink?"

The man was obviously Palestinian by complexion and accent, but Thomas noted his English was fluent and educated. True to his surroundings, he wore a navy blue Armani, a Rolex, and a single gold-nugget ring on a perfectly manicured hand. His smile was warm and inviting, but Thomas was wary of the leopard's spots under the sharply dressed exterior. He was, after all, an acquaintance of Azim.

The man stood at a fully stocked bar that had been hidden behind a panel in the wall. "Come now, gentlemen. Please allow me to extend my hospitality to you." He waved his arm toward the bottles. "Wild Turkey, vodka, a martini, perhaps? Dr. Hamilton, I even have the finest imported American beer."

Thomas looked at Michael, who rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Brandy?"

The man smiled warmly and reached for a bottle. "Frapin—my favorite. Your choice compels me to join you. Dr. Sieff?"

Michael's response had a cold edge to his tone. "It's a little too early for me, thank you."

"Very well, Doctor. If you change your mind, you need but ask."

He brought two glasses to the couch and handed one to Thomas. Thomas avoided Michael's eyes as he accepted the drink, hoping it would take the edge off his guilty conscience.

The man sat in the chair across from the sofa and took a sip of his drink. "Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Umar. Welcome to my home."

Michael ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at his watch. Before the silence became too awkward, Thomas lifted his glass and tipped it slightly in Umar's direction.

Umar's friendly demeanor did not wane. "I'm so thankful neither of you were hurt this morning." He leaned forward and, for the first time, his smile melted from his face. "I assure you, we'll find out who did this." Umar did not blink. Thomas felt the icy presence of the killer he knew hid beneath the chic, Western clothing. Before his trembling hands could rattle the ice in his glass, Thomas tipped it back and gulped.

This time the silence was awkward. Thomas dared not try to fill in the void. He didn't trust the strength of his voice. His lips parted, and then sealed shut as he looked into his swirling brandy.

A familiar voice broke the deafening silence. "Uncle!" Delia glided across the floor and hung her arms around Umar.

Umar stood and held Delia at arm's length. "Are you all right, child?"

As he examined her, Delia nodded. "I'm fine. Irritated, but no injuries."

"Uncle?" Michael asked.

Delia looked at Umar and smiled. "I'm sure you extended the appropriate hospitality to our guests."

Michael stood and walked over to Delia. "He's been decent to us."

Umar put one arm around Delia and the other around Michael, squeezing both into his chest. "It's my pleasure your brother has entrusted your safety to me. From now on, you will have nothing to worry about." Umar turned to Michael. "Doctor, are you sure I can't interest you in something to drink?"

Michael extricated himself from Umar's embrace. Whatever he was about to say changed when he glanced at Delia. "I guess I could have a Coca-Cola."

Umar beamed. "Fine. Why don't you come with me while I fix you a glass."

Delia noticed Thomas's glass was empty and reached out to touch his arm. "Do you need a refill?"

Thomas pulled his arm away. "I don't know how you've been able to bewitch Michael so quickly, but don't think it will work with me."

Her cheeks reddened more, and her brows turned angry. "It's clear that we don't like each other, but at least I've attempted to act civil. If you want me to, I can be the ruthless assassin you think I am."

Her soft eyes turned cold and passed their chill through Thomas. "You are what you are and nothing I do or say will change that."

Thomas turned to the bar to see Umar and Michael engaged in a deep conversation—at least one side of a conversation. It seemed Umar was doing all the talking. In a few moments, the two men returned.

"Delia, I don't know what your brother's business is with these two men, but he's impressed upon me its urgency. You'll find your truck fueled and ready to go." He nodded to the three well-dressed killers. "Don't worry about your safety. You will be in no danger."

Delia kissed Umar on the cheek and thanked him. As she, Thomas, and Michael walked out the door, Thomas looked at the muscle-bound doorman and smiled. The doorman returned his smile with an expressionless stare. Thomas leaned in and whispered to Michael. "I feel much better knowing he's on our side."

"Don't get too cozy with that thought. Alliances are fluid. One minute he'll be watching your back, the next he'll be putting a knife into it."


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