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.

Tony also helps authors with their own book marketing activates through his blog, Marketing Tips For Authors and through his free video marketing tips. You can visit his blog at:


http://blog.marketingtipsforauthors.com




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