The Samson Effect Chapter 9

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THOMAS NUDGED MICHAEL with his elbow. "I think we have company."

"What company?"

Thomas nodded at the window. "Up there, on the ridge; see him?"

Michael ducked his head and stared out the window. "I see him."

Delia removed her hand from Michael's thigh. "See who, Michael?"

"There's a man with binoculars watching us. Three to one it's one of your uncle's men."

"I'm sure he is."

"Now will you two take things more seriously? If that man has seen your hand on Michael's thigh, we're all dead."

"You're right, Thomas." Michael turned his head to Delia. "You know he is, too. Let's make it through the next two weeks. We'll focus on us then."

"Michael, who are we kidding? It'll never be safe for us to be together. There's no place we can run where we won't be constantly looking over our shoulders."

Even Thomas could feel the weight of the silence. He knew Michael's academic mind was crunching all the numbers and running all the equations for an answer on how he and Delia could safely be together. No matter how many times he did, Thomas knew he would always get the same answer.

Delia parked near the next cave on Michael's sketchpad. The three silently gathered their tools and approached the cave. Thomas broke the silence. "I'll go in first. Just leave me a clear path for a few minutes in case I run into any snakes."

Michael worked to lighten the mood. He smiled and slapped Thomas on the back. "If you do see snakes, yell for me. I'll come running, and we'll have a foot race."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know how badly you want to beat me in something. Having snakes behind you may be your best chance."

Thomas felt the competitive juices starting to bubble in his veins. It was bad enough he had come to Hebron looking for his first victory over Michael; now Michael was taunting him about it. "Don't worry about my motivation. Before I leave Israel, you'll be licking your wounded pride."

"Oh, is that what one does when one loses? I guess I've never been in the position to know."

"Boys, am I going to have to cause both of you to lick your wounded pride?"

Thomas eyed Michael and let the smile spread across his face. He dropped to his knees and shined his light into the opening. The passageway was narrow and ended a few feet back. Thomas couldn't see around the wall on the right to tell whether the passage continued or if it just opened into a larger room. At least he didn't see any snakes.

He inched his way along with a pick in one hand and the flashlight in the other. When he reached the back, he poked his head around the corner to see a passageway descending sharply into the black void. He pointed the beam down the tunnel, but the tunnel continued beyond the light. From what he could see, it looked like the passageway descended at a forty-five degree angle.

He shined the light around until he found a rock about the size of his fist and tossed it down the passageway. It rolled out of sight. Thomas could hear slight echoes from it well beyond the light.

As he began to turn around in the narrow passageway, he felt something slither under his left pant leg and onto his calf. At the same time, he heard the unmistakable hiss of a snake.

He was about ten feet down the passageway, violently shaking his left leg, before Michael's laugh sunk in. Thomas tried to stop himself from sliding farther, but the loose gravel and the steep incline made for a bad combination. He slid on his knees, palms, forearm, and then his chest as he disappeared into the darkness.

Shouts of his name replaced the laughter. He wasn't sure how far he slid, and somewhere along the way, he had dropped his pick and flashlight. Every part of his body that made contact with the tunnel floor felt numb.

Thomas smacked into the cave wall and bounced down the tunnel as it made a sharp left turn.

"Michael!" His voice was strong—a good sign.

In the distance he heard, "I'm coming."

When he stopped sliding, he lifted himself to his hands and knees just as pain morphed from the numbness. He moved his limbs; nothing broken, thank goodness.

Everything was dark. Very dark. Pitch black.

Thomas raised his hands above him and slowly lifted to his knees. He felt nothing above him, so he slowly stood. He looked up the passageway. About twenty feet up, he saw light dancing in the shadows and the sharp curve he painfully remembered from the trip down. He heard Michael's controlled slide toward him. A few seconds later, his friend stood at the curve, blinding him with the light.

"Thomas, you're all right!"

Michael half surfed, half galloped his way down until he was standing next to Thomas on the level surface. For the first time, Thomas was able to see the scrapes and cuts through his ripped shirt and pants. He reached up to his face, wincing at the touch to his injuries. Blood from his face and forehead stained his fingers.

Michael had picked up his flashlight on the way down and handed it to Thomas, who turned it on to see his friend's terrified expression.

"Thomas, I'm … I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. It was a joke. You okay?"

Thomas stared at him.

"Thomas?"

He drew back and punched Michael in the jaw, sending his friend staggering and then falling to his knees.

"Yeah, I think I'm fine." He shook his hand, secretly fearing he had broken a finger or two.

Michael rose to his feet, rubbing his jaw. "Finished?"

Thomas felt a deep, warm contentment and nodded.

"Good."

They both turned when they heard Delia coming down after them. She turned the curve and called out, "Thomas, Michael!" When she took the next step, her feet slipped out from under her, and she made the rest of the trip down on her bottom.

She sprang to her feet. Michael was caressing his jaw. Thomas was massaging his right hand and was covered in blood. "Oh, Thomas." She reached her hand gently to his forehead.

Thomas winced and pulled away. "I'm sure it looks worse than it is." He glared at Michael. "Except for my hand, that is."

Delia stepped to Michael. "I told you not to do that!" With no warning, she drew back and punched him in the arm. Michael's hand left his jaw and began massaging his upper arm vigorously.

"Why does everyone keep hitting me? You can't possibly think I meant for this to happen."

Thomas felt good. With a bounce in his step and a smile on his face, he walked over to Delia and put an arm around her shoulders. "I am really starting to like you."

Delia spent the next few minutes using pieces of Thomas's torn shirt and a little of her own spit to clean his wounds while Michael crawled up the tunnel with his flashlight until he came to the curve. When Delia finished, Thomas shined his light up and saw Michael running his fingertips along the wall. "Michael, what do you see?"

Michael paused for a moment, contemplating his observation before yelling back. "I think, my friend, when you ran into the wall, you may have unwittingly uncovered a clue."

"What kind of clue?"

"I believe I see the remnants of the mark."

Thomas forgot his aches and pains. "You're kidding!" He flew to his feet and ran full speed up the incline. When he reached Michael, he dropped to his knees and looked at the part of the cave wall illuminated by Michael's flashlight. He slowly ran his fingertips along the chiseled image.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I don't know. Looks like it may be it. Half the image must've been chipped away." Thomas craned his neck to see Delia carefully climbing up to them. "Delia, stop!"

She froze at the command. "Why? What?"

"There's a very important, very thin, rock chip that may be under our feet. If it is, it's crucial we don't break or crush it." He shined his light in front of her feet. "Carefully step up. Make sure you push the loose gravel out of your way with your foot before you step on it."

In a couple of minutes, Delia stood next to the two men, who were on hands and knees examining the stones beneath them. Michael shook his head. "I don't know, Thomas; you came down pretty fast. If you chipped it off when you hit it, it may be pea gravel by now."

"And it might not be. Keep looking. We've got to find out if it's the mark or not."

"Uh, gentlemen, what are you talking about?"

Neither Michael nor Thomas stopped sifting through the loose gravel, and neither answered her question.

"I asked you a question! What about a mark?"

Michael stopped sifting and looked up at her and then to Thomas.

"Don't do it, Michael." Thomas watched his friend struggle to keep quiet.

"At every site—"

"Michael, shut your mouth. It's the only thing we have over Azim."

"We've no choice, Thomas! We either tell her everything we know and trust she'll work with us, or she'll eventually find out on her own."

Thomas felt a headache coming on when he saw the look in Michael's eyes. Michael was going to play the only trump card they had. Thomas held his breath and squeezed his lips tightly, keeping the arguments from escaping. Then he reached the point where his lungs were going to expel the air. When it happened, he was surprised at what came out.

Laughter.

"Go ahead and tell her, Michael. Might as well."

Delia's eyes fell on Thomas. They were soft and reassuring. "Thomas, please trust me. Let me help."

Thomas's laughter died away and his smile slowly faded. Looking into her eyes, he simply nodded.

Delia went to Michael, who shined his light onto the cave wall. "See this picture?"

"Yes."

The light revealed a carving, or at least part of a carving. Michael traced an image onto the cave floor with his finger. "This is the image recorded on the parchment I found."

"I remember."

He traced another image onto the floor. "And this is the one Thomas and I found a year ago on another parchment written about the Samson Effect."

Delia looked at the two images and then to the wall. Michael beamed at the speed comprehension spilled from her. "Separate, the images are commonplace: a crescent moon and a diamond. Together, they form a unique image."

"Very good." He traced the complete image on the cave wall with his fingertips, filling in the missing parts. "This image was found at every site where we found a manuscript. The parchment that Caleb," Michael's voice quivered at his friend's name, "—a friend found was the only piece of writing that bore both images together. That's how we knew it was authentic."

"What does the mark mean?"

"We've no idea. We just know it's present when we've found anything about the Effect."

Delia looked down and pushed the loose rocks with her toes. "And if we can find the missing chip with the matching image, then we can confirm someone who knew about the Samson Effect has been in here."

"Uh, guys." Delia and Michael turned to Thomas. "Want to look at this?"

They both looked at the stone chip Thomas held. He lifted it to the wall and placed it above the image. It fit like a piece of a puzzle in its only place. The top and bottom points of the diamond touched the top and bottom points of the crescent moon.

Delia gasped.

Michael looked at Thomas. "It's in the cave."

Thomas felt the impending discovery deep within his gut. A quick look at Michael told him his friend felt it also. Delia looked different. The feeling in Thomas's gut slowly turned queasy. She was hiding something.

"What's wrong, Delia?"

She gazed hypnotically down the tunnel as a tear rolled down her cheek. The words spilled out as though she was in a trance. "Have you wondered why Azim is willing to kill so quickly for the secret?"

Thomas thought he did. "Because it can give an ordinary man great strength."

She smiled but didn't break her hypnotic gaze. Under her breath, Thomas thought he heard her say, "He's going to kill me."

"Oh, Dr. Hamilton, the Samson Effect is much more powerful than that... much more."

* * * *

Sofian felt sick to his stomach. Azim had given him a simple command: find out what Dr. Sieff knows about the Samson Effect. However, Azim also tasked him to work with Umar in avenging the attack on Delia. Less than twenty minutes after the attack, a few Hebron residents who had witnessed the attack volunteered to share what they saw. The man who threw the pig's head was easy to find and kill, but the gunman had disappeared.

Until now.

He looked at his fingers, wincing at the memory of Barhim's screams. He had kept his men outside his office until he overcame his sick feeling. That was the last thing he wanted to get back to Azim.

He took a cloth from his jacket, dabbed the moisture from his face and neck, and then took a few deep breaths until his stomach had settled. He rose to his feet, squared his shoulders, and walked over to open the door. His men filed into the office.

"I just talked to Azim. He's given us the honor of eliminating the rabbi and his men and of finding the source of his student's strength." His eyes passed over each man. One, and one alone, had steady eyes and did not avert his gaze.

"Jabir, are you willing to be Allah's agent, praise be his name?"

Without hesitation, the young man stood. "I will live and die to serve Allah."

For the first time since hearing he was given the "privilege" of eliminating a man who could bend a rifle muzzle with no effort, Sofian felt calm. "Good. You have command. Do you have any questions about what needs to be done?"

"No. The four Jews will be dead before the sun sets."

One of the men in the room sprang to his feet, shaking his head adamantly.

"Please, Sofian, you did not see this man. I did. He had hate in his eyes. And his strength …" He scrunched his brow, searching for the right words. "His strength was not of this world. You can't send us against him—"

"Enough! You will carry out Azim's orders—"

"But, Sofian—"

"I said 'enough'!" Sofian's eyes burned into Jabir. "If any of these men disobey, kill them on the spot." He then stared at each man. "If you die, so will your wives. And if Jabir 'mysteriously' dies, so will your wives." He paused to let his words sink in. "Now, are there any questions?"

The room was silent.

"Good." Sofian's demeanor softened. "When you carry out Azim's orders, I assure you, his favor will shine upon you."

Sofian returned to his desk and spoke in a low, resolute tone. "Now, go."

When the men filed out, Sofian gave in to the quivering that invaded his body. His lips silently, rapidly, mouthed a prayer to Allah. He thought of Azim's warning about the extent of the strong man's power, and his stomach felt sick again. If it were true, what power on earth could stand against the rabbi's student?


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The Samson Effect Chapter 8

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AFTER A SHORT drive from the hill, Delia pulled the truck next to Snake Cave Number One. The men unloaded the tools they would need in the cave. Up close, everyone admitted the rock formation looked nothing like a serpent. They approached the opening, which corresponded to a snake's eye on Michael's sketch. The entry was just wide enough for them to crawl through comfortably.

Thomas's flashlight cut fifteen feet to the back wall. He scanned his light back and forth and saw another hole. "Not a bad place to start. Looks like a passageway extends through the hill. Perfect place to hide something."

A smile burst onto Michael's face. "Imagination's pretty good, huh?"

Delia took a small pickax from her backpack and stepped into the cave. "We'll see." In a few seconds, she disappeared through the small opening in the back. Thomas walked over to Michael and shook his head. "What's going on, Michael? I know you're trying to get on her good side, but you've been flirting with her since the day she entered our cell. Our cell, Michael! You haven't forgotten we're still technically her prisoners, have you?"

Michael smiled and shook his head. "No, but I do think I could fall for her."

"You what? Come on, Michael. You're Jewish; she's Palestinian. You guys hate each other."

"Why, that's a pretty prejudicial thing to say. Thought you were above that."

"I am, but what do you think dear old brother would think of you even touching his little sister?"

"How's he going to know?"

"How's he going to know?" Thomas counted off the reasons with his fingers. "First, her uncle has three goons out there watching us. I may be wrong but my hunch is they'd love to bring back this juicy tidbit of gossip to him. Second, don't you think your girlfriend may not be as interested in you as you are in her? You come on too strong and she'll have big brother take care of you for her. Heck, I bet she'd enjoy spilling your guts herself."

"Look, she does have feelings for me." He put his hand on Thomas's shoulder. "Trust me, my friend. I'll be careful."

All Thomas wanted to do was wring Michael's neck and shake some sense into him. However, he knew if he lost his cool, he'd drive a wedge between them. Instead, he took a breath and spoke in the kindest voice he could muster. "I know you'll be careful, but what about her? All she needs to do is utter one careless,
innocent word at the wrong time and you'll be dead."

"She's smarter than that—"

Thomas waved him off. "Yeah, I know, I know. It's obvious you have your mind made up. Just promise me you will be careful. Remember, I'll probably suffer collateral damage from anything aimed at you." He rolled his eyes at Michael's sheepish grin.

"I'm going to tell you something I hope will help you feel better, but I don't want you to make a big deal about it in front of Delia, okay?"

"What?"

"You remember when I praised her for being a good student of Jewish history?"

Thomas nodded warily. "Yeah."

"Well, I know because she took the course from me. Apparently, her brother wanted her to take the ancient Hebrew language course I was teaching in Jerusalem." Michael looked out toward the horizon. "That was last year, and she was only there for a semester, but we got to know each other pretty well in that time."

"How well, Michael?"

"Let's just say we became close friends. She seemed fascinated with me and my work. We spent the evenings talking about class, visiting museums, and sharing our hope of peace between our people."

"It's obvious why she was so fascinated with you. She was preparing for this day."

"It was more than that. There's no doubt in my mind she'll do what she can to help us." He picked up a small spade and walked toward the cave. "She's afraid of him, you know."

Everything fell into place for Thomas: the turkey leg, the giggling, and her eagerness to be part of the team. "I bet. He strikes me as the type of guy who wouldn't think twice about killing his own sister if she dishonored him." They made it to the mouth of the cave and dropped to their knees. "Just be careful."

Michael nodded, his eyes thanking Thomas for his understanding.

"Oh, don't thank me. I think this is by far the dumbest thing you have ever done." Thomas extended his hand toward the opening. "Shall we, or would you prefer a few moments alone with her?"

Michael slipped in front of him. "Don't start with me."

As they entered the cave, they heard Delia's shrill scream echo past them. On impulse, they both scurried into the cave, Michael calling her name. From the hole in the back, they saw Delia's feet and legs backing out. Sharp, heavy breaths replaced her screams. Once out, she crawled to Michael and melted into his arms. Thomas shined his light on them. She was shivering and violently swiping her hands through her disheveled hair and at her shoulders.

"Get them off! Get them off!"

Michael frantically looked over her body from head to toe. "Get what off?" He gripped her shoulders. "Delia, look at me. Get what off?"

Her shivering died away as she turned her head to the hole. "Snakes."

Michael and Thomas stared at each other. "There's a brood of snakes in there. Hundreds of them."

Thomas shined the light at the hole. "I didn't think snakes traveled that far into caves."

"Well, if you don't believe me you can crawl in and see for yourself."

"Oh, I believe you." He shined the light back to Michael. "Why don't you go and check it out?"

"Me? Why me? I hate snakes."

"So do I. Besides, this cave was your pick."

"I'm not sticking my head into that hole."

"Fine," Delia interrupted. "I'll have Azim send men to clear out the snakes. We can start on the next cave."

"You know," Thomas said, "I don't understand why a hardened killer shrieks over a few snakes."

Delia rolled her eyes and crawled out of the cave. By the time Michael and Thomas caught up with her, she had already made her phone call. They returned their equipment to the truck and opened their packed lunches. Thomas wiped the imported Miller Light across his forehead, thankful it was still cool.

"So," he said, "Michael tells me you two are quite an item."

Michael choked on his cheese. Thomas was sure his reddish tint was from anger rather than asphyxiation. "Thomas …" The words caught in his throat. Thomas's smile did not exactly help matters.

Delia's eyes widened more than Thomas could have imagined. Then they narrowed as a sweet smile blossomed upon her face. "Michael, you're not ashamed of me."

"Delia, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Don't be sorry. It feels good not to have to hide our feelings around Thomas."

Thomas laughed. "Hide? If you've been trying to hide your feelings, we're as good as dead. I take it your brother or uncle doesn't know."

"Are you kidding?" Michael asked. "They'd draw and quarter me if they did."

"He's right. I'm afraid even blood wouldn't keep me safe from Azim's wrath."

"I suggest, then, you two be a little more careful than you've been. Remember good ol' Fahd? I don't think he'd think twice about outing you. And your uncle's men may have their eyes on us as we speak."

"We know the risk," Delia said, "and we're no fools. We don't have a death wish."

"Tell me, what do you expect from a relationship with Michael?"

"Thomas," Michael said. "Please don't do this—"

"I want to know. What would Israel's number one enemy want from the nephew of the ambassador to the United States?"

"You want to know? Fine. The truth is I hate what my brother has turned me, his baby sister, into. I'm ashamed that I'm afraid to refuse him. I can kill a man without blinking, but I can't capture a man's heart. Not until Michael came along.

"So yeah, Doctor, I may be a cold-hearted assassin, but it feels good to be able to shriek when I see snakes. Michael is the only man who has made me comfortable being a woman."

Thomas looked from Delia to Michael, who hung his head and shook it slowly. Thomas then turned back to Delia. "I'm sorry, I guess I—"

"I don't want your pity. I don't even want your support or your blessing. I just hope, for Michael's sake, you can give us a chance. We already have the world against us."

They finished their lunch in silence and then drove to the second site on Michael's map. All along the way, Delia had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Michael's thigh. Thomas huffed and looked out the window. The two of them did have a death wish, he thought. The freedom they felt by him knowing about their relationship was making them a little too confident.

A flash of light caught his eyes. He looked across the valley to the ridge on the other side. A man stood on it, following their truck through a pair of binoculars.

* * * *

Judas and the rabbi sat at the table in the humble little kitchen. They shared a meal of milk, soup, and bread. It had been about an hour since Judas had taken the mixture. He didn't feel sick and his mind seemed clear. He waited, not sure for what, but for something to happen to his body.

"Rabbi, I'm embarrassed to tell you this, but I've forgotten the sequence of the candlesticks. May I ask how you've remembered it after all these years?"

"Sure." The rabbi took a sip of milk. "Remember the notebook in my bedroom? It's been written in there since the day I entered the altar room."

Judas felt the blood tingle in his cheeks. "Do you mind if I look at it?"

The old rabbi smiled and nodded. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to ask about the sequence. Me, it took three days before my pride was broken enough to ask." The rabbi glanced at his watch. "Would you like something else to eat?"

"No. Everything was delicious."

"Delicious may be too strong a word. Adequate, yes. Well then, let's go back to the bedroom."

Once in the bedroom, Judas stepped over to the desk and laid a hand on the notebook. "May I?"

"Before you do, would you mind setting my bed back in place?"

Judas let out a silent groan. "Of course, Rabbi." He walked over to the bed and bent over the center of it. Thankfully, he had a strong back. He tensed his muscles and pushed.

The bed flew across the room and crashed into the wall, leaving a hole half filled by the bed. A curse slipped from Judas's lips before he had a chance to think. He looked from the wall to the rabbi.

"Rabbi, I … uh …"

The rabbi cackled, his whole body jiggling as he leaned on his cane. "Don't worry Judas. You should have seen me forty years ago when my rabbi showed me the strength. He pretended his car tire rolled onto his foot and yelled for me to help. I pushed so hard the car rolled three or four times. Needless to say his prank backfired and he was quite angry." He looked at the bed sticking out of the wall. "A wall, I can laugh about."

Judas pulled the bed from the wall and set it in place. Luckily, the bed remained intact. He promised to fix the wall and then asked about the sequence.

"The notebook is yours." The rabbi picked up the pillows and climbed into bed. He propped the pillows against the headboard and leaned back on them. "Judas, sit at my desk. There are things I still need to tell you."

Judas sat down and flipped through the notebook. Its yellowed pages were full of entries about the Lord's Strength.

"The Lord has bestowed upon you a great responsibility and privilege. You will be judged in the afterlife by how you carry out this responsibility. First and foremost, you must never give in to the temptation to return to the altar room until the time you pass your responsibility to another. It's not your place to be a deliverer. If you are the one who finds the lost seeds, the Lord will guide you to his deliverer. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Nearly everything you need to know about the seeds and how they were lost are in that notebook. It also contains all the clues we have as to where they are hidden. Finding them is your second greatest responsibility.

"Be careful Judas. Two enemies are also searching for the seeds. More bloodshed may happen under your protection than has happened during the last thousand years. Dr. Michael Sieff is a Jew who cannot be trusted. Azim Ebadi is also seeking the sacred seeds. You must not let them find the seeds."

"I understand."

"I pray you do." The rabbi yawned. "Now, enjoy your strength, but don't draw undue attention to yourself. Let the experience fuel your desire to remain true to your calling." Judas nodded and stepped toward the door. "One more thing. Your strength will only last approximately two weeks before it suddenly departs. Do not, Judas, give in to the temptation to reenter the altar room."

"That I swear, Rabbi." Judas grinned. "Nor will I cut my hair for the next two weeks."

"Read his Word, Judas. You'll find Samson's strength wasn't in his hair, but in the Lord. When he departed, Samson's strength left."

Judas nodded. "You said nearly everything I'll need to know about the seeds is in the notebook. What else do I need to know?"

"This, you cannot write down. You must commit it to memory. It's the only way to ensure no one misuses the Lord's Strength." The rabbi explained the final secrets of the Lord's Strength to Judas and sent him home to rest.

Judas flipped through the notebook as he walked the two blocks to his own home. In spite of what the rabbi had told him, he still decided not to cut his hair for the next few weeks.

He couldn't wait to show off his strength to Simon. He knew he wouldn't be able to explain, but he didn't see the harm in demonstrating his strength to Simon. He arrived, unlocked the door, and stepped into the home he shared with Simon.

"Simon, you home?"

No answer.

He tossed the notebook onto a table and walked to Simon's bedroom. He stopped at the door and lightly rapped on it. "Simon?"

Still, no answer. He reached for the handle and slowly turned. When the door cracked open, he called out Simon's name again. He then opened the door and stepped in.

It felt as if every ounce of his great strength had fled. He stared at his friend's bullet-filled body and at the swine's head that rested upon his chest as he lay on the bed.

Judas knew who had done this.

He marched from the building and down the street, oblivious to everything around him. His mind was focused on one thing: finding Azim. The Lord, he reasoned, had given him two weeks to avenge his friend's death. It would not take that long. He'd be done before he sat down for his evening meal.

From behind, he heard his name being shouted. He kept marching forward. Ahead, two teenage Palestinian armed youths patrolled the street corner. Judas looked them dead in the eyes, silently daring them to try to stop him. He didn't veer around them or slow his pace. His eyes never broke from the bearded one.

About ten feet ahead, the two kids stepped directly into his path and put their hands on their shouldered rifles. The bearded one took a couple of steps toward him and ordered him to stop.

Judas kept marching, staring defiantly at the boy. When they were within a couple of feet of each other, Judas silently reached out and with lightning-quick reflexes, bent the gun's barrel up in a ninety-degree angle. Then, as he resumed his march, he stiff-armed the boy into the wall of the cafe. Customers sitting at the sidewalk tables stopped their conversations and watched in stunned silence as he marched on.

Judas looked at the second boy. The boy's eyes swam in terror. He looked at his gun and then released his grip on it as though it had just come from a furnace. He scurried out of Judas's path, his eyes fearfully pleading for Judas not to harm him.

Judas kept marching. He heard his name being called again. This time, he stopped and turned.

One of the rabbi's gatekeepers caught up with him. Winded, he stopped and drew in deep breaths. "Judas, please. You mustn't put yourself in danger. Tobin is getting the car."

The second gatekeeper drove up and skidded to a stop next to them. Aaron, the other man, held out his hand and urged Judas to get into the car.

Judas felt the rage flowing through his body. "You don't know—"

"Yes, Judas, we do know. The rabbi has sent us. Please, get in the car before the guards call for others and regain their courage."

The man's impatient, pleading expression overcame Judas's immediate urge. They both slid into the back seat, and Tobin pulled away. Judas looked at Aaron. "You know what happened to Simon?"

"We saw him. We were on our way to the rabbi when Tobin saw you walk into your house. We rushed in and told the rabbi what had happened. He ordered us to bring you to him immediately. He said your life was in danger; so, we ran to your house, but you had just left."

"Tobin. Stop the car!"

Tobin looked into the rearview mirror, but kept driving.

"I said, 'Stop the car,' now!"

The man in the back seat sighed. "Please, Judas. The rabbi has ordered us back."

"Which is exactly why I want out. He'll try to talk me out of doing what must be done."

"Tobin and I know the time is coming when you'll be our rabbi, and we'll serve you in serving the Lord. Please, be our leader now by not acting on impulse. Give us confidence in whom we'll serve."

Judas closed his eyes and let his silence be his answer. A few minutes later, they pulled through the rabbi's gate and parked next to the front door. The two men left the car to secure the gate while Judas entered the house. The rabbi was seated at the kitchen table.

"Judas, sit."

Judas paced wildly. "You know what they did to Simon—"

"I said, 'sit!'" The rabbi's eyes drilled through Judas. "Am I still your rabbi?"

Judas quit pacing and slid into his chair. "Yes, Rabbi." He wiped his tears with his sleeve. "It's just … Simon …"

"I know, my son."

The two quietly grieved together. "Judas, I believe it was the Lord's will for you to experience his strength when you did. He's given us two weeks to eliminate those who would take and profane his gift."

Judas's pain eased. This wasn't exactly what he'd expected to hear from the rabbi. In fact, he felt sure he might have misunderstood. "Rabbi?"

"Listen to me, Judas. The next two weeks won't define your service to the Lord, but the years that follow will. If we avenge Simon's death, we must do it in a way that won't compromise your ability to perform your greater service. Understand?"

"Yes, Rabbi."


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The Samson Effect Chapter 7

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THE TRUCK RUMBLED through the city and out to the southern outlying area of Hebron. Thomas stole glances through the window and door-mounted mirror for any signs of Umar's men. Either they were good at subterfuge, or they weren't skilled at trailing. He couldn't decide if he should worry more about Umar's men or the men who attacked them this morning.

Delia followed Michael's instructions to a rocky, desert location and parked the truck at the base of the tallest hill. "This is where we start."

They got out of the cab and walked around to the back of the truck. Michael opened the door and removed the backpacks tethered to the side railing.

Thomas flung his over his shoulder as he shut the door. "I must say the ride in the cab was much more comfortable than the ride back here."

Delia slung her pack over her shoulders. "I'm sure it was. As long as you don't give me a reason, you'll not have to ride back there again."

Thomas stepped away without acknowledging her statement. He knew the "can't we all just get along" chorus was an act. As soon as he could get Michael alone, he would find out what's going on. Michael's peculiar behavior toward her was beyond what was needed to help keep Hanna safe. As for himself, Thomas refused to be a lamb led to the slaughter, and he would do everything in his power to keep Michael from being one too.

He watched Michael help Delia on with her backpack. They smiled warmly at each other. Michael stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't flinch, nor did her smile disappear. With his other hand, he pointed out their route up the hill.

Thomas tightened the straps on his backpack, his eyes following Michael's finger. "Why did you choose this place to start?"

Michael dropped his pointing hand, but his other remained on Delia's shoulder. "Old Hebron was south of the modern city. Figured we'd start at ground zero to look for the serpent landscape." He nodded to the hill. "We'll have a nice panoramic view from up there."

Thomas removed his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. "You'd have to pick the hottest day to go rock climbing, wouldn't you? Delia, I'm almost sorry I didn't wear that Palestinian man-dress you wanted me to wear." He took out his canteen and swallowed a couple of gulps of water.

"Careful," Delia said. "You'll want that water a lot more this afternoon than you do now."

Thomas looked up the hillside. A few hundred feet could hardly be called a mountain, he thought. He stepped up on his tiptoes to stretch out his calf muscles. His months of tennis and indoor rock climbing had kept his body in top shape. This would be a piece of cake. If he couldn't play Michael in a game of tennis, then he'd grab a victory from him by beating him to the summit. He waited for Michael to take the first step up the hill. When Thomas beat him to the top, he didn't want Michael hastily dismissing his victory. After Michael was five feet up, Thomas set out for the summit.

He caught up with Michael's leisurely pace and set the competition in motion with a single phrase. "Either move it or get out of the way."

Michael looked over his shoulder and smiled. "I'll have the water waiting for you at the top." His leisurely pace morphed from casual strides to the scurrying of a four-legged spider.

Thomas kicked up his pace but quickly realized that real rocks didn't always provide the grip that the rock walls he had climbed at home provided. He stretched his fingers to a small cleft at Michael's feet and hit pay dirt. His biceps bulged as sheer strength propelled him up until he and Michael climbed side by side. Neither slowed their pace as they approached the summit.

"Good. You've caught up with me. Now it's a fair race."

Sweat rolled down Thomas's forehead as he began to overtake Michael. "Looks like the years have slowed you down."

"I'm just getting warmed up."

Somehow, Michael found a way to accelerate his ascent. A hairline crack emerged in Thomas's smug confidence. The closer they came to the summit, the steeper the hill grew; but it seemed the climb was becoming easier for Michael.

Thomas pushed his aching muscles to move him faster. His fingertips grew raw as he willed them into the solid rock surface. But nothing he said or did to motivate himself stopped Michael from slowly pulling away from him.

To make matters worse, Delia approached on his left. A faint sheen upon her skin glistened in the sun as she apparently decided she could hang with the boys. When she started to pull away from him, Thomas strangled the tiny crevices in his hands and ground his teeth in utter contempt for yet another loss to Michael.

With one last burst of energy, Thomas surged past Delia and pulled himself upon the flat summit. He collapsed on the ground and heaved gulps of air into his lungs. Delia crawled next to him and oozed onto the ground with rubbery arms. As his breath returned, Thomas heard the sound of shoes scuffing on the surface and coming to a stop next to his head. Michael bent down with his promised canteen. "Sorry, couldn't find a glass."

Thomas pulled himself up and took a swig from his own canteen. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and asked, "How can you not be winded?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess it's because the years haven't slowed me down too much."

Thomas didn't understand. He and Michael were both in shape, but Michael never let his body keep him from doing what he set his mind to do. Thomas did, however, find a sliver of hope when he spotted a vein in Michael's neck throbbing in step with his own racing heart.

When they caught their breath, they began scanning the landscape with their binoculars. After forty-five minutes, they settled on three locations that by some wild stretch of the imagination could possibly be their snake-caves. Michael sketched the missing snake features on the landscape into a notebook, resulting in three snakelike images.

Delia studied Michael's artwork and wrinkled her brow. "I don't know; the pictures just don't look like the landscapes. I see it on paper, but not out there."

"I agree you'll have to use some imagination. But remember, the terrain may have changed in three thousand years, or the scribe may have done what early astrologers and sailors had done with the constellations—take a few points to build an elaborate picture."

"You're assuming," Thomas said, "the scribe's 'snake' was a rock or cave. For all we know, it could've been a symbolic reference known only to a select group of scribes. I mean, it could be a statue in Jordan, for all we know."

"True, but we only have two weeks to find it. The way I see it, we have to take an educated guess and focus there. Unless …" Michael turned to Delia. "Azim could be persuaded to extend our search."

Delia shook her head. "When the time comes, I'll try to secure more time for us, but unless we've made considerable concrete progress, I know what his answer will be. His unyielding demand for obedience in the face of all obstacles is what ensures unquestioning loyalty from everyone who answers to him."

Thomas took another swig from his canteen. "That settles it, then. Let's drive to Snake Cave Number One and see what we find."

* * * *

The rabbi explained to Judas the secret of the Lord's Strength given to man, dating as far back as the day when Moses first received it.

"Moses entrusted its protection to his nephew, Nadab, a priest," the rabbi explained. "However, he and his brother, Abihu were struck down by the Lord for offering strange fire to him. Since the priesthood was new to Israel, Moses and Aaron feared the Lord would continue to show his displeasure against the priests whenever they failed to obey him fully in their sanctified role.

"So they chose an honest, humble man from the tribe of Gad. He became the protector of the Lord's Strength, and he established the code we follow to this day."

Judas listened, spellbound by the rabbi's words. So many questions were struggling to burst from his lips, but he held them in check until an appropriate time. The rabbi lifted himself from the chair and grabbed his cane. "Come with me."

Judas accompanied the old rabbi at a snail's pace, which gave his teacher ample time to explain where they were going.

"Sometime after Solomon's reign, the protector chosen was a man of great wealth and influence in Judah. He was also a man of pure heart and devoted to his calling. He built a modest dwelling in Hebron to serve as home for the Lord's Strength. That dwelling is its home to this day."

The rabbi led Judas down the hall and into his bedroom. Judas marveled at how little a man of the rabbi's age had collected in his life. The house itself was simple, but the bedroom was nearly barren. An opened closet contained clothes on only five hangers. The bedroom had only three pieces of furniture. A simple, small, square table and a stool sat on one wall. A cup of Bic pens and a writing tablet sat on the table. A king-size bed, which seemed so out of place in this humble little home, sat in the center of the room.

The rabbi shuffled into the room and slowly eased onto the stool. "This, Judas, is the dwelling place the protector built. Through Christian crusades and Muslim occupations, the Lord has seen fit to keep this small home in the hands of the Jewish protectors. That, my student, is one of the greatest miracles indeed."

"Rabbi, I don't understand. How could this home have survived all the centuries of warfare and bloodshed? And, forgive me, but this home was built in the twentieth century."

"Judas, Judas, it's not the walls of this house that has survived. I have no idea how many times they've been destroyed and rebuilt. No, the true dwelling place is there." He lifted his cane and pointed at the bed.

Judas stared at the bed and looked tentatively back to the old man. "Rabbi?"

The old man smiled. "Slide it against the window and tell me what you see."

Judas obeyed, straining every muscle to slide the mammoth bed inch by inch. When he finished, he stood next to the bed, examining the bare area it had covered. "I don't see anything."

"Ah, now take my cane and go into the closet."

Judas obediently followed the rabbi's instructions.

"Now, remove the rug and look for a chip in the floor. Place the cane in the hole and turn it until it locks into place."

Judas inserted the cane and turned it until it felt snug. "Now rotate the cane clockwise until it stops."

He turned the cane with relative ease. In the bedroom, where the bed had been, he heard a grinding sound and saw a thin rectangular crack emerge as part of the stone floor began to sink away. His heart beat faster as a hole in the floor appeared.

"The seam has remained invisible all these centuries because each protector makes only two trips down in their lives; once when they're anointed and once when they show it to the next anointed."

For the first time since he had known the rabbi, Judas saw in his eyes an almost childlike giddiness. After a few minutes, the rectangular stone had submerged and slid out of the way. The cane found resistance and stopped turning. Judas removed it and went to the rabbi.

The rabbi took the cane and pointed it at him. "The iron foot on the cane—that's the key. Place it on any rod you wish. Now, help me up."

Judas helped him to his feet and the two walked over to the hole. Steps led down into the blackness. The rabbi reached into his pocket, pulled out a lighter, and handed it to Judas. "Go down and light the lamp on the wall to the right and then come back and help me down."

"Rabbi, the steps are narrow. It might not be safe for you to go down."

"The last time I made the trip down was over forty years ago. I've dreamed of this day since. Try to stop me."

"Okay, okay." Judas smiled. He took the lighter and descended fifteen steps before reaching the bottom. He found the lamp and lit it, revealing a room about fifteen feet square. A golden altar sat against the back wall. Two small, gold tables stood on both sides of the altar. The back two tables were about three feet tall while the two tables in front stood about two feet tall. Golden candlesticks, each with twelve unburned candles, sat on the tables. Imbedded in the walls sparkled every type of precious stone imaginable. Judas stared at everything, lost in the room's beauty.

The rabbi's feeble yet determined voice snapped him from his trance.

"Rabbi, it's beautiful."

"I know it is. Now come back for me right now or my blood will be on your hands when I try to come down myself."

"Yes, Rabbi." Judas helped his teacher down, and soon both men stood transfixed. When Judas turned to the rabbi, he saw tears streaming down his teacher's cheeks.

The rabbi grabbed Judas's arm and slid to his knees, bowing his head before the altar. Judas followed his example and knelt next to the rabbi, who began a prayer of praise and thanksgiving, followed by a petition to be with and to guard the new protector.

When the prayer ended, Judas felt tears in his own eyes. He straightened his back and drew in a deep breath. "Rabbi, thank you for bringing me here. I'll keep this secret until the day I die. I swear it."

The rabbi patted him on the back. "Judas, dear Judas. I've watched you grow from a child to a man. I was sure you'd protect the secret even before I asked, as you must be when you choose your successor. But this," the rabbi said with a wave of his arm, "this is not the true treasure. Are you ready to see the true treasure, the Lord's Strength; the strength of Moses, of David, of Israel's ancient judges, of Samson?"

"Yes, rabbi."

"I'm sure you are." He handed Judas the cane. "Put the key into the hole in the center of the altar, but don't turn it yet."

Judas did so and awaited further instructions.

"You must never forget the following sequence. If you do, it is said the key will be crushed within the altar and you'll be the first protector in history to lose the precious strength of the Lord."

Beads of perspiration ran down Judas's forehead. He never trusted his memory for important things; however, he cleared his head and waited for the sequence.

"Face the altar and turn the back left candlestick a quarter turn clockwise. Turn the front left a quarter turn counterclockwise."

Judas did so and felt gears within the tables clicking as they turned.

"Now, the right side. Rotate the back candlestick three-quarters turn clockwise and the front one a half turn clockwise."

When he finished, he wiped the sweat from his palm onto his thigh and chanted the sequence silently in his head. The rabbi interrupted his chant, setting off panic alarms in his mind.

"Ready?"

He wiped his hands dry again, deciding to wait until he went back up the stairs to get the sequence from the rabbi again. He nodded.

"Good. Now turn the key clockwise."

He wiped his hands dry one last time and started to turn the cane. A section of the wall behind the altar began to recess. Euphoria swept through his body when he did not feel the key crush within the altar.

When the recessed section of the wall was back far enough for him to slip by, the rabbi stopped him. Judas flicked the lighter, slipped into the room, and found an oil lamp sitting on a chiseled square stone about chest high. The room was only eight by eight with no jewels or gold. It was a plain rock room, roughly hewn. Judas saw a laboratory beaker on the center of the rock cube. The rabbi slipped in behind him and pointed to the beaker.

"There it is, the Lord's Strength."

"The beaker? How old is this secret?"

The rabbi laughed. "The containers have changed over the centuries, but the content has remained preserved since the days of King Solomon." He walked over, picked up the beaker, and handed it to Judas.

Judas looked inside and saw a finely chopped substance that looked like burgundy oregano. The rabbi took back the beaker and removed the cork. He measured out a third of the substance on a sheet of paper and replaced the cork. He then removed a flask from his jacket pocket and set it on the stone.

"Judas, my hands aren't as steady as they once were. Would you mind pouring this into the flask?"

Judas rolled the paper and funneled the substance into the flask. Following the rabbi's instructions, he replaced the cap and shook the flask.

The rabbi let out a sigh. "It takes one ounce. There are only two ounces left—enough for two more men. If no one finds the lost seeds, the Lord's Strength will be lost to mankind forever." He paused for a moment and stared at the beaker. Judas waited for him silently, patiently. The rabbi finally turned to him, tears back in his eyes. "I pray your search will find more success than mine." He looked at the flask. "I was told if it was freshly cut, the result would be even more amazing and longer lasting." The rabbi still stared at the flask, licking his lips. He finally turned to Judas with a sigh. "Drink, my friend."

Judas didn't move. He trusted the rabbi explicitly, or so he thought. What kind of drug was this? What was going to happen to him? He swirled the flask and looked at the rabbi. "Perhaps we could take it upstairs and—"

"Drink it now, boy, or I swear I'll rip it from you and drink it myself!"

The rabbi's voice reverberated in the tiny underground room and almost caused Judas to drop the flask. The old man's eyes nearly popped from his head. Every vein in his neck and forehead burst to the surface, throbbing with every beat of his heart. For the first time in his life, Judas was sure he was experiencing a demon possession.

Then, as abruptly as the rabbi's outburst came upon him, he returned to his gentle self. "Forgive me Judas. My heart is broken knowing I'll never again experience what you're about to experience." He looked through Judas, his mind lost somewhere in the memories of the past. "Please, drink it."


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The Samson Effect Chapter 6

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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."


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The Samson Effect Chapter 5

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THOMAS FELT EVERY bump under the delivery truck as he sat next to Michael against the wall. He rubbed his head on his shoulders to remove his blindfold. From the light coming through the cracks around the back door, he could see that he and Michael were the only cargo in the truck. When Michael removed his blindfold, he threw his head against the wall and uttered something Thomas was sure was a Hebrew curse.

The truck bounced along for fifteen minutes before Thomas broke the silence. "Options?"

Michael sighed. "As I see it, we can save ourselves and assure Hanna's death, which I'm sure will be as horrific as Azim says it'll be; or we can work with Azim to find the Samson Effect, which I'm sure will eventually lead to all three of our deaths."

"There has to be another option."

"I agree, but I can't think of one. Can you?"

"Not yet, but one will come to us."

"Okay, then we agree to work on finding the Samson Effect with Delia's help until we find the opportunity for all three of us to escape?"

"Agreed."

Thomas listened to the sounds outside the truck, but he only heard the rumble of the truck and its engine. He then thought of the woman driver. "Michael, when we were in the cell and Delia first entered with the food, you two looked at each other as if you've known each other. What's up with that?"

Michael looked like a caught liar about to deny the obvious and then relaxed. He parted his lips and looked away. Just as Thomas was about to press him for an answer, the men glanced at the door as they felt the truck roll to a stop. A few seconds later, it swung open. "Hope the ride wasn't too uncomfortable for you, " Delia said.

Neither man responded as they struggled to their feet and walked to the door.

"Now, gentlemen, we'll be working closely for the next couple of weeks. I'm sure it will be more comfortable if we're all civil to each other."

Thomas jumped from the truck and stepped up to Delia. Until he had come to Hebron, he had never once thought of harming anyone, let alone a woman. Now, he knew he could strike Delia with no remorse if his hands were free. "It's not mine or Michael's civility I question." He turned his back to her and joined Michael.

Delia nodded. "I don't blame you for your unwillingness to accept me—"

Thomas interrupted with a smirk. "That's very kind of you."

"—but as I said, you'll find me much different from my brother." She stepped up to Thomas and glared at him. "And I promise I'm the best chance for you, Michael, and Hanna to remain safe." She turned her back and walked to the building next to the truck. "If you'll follow me, we can get started now."

Delia led them from the street where the truck was parked to the threshold of an old block-long building that looked to be an apartment unit. Curious bystanders cast their gaze away when their eyes met Thomas's. He sensed fear in them. "Michael is known here. What if someone recognizes him?"

Delia held open the door. "As long as we stay within Palestinian neighborhoods, no one will say a thing or molest you in any way. My brother has made sure of that."

Delia unlocked an inner door across from a staircase. They stepped into a large room with three twin beds and two desks. Maps of Hebron and southern Israel hung on the walls. Each desk had a computer, which shared a printer. Off to the side, an open closet displayed Palestinian clothing. An open door at the back of the room led to a bathroom.

Delia spread her arms as each man claimed a bed. "This, gentlemen, is where you'll live, eat, work, and breathe for the next two weeks except when we work on site. The computers are connected to the Internet, and you'll find your user IDs and passwords in the center desk drawer. I'm sure I don't need to tell you every keystroke will be monitored." She gestured to the young man who appeared in the doorway. "This is Fahd. If you need anything at all, Fahd will make sure you have it."

Delia nodded to Fahd. He pulled a knife from the sheath on his hip and stepped behind Thomas. Thomas held his breath, but relaxed when he felt his bonds fall away. He rubbed his wrists as Fahd stepped behind Michael.

Thomas pointed to the third bed. "And I suppose he'll sleep there to keep an eye on us."

Delia arched her eyebrows. "No, Dr. Hamilton. That's where I'll be sleeping to keep an eye on you."

Michael sat at one of the desks and turned on the computer. "The clock is ticking, let's get started."

Thomas rolled his chair to Michael's desk and opened the briefcase, spreading the documents across the desk. "You said the scribe hid the Samson Effect in Satan's belly; still no thought on what that could be?"

Michael walked over to the map of Hebron. "I was in the process of searching the literature on Israel's ancient geography before we fell under attack. I found nothing, but I'm positive it must be in Hebron."

"Why do you say that, Dr. Sieff?"

"Because the time between the scribe hiding it and reporting back to King David would have been too short for him to travel very far."

"Unless," Delia continued, "he sent it with someone else. If he did, it could be anywhere in Israel."

"First, my gut tells me he wouldn't have turned it over to anyone else. He was very protective of the Effect. In fact, he was committing a capital offense by disobeying the king's edict. Second, we don't have time to search all of Hebron, let alone all of Israel. We must focus our efforts here unless we come across compelling evidence to search elsewhere."

Thomas joined Michael at the map. "I agree. Since we know it was still protected under Solomon's reign, I feel confident his father's priests didn't move it north to the kingdom of Saul's son. If he did, the tide may have changed in Israel's first civil war."

Delia joined the two men at the map. "The belly of the devil … it must be a cave. Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't the Israelites use caves extensively to hide everything from sacred writings to soldiers?"

Michael smiled at Delia. "I'm impressed; you seem to know your Jewish history well."

"I took a few courses in college, Doctor."

"We're going to be working closely for a while. Call me Michael."

She brushed her hair from her eyes and smiled. "Okay, Michael."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "If we can forgo the pleasantries, I suggest we stay focused on finding the Samson Effect." He glared at Michael. "I, for one, have not forgotten this woman's brother is threatening to kill your uncle's assistant."

"Thomas—"

He glared at Delia. "And it's Dr. Hamilton to you."

Michael sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"It's all right, Michael. No one can blame him for being upset. I think I'll prepare some tea for us. If you'll please excuse me."

As soon as Delia closed the door behind her, Thomas yanked out his chair and dropped into it. "What's gotten into you, Michael? If you're not careful, your hormones will lead you down the same path they led Samson when he met Delilah." Thomas's eyes grew wide. "There's a coincidence, Delia and Delilah. Hmmm …"

"Stop it, Thomas. Don't you ever accuse me of betraying Hanna." Michael squeezed his hand into a fist when Thomas rolled his eyes. The two men stared at each other until Michael relaxed his fingers and sighed. "You've been a friend for a long time, and I love you like a brother. We've got to make it through the next two weeks in order to have a prayer of saving Hanna, and that woman may be our best ally in doing so."

Thomas stared at the only bare wall in the room. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and bowed his head into his hands. Michael walked up to him and squeezed his shoulders. "I'm as frustrated as you are, my friend."

"You're right."

Delia returned with three cups of tea. She set the tray on one of the desks and handed a cup to Michael. She brought another and handed it to Thomas. "Dr. Hamilton."

Thomas took the tea and smiled. "Thanks." He looked into his cup. "Sorry we got off on the wrong foot."

"You've nothing to apologize for, Doctor."

He looked up and extended his hand. "Please, call me Thomas."

She shook his hand and nodded. Michael walked over with his tea. "If we can move past the pleasantries, I believe we have work to do."

Delia smiled and sipped her tea. "I recall while growing up in Hebron a mountain with three narrow peaks. We used to call it Satan's Pitchfork. Perhaps the Samson Effect is somewhere around there."

"Nice guess," Michael said, "but the image of a red Satan with horns, a pointed tail, and a pitchfork is a relatively new Western image of him. The pitchfork would've meant nothing to the ancient Jews."

"Then what did they think he looked like?"

"The Jews believed he was an angelic being cast down from heaven."

"I take it angels didn't look like chubby little cherubs with wings and a bow and arrow."

Michael laughed. "Hardly. When they appeared, they looked like any other man."

"But there must've been some unique characteristic about the hiding place which identified it with Satan."

Delia's question struck a chord with Thomas. He tuned out the ongoing conversation, and his mind went back to a dig he was on last year outside of Jericho. His team had found a stone idol dating around 1300 BC, a few hundred years before the establishment of David's kingdom. The idol was a Canaanite deity, but one of the interns pointed out the irony that its image was also that of the Hebrew devil.

The answer struck Thomas like a bolt of lightning. "Michael, I'm disappointed in you." Michael and Delia turned to Thomas. He pounded the desk with his fist, unable to keep his smile from growing. "How quickly you forget what your mother taught you. 'Now the serpent was more subtle than any of the beast of the field which the Lord God had made,' Genesis 3:1."

Michael's eyes grew. "I think that may be it! We're looking for a snake or a serpent!" He glanced at his watch. "It'll be dark in less than an hour. I propose we research the geography tonight for a field expedition tomorrow morning."

Delia jumped to her feet and made a beeline to the door. "I'll make arrangements for a day trip tomorrow."

Thomas took a sip of tea. "Maybe we ought to ask ol' Fahd to break out a bottle of champagne."

"Not so fast. It may be a serpent we're looking for. Even if it is, we don't know how much the landscape may have changed in three thousand years. And might I remind you we only have two weeks to find what no one has stumbled on in over three millennia."

Thomas plopped down on his bed. "You can sure bring someone down."

"I prefer to call it managing expectations." Michael walked over to the map. "However, if we are on the right track, I know just where to start looking tomorrow."

* * * *

The sound of hushed giggling woke Thomas. He rolled his head to see the clock's red digital numbers flash 3:15. He lifted his head and leaned on his elbows to see Michael and Delia in their respective beds, lying on their sides and conversing in hushed tones. He lay down and listened to them carry on as though they were lifelong friends.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sounds. He hated himself for letting even the slightest bit of fondness for Delia slip into his mind. Michael had told him she was suspected of carrying out a number of assassinations against Israelis. She was cold-blooded and more than likely would step aside when his and Michael's usefulness was through. He forced his mind back to Hanna. What was Azim doing to her right now? Was she in pain? Was she humiliated? He thought of Delia, whose aim it was to gain his trust. Hatred began to push away any fondness that had snuck in. He could be just as cunning as Delia. He could let her believe she had his trust.

Another giggle from Michael broke his thoughts. Delia shushed him and then responded with her own muted giggle.

Something wasn't right. Michael had a good head on his shoulders. He would never jump into such a ridiculous relationship, especially so quickly. Tomorrow, he wouldn't let anything keep Michael from giving him a straight answer.

Thomas closed his eyes, convincing himself repeatedly that Michael, too, must be displaying his cunning.

* * * *

Thomas awoke at 6:00 a.m. to the sound of a commode flushing in the adjoining bathroom. Its occupant stepped through and flipped on the bedroom lights.

"Sorry for waking you," Michael said as he stepped into the room.

"No problem. Time to get up anyway."

Delia entered, already dressed and ready for the trip into the desert. With a slight, silent gesture of her hand, she dismissed Fahd. She glanced at each man with a smile. "So, where are we off to this morning?"

Michael walked to the map of Hebron and took a pen from his shirt pocket. "First light, I want to be on this hill." He circled an area on the map repeatedly.

Delia stepped to the map. "Why there?"

"If my hunch is correct, terrain with the features of a serpent will be easier to make out from an elevation. This hill will give us a great panoramic view of the whole area."

Delia raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Good. Can you be ready to leave in thirty minutes?"

Thomas grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. "I'll be out in fifteen."

"Thomas …"

He stopped and turned to Delia.

"Please choose a tunic from the closet. My brother's influence is great here, but we should still try to blend in as much as possible."

He looked at the closet and then turned to Delia. "I'll put it on over my own clothes."

Michael laughed. "Trust me, my friend, come this afternoon you'll be sweltering with all that clothing on."

Thomas reluctantly pulled a tunic from the closet. He tossed his clothes onto the bed and slipped into the bathroom, shaking his head. The first thing that commanded his attention was the rust-stained toilet. It was on par with some of the worse truck stop toilets he had seen. A freestanding iron tub rested against the wall. "Great, no shower."

Thomas leaned into the tub and plugged the drain with the rubber stopper. He turned on the hot water and walked to the sink. A minute into brushing his teeth, Thomas walked over to the tub and dipped his hand into the water.

Cold.

He spit into the sink, grabbed a washcloth, and shut off the water in the tub. He stripped and plunged the cloth into the cool water, ready to take a sponge bath.

The sound of automatic gunfire and shattering glass in the bedroom startled him, forcing his nude body against the icy floor. Thomas heard Delia scream in the bedroom. He crouched, yanking a towel from the rack and wrapping it around him. He eased to the door and cracked it open.

Glass covered the bedroom floor. Michael lay over Delia with his face down and buried under his arms. Blood was splattered over them and the bed next to them.

Thomas heard screeching tires and ran to Michael and Delia, losing his towel behind him. He grabbed Michael by the shoulders, shaking him and yelling his name.


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