The Samson Effect Chapter 12

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MOVEMENT IN THE alley caught Tobin's eyes when he glanced through the kitchen window. He squinted and then his eyes flew open. "Everyone down!" He dove to the floor as bullets crashed through the window.

Judas's reaction was swift. So swift, in fact, that he flew to his feet and placed his body between the flying bullets and the rabbi before Tobin hit the ground. He felt the rapid, gentle thumps of the bullets on his back before he eased the old man away from the window.

As abruptly as the gunfire started, it ended. Judas looked over to the men. Only Tobin was hit.

"It's just my arm. How's the rabbi?"

Judas turned to see the rabbi's head slumped to the side and his eyes closed. Dread swept through him as he slowly pulled the rabbi away. A large bloodstain covered his chest. Judas shook his head and then lifted the rabbi in his arms and carried him to his bedroom.

"Judas?"

Judas didn't answer Tobin. The two men followed him to the bedroom. He gently laid the rabbi on his bed. Tobin forced his way to the bed and began examining the rabbi. Judas stepped back, praying Tobin's paramedic training would help.

It didn't take long. Tobin didn't pound on the rabbi's chest or blow into his mouth. He just looked up at the two men and shook his head. For the first time since taking the mixture, Judas felt weak. The other two men looked at him, waiting for him to speak. The weight crashed down on his shoulders. He was now their rabbi.

He did not want this. Not now, not like this. He wanted, no, he needed, the rabbi. Nevertheless, he was gone. The rabbi had chosen him for this moment. Judas didn't understand why, but, by faith, he believed the rabbi acted in wisdom when choosing him to be the next Protector.

Right now, two men needed a leader. They needed one more than they ever had before. This was his lot, his burden alone. Therefore, he decided to lead, to do the only thing that had to be done at this moment.

He knelt with the two men and prayed.

* * * *

Thomas slept in the desk chair he placed next to Michael's bloodstained bed. He awoke every hour or so during his friend's fitful sleep. This time it was two hours from dawn, and he feared the opportunity to sleep had fled for the evening. At this moment, he felt alone. What had been an adventure in search of a holy grail was becoming deadly. He thought of Clifton and then of Caleb and Hanna. Now it was Michael.

He couldn't get the expression on Delia's face when they had dragged Michael into the room out of his mind. Any lingering doubts he had about her love for Michael were wiped away at that moment. Now, even she, the enemy, was not here to comfort him and Michael; there was only Fahd, snoring away with his pistol next to his pillow. He was about to begin his third day under house arrest, and no one of consequence knew where he was.

Michael grew restless again. Thomas watched him, holding onto the thin strand of hope he refused to release. His mind traveled to the coffee shop where he met friends and laughed, to his sanctuary, the place where he was never alone.

* * * *

Thomas was awakened by a slap to the face. Umar towered above him; and by the look on his face, sleep had not softened his anger. "Get up. You have fifteen minutes to get ready."

Thomas stood and looked at Michael. His friend's eyes were open, but he grimaced at the slightest move. "Take it easy, Michael. How do you feel?"

The words blew gently across Michael's cracked lips. "Delia?"

Umar grabbed Thomas by the hair and thrust him toward the bathroom. "I said get ready!" He then swung around to Michael. "If I ever hear her name from your lips again, I'll personally cut out your tongue." He said something in Arabic to one of the men with him, marched through the room, and stomped his way up the stairs. The man remained behind, folding his arms and watching Thomas.

Thomas resigned himself to the fact that he was in the final two weeks of his life. He picked up his clothes and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. A few seconds later, the door opened and he saw Umar's man standing in the doorway shaking his head. Apparently, he had lost his privacy as well.

Fifteen minutes later, Umar was back. In the open doorway, he saw two other men escort Delia down the stairs. She had no bruises or cuts that showed. Thomas wasn't surprised. After all, she was Azim's sister.

She paused at the door and looked at Michael. Her lips quivered, and, for an instant, it looked as if she was about to take a step into the room. However, Umar barked out something, and the man behind her pushed her forward. He then turned to Thomas. "Dr. Hamilton, don't forget what I said last night about not giving me a reason to display my anger toward you."

Michael sat up on the edge of his bed, holding his ribs. "I'm going with you." He shifted forward to get off the bed, but he clutched his chest tighter and moaned. "Thomas, help me up."

"Lay back down, Michael. You need to rest."

Michael shook his head. "No, I'm going."

Umar walked to the bed and backhanded Michael across the cheek. "Enough of this." He turned to Thomas and grabbed his arm. "Doctor, go!"

Thomas watched Michael endure pain by crawling across the bed and reaching for the window shade. The effort he exerted on the simple task of opening the shade nearly caused him to pass out. Thomas witnessed Michael and Delia's eyes connect, each reaching a hand to the other. Delia displayed no inhibitions about openly weeping in public.

Then the window shattered.

Thomas dropped to the floor as bullets whizzed by him. There were no screams. The outburst of gunfire lasted no more than five seconds. Three men wearing black boots, white baggy pants, and white tunics ran into the room. All Thomas could see of them were their eyes through the slit in a cloth that covered their faces. The men fanned out back to back and quickly examined the dead men on the floor.

Thomas remained petrified. A pair of black boots stepped next to his face. Above, he heard, "Dr. Hamilton?"

He responded without moving. "Yeah."

"Get up, quickly, and follow me."

Thomas did as he was told. Michael had his arms around the shoulders of two of the men. Umar lay next to him with a carefully placed bullet in the center of his forehead, staring blankly at the ceiling. The other two men were not as neat. Fahd was draped over his bed with a chunk of his neck missing. The man Umar sent to watch Thomas lay in a pool of blood. In his American clothing, he reminded Thomas of one of the guys he saw in a picture of the mob's St. Valentine's Day massacre.

Outside, Thomas saw six more men dressed the same way as the three who had escorted them out, brandishing their weapons in every direction. The two men with Delia were also dead, but she was standing, untouched, against the building at gunpoint.

Michael struggled with pain to get the words out. "Across the street." He pointed to the window where Delia had told them Umar had men planted to guard them.

Above, two military helicopters hovered low. A van screeched to a halt in front of them. The men ushered Thomas into the van, but Michael resisted. He nodded toward Delia. "The girl."

"Dr. Sieff, please, get into the van."

"The girl."

The man yelled something to the one guarding Delia, who nodded and led her to the van. Once in, the door shut and they sped away.

* * * *

From the time they had arrived at the military hospital, Thomas and Delia had sat alone in a waiting room under guard. No one would talk with them, and they could only leave the room by escort to the restrooms. Two hours passed before a doctor entered the room.

"Your friend has been pieced together and wishes to see you. Please follow me."

They followed the doctor to another room, which also had two armed soldiers guarding the door. They entered to see Michael leaning back in the inclined bed, sipping water through a straw. Delia hurried to the bed and leaned to kiss him. Michael's moan drew her back. She wanted to touch him, but she didn't know where.

Ambassador Ben Hur sat in the chair next to Michael's bed. His eyes grew wide when he witnessed Delia's affection toward his nephew. He cocked his head, opened his mouth, but then blinked and shook his head.

Thomas stepped to Michael's bedside. He looked his friend up and down and smiled. "You look terrible."

Michael rolled his eyes, barely moving his lips when he spoke. "Thanks."

"I take it back. Actually, under the circumstances, you look pretty good." He looked at Michael's bandaged chest. "How many ribs broken?"

Michael chose to hold up three fingers instead of speaking.

"And how long are you going to have to wear the mask over your nose?"

Michael shrugged.

"Broken jaw?"

Michael shook his head. "Four broken teeth."

Thomas winced but did not ask his friend any more questions.

The ambassador stood and nodded toward Delia. "Thomas, I'd like to speak
with you and Michael alone."

"Ambassador, I assure you it's safe to speak with her too."

Michael nodded.

"I really think it's best we talk alone."

Thomas turned to Delia and raised his eyebrows. She smiled and walked to the door. Before she left, she blew Michael a kiss.

As soon as the door shut, the ambassador's eyes grew wide again. "Do you know who the devil that woman is?"

"She's Azim's sister," Thomas said matter-of-factly.

The ambassador froze, except for a couple of blinks, and then asked, "And that doesn't bother you?"

"Look, I wasn't easy to convince, but I'm convinced now. How much do you think her life is worth now that she has fled with the enemy? She risked everything to be with Michael."

With pained effort, Michael also stood up for her. "Uncle Ben, you know me. Please trust me on this."

They looked at each other for a moment until the ambassador finally shook his head. "Forget she's Azim's sister; she's not Jewish, for goodness sakes."

Michael slowly threw the deathblow. "Neither was grandmother."

The ambassador was silent. He finally turned his head and spoke. "The doctor said that within a month's time you'll be able to go back to work."

Mentioning a time frame forced Thomas's eyes open and set his heart racing. "Hanna! Azim has her and will kill—"

The ambassador held up his hand. "We sent a second Israeli Special Forces team for her. She's safe."

Thomas felt a weight lift from him. He couldn't suppress a smile. What a difference twelve hours could make. Though deprived of a good night's sleep, he felt exhilaration spread through his body. "Ambassador, I have a couple of questions that trouble me."

"What are they?"

"I'm sure the Special Forces knew who Delia was; why didn't they kill her?"

"They almost did. Apparently, her and Michael's behavior right before the attack gave the team's leader just enough doubt. However, her guard was given the order to kill if she so much as blinked the wrong way."

Thomas nodded and then asked his other question. "And before we were loaded into the van, Michael mentioned the Palestinian guards in the building across the street. I don't understand why they didn't fire back."

The ambassador smiled. "We knew about them. They were neutralized before the rescue was carried out."

"I see." He ran his fingers through his hair and turned to Michael. "I'll make sure Delia is taken care of while you recover."

Michael smiled and nodded.

"Oh, Ambassador, I was wondering if you could arrange a meeting between Hanna and me?"

"Funny you should ask; she's requested a meeting with you. You'll have the chance to see her soon." He held out an envelope. "In here, you'll find everything you need to make yourself legal in Israel: passport, driver's license, diplomatic credentials from my office, and money. Just stay away from the American embassy for the time being. I'm still working on that."

Thomas took the envelope and nodded. "Thanks."

The ambassador stepped up to his nephew, smiled, and shook his head. "Michael, Michael. You do look terrible." He rubbed his chin and pursed his lips. "Tell you what, I'll let Thomas introduce me to Delia and give it an open mind."

Michael nodded and closed his eyes.

Thomas said good-bye, and they left. When they took a few steps down the hall, the ambassador stopped. "Thomas, things are not good. I need your help."

Thomas looked back toward Michael's room. "He's hurt, isn't he?"

"Don't worry about Michael. I assure you, under the circumstances, he's quite well."

Thomas exhaled. "What is it, then?"

"I need you to go back to Hebron and continue your search. I need you to find out everything you possibly can about the Samson Effect."

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm going back there. Just how long do you think I'd survive?"

"I can arrange to have soldiers protect a perimeter around you wherever you need to go and have a combat chopper assigned to patrol your area."

"No, thanks. Your Israeli soldiers seem to be called away every time Azim shows up."

"I assure you, this will be different. These men will be solely assigned to you with orders not to leave under any circumstances."

Thomas shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, but the answer is no." He took a few steps down the hall and then stopped and turned to the ambassador.

The ambassador stood with his hands in his pockets and his feet firmly planted. "I think someone's already found it."

Thomas approached warily. "What do you mean?"

"Eyewitnesses saw a man, a Jew, bend the barrel of a gun with one hand. They also saw him throw a man through a cafe wall." The ambassador reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photo. "This is the cafe."

Thomas stared at the photo. "I don't understand. If you think the man has it, what good would it do for me to continue the search?"

The ambassador put the photo back into his pocket. "I want you to meet a man tomorrow. I believe he's the only other person in Israel who knows about the Samson Effect. Talk with him. If, after that, you're still not convinced, I won't ask you again."

Thomas squinted. "Why me?"

"Because you and Michael are the only men qualified to find it, and because I trust you."

"If I do this, I'll have a couple of conditions."

"What? Name them."

"First, we wait until Michael's well, and he and I work together."

The ambassador shook his head. "I'm sorry, but that's why we're out here. If he knew what I was asking, he'd kill himself to go with you. You'll learn tomorrow why we don't have the luxury to wait until he's better."

"I'll table that condition, but the others are not negotiable."

"Go on."

"I expect to know everything you know about the Samson Effect."

"That's what your visit tomorrow is for."

"I'm serious, Ambassador. If I learn you've kept anything from me, I'm through."

"Anything else?"

"Just one more thing. Delia works with me."

The ambassador forgot he was in a hospital. "Out of the question!"

"It's nonnegotiable."

"No!"

"Then I guess my visit to your friend will be pointless, won't it?"

A crimson tint swept over the ambassador's face. "If that's what you want, fine. Just know she's the one person I can't protect you from."

"I understand the risk—"

"No, you don't."

The queasiness came back to Thomas's stomach. "But she's the one who called to let you know we were still alive and how to find us." Thomas's voice was not as strong as it was a few seconds ago. "You'll see when you meet her."

"I've no intentions of ever meeting that woman, and you'd be wise to stay away from her. She's shrewd; she and Azim have probably planned this to get closer to the Samson Effect." He abruptly turned and began to march away, but stopped to turn and point a finger at Thomas. "Wait until you see her dossier of suspected crimes; it'll send a chill through your spine. It's only a matter of time before she rots in an Israeli prison … or worse."




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The Samson Effect Chapter 11

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JABIR SAT IN the passenger seat and slipped the clip into his handgun. Behind, he heard the clicks of two more clips. He turned to the driver and glanced at his gun. "Hamid, get your gun ready."

Hamid pulled his handgun from beneath his jacket and stared at it. Jabir handed him a clip. He took the clip and paused before clicking it into place. He glanced in the rearview mirror at the two men stoically waiting for orders, and then turned to find Jabir's eyes still on him.

"Jabir, please, listen to me—"

Jabir held up a hand and shook his head. "Not another word."

"But you didn't see him. He bent the gun with his bare hands like it were nothing to him." He turned to the two men in the backseat. "You saw it; tell him."

Jabir turned to see the two men cast their gaze down, but they remained silent. "Well, did you see this superman bend steel?" Neither man answered. He looked back to Hamid and chuckled. "Please, Hamid, you're better than this. This is no different from any other job we've done."

"But—"

"Look, Sofian is one step closer to Azim, which means we are one step closer to Azim." He patted Hamid on the cheek. "Besides, when didn't one of your bullets stop a man?"

"I have a bad feeling about this one."

Jabir's smile grew into a frown. "Enough. We'll carry out Azim's orders, and we'll quit talking about your superman. Understand?"

Hamid didn't answer. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Jabir pointed his gun at him and nudged his temple. Hamid opened his eyes and slowly turned to see the barrel staring him in the face.

"Understand?"

Hamid nodded. Jabir pulled the gun away and spoke loud enough for the two men in the backseat to hear. "We all know the four men we're after. When Sofian calls, we'll enter the rabbi's house and execute him along with anyone else with him." His glare burned into Hamid. "This is just like any other order we've carried out. Those filthy swine dared to lift a hand against Azim's sister, so they deserve to die." He heard strong agreement from the two men in the backseat.

Jabir and Hamid stared at the cell phone when it rang. Jabir pushed the button and held it to his ear. Fifteen seconds later, he ended the call. "Sofian confirms the Israelis are out of the area and all four men are in the rabbi's house." He opened his door and the others followed him out. "Allah's justice will be carried out."

The four men walked down the quiet alley behind the rabbi's house. Discarded crates were piled next to the shop doors across from the house. Through the cast-iron gate, Jabir could see three men in the window sitting at the kitchen table. The blinds on all the other windows were turned at just the angle where he could not see in. He waited until the fourth man returned to the table before lining the rabbi in his sights. Each man drew his gun and found his particular target. They all waited for Jabir to give the order.

* * * *

Thomas, Michael, and Delia stared up the tunnel, fearful of whom, or what, was on its way down. Delia and Michael pulled away from each other and stood on opposite sides of the tunnel. Thomas prayed whoever it was didn't overhear their conversation, but the echoes caused by the rolling stones left him with a bad feeling.

Thomas saw the outline of a man emerge from the darkness. The man called out something in Arabic, and Thomas thought he heard the word "Delia." Delia responded in Arabic, and Thomas was sure he detected relief in the deep voice that responded. Soon, a mountain of a man stood next to them.

Delia and the man, who Thomas recognized as one of Umar's men, carried out a conversation in Arabic. Thomas looked to Michael and asked, "What's he saying?"

Michael shushed him and held up a finger while he listened intently to what they were saying. After a few minutes, he turned to Thomas. "I'm far from being proficient in Arabic, but I think I've got the gist of what he's saying. He said we've been down here a long time and they began to worry, so he came to make sure we were all right."

Thomas waited for the rest of the interpretation, but Michael remained silent. "That's it? All that talking, and that's it?"

"I told you it was just the gist." Michael thought for a moment and then added, "He did say something that doesn't make sense. He said he feared the light and scared the darkness away to hell."

"Not bad, Doctor." The two men turned to Delia, who stood with a grin. "You're right about him checking on us, but the other thing he said was that none of them had a flashlight so he had to make the trip with only the light from his cell phone. He said the shadows it cast made him feel like he was descending into hell." She looked to the man and smiled. "He's glad to see us and says he'll stay with us until we go to the surface."

"Does he speak English?" Thomas asked.

"Only what he picks up around Umar."

"Then …"

"I believe we're quite safe."

They spent the next two hours searching the tunnel for any signs pointing to new information about the Samson Effect. Thomas was pleasantly surprised that Delia and Michael put on a good show for their guest. If he didn't know better, he would have thought their relationship was purely professional.

The man said something to Delia, who nodded. "He said he thinks we better be getting back up now. It's late and someone else will soon come down if he's not back up."

Michael sighed. "Might as well leave. We've been to the end of the shaft and searched the floor and walls for any signs of a chamber or something buried. Nothing." He looked at the stone chip in his hand. "I don't understand why the mark is here."

Thomas put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Whatever was down here has obviously been removed. Let's just hope it wasn't the Samson Effect itself."

On their way up, Thomas learned that Azim hired men to clear the snakes from the first cave. He sensed it bothered Delia that the men claimed there were only seven snakes in the nest, considerably less than the hundreds she estimated. He found it funny until they volunteered him to be the first one down. He found himself having second thoughts about the exterminators' thoroughness.

Once out of the cave, they picked up their tools and headed home, planning to revisit the first cave in the morning.

* * * *

A car pulled around to pick up Umar's man from in front of the cave's entrance. They began following Delia's truck to make sure the three arrived home safely. The man who entered the cave turned to the man in the backseat and said, in perfect English, "When Umar calls, tell him I need to speak with him. It's about Delia and Dr. Sieff."

* * * *

Thomas wasn't looking forward to spending the night in the room again. The window had been replaced, but he found comfort when Delia told them her uncle had placed men in one of the buildings across the street to keep watch over them twenty-four hours.

He let the other two enter first and found Michael sitting on his bed. "You're not sleeping in my bed."

Michael gestured toward the bed that the pig's head had landed on. "I think they replaced the bed. Look at it. It looks brand new."

"Good, then you won't mind getting off my bed, will you?"

"Come on, Thomas. You know I'm Jewish."

Thomas looked at the bed and cringed. "Fine, but if I even think I smell bacon, I'm taking my bed back and you can sleep on the floor, for all I care."

Michael smiled and lay down on his back, stretching his arms behind his head. His smug look was almost enough to make Thomas walk over and flip him out of bed. Instead, he reached down and yanked the covers from his new bed. The sheets were clean. A cursory examination turned up no signs of pig blood. Thomas shuddered at the thought of lying down on the bed and decided he had better not look at it too closely.

"You remember why I studied biblical archaeology, don't you?"

Michael rolled on his side and thought. "I remember. You wanted to become an MD, but you couldn't stand the sight of blood." Michael smiled until the meaning behind Thomas's question dawned on him. "There's no blood on that bed, and besides, my reasons are spiritual. You wouldn't want to be responsible for a stain on my soul, would you?"

"When's the last time you've been to a synagogue?"

Delia stepped between them. "Boys, boys. As much as I hate pigs, for biological and spiritual reasons, I may add, I'll sleep on the bed if it'll keep you two quiet."

Thomas felt appropriately chastised. "No, no; I'll take the bed." He looked at Michael, preparing to fight over the bed, but Michael closed his eyes and smiled. He plopped down on the bed and bit his tongue.

The door opened and the man who was with them in the cave stepped in. He spoke to Delia, who relayed the message to Michael. "My uncle wishes to speak with you, now." They both stood and stepped to the door, but the man stopped Delia with his arms and said something to her. She looked at Michael. "Alone."

* * * *

Umar sat in the chair across from the sofa and coffee table casually sipping his wine. When Michael entered, he stood and extended his hand toward the sofa. "Dr. Sieff, please be seated. May I offer you a Coca-Cola?"

Michael eased onto the sofa and crossed his legs. "Actually, I'd prefer what you're having, if you don't mind."

"Not at all; my pleasure." Umar walked over to the bar and reached for a bottle. "Tell me, Doctor, was your expedition today profitable?"

"We managed to do all right for ourselves."

Umar poured the wine and headed back to Michael. "Would I be out of line in asking what it is you're looking for?" He handed the glass to Michael and sat down.

Michael swirled his wine as he carefully chose his words. He smiled and glanced to Umar. "Maybe you'd better ask Azim. I mean no disrespect, but I don't want to tread where I don't belong."

Umar narrowed his eyes. "Interesting choice of words."

The words flowed like molasses from Umar's lips. Michael felt uncomfortable in the ensuing silence as Umar stared at him. He sipped his wine and adjusted himself on the couch.

Umar cracked the silence with his jovial voice. "No, I guess you wouldn't. Azim will tell me in his time."

Again, silence smothered Michael. Umar contentedly sipped his wine and smiled, never taking his eyes off Michael. When it seemed apparent Umar wasn't going to speak, Michael set his glass on the table. "I'm sure you didn't ask me here to have someone to drink with or to just find out why Azim's working with
us."

The smile didn't fade from Umar's face. "Perceptive, Doctor." Umar downed the remaining half glass of wine and set his empty glass next to Michael's. When he leaned back in his chair, his smile was gone and his forehead pinched in anger. His voice became heavy, and every syllable caused Michael's muscles to tense. "Do you remember what we talked about at the bar this morning, Doctor?"

Umar's flaming eyes unnerved Michael. He slowed his breathing in an attempt to keep his body from betraying his fear. "Of course. You made yourself perfectly clear."

"Apparently, I didn't. I told you I love my niece, and I would have no hesitation in killing anyone who harmed her. Do you remember that, Dr. Sieff?"

Michael controlled every biological sign of nervousness except for the lone drop of sweat that ran from his forehead to the tip of his nose. He replied calmly, "I remember."

Umar leaned back and gripped the chair's arm. When he did, his jacket pulled away, revealing a chest holster and gun. "Then what are the stories I hear about you putting your filthy hands on my niece, and …" Umar brought his hand to his mouth to suppress a vomit. He squeezed his eyes shut and wiped his face with his hand. The next words fell from his mouth like individual buckshots. "And… put … your … lips … on … her?"

More sweat drops joined Michael's lone drop. He reached for his glass, but he couldn't prevent the wine in it from vibrating. In a fraction of a second, a battle raged in his mind on whether to deny the accusation or to seek forgiveness. Consciously, he had no idea what his brain had chosen until the words fell from his lips.

"I love her."

No … oh please, no!

It was too late. All he wanted to do was to stretch out his arms and corral the words back to him. Umar's dark, leathery skin turned crimson. He stood and towered over Michael, speaking through clenched teeth. "You are a fortunate man, Doctor. I love Delia too much to let this get back to Azim, and I very well can't kill you or I'd have to answer to him. However, I will teach you to never defile her again."

With a sharp nod, he ordered his men to Michael. One man pulled him from the sofa by his hair while another locked his arms behind his back and held him steady.

* * * *

Thomas was standing by the map when the door flew open and Umar marched in followed by two men dragging Michael by the shoulders. Both of Michael's eyes were bruised and swollen shut. His nose looked like it was broken, and blood was caked on his face. Delia cried out his name and raced toward him as the men threw him onto the bed.

Before she could reach him, Umar grabbed her hair and roughly yanked her to a stop. She turned in time to catch her uncle's backhand across her cheek. Her legs gave way, but Umar's hold on her hair kept her from falling.

Thomas rushed to Michael's side and then to the bathroom for a damp cloth. When he returned he gently dabbed the blood away, and Michael began to moan.

"Dr. Hamilton, you and Delia will continue Azim's work until Dr. Sieff regains his strength." He dragged Delia by the hair to the door. "Fahd, you'll now be sleeping in this room." He forced Delia's face to his. "One word from you and I swear I'll turn you over to Azim!"

Before he left, he turned to Thomas. "Dr. Hamilton, don't give me any reason to display my wrath toward you. I'm not sure I'll be as controlled next time."




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The Samson Effect Chapter 10

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SILENCE FILLED THE cave as the two men hung on Delia's words. Uneasiness flooded through Thomas. From what he knew of the Samson Effect, it could wreak havoc if used by the wrong people. Thomas saw in her eyes that she truly believed the Effect was more powerful than he or Michael had imagined. If she believed it, then so did Azim.

Michael took her hands gently into his. "What do you mean the Samson Effect is more powerful than we thought?"

Thomas could see she was struggling between telling and not telling them. Fear, however, seemed to be winning out. She looked away and shook her head. "Michael, please, I can't tell you." Her head shook with resolution. "If I did, Azim wouldn't think twice about killing me."

She looked into Michael's eyes, silently pleading for his understanding. She then looked at Thomas with the same pleading in her eyes. Thomas shined his flashlight back to the entrance of the tunnel, making sure they were alone. He then turned back to Delia. "If you really love him, then you must trust him. His life is on the line. I'll leave you two alone, but, please, tell him what we're up against."

He lowered his flashlight and began descending to level ground. Before he made it half way down, Delia called out to him. "Thomas, wait." He stopped and turned his flashlight on her, praying she hadn't rejected his request outright.

"I love Michael." She looked into Michael's eyes and gently caressed his cheek with her hand. "Enough to die for him." Their gaze lingered, and then she turned to Thomas. "And I know he loves you like a brother. If he trusts you, so will I." She leaned against the wall and sighed. "Azim has kept some of the scrolls from you. He doesn't know about the mark you've found, so he's not 100 percent sure all the scrolls refer to the Samson Effect. However, there's one in particular that's caused him to pursue it at any cost.

"A friend found it in Iraq and knew Azim collected ancient artifacts. He contacted Azim and arranged to bring it, and other items, to Hebron to see if Azim was interested in buying them."

Thomas knew immediately the scroll must have been written during the Assyrian or Babylonian empire, but he failed to see its connection to the Samson Effect. No historical evidence existed that placed the Effect anywhere but in Israel.

Delia continued. "The scroll was written in Hebrew. When Azim had it interpreted, the author claimed to be the Protector of the Lord's Strength, the title used consistently in others that are linked to the Samson Effect."

Michael must have been thinking the same thing Thomas was thinking. He interrupted Delia, shaking his head. "But why would the Protector take the knowledge from Israel?" Then his eyes grew wide. "Unless he was among the captives led away from Judah by Nebuchadnezzar." The realization seemed too much for him. He dropped to his knees with a pained expression on his face. "It could be anywhere in the world."

Delia's tone was quick and excited. "No, Michael, he's also found scrolls written centuries later by the Protector of the Lord's Strength. All have been found around Hebron."

Michael sat on the cave floor and took out his canteen. He took a drink and looked up at Delia. "What did the Babylonian scroll say?"

"It talks of three Jewish men who were, by order of the king, thrown into a giant kiln."

"Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego," Thomas said.

"You're familiar with the story, then. As you know, Doctor, the flames didn't harm the three men. The Babylonian scroll attributes their safety to the Lord's Strength."

Thomas and Michael remained quiet. Delia's voice shook them from their thoughts. "You can see, then, why my brother is so determined to find the Samson Effect."

"I'll say," Thomas said. "If the biblical text and the Babylonian scroll are correct, the Samson Effect could make a man nearly indestructible."

"Come on, Thomas," Michael said. "Think about what you're saying. Granted, I thought the Effect might be some super herb that stimulates the production of adrenaline or something, but the notion it has the ability to turn someone into Superman is more than I can buy into."

"I agree, but I think we need to be open to the idea it may have a more powerful effect than we assumed."

"You think my brother is powerful now, just what do you think he'll be like if the Babylonian scroll is correct?" She embraced Michael and leaned her head onto his shoulder. "I've had nightmares about that since the day he told me about the Babylonian scroll."

Michael held her head to his chest. "That's why we're going to find it first." He looked up at Thomas, who simply nodded.

Michael kissed the top of Delia's head and pulled her from his chest. "I think it's time we find out what we can about the mark we've found down here."

All three whipped their heads around and looked up the tunnel when they heard the loose gravel fall.

* * * *

"They'll try to kill you, you know." The rabbi looked without expression across the table at Judas. "What you did to the two Palestinian guards will make them fearful."

Judas knew he had compromised his greater duty by acting so foolishly in front of so many people. He couldn't imagine how bad it would have been if he hadn't listened to the two men the rabbi had sent to bring him here. He had no idea how to proceed, but he trusted the rabbi's wisdom. He sat silently and waited for the rabbi to help him choose the correct course of action.

"Judas, help me to the stove. My water's boiling."

"Let me get it for you."

Judas rose to his feet, but the rabbi waved him off. "I'm not a total invalid. Just help me to my feet."

Judas obeyed, knowing it was futile to argue with the old man. He walked next to the rabbi until they reached the stove. The rabbi reached out a trembling hand and turned off the burner. The excited water slowed until steam gently rose from its calm surface. The rabbi gripped the handle with both hands, lifting the small pan from the stove. It trembled in his hands. Judas was afraid the splashing water would land on the rabbi's hand, causing him to drop the pan and burn his thin, wrinkled skin. He reached his hand to the pan, but the rabbi rebuffed him with a stern, "No. You may, however, get my cup for me."

Judas reached to the stove for the rabbi's cup, hoping the rabbi wasn't going to ask him to hold it while the feeble man filled it with hot water. Just as he gripped the cup, the rabbi grunted and threw hot water into his face.

Judas dropped the cup and stammered backwards, screaming and rubbing his face with his hands.

"Judas, Judas!"

Judas quit rubbing and waited for the pain to hit.

It never did.

It felt like cool water splashed from a faucet onto his face. He was confused, still waiting for the pain to hit.

"How do you feel?"

Judas rubbed his face again. "I don't know, rabbi, I—"

"Of course you know. Are you burned?"

"I don't think so."

"Here."

By reflex, he reached down and caught the pan the rabbi tossed to him. He looked down to see the faintest bit of steam still rising from inside. When his brain registered he was holding hot metal, he released the pan.

"How about now? Are you burned?"

He opened his hands and looked at his fingers and palms. He felt no pain and saw no redness. Abruptly, the confusion left him, replaced by the realization that it must be the Lord's Strength. He wiggled his fingers and smiled. "Why didn't you just tell me instead of scaring me to death?"

"Tell you, huh?" The rabbi turned to the stove and brought the burner flame to high. "Okay, Judas, the flame won't hurt you. Stick your hand into it."

The smile slowly left Judas's face. "Are you serious?"

"Very. Your experience should tell you you'll be safe. Come on, put your hand into the flame."

Judas looked down at his slowly wiggling fingers. His pace to the stove made the rabbi look like an Olympic runner. The rabbi patiently watched until he reached the stove.

He turned to the rabbi. "Go ahead, Judas."

Judas lifted his left hand, looked at it, and mouthed a silent prayer. Then, before he had time to change his mind, he screamed and thrust his hand into the flame.

He held it there for three seconds, watching the blue flames dance around it, before involuntarily yanking it to safety. He turned it palm up and waited.

No pain.

No burn.

He looked at the rabbi, unable to keep the grin from stretching across his face. He thrust his hand back into the flame and held it there. After thirty seconds, the rabbi turned off the flame.

"This is just the beginning of what you'll be able to endure over the next two weeks."

"Tell me, Rabbi!"

The rabbi held out an arm, and Judas helped him back to the chair. "Your bones cannot be broken, nor can your skin be pierced, by knife, by arrow, or by bullet. The Lord, my friend, will confound your enemies as much as he did Samson's enemies." The rabbi held his hand toward the chair. "Sit."

Judas sat down, admiring his hand. Then he thought of Simon and slowly dropped his head to the table. As the rabbi sat, he said, "Please, tell me how I can avenge Simon and still continue to be the Protector."

"Over time, Judas, people will forget what they saw you do. Until then, you must remain quiet and do nothing to bring attention to yourself. You must use your gift in secret and wait until the opportune time to act. When you do act, you must then slip back into obscurity."

"Yes, Rabbi." Judas thought about the crowd of people who saw him bend steel. "Are you sure people will forget?"

"They'll forget. Trust me, the more time that passes, the more they'll doubt what they saw. Soon, it will seem too fanciful for them to believe and they'll relegate it to an active imagination. All except Azim."

Judas clenched his fist. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Not now, my impetuous friend. But what about when the Lord departs from you, as he did from Samson?"

Judas remained quiet. Finally, he answered. "That's why I must take care of him soon."

"Yes, while not giving everyone else in the city another image to fortify what they've already seen."

The two gatekeepers appeared at the doorway. Tobin stepped forward. "Please forgive us for interrupting, but we have—" Tobin stopped and looked at Judas. He bowed his head and continued. "We have Simon. What would you like us to do with him?"

Everyone looked at the rabbi. "Tonight, we'll bury him in the courtyard." The two men reverently nodded and started to leave. "Wait. I think it's time for you two to join us. Judas and I were just about to plan out how to avenge Simon."

Tobin clenched his teeth. "Whatever it is, count me in."

"Me too," Aaron echoed.

The four men sat around the table and planned their attack on Azim. Judas and the rabbi, though, did not share their plan on dealing with Dr. Sieff, nor did they mention the Lord's Strength. They each soon had their specific duties defined. At the rabbi's insistence, they all agreed not to venture out of the house until morning.

What Judas did not tell them, however, was that he would begin his part of the plan that very evening.



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