The Samson Effect Chapter 20

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"PLEASE COME IN and sit down." Hazan extended an inviting hand inside and stepped aside to make way for the three men to enter.

Judas shifted his eyes from Tobin to Aaron, both of whom awaited his instructions. The menacing sirens remained in the background, but still worried Judas enough that he warily nodded to his host and led the others in. They all took a seat on the extended sofa.

"May I offer you something to drink?" Before they could answer, Hazan's enthusiasm erupted. "I'm honored to have you in my home." With a juvenile smile and trying to hide his giddiness, he turned to Judas. "Especially you, Rabbi."

The three men looked at each other quizzically. Judas stood and stepped to Hazan. "Who are you, and what do you know about me?"

The expressions of joy morphed into confusion, accentuated by his shrinking smile. Then, as if baptized with understanding, his eyes widened, and his smile stretched to full length. "The rabbi hadn't revealed the Council to you. Of course."

Hazan's nonsensical comments began to stir the seeds of Judas's anger. Hazan apparently sensed Judas's growing aggravation and motioned for him to sit again as he himself slid into the chair facing the couch. "Let me explain." He nervously eyed Aaron and Tobin. "May we speak alone?"

"No," came Judas's adamant reply. "What you need to say, you may say in front of these two."

All joy washed from Hazan's expression, replaced by nervous indecision. "You don't understand—"

"That's right, and you're not helping me to understand. Now tell me what you wish, or my friends and I will handle our affairs on our own."

"No! You mustn't risk it. Please, Rabbi, it's for your own protection."

Judas stood and unceremoniously strode to the door. "Tobin, Aaron, we're leaving."

"Okay, okay." Judas stopped and turned to the detective. Hazan wiped his brow with his sleeve. "The Council won't like this at all."

They seated themselves, and Hazan let out a sigh. "There's a council of ten who guards the Protector and takes care of his needs. We're all in positions of influence in Israel, and we were to be introduced to you by the rabbi next week."

"The rabbi never mentioned a council to me, either orally or in writing."

"He wouldn't have. For centuries, the Council has existed without written record or awareness by anyone except fellow members, an enforcer, and the Protector himself." His eyes shifted to Tobin and Aaron. "That is, until today. The Council is not going to be happy at all."

"How do you know my sister?" Tobin interrupted.

"When the rabbi told the Council two months ago he'd be choosing Judas or Simon to pass on his responsibilities, I took the opportunity to create friendships with families of both."

"So, she doesn't know about the Council?" Judas asked.

"Heavens, no. She only sees me as a trusted friend."

"I suppose you've heard of the rabbi's death, then."

"Yes. It filled the Council with panic since we weren't sure if he'd chosen his successor and passed on the secret." A smile swept across Hazan's face. "And then we heard stories of a man in Hebron who bent a rifle barrel. Our emotions were mixed, with relief he'd apparently made his choice and with apprehension from the public display of power. It was only when we looked into the rumors that we learned of the rabbi's death."

Judas felt overwhelmed by what he had just heard. Until now, he had believed he, Tobin and Aaron were alone with their great responsibility. A wave of relief washed over him. However, he felt he needed to put Hazan to the test in order to confirm the detective's legitimacy. If there was, indeed, a council as Hazan had described, Judas knew it would not want the secret hiding place of the source of the Lord's Strength revealed to them. The rabbi had insisted he and Judas were the only two people on earth who knew the location.

Judas stood and paced thoughtfully through the room. All was silent as each man watched and waited. He finally stopped and turned to Hazan. "I want you to send someone to bring the secret to me in Jerusalem. It's in danger of being discovered."

"What?" Hazan flew to his feet, and years of tough-nosed interrogation experience took over. "What do you mean, it's in danger?"

The depth of the paleness that washed over Hazan's face surprised Judas. "First things first; I want you to have it brought safely to me now."

Hazan violently shook his head. "But we cannot. We don't know where it is."

Judas peered into Hazan's frightened, dilated eyes. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "I'll tell you—"

Hazan covered his ears with his hands and cried out. "No! No! You must never, never share that information with anyone except your successor!"

Judas smiled and waited for Hazan to remove his hands. "I now believe what you told me." He watched as the color slowly returned to Hazan's face.

An audible sigh escaped from the detective's mouth. "For a moment, I feared you were telling the truth about the secret's location being in danger of being compromised."

Judas pulled out the cover page of Dr. Thomas Hamilton's article and handed it to Hazan. "Do you know the man in the photo?"

Hazan gave it a cursory glance. "Yes. I spoke with him today, as a matter of fact. Why?"

"Because I was telling the truth about the secret being compromised. This man has directions to the secret, and the means to access it." He watched Hazan stumble into the chair as the color once again drained from his face. "I need your help in getting it back."

For a moment, Hazan seemed paralyzed. Then, suddenly, he snapped into action. He grabbed the phone and dialed. Placing his hand over the mouthpiece, he said, "We must convene the Council first thing tomorrow morning."

* * * *

Light from the lamp poured over the table in Thomas's room. He and Michael sat spellbound, poring over the contents of the envelope. Not only did the material in the notebook confirm the ancient writings about the Samson Effect, it also revealed Protectors were still searching for and guarding the secret. A chill ran through Thomas's body as he imagined that somewhere, someone at this very moment had intimate knowledge of this "ancient" secret.

Thomas watched Michael examine the metal key that had weighed down the envelope. "What do you think it is?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't know. The notebook calls it a key that leads to the altar room and then to the secret of the Lord's Strength." Michael turned the key around in the palm of his hand and examined it from every angle. "Doesn't look like any key I've ever seen."

"Let me see it."

Michael tossed the key to Thomas, who examined it for the first time. It was cylindrical and the size and weight of a small stone. There were no carvings on it, only ridges and grooves of varying thickness around its circumference. Thomas imagined if he rolled it on an inkpad and then onto a white sheet of paper, he'd find a pattern that would look like a common UPC bar code. One end of the cylinder was flat with tiny scuffmarks embedded in the surface. The other end was hollowed out. To Thomas it looked like a large thimble.

He absentmindedly stuck his forefinger and middle finger into the hollowed end and began tapping the "key" on the tabletop. He pursed his lips and looked up at Michael. "Do you suppose this really does unlock the hiding place to the surviving sample of the Effect?"

"Are you kidding? Solomon reigned about 900 BC or so. What vegetation do you know of that could have survived for three thousand years?" Michael let out a quiet chuckle. "At least I was on the right track. The Samson Effect is a plant, and if the notebook is correct, the seeds have been lost since the Protector during the reign of King Rehoboam died before letting his successor know what he'd done with them. Apparently, no Protector since has been able to solve the riddle of the seeds being hidden in Satan's belly."

Michael rubbed his eyes with his palm. "I hope that if we find the seeds there's enough left to identify the type of plant they came from."

"If we're really lucky, we'll find dormant seeds that can germinate."

Michael's laughter bellowed out and filled the small hotel room. "You actually think three-thousand-year-old seeds can survive and remain fertile?" He smiled. The slight nod of his head teased Thomas, who knew he was about to be the butt of unmerciful banter. "You're the archaeologist. Ever hear of King Tut's wheat?"

Thomas's cheeks grew hot. "Of course I've heard of King Tut's wheat, but apparently your knowledge of botany and seed viability is pretty limited."

Thomas stared at Michael and shook his head at his friend's implication. Every archaeologist knew of the American airman who, during World War II, came across a street vendor in Egypt who sold him thirty-six kernels of grain he claimed was found preserved in a pharaoh's tomb. The young man sent the kernels to his father, a farmer in Montana, who successfully grew the seeds. Eventually, the public went crazy over what was dubbed "King Tut's wheat."

Science, however, disproved the theory that the kernels came from an ancient tomb, and it eventually identified the grain as a little-known grain from Egypt now known as kamut. Grains such as wheat, the scientist had explained, can remain dormant and viable for about thirty years, maybe ninety under ideal circumstances, but certainly not for thousands of years.

Michael continued his relentless jabs at his educated friend. "Have you ever heard of grain remaining viable after being found in an ancient archaeological site?"

"Not exactly," Thomas intoned in a deep, steady monotone. "But for your information, lotus seeds have been found in ancient lake beds in Manchuria, which carbon 14 has dated as between 830 to 1,250 years old. And guess what? When planted, they sprouted, and some even flowered!"

The smile slowly faded from Michael's face as he took on the appearance of a man lost in deep thought. It was not until now, in silence, that Thomas realized he was breathing heavily. He couldn't believe how easily Michael had pushed his buttons. But, he thought, so what if it showed he was a little ruffled. It was worth it to see Michael's expression right now.

To Thomas's satisfaction, Michael cocked his head and nodded, apparently conceding the point to Thomas. "I see. You may be right. All we need to do is find under which river the Samson Effect seeds are buried …"

"I'm just saying—"

"No, no, no," Michael interrupted. "I agree. You're correct. The seeds must be as big and as rock hard as those thousand-year-old lotus seeds."

"I get your point," Thomas fumed. "I didn't say it was probable, just possible."

"Wow. You might be the first archaeologist to ever find ancient, dormant, viable seeds hidden away by another culture."

"Look, Michael, can we just drop this, please. It's getting old."

Michael's eyes grew as wide as saucers as he mimicked the starstruck expression of a groupie who just ran face-to-face into her idol. He slid a piece of paper to Thomas and, without breaking eye contact, asked, "Would you please sign your autograph for me?"

Thomas's bubbling anger quickly cooled as he took control of himself and realized Michael was just trying to get a rise from him. He whipped a pen from his pocket, scribbled illegible squiggles on the paper, and floated it back to Michael. "You'd better hang onto that. It'll be worth something some day."

There was a light rapping at the door. When Thomas got up to open it, he heard the unmistakable crinkling sound of paper being wadded up. He smiled, shook his head, and opened the door. Delia and Hanna stood side by side, neither looking particularly happy.

Thomas held the door wide open and stepped out of the way. "Looks like we've got company."

Michael craned his neck to watch the women walk through the door. "They seem to be okay. No blood, no bruises." Delia's icy gaze silenced Michael and forced him to sink into his chair.

Thomas closed the door and slipped to the perceived safety of the table next to Michael. "So, what did you two decide?"

"We decided you're right," Hanna said coyly. "Frankly, we're offended you treated us like children, but we both know it's important not to create added burdens on you."

Thomas's apprehension melted away. He looked at Michael and smiled. "Great. It's amazing what we can do if we just act like adults."

"I must say, I'm pleasantly speechless," Michael confessed.

Thomas was relieved that the tension between Hanna and Delia was resolved. He actually looked forward to the morning trip the four of them would make together to the caves. He was about to suggest Hanna accompany him to the lobby for a nightcap when he caught sight of her furious expression. Instead, he froze, not quite knowing what to say.

Apparently, Michael didn't think the anger daggers were aimed at him because he got up and confidently approached Delia. He reached out and gently gripped her arm. "Come on, Delia. Let's get some sleep. 5:00 a.m. comes awfully early."

Delia shrugged her forearm from Michael's grasp. "Hanna and I have booked the last room left in the hotel. We decided it would be better to spend it with each other than with you two. We'll see you boys at breakfast at six."

Together, they turned and marched to the door. They stepped into the hall; but before closing the door, Hanna looked at Thomas with a mischievous grin. "And if either of you want anything more than a cordial, professional relationship over the next few days, we'd suggest you learn real quickly how not to speak to us in the future."



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The Samson Effect Chapter 19

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EVERYONE IN THE ambassador's office was stunned at Thomas's indictment of the pastor, especially Pastor Willingham, who, at the mention of Azim's name, sat wide-eyed with his mouth gaping open. He recovered rather quickly, but not before convincing Thomas he was dead-on with his conclusion.

"I don't know any Azim, and I'm certainly not trying to sell anything. My father died over this, for heaven's sake. Everything I've told you is the God-honest truth."

"Thomas, maybe you'd better explain yourself."

"I'd be happy to, Ambassador. Everything the pastor said seems plausible, but something about his story just didn't settle with me. I'd no idea what it was, and I was about to shrug it off when Delia wrote this." He placed the back of the business card on the desk and slid it to the ambassador, who picked it up and read it.

The ambassador looked at Delia for a long moment and then back to Thomas. Hanna stepped forward and extended her hand. "What is it, Ambassador?" He handed her the card, which she read aloud: "I've seen this man meet with my brother on two occasions. I'm sure of it."

Willingham jerked his head around and for the first time saw Delia standing in the back of the room. "You!" This time he didn't attempt to recover from his incriminating expression.

"Before I fell unconscious at the pastor's house, I saw a photocopy of the parchment your nephew found. The only way the pastor could have obtained it is if Azim had given it to him. Michael made no copy, and Azim has the original. Based on that and on Delia's recollection, it's obvious the pastor was dealing with Azim behind his father's back, presumably to sell what his father had on the Samson Effect." He stepped over to the pastor, who refused to look him in the eyes. "How much was Azim willing to pay for the notebook?"

"She's mistaken. I've never seen her or her brother before."

The ambassador addressed Delia for the first time since meeting her. "Are you positive this is the man?"

"I have no doubts whatsoever."

"I don't know why she's saying this," the pastor pleaded, "because I've never seen her before in my life. Please, you must believe me."

The ambassador leaned back in his chair and brought his fingers to his lips. After a few moments, he called over one of his men. "James, put the word on the street that a pastor has come to us with written information about my nephew's current work. Don't give a name or nationality; just say it was a pastor."

"What are you doing?" the pastor asked, fear flooding his eyes.

"Simple. If you're telling the truth, then when Azim gets this message, you'll have nothing to worry about. But if you're lying, well, I'm sure you understand your predicament."

Without pause, the pastor snapped out his response. "My family will take you up on your offer to leave for America immediately."

Thomas felt the surge of victory rush through him. He felt, for the first time, that he was in control of his quest; and he wasn't about to lose that edge. "Hold up, Ambassador." He stepped in front of the pastor. "Mr. Willingham, before you go anywhere under Israeli protection, you're going to answer a few questions."

The ambassador smiled and nodded to an empty chair in the corner of the room. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Dr. Hamilton."

Thomas positioned the chair so he was sitting directly across from Willingham. "Just three simple questions. First, how did you come across knowledge of the Samson Effect? Your father?"

"No, at least not directly. He just returned from a trip to Rome a few days ago. While he was gone, I found the notebook quite by accident."

"Okay, then how did you manage to meet up with Azim?"

"I found the story of a magical weed turning people into Superman entertaining. I mentioned it to a few people, and we had a good laugh over it. Somehow, word got back to Azim, who sent someone to make an offer to me. He said he'd buy the notebook for fifty thousand dollars. By then Dad was back, so I had to wait for an opportunity to take the notebook."

He turned to the ambassador with watery eyes. "Sir, you've known me for years. You know I loved my father, and I would never have gotten into this had I known it would cause his death. I just thought fifty thousand dollars would help me take better care of my family."

"I knew your father, not you. When you lied to me, you spoiled any personal affection I may have had for you. It's only because of my friendship with your father that I'm going to help you leave Israel."

Delia inserted herself into the conversation. "If my brother ever believes you've betrayed him and takes it personally, there's nowhere you can hide from him. You're as good as dead." The whole time she was talking to Willingham, her eyes were fixed upon Michael.

"I'm sorry, but she's right," the ambassador said. Willingham grew still and very pale. Thomas scooted his chair away from him, fearing the pastor was about to be sick to his stomach.

"What's your last question, Thomas?" the ambassador asked.

Delia's words still echoed in his ears. He felt a gut-wrenching pain, not for Willingham, but for Delia and Michael. He knew every day Azim lived could potentially be the last for his friends. He slowly blinked his eyes to help clear his mind. When he opened them, he saw Willingham was as pale as ever. "Last question: what else do you know about the substance that gives men great strength?"

"Nothing. I found nothing except the notebook, and my father never mentioned it to me."

Thomas stood and picked up the envelope and looked in it. He pulled out the rabbi's old notebook that Arnold Willingham had described to him. He flipped through it and slipped it back into the envelope with Willingham's notebook. He then tucked the envelope under his arm. The ambassador leaned forward with a scowl. "What are you doing?"

"Michael and I have a few hours to read over this tonight. Tomorrow, I want the four of us, along with the protection you promised, on a helicopter heading for Hebron." He looked at Michael and smiled. "We still have a couple of caves to search."

* * * *

Thomas held a slice of New York-style pizza with both hands. "Pizza? We're in the Middle East, and you ordered pizza?"

"But I like pizza," Michael countered in defense of his meal choice.

An empty box sat on the foot of Michael's bed while he, Thomas, and the two women finished off their last piece. A chorus of agreements from Hanna and Delia put the issue to rest. Neither woman had spoken a word to each other throughout the meal. Upon their simultaneous agreement about the pizza, they averted their gaze from each other and sat in silence.

Thomas tossed his unfinished crust into the box and rested his elbows on the table, looking from Hanna to Delia. When he looked at Michael, his friend rolled his eyes and shook his head. Thomas's frustration over the friction between the two women had just reached his boiling point. He smacked his hand against the table's surface, cracking the serene atmosphere.

"That's it; enough is enough!" Everyone's eyes swiftly locked onto him, and the chewing came to an abrupt halt. "Here's the deal. Michael and I have work to do, and it's going to take every bit of physical and mental strength we can muster. The last thing we need is for you two to continue with your catty, schoolgirl behavior toward each other."

Both women's eyes nearly popped from their sockets. They were about to respond when Thomas held out his hand. "I'm not through. Either you two decide right now to be civil to each other, at least in my presence—"

Michael interrupted with a weak voice and tentatively raised a hand. "Mine too."

Thomas whipped his head toward Michael, unable to keep the fire from his eyes for being interrupted. Michael dropped his hand and lowered his head, deferring the floor back to Thomas. Thomas took a breath and continued. "Either you two find a way to get along, or Michael and I go to Hebron alone."

Now the fire spread into both women's eyes. Delia was the first to challenge Thomas. "You wouldn't dare!" She whipped her head toward Michael. "Tell him!"

Thomas let out a sigh of relief when his friend answered. "I'm with him. Either you both go or you both stay. Your choice." Michael shook his head and looked at each girl. "I don't know why you're making us go through this; you're both big girls."

Hanna folded her arms across her chest. "I don't care what you say; I'm going. The ambassador won't have it any other way. And, frankly, I'm appalled at your outburst and insinuations."

"Trust me, the ambassador wants me to go far more than he wants you to go." Thomas nodded toward Delia. "If I promised to leave Delia behind if he would order you to stay, how quickly do you think he'd take me up on my offer?"

For a moment there was a chilly silence in the room. Thomas finally decided to thaw the situation somewhat. In a sincere, soothing voice, he said, "Look, Michael and I truly want you to come; heck, we need you to come, but not if you're going to constantly be at each other." He picked up the envelope and motioned for Michael to follow. He opened the door and said, "Michael and I are going to my room to start going through this material. You two discuss what you're going to do and then let us know."

They shut the door behind the fuming women. Thomas opened his door and flipped on the lights. The two men melted into their chairs, taking a minute to envelop themselves in this serene haven. With his eyes closed, Michael asked, "Do you think it was wise to leave them alone in there?"

Thomas sighed. "I really don't know."

* * * *

Judas pulled into the parking lot of Arnold Willingham's church and home. When he saw the burnt shell of the parsonage next door, he knew something had gone terribly wrong. With late evening approaching, the traffic along the busy roadway had already dwindled to a trickle. He parked next to the church building and stepped out of the car.

He looked around in the darkness, hoping to find Tobin and Aaron, but the place seemed deserted. He ascended the steps at the side of the building to the door with the dedicated doorbell to Arnold's downstairs residence. He pushed the button and waited. A few moments later, he hit the button again and glanced up at the video camera the church had installed so Arnold could see from his apartment who was at the door. No sound stirred within the church building. He descended the steps and was about to get back into his car when a voice from the front of the building called to him.

"Can I help you?"

Judas squinted at the silhouette of a man who cautiously took a few steps toward him from the front of the church. "I'm here to see Arnold Willingham."

"Dear God," an elderly female voice said as another, shorter silhouette appeared next to the man. "He doesn't know."

"Know what?" Judas asked as he stepped toward the couple.

The two did not run, but the woman's hand quickly clutched the man's arm. As he approached, Judas could finally make out the sullen details on the elderly couple's faces.

The old man shook his head and spoke quietly. "Pastor Willingham died today—"

"Was killed," the woman clarified. "Oh, it's so terrible. Were you a friend of the pastor?"

Judas had only met Willingham occasionally when he and Simon had accompanied the rabbi to Jerusalem. However, the affection the rabbi had for him made Judas give no thought in sending Aaron and Tobin to him after the rabbi's death. "Yes I am," Judas answered weakly. "I'm shocked to hear of his death. The burnt house, was it recent also?"

"Today. The firefighters just left." The old man shook his head. "Praise the Lord the pastor's son and family were spared."

"That is fortunate." Judas thought for a moment. "Perhaps I could speak with the pastor's son. Two friends of mine were staying with his father. Maybe he could tell me where I could find them."

The couple froze, their eyes wide and their mouths gaping open. Judas grew uncomfortable at their reaction and silence. "Sir, do you know where I might find the pastor's son?"

"Friend, let me make a call to see if I can find them. Mind waiting here for a few minutes?"

"No, I … I guess not." He watched the man nudge the woman, snapping her from what appeared to be a trance, and the two disappeared around the front corner of the building. Judas reluctantly stepped back to his car and leaned against the hood.

A few seconds later, the silence was shattered by the start of a car's engine and the squealing tires. Judas bolted from the car and ran to the front of the church in time to see the old couple fly from the church drive onto the street. He watched as their taillights disappeared around the corner of the first intersection.

Whatever was going on, Judas knew it would be best if he left immediately. He jogged to his car, but a familiar voice from the darkness behind the church stopped him cold.

"Rabbi."

He peered into the darkness. "Tobin? Is that you?"

Two figures emerged from the darkness. When they approached the car, Judas let out a sigh. "Tobin, Aaron, what's going on?"

"Get in the car. We have to get out of here, now!"

Aaron slipped into the backseat while Tobin slid behind the wheel and started the car. Without arguing, Judas went around to the passenger side and got in. Before he even closed the door, Tobin took off.

"Tobin, what's going on?"

Tobin held up a hand and picked up a cell phone. He punched in a few numbers and waited.

"This is Tobin. We have the rabbi…Israeli police will soon be after us. I need to ask you to trade cars with us … thank you. We'll meet you out front in a couple of minutes."

Tobin ended the call and dropped the phone into his lap. Without taking his eyes from the road, he began filling Judas in on what was happening. "The police are looking for Aaron and me for killing the pastor. The old couple you were talking to knew that and probably headed for the police when they linked you to us. They've been there since the house burned down. Aaron and I found a hiding place close to the church, hoping to see you if you came tonight."

"But how did you know I'd be here? I wasn't planning to be here for a week or two."

Tobin turned to Judas. "What? Didn't my sister call you and ask you to come?"

"No, no one called me. I came because I heard you'd lost the envelope I gave you."

Tobin fixed his eyes back upon the road. His audible swallow confirmed he was unaware Judas knew he had lost the envelope.

"Please tell me you have the envelope."

The car's engine was the only noise Judas heard.

"Tobin? You didn't lose the envelope, did you?"

Tobin closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.

"Dear God, no! This can't be happening. Do you know what was in that envelope?"

Neither Tobin nor Aaron answered.

"The location of the power of the Lord's Strength and the key to access it!" Judas balled his hand into a fist and, in frustration, brought it down. His hand sliced through the glove compartment as though it were a Styrofoam egg carton.

They heard sirens whine in the distance. Judas felt a surge of anger sweep through him like he had never felt before. All he wanted to do was lash out at Tobin and break his neck with his bare hands. It took every ounce of self-control he could muster to fight off the urge. When his blind rage finally passed, his hands trembled as he realized how close he had come to killing his friend. His bouts of anger were growing increasingly stronger and harder to control. With calm resolution, he asked, "Where is it?"

Aaron spoke up for the first time. "The last time we saw it one of the pastor's American friends had it." He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Judas.

Judas studied the paper. It was the first page of the article written by Dr. Thomas Hamilton. There was a picture of the author in the upper left-hand corner.

"That is the man who took the envelope," Aaron said. "Tobin and I heard him and the pastor talking about what we protect. The doctor called it the Samson Effect."

The conversation stopped when Tobin whipped the car into the drive of a dark house silhouetted in the light from a full moon. Outside, a woman stood waving them forward. The three men got out of the car, and the woman ran to Tobin, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek.

Tobin took a step back. "Rabbi, this is my sister. She's going to help us."

Judas nodded his greeting, yet felt anxious because of the lingering sirens still in the background.

Tobin and his sister exchanged keys. "Take the rabbi's car and go. I'm sure they have the description. If God is with us, you may be able to buy us some time."

Tobin's sister nodded and slipped a piece of paper into his hand. "This is the phone number and directions to a friend's home. He's waiting to take you in and hide you for as long as you need protection."

Tobin thanked her and went to the car. When they were in, he rolled down the window as his sister approached. "I gave him the name of the doctor you're looking for, and he says he knows him. He seemed eager to help you find him."She looked past her brother to Judas. "Godspeed, Rabbi."

Judas smiled and nodded his appreciation. Tobin started the car and turned left out of the drive. In the rearview mirror, he watched his sister leave to the right. He handed the folded directions to the rabbi, who navigated the rest of the way.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the circular drive of a large, middle-class home situated in the midst of a suburban neighborhood. The front-door light came on, and a thin, middle-aged man met them at the door. "May I ask which of you is the rabbi?"

"That depends," Aaron said cautiously. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "Yes, of course. Forgive me." He fished his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open. Next to a Jerusalem police photo ID rested a police badge. "I'm Detective Ari Hazan."




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The Samson Effect Chapter 18

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THOMAS WAS TREATED and released from the hospital. He now sat in his room at the King David Hotel, with Michael and Delia seated at a small table by the window. Michael, he observed, seemed to be getting along rather well with his injuries. However, a thick atmosphere saturated with tension filled the room with silence as the three looked at the floor while running their fingers through their hair.

Thomas stood and stretched. He walked to the vanity and splashed cool water on his face. After he patted himself dry with a towel, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His skin looked worn, and dark circles puffed under each eye. His mind raced through the events of his time since entering Israel. He thought of the life-threatening moments he had lived through and of the fear and apprehension that accompanied each day. But he also thought of the Effect, of its historical and, if he were honest, its professional significance to him.

His eyes drilled back into him from the mirror. The deeper he looked into his own soul, the firmer his resolution became. He silently vowed to let nothing sway him from his quest. From this very moment, he'd be the master of his circumstances.

"It ends here." He turned to see Michael and Delia lift their eyes to his.

"What ends here?" Michael asked.

"From the day I left home, I've been tossed about by my circumstances like a rag doll. No more." He sat at the table and folded his hands across his chest. "I'm going to find the Samson Effect, and neither Azim, nor Jewish assassins, nor anyone else will get in my way. Your uncle has offered protection, and I intend to take him up on his offer."

Thomas leaned back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. He looked to Michael and then to Delia, who both caught his eyes before they turned to each other. Slowly, Michael's smile grew, and he clenched his fist. "I'll call Uncle Ben right away. We'll be back in Hebron tomorrow."

"Hold up, there. The first thing we're going to do is locate Pastor Willingham and find out how he's involved with the Samson Effect. I'm sure the key to the search is hidden with him."

A knock at the door stopped the conversation cold. Thomas got up and looked through the peephole before removing the chain lock and opening the door. Hanna stepped across the threshold and melted into his arms.

"Thank goodness you're all right. I've been in torment not knowing how bad your condition was." She cupped Thomas's cheek in her right hand, tenderly massaging it with her thumb.

Thomas wiped her tear away with his thumb and pulled her into his arms. He looked into her eyes and gently guided her lips to his. She offered no resistance. When their lips touched, an emotional spark ignited his passion. Thomas had played this kiss over and over in his mind, and by the way Hanna melted into his arms, he knew she had as well. Without breaking either kiss or embrace, he led her into the room and kicked the door shut with his foot.

He pulled her into his chest, her hands slipping behind his head. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him, if it were possible, deeper into her lips. Then they slowly, reluctantly, pulled apart from each other. With her still in his arms, he smiled and looked into her eyes. "It's good to see you too."

She smiled, closed her eyes, and leaned her head upon his chest. They silently swayed together as Thomas softly kissed the top of her head. Her fragrance flowed into him and he felt a contentment long since forgotten. He rolled his eyes to his forgotten friends at the table. Both returned his gaze with an affectionate smile, sitting hand-in-hand, obviously feeling towards each other some fraction of what he was feeling now.

"Did I interrupt anything?" Hanna asked softly.

"Actually, we're just about to make plans to return to Hebron."

"You're what? Thomas, no. You and Michael are lucky to be alive as it is."

Thomas took a step back and gently gripped Hanna's shoulders, holding her at arm's length. "I'm not going to pass up an opportunity to find it."

"I don't understand—"

"You don't have to understand it, just accept it. I'm going to do this."

She looked at Thomas, her eyes pleading for him to reconsider. Finally, she softened and smiled back at him. "I suppose it'll be futile to try to talk you out of this." She turned to Michael and Delia and sighed. "When do we start?"

Thomas spun her towards him. "We? There's no we! I'm not about to bring you into this."

She arched her eyebrows and smiled with confidence. "You have no choice. I represent Ambassador Ben Hur, who, I might remind you, is underwriting your little search. I'm confident he'll want me along."

Thomas looked at Michael, silently pleading for help. Michael shook his head. "She's right. Knowing my uncle like I do, I'm positive he'll insist she go with us. He trusts her more than he trusts me, remember?"

Thomas blew out a frustrated sigh. "Fine, but I'm going on record to voice my disapproval in the strongest of terms."

Hanna shrugged with a wry smile. "Duly noted."

She and Thomas stared at each other until the tension between them grew uncomfortable. Michael pierced the atmosphere by changing the subject. "I need to speak with Thomas alone. Why don't you girls go downstairs and grab something to drink."

Neither woman looked particularly thrilled about being excluded from a conversation, but neither pushed the issue. Delia stepped next to Hanna. "Fine. We'll just have our own conversation."

Hanna took a step back and looked Delia up and down. The look of disgust on her face was unsettling to Thomas. "I can entertain myself while you two discuss what you need to discuss." She turned to Thomas and morphed back to her beautiful, sweet self. "I need to make a phone call anyway. I'll meet you in the lobby when you're ready." She leaned in and pecked him on the cheek, turned, and walked out of the room.

When Thomas turned to see Delia's frozen, shocked expression, he knew he must be abnormally crimson. Michael was reddening too; but by his expression, Thomas knew it was from anger. Before either man spoke, Delia said, "It's obvious how she feels about me."

"I'm sorry." Thomas said.

"Please, under the circumstances, it's nothing to take to heart." Her smile melted the tension away. "I have a long history to make up for."

Michael stepped up to her and brushed her hair from her eyes. "You are truly amazing. It's no wonder I love you so much." He leaned in and kissed her. After a few moments, she pulled away. "I'll be waiting with my tea."

When she left, Thomas began to stutter through an apology, but Michael held up his hand to stop him. "You've nothing to apologize for, my friend." He sat on the edge of the bed. "She's right. It'll take time for them to accept her, possibly just to tolerate her. I'm fortunate she's as patient as she is."

"You're one lucky man, that's for sure." Thomas dropped into a chair. "So, what is it we need to discuss?"

"I didn't want to ask you in front of Hanna, but when you were rushed into the hospital, you told me you think my uncle may be hiding something. What did you mean?"

Thomas ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know, Michael. Something just doesn't feel right about his relationship with Arnold Willingham. I mean, this man had more information about the Samson Effect than we have, and yet your uncle waited until now to bring us into the loop. And Willingham's son had a photocopy of the parchment you and Caleb found. Tell me if I'm crazy, but it seems your uncle's been dripping information about the Samson Effect to us as he sees fit."

"I don't know what to think. Why would my uncle, who wants us to find it as much as we do, withhold anything from us?"

"Look, I didn't mean to impugn your uncle's motives—"

"No, no. It's obvious he's aware of more than he wants us to know." Michael stood and nodded to the door. "Let's find the women. I have a gut feeling Hanna may be privy to more than she'll offer to share. I say we keep our concerns to ourselves and not arouse suspicion. From now on, we'll do some dripping of our own. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

As they were about to walk out the door, the phone rang. Thomas answered it. "Hello … You're kidding? We're on our way down."

As soon as he hung up the phone, Michael asked, "Who was it?"

"Hanna. She just talked with your uncle. They have the pastor in custody along with the notebook. They're waiting for us at his office."

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them were sitting in Ambassador Ben Hur's reception area. They had only been there a couple of minutes when the office door opened, and Ambassador Ben Hur appeared in the threshold. Behind him, Thomas saw a man with his hands cuffed behind his back sitting in a chair facing the mammoth mahogany desk. At least three men in suits stood erect.

"Michael, Thomas, you both look remarkably well. Come in. I think your quest is about to take a giant leap forward."

The four walked to the door. Thomas followed Hanna in. He counted eight armed men standing on either side of the bound man. After a few more steps, Thomas confirmed the bound man's identity as the younger Pastor Willingham. The man's eyes were wild, darting around chaotically, terror emanating from his quivering body. He rocked back and forth, uttering repeatedly, "No, please, no."

Thomas turned when he heard Michael's firm resolve that Delia was going to enter. The ambassador had positioned his body between her and the door, resolving just as loudly that she was not entering his office. Two guards entered the reception area, obviously to enforce the ambassador's wishes.

Thomas stepped to the ambassador and in a calm, even tone said, "Remember our agreement? If you want me to continue the search, she's with us every step of the way."

The ambassador stared incredulously at Thomas, who waited with raised eyebrows. He then looked at Michael, whose thick brows were definitely crinkled downward. With a slight move of his hand, he waved off the men in the reception room and grudgingly stepped aside for Delia to enter. Thomas shook his head and marveled at her composure during these public affronts against her.

With the conflict over Delia settled for the moment, the ambassador slipped behind the desk and eased into his chair. On the desk before him lay the manila envelope and blue spiral notebook that Thomas recognized as the items he had temporary custody of before he was arrested. His heart raced. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, grab the envelope, and search it to see what was important

enough to cause the death of a man.

"Mr. Willingham," the ambassador said, "My patience is gone. I'm going to ask you one more time. What do you know of the items in this envelope?"

Tears streamed down the pastor's cheek. "I told you, I don't know what it is. The detective gave it to me after he interviewed that man." The pastor nodded at Thomas. "Ask him. He brought it from my father's apartment."

"If that's true, then why are you so upset? Makes me think you're hiding something from me."

"I'm not—"

"And why are you so adamant to return home with the envelope and notebook?"

The silence was heavy as everyone waited for the pastor to explain. He bowed his head and quietly gave in to the ambassador. "The men who killed my father were waiting for me and my family when we returned from the detective's office. When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw someone climbing into the window at the back of the house. I turned the car around and fled. Almost immediately, I heard an explosion. I pray if I just give the men what they're after, they'll leave me and my family alone."

Again, silence filled the office. The pastor's eyes darted from person to person, pleading for someone to believe him. Thomas's heart went out to him. He looked frightened. Coupled with the loss of his father and then the attempt on his family's life, it was no wonder he was a nervous wreck.

The ambassador looked at the pastor and then to the others in the room. Hanna and Michael shrugged and raised their eyebrows. Thomas, however, replayed the pastor's story in his mind while matching it against what he knew to be true. There was a piece missing, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"Well, Pastor Willingham," the ambassador said as he folded his hands upon his desk, "I'm going to allow you to leave, but I must insist on keeping the envelope and its contents with me."

"No! You must allow me to take them. I told you—"

The ambassador stopped him by raising his hand. "I'm sorry, but this is a matter of national security."

Delia whispered something to Michael, who immediately produced a pen and a business card from his pocket. She scribbled something on the back and handed it to Michael, who silently read it and handed it to Thomas.

"Please, sir, take a copy of the contents, but you must let me have the originals. My family will die if you don't."

"I'm sorry, but I cannot do that. I'll arrange to have you and your wife protected for a few days or make arrangements for you to return to the United States if you're so inclined."

"He's lying."

All eyes turned to Thomas. "Who's lying, Thomas?" the stunned ambassador asked.

"Pastor Willingham. Oh, I believe him about his run-in with the assassins and the burning of his house, but the only fear he has is he'll miss a large payday by not being able to sell the envelope to Azim."




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