Juan Gómez-Jurado - Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

Stowe stopped in his tracks, halfway up the incline and facing the canyon wall. He thought he had heard footsteps, but that was impossible. He looked back at the camp. Everything was still.

Of course. The only one not in bed is me. Well, except for the guards, but they’re bundled up and probably snoring. Who are they going to protect us from? It’d be better if-

The young man stopped again. He had heard something and this time he knew he hadn’t imagined it. He cocked his head in an attempt to hear better, but the annoying whistle went off once more. Stowe felt for the instrument’s switch and quickly pressed it once. That way he could turn off the whistle without turning off the instrument (which would set off an alarm on Forrester’s computer), something a dozen people would have given an arm and a leg to have known yesterday.

It must be a couple of the soldiers changing shifts. Come on, you’re a little too old to be afraid of the dark.

He turned off the instrument and began making his way downhill. Now that he’d thought about it, it would be better if he went back to bed. If Forrester wanted to be pissed off, then that was his business. He’d start first thing in the morning, skipping breakfast.

That’s it. I’ll get up before the old man, when there’s more light.

He smiled, chiding himself for being alarmed over nothing. Now he could finally go to bed, which was all he needed. If he hurried, he’d be able to get three hours’ sleep.

Suddenly something was pulling on the harness. Stowe leaned back waving his arms in the air to keep his balance. But just when he thought he was going to fall, he felt someone grab him.

The young man did not feel the point of the knife puncturing the bottom of his spinal column. The hand that had grabbed his harness pulled harder. Stowe suddenly remembered his childhood when he went with his father to Chebacco Lake to fish for black crappies. His father would hold a fish in his hand and then, in one swift motion, gut it. The movement made a wet, whistling sound very similar to the last thing that Stowe heard.

The hand released the young man, who fell to the ground like a rag doll.

Stowe made a broken sound as he died, a brief, dry moan, and then there was silence.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Friday, 14 July 2006. 2:33 a.m.

The first part of the plan was to wake up on time. So far so good. From that moment on, everything was a disaster.

Andrea had put the wristwatch between her alarm clock and her head, with the alarm set for 2:30 in the morning. She would meet with Fowler at quadrant 14B, where she had been working when she told the priest about seeing the man on the cliff. All that the reporter knew was that the priest needed her help in order to neutralise Dekker’s frequency scanner. Fowler hadn’t told her how he planned to do this.

To make sure she would show up on time, Fowler had given her his wristwatch since her own didn’t have an alarm. It was a rough black MTM Special Ops with a Velcro wristband that seemed almost as old as Andrea herself. On the back of the watch was the inscription: That others may live.

‘That others may live.’ What kind of person wears a watch like this? Not a priest, of course. Priests wear twenty-euro watches, at best a cheap Lotus with an imitation leather strap. Nothing with as much character as this , Andrea thought before falling asleep. When the alarm sounded, she was careful to turn it off straight away and take the watch with her. Fowler had made it clear what would happen to her if she lost it. Besides which, the face had a small LED light that would make it easier to get through the canyon without tripping over one of the quadrant strings and cracking her head open on a rock.

While she searched for her clothes, Andrea listened to see if the alarm had woken anyone up. Kyra Larsen’s snores eased the reporter’s mind but she decided to wait until she got outside to put on her boots. Creeping towards the door, her customary clumsiness came into play and she dropped the watch.

The young reporter tried to control her nerves and recall the layout of the infirmary. At the far end were two stretchers, a table and the medical instruments cabinet. The three roommates slept near the entrance on their mattresses and sleeping bags. Andrea in the middle, Larsen to her left, Harel to her right.

Using Kyra’s snores to orient herself, she began searching the floor. She felt the edge of her own mattress. A little further on she touched one of Larsen’s discarded socks. She made a face and rubbed her hand on the seat of her trousers. She continued over her own mattress. A little further. That must be Harel’s mattress.

It was empty.

Surprised, Andrea took the lighter out of her pocket and flicked it on, obscuring the flame by placing her body between it and Larsen. Harel was nowhere in the infirmary. Fowler had told her not to let Harel know what they were planning to do.

The reporter didn’t have time to give the matter further thought, so she picked up the watch, which she found lying between the mattresses, and went out of the tent. The camp was as still as a tomb. Andrea was glad that the infirmary was near the north-west wall of the canyon, so she would avoid anyone on their way to or from the toilets.

I’m sure that’s where Harel is. I can’t understand why we can’t tell her what we’re doing if she already knows about the priest’s satellite telephone. Those two are up to something strange.

A moment later the professor’s air horn went off. Andrea froze, fear tearing at her like a trapped animal. At first she thought that Forrester had discovered what she was up to, until she realised that the sound was coming from some distance away. The horn was muffled but it echoed faintly through the canyon.

There were two blasts and then it stopped.

Then it began again and didn’t stop.

It’s a distress signal. I’d bet my life on it.

Andrea wasn’t sure who to call on. With Harel nowhere in sight and Fowler waiting for her at 14B, her best option was Tommy Eichberg. The service personnel tent was the closest to her now and with the help of the watch’s light, Andrea found the tent’s zipper and burst inside.

‘Tommy, Tommy, are you here?’

Half a dozen heads looked up from their sleeping bags.

‘For God’s sake, it’s two in the morning,’ said a dishevelled Brian Hanley, rubbing his eyes.

‘Get up, Tommy. I think the professor is in trouble.’

Tommy was already climbing out of his sleeping bag.

‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s the professor’s horn. It hasn’t stopped.’

‘I don’t hear anything.’

‘Come with me. I think he’s in the canyon.’

‘Just a minute.’

‘What are you waiting for, Hanukkah?’

‘No, I’m waiting for you to turn around. I’m naked.’

Andrea went out of the tent mumbling an apology. Outside the horn was still going but each successive blast was weaker. The compressed air was running out.

Tommy joined her, followed by the rest of the men in the tent.

‘Go and check in the professor’s tent, Robert,’ Tommy said, pointing at the skinny drill operator. ‘And you, Brian, go and alert the soldiers.’

This last order wasn’t necessary. Dekker, Maloney, Torres and Jackson were already approaching, not fully dressed but with their machine guns at the ready.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ Dekker said. He had a walkie-talkie in his huge hand. ‘My guys say there’s someone raising hell at the end of the canyon.’

‘Ms Otero thinks the professor is in trouble,’ Tommy said. ‘Where are your lookouts?’