God's Lions - House of Acerbi (18 page)

She lowered her window and felt the cool morning air against her face as her nausea began to subside. Feeling a slight chill, she took in another deep breath before raising the window and glancing back over at the man seated beside her. Slowly, as if awakening from a long night’s sleep, it began to dawn on her that she had allowed herself to be whisked away from the safety of the hospital and the people who had saved her life by a complete stranger.

Then again, those same people had kept her confined in a tiny hospital room against her will. At least now she was free from the threat of becoming a living specimen for the doctors at the CDC or whoever else they decided to let prod and probe her without her consent—like those guys at some army bio-warfare institute. She had been a virtual prisoner of the government while civilian and military doctors from all over the country lined up outside her room just to peek at her. Yes, at least now she was free from all of that, and it felt good to be outside.

With her head now beginning to throb, the mere act of thinking was difficult as the car turned off the Van Wyck expressway and drove through a gate onto a wide expanse of concrete surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. The car continued on past an enormous metal building, and in the distance, Sarah could hear the unmistakable whine of jet engines.

“Where are we?” she asked, massaging her temples.

The man snapped his cell phone shut. “JFK Airport.”

Glancing outside, Sarah saw a small, baby-blue executive jet parked in front of the gigantic doors of the tall metal building. The door to the aircraft was open and the stairs were extended. A young man with short blond hair and wearing the uniform of a pilot could be seen walking around the jet, peering into the engines and checking the tires.

Sarah tried to stifle a yawn. “Are you planning on taking me somewhere in that?”

“Yes ... we’re flying to Rome.”

“Rome? Why Rome?”

The man smiled but his eyes narrowed. “Like I said before, Miss Adams, I’m from the Vatican. I believe you have a friend there ... Cardinal Leo Amodeo.”

“Oh ... Cardinal Leo ... yes, but I’d rather go to Israel.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, my dear. All commercial flights are grounded, and I don’t have permission to take this aircraft to Israel. Don’t worry ... you’ll be safe in Rome. After your friend the Cardinal heard that the CDC was planning on transporting you to a military base, he decided you would be safer at the Vatican away from all the attention.”

“Actually, I was already making plans to escape from that hospital when you showed up. This is quite a coincidence.”

The man adjusted the lapel on his jacket and ran a stubby hand through his thinning hair before peering over at Sarah. “Yes ... quite a coincidence. I just happened to be in New York on business when Cardinal Amodeo called. We’re all just happy that you survived an illness that took so many lives.”

As soon as the car rolled to a stop, a man in a dark suit rushed forward to open Sarah’s door. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she stepped out onto the concrete, but her head began to spin once again and she swayed back and forth. Fearing that she was about to fall, the man with the heavy dark eyebrows took her by the arm and carefully guided her toward the stairs of the jet.

“Sorry ... I’m still a little dizzy.”

“That’s quite alright, Miss,” the man said. “Please ... we must hurry.”

They were halfway up the stairs when Sarah suddenly stopped. Her vision blurred as she clutched the railing.

“I don’t know ... you’ve been so nice ... maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

The man’s eyes began to dart about as he tightened his grip on her arm. “I understand your fear, my dear. You need to rest so that you can regain your strength. Once we’re onboard you can sleep. Our doctors will look after you when we arrive.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said with half closed eyes as they entered the cabin. “Did you tell me your name?”

“My apologies, Miss. My name is Emilio. Now come, you must sit.”

Seconds later, she felt a blanket being draped over her body, and the last thing Sarah Adams heard before she drifted off to sleep was the roar of the jet’s engines as the baby-blue jet streaked down the runway and disappeared into the clouds.

The southern French region of Provence was in grip of a local weather phenomenon known as the Mistral, a powerful wind that blows from the north in late winter and spring. For days at a time, residents are forced indoors to escape the blustery weather and spectacular thunderstorms that form offshore when descending masses of dry, cold air mix with the warm blanket of humidity that hovers over the Mediterranean Sea.

Around midnight, the Carmela was just passing off the southern French coast when the yacht began to encounter building seas. Without waiting for orders from the captain, the yacht’s experienced crew had sprung into action. Working quickly, they tied a large tarp over the helicopter before going through the boat and securing all loose objects as the yacht began her dance with the storm-tossed ocean.

Lightning strikes briefly illuminated the swirling blue-green water as the captain powered the yacht up the side of an approaching wave, then quickly reduced the throttles as she slid back down into a foamy trough to await the onslaught of the next mountain of water.

Inside the rolling boat, no one was finding it easy to sleep. Inside his pitching cabin, Leo slipped on a pair of borrowed jeans and a T-shirt before stepping out of his stateroom into the wood-paneled hallway. Bracing himself against another sudden roll of the boat, he grabbed the brass handrails that ran along each side of the narrow passageway and made his way forward until he came to a tight stairway that led to the main salon above.

Topping the stairs, he saw several members of the Bible Code Team sitting on couches and peering quietly into the stormy darkness outside the windows. The boat lurched, throwing Leo back into the stairwell just as a strong hand attached to a muscled arm grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him up into the salon. It was Alon.

“You don’t want to hang around these stairwells too long when the boat’s moving like this, Cardinal.”

A rogue wave crashed against the side of the boat, causing everyone onboard to take a deep breath as the yacht tilted precariously before righting itself once again.

“Things should calm down a bit once we get closer to the Spanish coast,” Lev said, looking up from his laptop computer. “I just talked to Alex ... he doesn’t expect this to last much longer.”

“That’s good,” John said, turning away from watching the rain smash against the windows in horizontal sheets. He slid down beside Ariella onto one of the two long white couches inside the main salon. Filled with priceless art, this exquisite space had inlaid blue marble floors and a white grand piano that was thankfully bolted to the floor.

Ariella patted John on the knee. “You look a little green, sweetheart.”

“How come I’m the only one on this boat who seems to be seasick?”

“Probably because you didn’t spend a whole lot of time on boats when you were growing up on a ranch in New Mexico.”

“What about Leo? He’s from Pennsylvania.”

“I have a special prayer for seasickness, John”

John closed his eyes and moaned. “I just hope this is the storm before the calm.”

Ariella smiled. “I think you got that backwards.”

“That was a joke, Ariella.” John sat up on the couch and held his hand to his mouth before bolting from the salon.

“Poor kid,” Alon said. “I’m afraid the only sure cure for seasickness is dry land. Speaking of dry land, I’d like to know what our plans are once we reach the coast.”

Lev looked up and closed the cover on his laptop. “Since we’ll be flying to the crash site in the yacht’s helicopter, we’re limited to four people. Leo and I will be going... and of course, Nava, our pilot. That leaves space for one more. I think that should be you, Alon. I understand that you’ve been to crash sites before.”

“You mean besides the one I was in last year?”

Lev smiled. “Yes. I was referring to your experiences in the military.”

Alon looked down at his reflection in the polished floor. As a former Israeli commando, he had witnessed several military aircraft crashes and been assigned to investigate two particularly suspicious crashes that had occurred along Israel’s border with Lebanon. Those crashes had not been accidents. He was haunted by the memories, not only because he had lost several good friends in some of those incidents, but also because the woman he loved was a career pilot who loved flying.

Another wave slammed against the side of the yacht.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Moshe said, still trying to take his first sip from a sloshing cup of coffee. The relentless march of towering ocean swells continued to pitch the boat up and down, forcing the old general to finally give up on his coffee and stare out into the uncertain blackness. Moshe didn’t like storms. He was also concerned by the fact that he would be in overall command while Lev was away from the yacht, and that if any problems with the Spanish authorities arose, he would be the one who would have to deal with them. “How long are you planning on being away from the boat, Lev?”

“Hopefully, we’ll only be gone a few hours. We don’t want this to be a long, drawn-out ordeal. Spanish bureaucracy can be a tedious process, and because our time is short, I don’t want to advertise our plans to them just yet. Most likely there will be a few snags when we try to land at the site, so we’ll just have to play it by ear and try to bluff our way in. The fact that we’ll have a Roman Catholic Cardinal onboard the helicopter will go a long way to keeping official interference to a minimum, especially since the crash involves a Vatican official in a country that’s predominately Catholic.”

Lev winked in Leo’s direction. “For now, I think we should try to get some rest before the Carmela arrives in port.” Lev closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, and to everyone’s amazement, he was snoring softly within seconds.

For the next several hours the others tried to catch quick cat-naps as the yacht slugged it out with the Mediterranean, until finally, the wind and rain stopped and the sea began to smooth just as the Carmela arrived at the entrance to the harbor at
El Port De La Selva.
The storm had delayed their arrival by almost two hours, and behind them in the east, the sun was rising majestically, painting the reflective surface of a calming sea with varying hues of sparkling yellow and gold.

Now fully awake, Leo and Lev climbed to the yacht’s landing pad behind the bridge, where they watched as the big blue and white yacht glided into the harbor and dropped anchor two-hundred yards from shore. Joined by Alon and Nava, they gulped down the last of their coffee as two crewmembers removed the waterproof tarp from the dark blue helicopter.

Climbing onboard behind Alon and Nava, each placed a pair of earphones over their ears. Leo could hear Nava verbally reading off the mandatory pre-flight checklist as a shrill whine overhead preceded the startup
thump
from the turbines.

Within minutes, the helicopter was rising above the Carmela’s deck and heading for a long crescent beach that separated the harbor from the rising green landscape. In the distance, they could see the jagged tops of the Pyrenees as Nava increased the angle of the blades and the chopper began to gain altitude.

From the back seat, Lev leaned forward and tapped Nava on the shoulder. “How far is it to the crash site?”

“About 40 miles from where we are now. We’re passing over the Catalonia region of Spain, just to the north of Figueres ... Salvador Dali’s home town. The crash site is further inland on the side of a mountain ridge next to the small village of Setcases.”

“Any reports of the pathogen in this region?”

“I talked to Daniel before we took off. There’s been no report of any new outbreaks.”

“Keep monitoring the radio. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of our little viral friend soon.”

The snow-capped mountains of the Catalonian Pyrenees filled the chopper’s windshield as they flew over deep canyons still locked in early morning shadows. Below, they could see the headlights of cars making their way along the twisting roads, while wispy patches of dense fog concealed the tops of mountain foothills as the small helicopter passed overhead.

Leo peered into the cockpit over Nava’s shoulder at the rising needle on the altimeter. “I didn’t think this helicopter was designed for mountain flying. How much higher do we have to go?”

“Setcases is 1,200 meters above sea level.”

Leo quickly tried to make the mental conversion from metric to English units, but Nava beat him to it. “That’s around 4,000 feet, Cardinal. It’s well within our altitude range. Setcases is a beautiful village on the road that leads to Vallter 2000.”

“What’s a Vallter 2000?” Alon asked.

“A ski resort that opened back in 1997. I was there several years ago with a small group of IDF helicopter pilots. We spent a few weeks with the Spanish Air force in the Pyrenees learning the finer points of mountain flying. One weekend, we all decided to go hiking, so one of the Spanish instructors told us to check out Setcases. It’s a charming medieval mountain village with winding streets and houses made of stone. I’ll never forget the day we drove up there. The weather was beautiful and the sky was blue ... the air was so clean you could practically taste the freshness. It was the kind of day that takes your breath away. We hiked across mountain streams over miles of rolling green hills until we exhausted ourselves and returned to the village for dinner. It’s one of those places where all your worries seem to disappear.”

In a rare public display of affection, Alon reached over and stroked the long black ponytail hanging from the back of Nava’s helmet. “Sounds idyllic. Too bad we can’t stay longer.”

Nava turned her head and fixed Alon with a stare known to men around the world. “Maybe we can make time when all of this is over.”

Guiding the chopper over a ridge, Nava pointed to a cluster of red-tiled roofs along a narrow road that led to the top of the mountain. Setcases literally meant “seven houses”. The village dated back to the 10
^th
century, when seven houses were built by a father and his seven sons when they were stuck with their herds in the deep snow of winter.