The Jericho Deception: A Novel (34 page)

Axe swiped his card in front of the card reader by the elevator. As he waited, he squeezed and then released his calves. He usually started with his calves and then moved up his body, enjoying the feeling as the blood poured into his muscles. The scarring that covered his legs was a shame. His calves were the size of most large men’s biceps. Though not as pleasurable as the pump he received when lifting, the feeling this exercise gave him would sustain him until he could hit the gym again in the morning, especially since he hadn’t slept at all last night. After testing the machine on himself, he’d been afraid to close his eyes for too long. The silence, the abyss that had formed in his heart, beckoned to him as he lay in bed. A more terrifying suspicion had come to him in the darkness. Somewhere deep in the abyss waited a presence—a presence that made the nightmares of his youth seem like fairy tales. If he fell asleep, the abyss might pull him down into the horror.

How could he be afraid? His mere appearance instilled fear in others. He’d seen how the professor had started sweating the moment he’d walked up to him. But maybe the professor had the key to the answers he sought. Hearing
that the machine needed to be programmed differently for ambidextrous people had sent a shot of adrenaline through him as powerful as a dose of testosterone cypionate. His ambidexterity had, until yesterday, always been a tactical advantage. He could shoot with either hand and take down a target with equal strength in both arms.

Once the professor confirmed the machine was fixed, he would try it on himself again. This time it had to work.

The elevator door opened, and he stepped inside. He thought about the professor and the girl whose naked body still burned in his mind. Again, Wolfe was right. They’d both been useful. But soon they would have served their purpose. Once the machine worked flawlessly, both would be terminated to protect the security of the operation. He would offer to carry out that assignment. The professor’s death would be quick, but he would take his time with the girl.

E
than glanced at his watch for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes. Axe would return soon.
What’s taking so long with the water heater?
Had he missed something?

“The Suburbans are parked to the right of the entrance,” Chris said.

Ethan looked up. “You’re sure your key card can get us up the fire steps when the server room is taken out? Even if we lose power?”

“The card readers have lithium battery backups.” Chris pointed to a green duffel bag on the floor behind the cathedra. “I have black cassocks in here for you two.” He nodded to Mousa, who sat in the throne, and to Rachel, who kneeled beside it. “As soon as we go, throw those over your clothes and keep your heads down. I’m hoping that in the chaos no one will focus on your faces. Stay close behind me.”

“How will we find our way to Luxor?” Rachel asked.

“I programmed the GPS in the second Suburban to take you there, but you’ll travel into the desert first and stay on dirt roads for about thirty miles before you rejoin the main highway.”

“What then?” Ethan asked.

“Last year,” Mousa said, “I stayed at a large tourist hotel on the river—the Steigenberger Nile Palace. We can blend in there until we figure out how to get out of the country.”

“I’ll call in the morning and let them know to expect you,” Chris said.

“Wait,” Ethan said. “You’re not coming with us?”

“If I’m missing, it’ll be obvious I helped you escape. Plus, if I stay behind, I can misdirect any attempt to go after you.”

“But if they suspect you—” Rachel began.

“Look, it’s my fault you’re here. I owe you this.”

The door to the chapel banged open.

Chris, Mousa, and Rachel immediately bowed their heads and began to pray together. Ethan turned toward Axe, who strode into the room, his hands clasped behind him. Ethan motioned to him from behind the throne. They had prepared for the worst-case scenario—Axe returning before the explosion. Chris, Mousa, and Rachel appeared as if they were engaged in their worship practice, while he remained in position to start the machine. He held up the remote so that Axe could see it. Heat rose up the back of his neck, and he tried to control his breathing so he wouldn’t appear as nervous he was. Their lives depended on him now. Seeing the outline of the man’s physique straining the seams of his robes caused the heat to spread to Ethan’s face. The problem with the sympathetic nervous system that was causing his blood vessels to dilate, he thought, was that it was automatic. But then, if there was ever a time for his fight-or-flight response to be activated, this was it. Unlike the night in the library, on this evening he would fight.

Axe rounded the cathedra and stopped next to him. From behind his back he produced a syringe and a small, clear vial. After handing them over, he moved to the side of the cathedra opposite Chris, bowed his head, and watched Ethan out of the corner of his eye while his lips moved in prayer.

Ethan pocketed the drug and then turned the remote over in his sweaty palm. He clicked on the green triangle. He felt the subtle vibration of the Logos through the floor. Mousa relaxed into the throne, his facial muscles softening. Axe stopped his pretense of praying and leaned forward expectantly.

I hope his acting is convincing,
Ethan thought. As a doctor, Mousa would know the symptoms. The question was whether he could realistically reproduce them.

As if on cue, the left side of Mousa’s face twitched. Then his hands opened and closed twice in succession. The doctor’s legs began to tremble.

“Oh, no,” Ethan said. He clicked off the Logos.

Mousa began a feigned myotonic seizure. His whole body straightened as if a current of electricity had shot through him. He slid from the throne to the floor. When he hit the cold tile, his limbs began to convulse. Rachel screamed and jumped backward.

“Grab him!” Ethan shouted, reaching into his pocket.

Chris and Axe dropped to their knees on either side of Mousa, but they had difficulty restraining his arms and legs, which jerked violently.

Ethan flicked off the plastic cap from the twenty-one-gauge needle and slid it into the top of the vial of the lorazepam, the generic name for the sedative Ativan. The usual dose for an intramuscular injection in the case of a patient experiencing a seizure was four milligrams, but Axe was a huge man, and he needed to incapacitate him. He didn’t, however, want to overdose and kill him. He took his oath to preserve life seriously. He decided on six milligrams.

“Come on!” he yelled at the two men struggling to control the convulsing Mousa. “I need him steady!” He bent over and raised the syringe. He would have only one chance.

“Got him,” Axe grunted. He had Mousa’s left side pinned to the ground. Chris struggled more with his right. “Do it now!”

Ethan brought the needle down in a swift, continuous motion. It pierced the black robe and sunk into Axe’s right deltoid. Ethan’s thumb plunged the drug into his shoulder. Axe jerked his head toward him, a look of confusion on his face. Then his eyes focused on the needle pulling out of his arm. A roar escaped his lips.

He released Mousa, jumped to his feet, and swung an arm at Ethan. Axe moved faster than he expected for someone so large. He just avoided the reach of his paw-like hand by leaning backward. Axe lunged toward him, but he failed to notice Mousa going for his legs. The Jordanian tackled him, knocking him to the floor. Chris then leaped on top of them.

“Goddamn it!” Axe screamed as he thrashed beneath the men.

Ethan tossed the used syringe into the far corner and rushed toward Rachel. She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. He put his body between hers and the writhing mass on the floor.
The drug should have taken effect by now
,
he thought. Had he misjudged the dose on such a muscular man? The adrenaline surge from the attack must be slowing its effect.

Axe was somehow gaining the upper hand in the wrestling match. He rolled to his side, twisted Chris’s arm in a lock, and bent his wrist backward, eliciting a howl from the grad student. Then he head-butted Chris and rolled him away. He next grabbed Mousa, who still held his legs like a football player making a tackle, and tossed the surgeon to the side like a sack of fertilizer. He stood and faced Ethan.

Although Ethan was taller, Axe outweighed him by at least seventy pounds.
He can probably kill me with his bare hands
. The thought occurred with almost clinical detachment. He tensed his body, preparing for the attack he knew would come. He tried to deepen his breathing, but the air was caught in his throat, his lungs frozen. Rachel’s grip on his arm threatened to cut off his circulation.

Chris and Mousa shook off the effects of being tossed aside and rose to wobbly feet. Axe ignored them. The fury in his eyes focused on Ethan.

If I can just keep him away from Rachel—

Axe lunged toward him. But the expected impact from the large man didn’t happen. The chapel floor seemed to shift underneath them. Then a concussion of heat lifted them up off of their feet.

“P
rofessor, can you hear me?”

Ethan felt a hand touch his shoulder. He opened his eyes to a pounding headache. Chris hovered above him. The student’s hair was dripping wet. He touched his own shirt. He was soaking as well. He inhaled to clear his head. The air was heavy with moisture.

The water heater!

“It finally blew,” Rachel said.

He pushed himself to a sitting position on the damp floor. “You okay?”

“That was more intense than I expected.”

He glanced around the room. Halogen emergency lights over the exit cast spears of light across the floor where the heavy double doors lay—they’d been blown off their hinges by the explosion. A quiet had descended through the Monastery as well—no hum of HVAC units, no distant chanting of monks pumped through hidden speakers. The building had lost power.

Ignoring the throbbing behind his temples, Ethan stood and approached Axe, who lay motionless a few feet from him. He felt for a pulse on his carotid artery. Strong but slowed. Then the body below him stirred. The eyes remained closed.

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

“The robes.” Mousa sat by the throne, rubbing his temples.

Chris hurried behind the cathedra and produced the duffel bag. After they pulled on their black cassocks, they ran to the opening where the doors to the
chapel used to hang. Another set of emergency lights shone through the heavy air that hung in the hallway like a mountain fog. The floor was littered with debris.

“Wow,” Rachel said.

“Come on.” Chris started down the corridor. “I don’t know how long until they get their act together.”

They raced down the hallway toward the emergency fire staircase, located at the opposite end. They passed the doors to the empty dining hall. One door lay inside the hall on the ground, while the other dangled from a single hinge. Just before they rounded the corner, they slowed to step around the door to the utility room, which now lay on the floor. They peered into the room.

“Praise Allah,” Mousa muttered under his breath.

“I can’t believe it.” Rachel wiped the moisture from her eyes as she craned her head upward.

“It actually worked,” Chris said.

Ethan stepped into the opening. The tank hadn’t simply exploded like a bomb. With its electronic thermostat disabled, the heating element had heated the water past its safety cutoff, and since the pressure relief valve could no longer open, the pressure inside the tank had built as the temperature rose. The normal boiling point of water was two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit, or one hundred Celsius, but those numbers assumed that the water was at sea level. The higher the pressure of the water, the higher the temperature it took to turn it into steam. Just what had happened to a number of unlucky homeowners across the US when their water heaters failed had happened here: the pressure building inside the tank hadn’t affected the steel structure uniformly. The weakest link was the weld that joined the bottom of the tank to the sides. When the weld failed, the bottom blew off. As the pent-up pressure was released, the superheated water had instantly turned into steam, converting the one-hundred-and-twenty-gallon tank into a rocket.

Ethan gazed upward through the shredded drywall and the broken wood and steel supports that had formed the floor system. Beyond a tangled mass of wires that twisted through the empty space like red and black spaghetti, he
saw stars. The water heater had blown through two stories and out the building’s metal roof. He realized with satisfaction that the wires dangling above his head belonged to the server room that stored the security equipment and the brains of the Logos machines. The room was destroyed.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” Chris called.

“What about the other monks?” Mousa asked.

“Their best chance is for you to get out of here safely.”

Ethan felt Rachel at his side, but his attention was still transfixed by the sight above him. She took his hand and interlaced her fingers in his. He turned to her and met her eyes. She nodded, and they ran down the hall.