Dark River (40 page)

Mother Blessing led Lindemann out the door while Hollis remained at the workstation. A second red square started flashing, and Hollis wondered what kind of battle was going on inside the computer. As he waited, he thought about Vicki. What would she say if she were standing beside him right now? The death of the guard and the computer technician would have bothered her deeply. Seed to sapling. She had always used that phrase. Anything done with hatred had the potential to grow and block the Light.

He glanced back at the monitor. The two red squares glowed brightly and now the virus began to double itself every ten seconds. All the other lights on the terminal started to flash, and a warning siren went off somewhere in the tower. In less than a minute the virus had conquered the machine. The workstation monitor was a solid red color, and then the screen went completely black.

Hollis ran out of the tower and found Lindemann lying facedown on the floor. Mother Blessing stood ten feet away from the technician, pointing the submachine gun at the entrance.

“That’s it. Let’s go.”

She turned toward Lindemann with the same cold look in her eyes.

“Don’t waste your time killing him,” Hollis said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“As you wish,” Mother Blessing said as if she had just spared an insect. “This one can tell the Tabula that I’m no longer hiding on an island.”

They returned to the basement. As they retraced their steps around the equipment stacks, the room lit up with a sudden explosion of gunfire. Hollis and Mother Blessing threw themselves on the floor behind an emergency power generator. Bullets from different angles cut into the heating ducts overhead.

The firing stopped. Hollis heard the click and snap of ammunition clips being loaded into assault rifles. Someone shouted in German, and all the ceiling lights in the basement were turned off.

Hollis and Mother Blessing lay next to each other on the concrete. A small amount of light came from the glowing red switches on the power generator. Hollis could see the dark shape of Mother Blessing’s body as she sat up and grabbed the equipment bag.

“The stairs are a hundred feet away,” Hollis whispered. “Let’s run for it.”

“They turned off the lights,” Mother Blessing said. “That means they probably have infrared devices. We’re blind, and they can see.”

“So what do you want to do?” Hollis asked. “Stand here and fight?”

“Make me cold,” the Harlequin said, and she gave Hollis the flashlight and a small metal canister. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was the liquid nitrogen they had brought along to disable motion detectors.

“You want me to spray this on you?”

“Not on the skin. Spray my clothes and hair. I’ll be too cold to be seen.”

Hollis switched on the flashlight and held it in his hand so that light leaked through the gaps between his fingers. Mother Blessing lay on her stomach, and Hollis sprayed the liquid nitrogen on her pants, boots, and jacket. When she turned over on her back, he tried not to spray her hands and eyes. The canister made a faint sputtering sound when it was empty.

The Harlequin sat up and her lips trembled. He touched her upper arm and felt a burning coldness. “Do you want the submachine gun?” he asked.

“No. The muzzle flash would show my location. I’ll carry the sword.”

“But how are you going to find them?”

“Use your senses, Mr. Wilson. They’re frightened, so they’ll be breathing hard and firing at shadows. Most of the time, your enemy defeats himself.”

“What can I do?”

“Give me five seconds, then start firing on the right.”

She moved to the left and disappeared into the shadows. Hollis stood up and fired the submachine gun until the clip was empty. The mercenaries returned fire— from three points on the left side of the room. A second later, he heard a man screaming, and then more gunfire.

Hollis drew the semiautomatic pistol, then pulled back and released the slide mechanism, forcing a round into the firing chamber. He heard an ammunition clip being loaded into a rifle and ran toward the sound. Light came from the open elevator at the end of the room, and he fired at a dark shape standing beside one of the machines.

Another burst of firing. And then silence. Hollis switched on the flashlight and found a dead man lying six feet in front of him. Cautiously, he moved across the basement and almost tripped over another body near the air-conditioning unit. The mercenary’s right arm had been separated from his shoulder.

Hollis swept the flashlight beam across the room and spotted another dead man near the far wall and a fourth body near the elevator. A crumpled figure was a few feet away, and when Hollis ran forward he saw it was Mother Blessing. The Harlequin had been shot in the chest and her sweater was soaked with blood. She still gripped the handle of her sword as if it could save her life.

“He got lucky,” she said. “A random shot.” Mother Blessing’s voice had lost its usual harshness, and it sounded as if she were trying to catch her breath. “It seems right that death comes from randomness.”

“You’re not going to die,” Hollis said. “I’m going to get you out of this place.”

Her head rolled toward him. “Don’t be foolish. Take this.” Mother Blessing extended her hand and forced him to accept the sword. “Make sure you pick the right Harlequin name, Mr. Wilson. My mother chose my name. I’ve always hated it.”

Hollis placed the sword on the ground and reached down to pick her up. With her remaining strength, Mother Blessing pushed him away.

“I was a beautiful child. Everyone said so.” Her speech became slurred as blood trickled from her mouth. “A beautiful little girl…”

** CHAPTER 40

When she was eighteen, Maya was sent to Nigeria to retrieve the contents of a safe-deposit box kept at a bank in downtown Lagos. A dead British Harlequin named Greenman had left a packet of diamonds there, and Thorn needed the money.

There was a power failure at the Lagos airport, and none of the conveyer belts was working. It started to rain as she was waiting for her luggage. Dirty water poured through holes in the ceiling. After paying bribes to everyone wearing a uniform, Maya entered the airport’s main lobby and was surrounded by a crowd of Nigerians. Taxi drivers fought for her suitcase, screaming and waving their fists. As Maya pushed toward the exit, she felt someone tugging at her purse. An eight-year-old thief was trying to cut the leather strap, and she had to twist a knife out of his hand.

IT WAS A different experience to fly into Bole International Airport in Ethiopia. Maya and Lumbroso arrived about an hour before dawn. The terminal was clean and quiet, and the passport officials kept saying tenastëllën— an Amharic word that meant “May you be given health.”

“Ethiopia is a conservative country,” Simon Lumbroso explained. “Don’t raise your voice and always be polite. Ethiopians usually call one another by their first names. For men, it is respectful to add Ato— which means ‘Mister.’ Because you’re unmarried you’ll be called Weyzerit Maya.”

“How do they treat women in this culture?”

“Women vote, run businesses, and attend the university in Addis. You’re a faranji— a foreigner— so you’re in a special category.” Lumbroso glanced at Maya’s travel clothes and nodded with approval. She was wearing loose linen pants and a long-sleeved white shirt. “You’re dressed modestly, and that’s important. It’s considered vulgar for women to display bare shoulders or knees.”

They passed through customs to the welcome area, where Petros Semo was waiting for them. The Ethiopian was a small, delicate man with dark brown eyes. Lumbroso towered over his old friend. They shook hands for almost a minute as they spoke Hebrew to each other.

“Welcome to my country,” Petros said to Maya. “I’ve hired a Land Rover for our journey to Axum.”

“Did you talk to the church officials?” Lumbroso asked.

“Of course, Ato Simon. All the priests know me quite well.”

“Does this mean that I can see the Ark?” Maya asked.

“I can’t promise that. In Ethiopia we say Egziabher Kale— if God wills it.”

They left the terminal and got into a white Land Rover that still showed the emblem of a Norwegian aid organization. Maya sat up front with Petros while Lumbroso took the backseat. Before leaving Rome, Maya had sent Gabriel’s Japanese sword to Addis Ababa. The weapon was still in its shipping container, and Petros handed the cardboard box to Maya as if it were a bomb.

“Forgive me for asking, Weyzerit Maya. Is this your weapon?”

“It’s a talisman sword forged in thirteenth-century Japan. It’s said that a Traveler can take talisman objects into different realms. I don’t know about the rest of us.”

“I think you are the first Tekelakai to be in Ethiopia for many years. A Tekelakai is the defender of a prophet. We used to have many of these people in Ethiopia, but they were hunted down and killed during our political troubles.”

In order to reach the northern road they had to pass through Addis Ababa— Ethiopia’s largest city. It was early in the morning, but the streets were already clogged with blue-and-white taxi vans, pickup trucks, and yellow public buses covered with dust. Addis had a core of modern hotels and government buildings surrounded by thousands of two-room houses with sheet-metal roofs.

The main streets were like rivers fed by dirt roads and muddy pathways. Along the sidewalk, the Ethiopians had put up brightly painted booths that sold everything from raw meat to pirated Hollywood movies. Most of the men on the street wore Western clothes. They carried an umbrella or a short walking staff called a dula. The women wore sandals, full skirts, and white shawls wrapped tightly around the upper body.

On the edge of the city, the Land Rover had to force its way through herds of goats being driven into the city for slaughter. The goats were only a prelude to more encounters with animals— random chickens, sheep, and slow-moving groups of humpbacked African cows. Whenever the Land Rover slowed down, the children standing beside the road could see that two foreigners were inside the vehicle. Little boys with shaven heads and skinny legs would run beside the vehicle for a mile or more laughing and waving and shouting, “You! You!” in English.

Simon Lumbroso leaned back in his seat and grinned. “I think it’s safe to say that we’ve stepped out of the Vast Machine.”

After passing through low hills covered with eucalyptus trees, they followed a dirt road north though a rocky highland landscape. The seasonal rains had fallen a few months earlier, but the grass was still a yellowish green with patches of white and purple Meskel flowers. About forty miles from the capital they passed a house surrounded by women dressed in white. A high-pitched wailing came through the open doorway, and Petros explained that Death was inside the building. Three villages down the road, Death appeared again: the Land Rover came around a curve and almost hit a funeral procession. Wrapped in shawls, men and women carried a black coffin that appeared to float above them like a boat on a white sea.

The Ethiopian priests in the villages wore cotton togas called shammas, and their heads were covered with large cotton caps that reminded Maya of the fur hats worn in Moscow. A priest holding a black umbrella with gold fringe was standing at the beginning of the zigzag road that led down a gorge to the Blue Nile. Petros stopped and handed the priest some money so that the old man would pray for their safe journey.

They descended into the gorge, the Land Rover’s wheels just inches away from the edge of the road. Maya looked out the side window and saw only clouds and sky. It felt as if they had two wheels on the road and two wheels riding on air.

“How much did you pay the priest?” Lumbroso asked.

“Not much. Fifty birr.”

“Next time, give him a hundred,” Lumbroso muttered as Petros negotiated another switchback.

They crossed the metal bridge that spanned the Nile and drove out of the gorge. Now the landscape was dominated by cactus and desert vegetation. Goats still blocked the road, but they also passed a line of camels with wooden carrying frames lashed to their humps. Lumbroso fell asleep in the backseat, his fedora mashed up against the window. He slept through the potholes and the loose stones that rattled up inside the wheel wells, the vultures outlined against the blue sky, and the dust-covered trailer trucks that groaned their way up each new hill.

Maya rolled down the side window to get some fresh air. “I’m carrying both euros and American dollars,” she told Petros. “What if I gave the priests a gift? Would that push things forward?”

“Money can solve a great many problems,” he answered. “But this discussion concerns the Ark of the Covenant. The Ark is a very important object for the Ethiopian people. The priests would never allow a bribe to influence their decision.”

“What about you, Petros? Do you think the Ark is real?”

“It has a power. That’s all I can say.”

“Does the Israeli government think it’s real?”

“Most of the Ethiopian Jews are now in Israel. There’s no advantage for the Israelis to give foreign aid to this country, but the aid still continues.” Petros smiled slightly. “That’s a curious fact to consider.”

“Legend says that the Ark was taken to Africa by the son of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.”

Petros nodded. “Another theory is that it was removed from Jerusalem when King Manasseh brought an idol into Solomon’s temple. Some scholars believe that the Ark was first taken to the Jewish settlement on Elephantine Island in the Upper Nile River. Hundreds of years later, when the Egyptians attacked the settlement, it was removed to an island in the middle of Lake Tana.”

“And now it’s in Axum?”

“Yes, it’s kept in a special sanctuary. Only one priest is allowed to approach the Ark, and he does that once a year.”

“So why would they give me permission to go inside?”

“As I told you at the airport, we have a long tradition of warriors defending Travelers. The priests can understand this idea, but you present a difficult problem.”

“Because I’m a foreigner?”

Petros looked embarrassed. “Because you’re a woman. There hasn’t been a woman Tekelakai for three or four hundred years.”