Exodus (25 page)

Morgan knew that the gigantic temples were originally carved into the rock faces of a huge escarpment in Nubia, southern Egypt. They faced the tribes coming out of black sub-Saharan Africa, the gaze of the mammoth pharaohs an intimidation and a warning of the might of Egypt. The temples had been moved during the building of Lake Nasser when the Nile had been dammed and a huge Lake drowned everything behind it. To save the temples, they had been dismantled, cut into huge blocks and rebuilt high above the old location. Lake Nasser had been called the scourge of Egypt, altering the ancient rhythms of the Nile flooding that had refreshed the country for millennia, for the dam had flooded the heartland of the Nubian people, making them refugees in their own country.
 

Morgan looked away from the temple towards the lake, as the cry of a night bird broke the silence. It was quiet, too quiet, she thought, but perhaps that meant all the men were up at the airstrip. She proceeded with caution but the only way into the Temple was the entrance that stretched out between the feet of the mammoth statues. There was no other way in, so she crept out across the vista of the temple, a shadow silhouetted by the spotlights, acutely aware that she could be seen by anyone watching.
 

Between the great pharaohs, a corridor led into the main temple, a dark maw in the cliffs. There was nowhere to hide, no vegetation, no statues, just an open corridor to the inner sanctum and she couldn't see inside. Then she heard the faintest sound of singing, a hymn to the gods. Morgan pulled her gun and moved forward, keeping it trained on the dark hole in front of her.
 

A sharp noise came from behind. Morgan turned and a powerful blow exploded on her jaw, spinning her round, her gun and communications device knocked into the sand. She reeled back, away from the figure of Natasha’s bodyguard, Isac.
 

“Now we will finish what my mistress started in London,” he said. “This is a fitting place for the sacrifice of such a warrior, for you will die at my hands.”
 

Morgan saw the glimmer in his eye as he spoke of Natasha and she saw a defense in goading him.

“Why are you here, Isac? Why didn’t she take the pieces of the Ark to Jerusalem?” He lunged at her, and Morgan jumped back, aware of the damage his fists could do to her already bruised body. “You know the baby isn’t yours, don’t you?”
 

His eyes flashed and she realized that he hadn’t known for sure about the child Natasha carried. He ran at her, enraged. Morgan stood her ground and then twisted at the last moment, grabbing his arm and bending it back on itself. In one movement, she stomped on the back of his knee and Isac went down, but he didn’t seem aware of the pain and exploded up at her, the back of his head missing her face by millimeters. She let him go and ran, diving for her gun in the sand, but he caught her ankle, pulling her down with a thump. Morgan groaned as her battered body reeled at the shot of pain, but she clawed forwards, kicking sand in his face, even as he pulled his way up her body.
 

“You will pay,” he roared, and she heard all the anger he had been repressing, the desire to protect Natasha even though he could never possess her. Morgan’s fingertips touched the gun, but Isac reached up and pulled her hand down so it slipped from her grasp.
 

As her fingers raked through the sand, they touched a rock. She grabbed it and used all her strength to roll, bringing the rock hard down onto Isac’s face, smashing into his eye socket. He howled and clutched at it with one hand while he pulled at her with the other, but it was enough of a distraction. Morgan crawled to her gun, spun and fired it as Isac launched himself at her. His momentum carried him forward on top of her, but the surprise in his eyes was complete as he coughed up blood and Morgan pulled herself out from under him. Isac reached out towards the temple.
 

“Natasha,” he whispered as his eyes glazed over and he joined the pharaohs in the Underworld. Morgan knelt briefly to close his eyes for she understood the value of loyalty and hoped someone would do the same for her one day.
 

She stood and cautiously approached the temple entrance again. The men from the plane would have heard the gunshot so they would be on their way, but she wanted to meet Natasha on her own, so she entered quietly.
 

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out tall pillars within and as she crept inside, she saw that they were carved with seated Ramses dressed as the risen Osiris. Bas-reliefs of battle scenes lined the walls. Morgan knew that the axis of the temple was such that twice a year on the solstices, rays of sun would penetrate the sanctuary and illuminate the statues on the back wall. The gods would see the sun, except for Ptah, God of the Underworld, who always remained in the dark.
 

The eerie singing weaved its way around the columns of the temple, mingling with the whistle of the wind through the ancient stone. Morgan walked slowly further into the temple, finally reaching the main chamber where Natasha knelt in front of an altar upon which lay the wrapped pieces of the Ark. A brazier stood on each side of the altar, a cloying, sweet smoke hazy in the air. Between bursts of song, Natasha drank deep from a copper bowl, gulping the contents down.
 

Morgan stepped out into the corridor, gun in front of her, and remembered Marietti’s words. How she dealt with Natasha was her decision, but it would also be on her conscience. Now she knew for sure about the baby, she couldn’t just shoot the woman, for it was no longer just one life at stake. Morgan suddenly found that the rage and need for revenge that had driven her until now had blown away like ash from a funeral pyre, leaving only a bitter taste in her mouth. What drove her now was the need to protect Israel from the threat of destruction and the Ark could only ever be a danger to her beloved country.
 

“It’s over, Natasha,” Morgan said, her voice absorbing into the walls that had borne witness to so many prayers across millennia.
 

The singing stopped and Natasha laughed without turning.
 

"Why am I not surprised you found me, Morgan? I thought at least the men would contain you at the airstrip until I had finished. But it's too late now anyway.” She stood and turned, pulling back her cloak to reveal a suicide bomber’s vest. “Now you will die here with me."
 

Morgan could see that it wasn’t armed yet. There was still time, but clearly Natasha had no desire to leave this place alive and she was on the edge of some kind of mania.
 

“Why didn’t you take the Ark to Jerusalem?” Morgan asked.
 

Natasha was defiant, her piercing eyes gleaming with recognition of a truth that went beyond mortal understanding.
 

“You know why,” she said, “because you felt it too. In London, you felt the power of the Ark touch you deep inside, didn’t you? So you must understand. It wouldn’t let me take it to Jerusalem, for the Ark can only be restored there in the end times and they are not at hand. I didn’t believe it before, but now I know.”

Morgan could hear fanaticism in her voice, but she remembered the brief touch of the Ark in the Grand Temple and how she had felt in its presence. Natasha was a faithful servant of the ancient Egyptian gods and yet she was obeying the power of the Jewish Ark, so there was clearly something powerful here.
 

Natasha walked to the altar and began to unwrap a piece of the Ark, peeling the covering off it with her bare hands.
 

"Don't do it,” Morgan pleaded, her gun wavering as her hands shook. Part of her was desperate to know what might happen and yet the biblical verses about the deadly power of the Ark made her want to stop what might happen.
 

Natasha’s laugh rang out as she continued to pull the coverings back, revealing each piece, twelve in all, gathered from the Masonic lodges across England, plus the piece from Ethiopia.
 

“Perhaps nothing will happen,” she said. “Perhaps there is no power in the Ark, perhaps there never was. It is a talisman of a dead world and it's fitting that it should die here, in this place of death.” Her voice became wistful. “And I will stay with it, watching over the lake and looking north towards my Egypt.”

As she unwrapped the last piece of the Ark, Morgan saw that they were beginning to glow, and the sound of rushing waters filled the cavernous hall. Freckles of gold on the wood became translucent and shining, like a mirror reflecting the sun with shimmers of a place beyond. Morgan blinked, trying to clear her vision from what must be some kind of hallucination, or perhaps the smoke was affecting her perception. Natasha’s eyes were wide with excitement and wonder.
 

“The Ark is alive again,” she said with delight, placing both her hands on the altar. “I can feel its energy building.”
 

Morgan wanted to step closer, to touch it herself, but she knew from the Bible that this was an ancient weapon, a way in which the Israelites had killed other tribes. This energy had torn down the thick stone walls of Jericho. What could it do to this place?

A deep throbbing began to oscillate from the altar. Natasha threw back her head and called out a prayer to her own gods as light seemed to pulse from within her, channeled through the fragments of the Ark. Morgan backed away down the corridor as the smoke from the braziers swirled up as if moved by a whirlwind.
 

A shaft of light broke from the Ark, piercing the darkness, and there was a hissing sound where the ray struck the wall. Morgan could see the stone smoking as it was dissolved, like acid on skin. Another ray lanced out and struck a column which began to hiss in the same way.
 

Morgan slid behind one of the stone pillars. She wanted to run, but something held her to the spot as a witness. Was this a manifestation of the Ark or was she hallucinating from drug-laden smoke? A ray shot straight down from the altar into the earth and a crack opened up, then another slanted into the ceiling and a chunk of stone dropped down, smashing into the floor.
 

Natasha was standing transfixed by the light, a conduit for the energy flowing through her, calling in triumph to the gods. Suddenly, a ray shot out and pierced her through, lifting her into the air. She was held suspended, writhing on the beam. Morgan saw desperate horror on her face, as if she was faced with the very demons of hell, and then the light on the suicide vest turned green as it was armed by her jerking movements.
 

Morgan turned and ran as the shafts of light seemed to explode through the floor behind her, burning the path down which she ran. She made it into the tunnel between the great statues of Pharaoh and then the explosion lifted her off her feet, catapulting her away from the temple onto the burning sand by the lake. Missiles of ancient rock rained down around her as she held her arms up to protect her head.
 

The initial explosion was followed by a deep boom, sounding from well below the earth. The ground shook and it seemed as if a pillar of fire and smoke whirled above the temple. The statues of Pharaoh crumbled, the great head-dresses falling apart and Morgan pulled herself up and ran again, hobbling to the water’s edge, as far from the temple as she could get. She found that she was sobbing, as if she was witnessing the very end of the world.
 

THE DAY AFTER

Oxford, England. 6.15pm

Morgan watched as Jake’s chest rose and fell smoothly as he breathed. The hospital room was much quieter than before, as most of the monitoring instruments were gone now Jake had recovered enough to be revived from the artificial coma. Martin had already been in and Morgan was desperate to wake Jake and talk, but that was just selfish. He needed rest, not her angst. Jake lay on his back, and although his face was thinner, he no longer looked like a corpse. She sat on the chair by his bed, closing her eyes, grateful for the peace and quiet.
 

It had been a long day of debriefing in London, because the destruction of Abu Simbel meant that ARKANE had had to come up with a convincing story. Morgan had sat in Director Marietti’s office sipping thick, black coffee all day as they had worked through the press statements. Finally, the media had been told that the responsibility for the bombing had been claimed by an Islamic extremist group who believed that the temples were idols in the Muslim country and must be destroyed. It was plausible enough, given the evidence of the gunfight, and there was still a great deal of international attention focused on conflict in Israel, so the furore would die down soon enough.
 

“Hey there.” Jake’s voice was croaky and hoarse.
 

Morgan opened her eyes, smiling at him.
 

“Hey yourself.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it, overwhelmed with relief that he was going to be fine. Jake returned the pressure as their eyes communicated what they would never say out loud to each other.
 

“I heard you blew up a UNESCO World Heritage site,” Jake said, his grin as cheeky as ever. Morgan shook her head in mock despair.
 

“And I did some serious damage to the Temple of the United Grand Lodge of England,” she giggled. “ARKANE has a lot of clearing up to do, but Marietti’s being pretty good about it.”

“Sounds like you need a partner to keep you out of trouble,” Jake said.