Riders of the Pale Horse (35 page)

Mahmoud turned from his inspection of the sunset to give them both a gold-toothed smile. He whispered, “Goot, yiss?”

“Good,” Wade softly agreed. “Very, very good.”

Allison nodded and looked around their plateau. It was a level space about twenty feet to a side, as though the peak had been sawed off. She pointed to the carved blocks set to one side and whispered, “This looks like another high place.”

“A what?”

“You know, for sacrifices.” Her brow furrowed in concentration. “Like the ones the king—I forget his name—struck down.”

“Josiah,” Wade replied, looking at her anew.

Mahmoud hissed from the plateau's opposite side, motioning for them to move over and stay low. They walked at a stoop, then sank to their knees and looked over the edge.

A narrow path crept down the mountainside from where they lay, making a series of jinking turns as it descended to where the chasm's sides joined. There a broad stone shelf jutted out, forming a natural protective barrier from any low-flying planes.

Allison pointed to the path and whispered, “The ceremonial way. The worshipers probably came up this side.”

Mahmoud silenced her with an upraised hand. He then
motioned with one finger to his nose, and breathed in. Wade smelled the wind, and nodded. Smoke.

Mahmoud pointed back to where the sun had descended behind the clouds and made a motion up and over the sky, then pointed down and traced a trail leading away from the rock overhang. When it was fully dark, the trucks would drive away.

They watched for a time as the darkness gathered. Twice Wade heard the muffled clank of metal upon metal; once he thought he heard the murmur of voices. But no one came into view.

Then he had an idea, and before fear could stop him he whispered, “Do you still have the homing device?”

“Yes, but what—”

“Show me how it works.”

“There's just a switch to start the signal,” Allison said, handing it over. Wade sidled along to where the path started its descent. Mahmoud started as though to rise up and protest, but Wade stopped him with a look. Confused and worried, the Bedouin sank back down.

Wade crept down the path, his heart thundering so loud he feared the men down below might hear. His hands kept to the cliffside, holding tightly onto nooks and crannies in case he slid. He did not. He made it down to the overhang just as the moon's first sliver appeared over the far peaks.

Wade dropped to his belly and slid toward the lip of the overhang. Holding his breath, he gradually eased himself out the last few inches until the hoods of five trucks came into view.

They were parked facing outward and crammed in so closely together that they completely filled the chasm's mouth. There was just enough light to see that the sandy ground leading into the gorge had been brushed to clear away the truck treads. A single guard sat on the hood of the central truck, busily eating from a tin plate in his lap, a carbine resting on the hood beside him.

A voice called softly from the unseen spaces behind the trucks. The guard swiveled, and instantly Wade slid back out of sight, holding his breath, steeled against the call of alarm. But he had not been seen. He heard the tread of boots over metal, and after a wait he risked another look.

The guard was gone.

From the back came louder sounds of people moving about, objects being shifted, murmured conversation. In the dying light Wade could see an old-fashioned metal lockbox welded to the front bumper of one truck. It was open, revealing tools and an oil canister and rags used for emergency repairs.

Moving quietly, pushed to hurry by the fading light, Wade slid over until he was perched directly above the truck. He leaned backward, slipped off one shoe, and slid off his sock. He pulled the homing device from his pocket, thumbed the switch, and slipped it into the sock. Then he balled the sock up tightly, reached over the ledge, held his breath, and took as careful aim as he could. Then he let go.

The sock dropped into the box with a muffled thud.

Wade slid back out of sight, rolled over, and lay looking up at the stars with his mouth open, breathing great silent gasps and feeling the sweat trickle down the sides of his face toward his ears.

The noises gathered, and metal scraped against metal as the trucks were rocked against one another by bodies sliding up and into place. Then one by one the motors started, roaring loudly in the confined space. Then the first one moved out, followed by its fellows. Traveling slowly, without headlights.

Wade waited until the engines' noise had drifted away, then rose to his feet and began his slow return to the top.

Judith Armstead and Cyril Price arrived at the American Embassy within moments of each other. He demanded, “Do you know what this is all about?”

“No,” she replied grimly. “But if it's another false alarm,
you are about to witness the demise of last night's duty officer. In any case, it appears that your bait has slipped off the hook.”

“Yes,” Cyril agreed tiredly, nodding to the marine who passed him with a salute. “A bit tedious, that. I can only say how relieved I am that I don't have to face Allison's late father with this news.”

“That's right. You used to work with Dr. Taylor, didn't you. Back in the good old days.”

“Those days were many things, none of which I would describe as good.” Cyril climbed the embassy stairs and held the great doors open for her. “Yes, John and I happened to be quite close. He had a way of dressing one down that practically flayed skin from bone, all without raising his voice.”

“I seem to recall an instructor who shared that ability,” Judith told him. “It made the experience all the more painful to have it done in such genteel tones.”

“You can't possibly be referring to me,” Cyril replied, tasting a small smile. “Still, I shudder to think what he would say to the news that I had managed to lose his daughter.”

“In the Jordanian desert, no less.” Judith keyed in the elevator doors. “How is Ben Shannon taking it?”

“The poor man is pulling out what little hair he has left. Fareed traveled out with our people and finally located the Bedouin encampment, far to the east of their normal grazing territories. The pair were nowhere to be found. Interestingly enough, their leader, Mahmoud, was also not there.”

“It sounds—”

The door to the nearby stairwell slammed open. A young technician with glasses and tie askew announced, “We've got a reading on the homing transmitter!”

Cyril bolted forward as though electrocuted. “Tallyho, lads! The prey has been sighted!”

21

Wade and Allison dined that night at a sidewalk restaurant near the Gulf.

They had spent the night before in the high place, huddled together against the cold and watching the stars parade overhead in timeless grace. They had dozed and awakened and dozed again, warmed by each other's closeness and by the knowledge that everything possible had been done. The hunt was out of their hands.

At daybreak they had climbed down and started the long journey back to camp. Toward midmorning the desert stillness had been shattered by eight helicopters thundering by in close formation. Two hours later one had returned, circled them, then descended to earth. Cyril had alighted amid the rotors' noisy hurricane.

Two Russian nuclear scientists had been captured, he reported, and the men matched the descriptions Wade had supplied. Along with the scientists, they had seized three truckloads of components for making bombs and several lead-lined containers holding what he suspected were weapons-grade fissionable materials. Quite a haul.

When asked about Rogue Robards, Cyril had shaken his head. Several of the Bedouin guides had managed to escape, so perhaps he had vanished with them. Wade found himself both relieved and troubled by the news.

Cyril had been on his way back to Amman, where the scientists would be held for questioning. He offered the pair a ride back to Aqaba. They had bid Mahmoud solemn thanks and farewells, then returned to the port city by chopper.

“I'm a little sorry it's all over,” she confessed. “It's been the most exciting time of my life.”

“I'm sorry, too,” he agreed, his eyes locked on hers, “but for different reasons.”

The remains of their repast had been pushed to one side so that a way was clear between them. People smoked and talked and walked about the tables. Traffic hummed along the nearby street. In the distance, great cargo vessels and tankers vied for places in the crowded port. They saw none of it. Their attention moved no farther than the borders of their table.

“All that's happened,” she shook her head. “I wonder if I'll wake up in a couple of weeks and decide it was all a dream.”

“I know.” Wade was silent for a moment, then said, “The only way I've been able to make sense of all I've been through is by my faith.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everywhere we turn we see divisions, wars, and rumors of wars.” Wade looked at her but seemed to be focused inwardly. “Yet in the Bible God says that the world will ultimately live in unity. We will experience lasting peace. We will live as one people in a common city with one ruler. But this will come about because of God's work, not ours. That is our hope, our purpose. To be a part of His Kingdom, not our own.”

Allison watched as much as she listened. She saw a light enter his gaze as he spoke and felt a new awakening within herself. A yearning she had never before felt.

“That's very beautiful,” she said quietly, not completely understanding, but wanting to.

With her words his shy awkwardness returned. “I don't know what's gotten into me. I usually don't talk this much.”

“You make it seem so alive,” she said. “Religion has always been something I'd see in my mind's eye as sort of dried up and covered with cobwebs.” She stopped. “I hope that doesn't upset you.”

He shook his head. “It's only come alive for me in these times. Before, well, it was a part of me, but it didn't really live.”

Wade was silent for a moment, then said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Is there someone waiting for you?”

“No.” She smiled without humor. “I'm afraid my love life has been sort of a mess.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I guess it's like the song says, I was looking for love in all the wrong places.”

“At least you were looking,” Wade murmured.

“I didn't understand that having a man want you because he loves you is different from having him want you because he's weak and lazy.” She hesitated, startled into silence by her own unexpected honesty. But Wade remained as he was, silent and focused upon every word. So she swallowed and went on, “I always defined myself by what he needed. You know. Typing his r;aaesum;aae. Cleaning up his apartment. Buying his birthday gift for his mother. Always ready to help out when he ran short of cash. All I ended up doing was trying too hard to overcompensate for the fact that he really didn't care that much at all. Caring takes effort. Caring means responsibility. And those are things a lazy sort of guy avoids at all costs. I was left feeling weak and dependent on someone who didn't want to help me, since that meant too much effort as well.” Allison stopped once more and dropped her head, raw and ashamed and hurt by the confession.

He asked softly, “So what about giving to someone who needs you and loves you as well?”

“I can't tell you about what I've never known,” she replied, still unable to lift her head. “More than anything, I guess I just want to feel wanted.”

He reached out, took her hand, enveloped it in both of his. “What about someone who needs your strength but wants to give back from what little he has himself?”

“You have more than you give yourself credit for,” she said, rising up now, finding his gaze as open as her own. “But to answer your question, I think I'd be a little afraid that I was only kidding myself. That I was only repeating the same old
patterns and that sooner or later I'd drive this person away too, just like all the others.”

“No chance,” he said softly. “No chance at all.”

They sat without speaking for a long moment. Then she asked, her eyes luminescent, “Tell me about your dreams.”

“Just now,” he replied, “it's hard to see much beyond the dream here in front of me.”

“Tell me,” she pressed.

“I think I want to go back to medical school. There's so much more I need to learn. But...” and there he hesitated.

“But you're afraid.”

“Very,” he admitted.

“At least now,” she said, “you won't have to take that step alone.”

They paid and rose and clasped hands. He asked, “Do you want to walk awhile?”

“Sure.” Reluctantly she let go of his hand. “Just a moment, I'll be right back.”

But when she returned from the restaurant's interior, Wade was no longer there.