Veil of the Goddess (6 page)

"If you're wrong, no harm done. If you're right, I'm grateful,” Herrera said. He peered over the edge of the gully, looking for any enemy.

It took her a moment to realize that the hum she heard wasn't all coming from the Cross. A small plane flashed overhead and circled around the farmhouse.

"Predator,” Zack whispered.

The Army was stingy with these unmanned flying weapons. There had been plenty of times Ivy wished she'd had better intelligence from above, someone looking down and spotting insurgents before they started shooting—it had been a wish that had never been realized. Clearly someone in charge thought finding the Cross was more important than saving a few uniformed lives. Ivy wasn't sure they were wrong.

The drone circled the abandoned farmhouse again, then a white flash temporarily obscured it.

She barely made out the streak of light that plunged from the drone—into the truck that had carried them so faithfully away from the burning city.

A second flash and the abandoned farmhouse where they'd hidden disappeared into rubble.

The drone continued to circle, watching perhaps, to see if there were any survivors. The missiles made it more likely that the drone was CIA rather than military since the army used its Predators mostly for surveillance rather than attacks.

Ivy swallowed hard trying not to vomit. She'd known they would be hunted, but knowing and seeing were different.

"Crap.” Zack pointed to the west where twin lines of dust rose toward the sky.

"Oh, great. Looks like we're about to have company."

It figured that the CIA would attack first from a distance, then send in resources to pick through the pieces. Unlike the army, the CIA couldn't stand the heat of real battle.

"Think we should move?” she asked.

Herrera glanced at the Predator, then at the approaching Kurdish militia.

"If we stay here, we're dead anyway."

She picked up the crosspiece and set off up the wash, trying to take advantage of what cover this land offered.

Fortunately, there was a fair amount of it.

Low shrubs, scattered windswept olive trees and multiple rocky outcroppings made their journey higher into the Kurdish foothills a challenge, but at least it would be largely inaccessible to the wheeled vehicles the Kurdish militia and their CIA sponsors used.

At first, Ivy thought carrying the Cross would slow them. Even the shorter crosspiece she carried had to weigh fifty pounds and the bulky timbers were awkward, with a tendency to dig into her shoulders. As they struggled deeper into the mountains, however, she realized that she wasn't growing tired as she normally would. Could the Cross provide energy to her? She wasn't prepared to believe that, but she could no longer doubt that something weird was going on.

Whoever was operating the Predator kept that drone circling over the farmhouse until the militia arrived, then set it off in widening search patterns. It hovered over the gully where she and Herrera had hidden, then continued on.

"Maybe it can sense the Cross,” Herrera suggested.

Ivy nodded, then flung herself down in a rare patch of grass. “Maybe. Or maybe it's something a lot more mundane."

"Like..."

"Like the briefcase.” She took the case from Herrera, jerked it open, yanked out the cash and papers, then stared at the Cross that Smith had used to douse for the True Cross. “Can you think of any reason we should take this with us?"

Zack took the dousing cross from her. “Find more holy artifacts?"

"You're joking."

"Only partially. This land is full of Biblical history. Mosul includes the ancient city of Nineveh where Jonah lived and where the ten lost tribes were taken after the destruction of Israel. Further south is Babylon where the Bible was actually compiled."

He waved a hand toward the snow-covered peaks ahead of them. “In the mountains not far from here is the peak where Noah's ark came to rest. Peter preached all around here before coming to Rome. We're only a couple of hundred miles from where Saul was transformed into Paul. Fifty miles past that and you're in Nazareth where our Lord was born. Just imagine what we could find. Wit a relic-finding tool that actually works, we could unveil some of the most important mysteries in the history of the world."

And it could get them killed. “I've got all the relic I need."

Zack set aside the douser. “I guess you're right. And you're also right that it would also be a good place to hide a tracking device. So,
this
Cross stays, along with the case itself."

"Just a second.” Ivy pulled out her commando knife and slit at the leather inners of Smith's briefcase.

A handful of gold coins and a plastic bag with a few sheets of paper inside rewarded her effort. “I thought Smith was sneaky enough that he'd have something hidden. Too bad we didn't have time to search his body more completely."

"I don't think I could have made myself slice him up with to find a few more gold coins.” Herrera looked around, scooped the papers and money into the ample pockets in his uniform pants, and stood. “We'd better get a move on."

Five minutes later, another missile flash told them that they'd made the right call. That peaceful glade where they'd dismantled Smith's briefcase erupted into an inferno. Of course, making the right decision only meant that they were temporarily still alive. Alive but stuck in an inhospitable mountain range, surrounded by people whose dreams for independence completely relied on the CIA, and hunted by a mysterious Foundation that seemed able to use magical means to hunt for the Cross.

It wasn't a happy situation.

Zack's foot skidded from beneath him as he hit a patch of loose rock that growing shadows of twilight had hidden from his tired eyes. They'd been on the run for hours now, but they hadn't thrown off their hunters. With nightfall, they would be at an even greater disadvantage compared to the militiamen who had hidden in these mountains for decades in their eternal rebellion against the central authorities in Baghdad, Istanbul, Damascus, Constantinople, Rome, or Persepolis.

Running wouldn't help. They were just as likely to be running toward their enemies as away from them. If he and Ivy were to survive the night, they would need help.

The sun descended abruptly behind tall mountains to the west. They'd been going uphill for hours, climbing toward the mountains that formed the border between Turkey and Iraq. High as they were, it was still hot, but Zack guessed that it would cool off quickly now that the sun had set. Unlike the Iraqi lowlands, the thin air of the mountains would hold little warmth.

A soft curse told him that Ivy too had stumbled in the increasing darkness.

"Getting too dark to see,” she admitted. “I'm not crazy about nighttime mountain climbing."

Zack wasn't either. But he was even less comfortable with getting blown up by a Predator missile. And every time they'd stopped for more than a couple of minutes, they'd heard the distinctive whine of the remote controlled drone.

"I'm open to suggestions."

"We need help. Another truck, maybe."

He knew that. What he didn't know was how to get it. “While we're wishing, why not ask for an Abrams. That way, I could knock out those Predators before they could get a shot off."

"Okay, so that wasn't helpful.” Ivy paused. Even in the growing darkness, he could tell she was squinching her nose in thought.

"How about if we pray."

"I'm not much on praying. Asking God for personal favors has always seemed selfish."

"Yeah. Well, it couldn't hurt."

"I guess."

Ivy went quiet as they trudged along, using the last moments of twilight to gain a bit more distance.

Lord,
he prayed silently.
I don't know what I'm doing, but I know I need help. Anything you can spare would certainly be appreciated.

It wasn't much of a prayer, and he certainly didn't get a sense that anyone up there was listening. But it was the best he could come up with.

"There's someone ahead."

He froze. He couldn't see through the trees, but the attenuated scent of burning wood told him Ivy was right. Someone was nearby.

"We do need help,” she reminded him.

"Whoever is up there is either part of the militia, in which case they'll turn us over to the CIA, or they're innocent civilians, in which case we'll probably get them killed."

"There's a third alternative. Maybe they're the answer to your prayer."

He didn't think the Lord worked that way. But then, it seemed he was learning things every moment.

"We might as well check. If we just stumble on, sooner or later we'll fall off the mountain."

It grated against the code of machismo his father and uncles had beaten into him as a child, but he let Ivy, with her more sensitive nose, take the lead as they searched for the fire.

He wished he had been able to rig up some sort of carrying device for the Cross. Carrying the massive nine-foot timber took both of his hands—which meant he had to keep his confiscated assault rifle slung over a shoulder, inaccessible if he needed it on a moment's notice. But he hadn't thought he'd need a carrier when they still had the truck, and he'd been on the run ever sense.

"It looks like some sort of cave,” Ivy whispered after they'd stumbled through the darkness for at least twenty minutes.

He was standing a few feet from her and he could barely hear her words, but apparently she had spoken loudly enough to alarm whoever was ahead of them. Someone dumped something into the fire, eliminating the red glow that provided the only illumination and sending an herb-rich scent toward them.

He inhaled—recognized the distinctive scent of cannabis mixed with cooking herbs and spices that reminded him of the incense used in the south Dallas church where he'd had his first communion.

Stars blurred, seemed to lurch across the sky. His knees wobbled and he fought for his balance.

"I think..."

Blackness plunged over him before he could tell Ivy what he thought.

"You bear a heavy burden.” The voice was that of an old woman, but she didn't look like an old woman. Instead, the face of a monster, lit by a flickering red fire, peered at Ivy.

They were in a cave, but rich carpets lined the floor and walls. An altar, with a strangely shaped figure in blue and gold that could only be the Virgin Mary, adorned one wall. A fire, flames moving in slow motion, smoldered between Ivy and the doorway.

She attempted to push herself from the stone floor but gave it up as a bad job. “Am I dead?"

"Perhaps.” The figured moved closer and Ivy recognized the monster shape as a mask. If this was hell, it was a cheap Hollywood version. She couldn't imagine that Satan's imps needed demon masks.

"You drugged us, didn't you?” Ivy couldn't see Herrera but some part of her sensed him nearby.

"Your emotions were too strong, were resonating with the, ah, object. The hunters could pick up on those vibrations. Without meaning to, you were calling them to you. We found a way to take you far away from that."

The woman's voice was strange, each word cutting into Ivy's consciousness and leaving its imprint, but not sticking. She could have repeated the woman's meaning, but not the words themselves. “Are you speaking in English?"

The woman laughed again, her voice ageless. “There is only one true language, the language of the Angels. Those who speak it can be understood by anyone, and can understand anyone. Because it is the
true
language, what is said in it is true, or becomes true. Some people call this
magic
."

In her drugged state, the woman's explanation made sense to Ivy, although she suspected it wouldn't when she came down from whatever this person had dosed her with.

From somewhere distant, she heard Herrera groan and thrash around. Soon he quieted.

"Is he all right? Where is he?” Why had she regained consciousness while the larger male had not?

"This is not a place where males are welcome. His sleep protects him from forces he could not understand, forces that would destroy first, then discriminate."

But Zack wasn't the only person who needed protection. Ivy wasn't certain how much time had passed, but surely she'd been unconscious for more than a few minutes. The CIA trackers would have had plenty of opportunity to strike. This woman couldn't realize the danger she had put herself into by bringing them into her cave.

"You'll be in danger if you're found here with us,” Ivy said.

"I have already explained that this is not a place that welcomes males. Your hunters are all male. They will not find you. Not here. And not tonight."

As if some crazy hillside shaman would know about the type of electronic surveillance the CIA had available to it. “You don't understand. They have been able to track us everywhere. I think the Cross is sending out some sort of vibration they can pick up on."

Oops. She hadn't meant to mention the word
Cross
. For one thing, most Kurds were Moslems. For another, the CIA had probably notified everyone in Kurdistan to be on the lookout for a Cross. Even an isolated hermit would have gotten the word by now, if that was what this woman was.

"It isn't only
a
Cross, you know.” The demon-masked woman brushed her hand against the artifact. “It
is
the One True Cross, the Cross of Jesus's passion. But the wood was holy before it was a Cross. In times ancient even before Moses, it was a tree, planted by Adam and the all-mother Eve from a seed from the garden itself. When the Queen of Sheba went to Solomon, she found these very timbers built into a bridge, recognized them, and brought the news to the King. When Solomon built his Temple, he built them into the structure, understanding in the wisdom that the great Queen had shared with him, that it would become a critical part of Prophesy.

"Power has steeped into this wood from the moment of divine creation herself. Of course those who seek after power are called to it. Did not
El Shaddai
himself warn that the tree of life would grant vast powers to man? Powers so great he expelled them from the garden, the mother womb, to prevent them from reaching them."