by Darren Swart
Digger nodded. “The City of Jericho comes to mind.”
Peter and Rachel looked at each other, somewhat taken aback.
Rachel was the first to respond. “How did you know that?”
Digger raised an eyebrow. “From the Bible story, of course.”
She blushed. “I forgot about that.”
“I am curious, though. How is it possible that any human could use your power in this day and age?”
“Remember the instrument of God for the Hebrews? I was guarded closely as a secret for many centuries. It was only when I was hidden for the safety of all Tribes that I was lost. I was accidentally found by one of the duke’s people, so he has spent the last forty years studying me like an insect. Your friend Marty will find the final key for the duke to release me. Once that happens, he will control my power. That will be a disaster for all of us.”
“I don’t understand. How can he figure something like that out? Everyone who knew anything about it has been dead for centuries.”
“True. The stone you hold is called a Sappir. All the Sappir are embodied with intelligence. The Sappir has unique effects on every person it touches. The duke has been able to read and understand certain ancient texts that were previously considered undecipherable.”
Digger looked a little confused. “But I thought Marty had the only stone?”
She smiled at him sadly. “No. There are many more. The duke possesses all but the twelfth stone.”
Digger pondered this. “So can’t we just hide it from him?”
“He has almost limitless resources. He would torture and kill each of you to find it. You, Martin and Gillian are the only ones who can stop him. But it must be at the right time and the right place.”
“So what do I need to do?”
“Go back and follow Martin. The Sappir will lead him to me. All three of you play an important role. You must act as one. That is the only way that any good can come of this.”
Digger pondered for a moment. “Why am I so special?”
Peter and Rachel smiled at each other. She responded, “That is the question that all men ask and the answer lies within you. It will reveal itself when the time has come.”
She took his hand and held it gently against her bosom. His hand and her bosom began to glow. “You have a part of me now. The power you need is the power you will have. You’re a good man, Digger Delgado. Never underestimate that.”
Digger nodded, still not wanting to go back. He slowly removed his hand and took hers. He raised it to his lips and gently kissed it. His eyes said more than his lips could. He closed his eyes and drank in the moment. When he opened his eyes, Marty and Gillian were sitting beside him on the bed. They formed a small triangle. Digger blinked for a moment, trying to orient himself.
Gillian reached out and gently touched his hand. “Hey, are you okay?”
He stared at her for a moment. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
Marty nodded. “Take all the time you need. We’ve been there.”
Digger nodded, absently. He placed his fingertips to his lips. His fingers smelled of lemon blossoms. Marty reached over and touched Gillian’s hand, motioning her toward the door. She nodded and silently slid off the bed like a cat. She looked at Digger and said, “We’ll be right outside, if you need us.”
Digger nodded, absently again. All he could think about was Rachel. Marty and Gillian eased out the door.
A few thousand miles away in a cavernous vault, a spirit entity pondered on the human she had just met. She thoughtfully floated in a room of her own creation. She stared through a picture window at a cloud of gas and dust near Alpha Centauri, as it shifted and rolled in the solar wind. She considered the dilemma that she now faced. She was beginning to experience the human emotion of love. It was unfamiliar to her. She did not understand it. It felt almost…painful. Michael and Gabriel had not designed her to have emotions, or to make choices. They had designed her to do as she was bid. Now, she was faced with both. If Digger were to come here, he could never leave. She stared for a while longer at the gas pocket, thinking about the future.
Gillian studied Digger’s surveillance system for a moment and decided it was safe enough to go outside. She stepped into the cool morning air, with Marty in tow. A symphony of crickets sung in concert into the night air. The freshness of the morning air washed away the cobwebs, leaving them refreshed. As they walked, Gillian eased her hand into Marty’s. He said nothing but smiled enjoying her touch. It was odd for Gillian. She had never had the desire to walk and hold hands with anyone. And yet, it felt completely natural being here with Marty. It made no sense. She didn’t dwell on it. She just enjoyed the moment. They walked silently, neither of them wanting to spoil it with mindless chatter.
After some time, she looked up at him and asked, “So, what did you see?”
“A Librarian. How about you?”
“Drill Instructor.”
They walked for a while longer before Marty volunteered. “I’m being drawn to France. I don’t know what to expect. Peter told me it would come to me when it was time, but I don’t know what that means.”
She smiled at him, encouragingly. “None of us do, Sweetie. We’re going to have to play this, as it comes. It’s all intuitive now.”
It was the first time she had ever used a pet name with anyone. It came out, without thinking. They quietly walked in the quiet cool of the morning. Gillian suddenly stopped, realizing that they had walked for several blocks. They could see the first light of dawn. Birds were beginning to wake, chirping to celebrate the new day.
A sudden chill coursed through Gillian’s spine. “We need to be getting back.” With that, she dropped his hand and performed an abrupt about face.
Marty rolled his eyes. Women. He didn’t think he would ever understand them.
Chapter 19
Bernard’s phone met with out of service or voice mail with every other team member. It was a foreboding sign, one that hinted failure—possibly worse. Aggravated, he navigated his way back to the farm to verify no one was there. It was all he had left. The dilapidated structure appeared as dead on the inside as it was on the outside. He turned the car off and sat gazing at the gray wood that was in desperate need of paint. He contemplated his next move. He knew McPherson would gloat, and he considered any conceivable option to avoid that. After what seemed like an eternity, he resigned to the fact that the mission was a failure and that he needed to catch the next flight to Paris.
The first hues of dawn made the night sky glow in its wake, as he eased through a small town in the middle of a road to nowhere. In the delicious coolness of the morning, the air through the open windows was heavy with the smell of honeysuckle. A single traffic light glowed like an angry red eye, daring him to glide through it even with a clear absence of traffic.
He sat under the ruby red light, surveying his surroundings more out of habit than deliberate action. The erratic blinking of the half-lit motel sign cornered his attention for a moment. He looked across the parking lot of the Starlight Motel. Considering that it must be difficult for any motel to stay in business when there are no tenants, he noticed that there were virtually no cars in the lot, except for one. Bernard smiled. It didn’t look like he would be making that call to McPherson just yet.
****
Gillian felt her stomach involuntarily knot up. At one hundred feet, she could see that the door to Room #3 was slightly askew. Even from a distance, she could see the door pitifully sagged on one hinge. She stopped in mid-stride, putting her forearm on Marty’s chest, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He looked at her arm and then at her. Her eyes said it all. The change in the air was almost palpable. He was pretty quick to evaluate their situation and realized he was more of a liability to Gillian than an asset. He touched her shoulder gently, pointed to himself and then to a small thicket with trees. While she did make an elaborate affirmation of what he was indicating, he could sense that she appreciated that he made a quick
decision and acted on it.
Marty hunched down and ran toward the trees, as quietly as his lumbering frame would allow. He looked around cautiously to see if there was anyone on the street lurking or lying in wait. There was no one within sight. So, he vaulted to the nearest tree with low branches. Once in the thicket, he assessed that he could probably get a higher perspective on things. Grabbing the lowest limb on a sweet gum tree, he grunted and clambered up the tree, scraping his arms as he went. If they wanted him, they would have to come up after him.
Gillian’s gaze darted all around her. She took mental snapshots of everything. The area was quiet, with the exception of the broken door standing ajar. She considered that it might be a trap. She reached down and pulled the Sig free from her ankle holster—thankful she had the presence of mind to grab the magazine and the weapon before she left. These were some strange times indeed.
Easing around the door to Room #1, she listened for any unusual noise from within. The room’s prehistoric air conditioner suddenly clattered loudly, drowning out any chance of her hearing any sounds of a struggle inside. She began to work her way around the small building, occasionally looking over her shoulder. She eased around the building to find a row of small windows along the back where the bathrooms were located. She eased up to the first window. It was locked. The next window bore the same result. If she broke a window coming in, it would give away her position. She worked her way around to the front of the bungalow. She carefully moved back to the door that was ajar. She would have to chance coming in that way.
She picked up an empty drink can from the side of the building, as she came around. She eased up to the door on Room #3. Using the drink can, she pushed the door open and tossed the can. Nothing happened. Taking a quick glance, she saw nothing in the room. With the grace of a cat, she leaped, and tumbled into position. The Sig was poised in front of her. There was no one in the room. She eased her way through the connecting room with the same result. She was alone.
In a flash, she realized that Marty was alone and exposed. She quietly eased outside. Marty was nowhere in sight. A cold feeling crept into her stomach. A hoarse whisper cleared some of the butterflies. “Gillian?”
She looked up and saw him in the tree. His hulking frame desperately clung to the branches. They would all laugh about this later, but for now, she said, “It’s okay. Come on down.”
He shinnied down the tree, somewhat awkwardly, and landed on the ground. “Is Digger okay?”
“He’s gone.”
“Where?”
“Good question. Let’s go look at the surveillance footage and see if we can answer that.”
It took the pair five minutes to figure out the software and find the frame where Digger had disappeared. Their answer entered the room in the form of one Bernard François. Marty heard Gillian suck in her breath at the sight of him. He had out-maneuvered them somehow and she didn’t know how. She watched with growing distress, as Bernard entered the room and left a few minutes later with Digger draped across his shoulder like a gunny sack. Something small and square was held firmly in his other hand. He strode out of the motel room and into the darkness. They sat there for a moment, taking it in.
In a small, almost subdued voice, Gillian finally asked, “Where do we go from here? I was so focused on protecting you. I never considered Digger or the gem…” Her voice trailed off. She stared at her hands, they had failed her.
Marty placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice was calm his resolve evident. “There is one aspect these people, whoever they are, have failed to consider.” She looked up at him, not prepared for what she saw. His eyes almost pulsed from a light within. His jaw was square, and his look unwavering. “We are connected in a way that they cannot understand. It’s time to get our friend back.”
In that purest of moments, she saw him in a new light. In an inexplicable moment of reckoning, she cast aside any doubts and believed in him. It went against every instinct that had forged her sense of survival. It was, conceivably, the most irrational thing she had ever done. Were the circumstances not so dire, she might have relished the moment. There was no time for that now. Hope edged its way into her voice. “You’re right. How do we begin?”
Marty smiled. “You go ahead and start packing. I’ll let you know where we’re going in a minute or two. Okay?”
She mustered a weak smile and said, “Okay,” as she began to stuff gear into the duffel bag.
Chapter 20
The air in the trunk was stuffy and smelled funny, road kill kind of funny. Digger was not in his happy place. He banged his head, as the car swayed in and out of curves. He slid helplessly, fighting against the duct tape that bound his hands and feet. He breathed slowly through his nostrils and tried to push the tape from his lips. He tried to piece together what had happened through the montage of blurred images. It confused him because he was sure that they had slipped the surveillance teams. No one had followed them. There were no tracking devices on the car. He didn’t understand how they had been found. At this point, the how was not nearly as important as the what.
The side of his head pounded from being struck. His body began to cramp from the confinement in a trunk designed for a donut tire. Between the stuffiness, the warmth and the stress, Digger dozed off for a moment. He dreamed he was jostling in the back of a buckboard wagon. He could hear the guttural growl of hungry wolves chasing the wagon. A single horse whinnied and strained to pull the wagon faster to stay ahead of the hungry pack. Its body was lathered and slick with sweat. Its eyes were wide with fear at the smell of the snarling wolves behind him. Digger struggled to raise his head and look ahead. Small dust clouds wisped past the driver’s tan duster and into the wind like smoke on a blustery day. His Stetson stayed glued to his head with a single leather cord, which struggled against the wind. The horse needed no urging to move faster. And yet, the driver continued to slap the reins, egging him on. The driver looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Dude, are you okay?”
“Marty? How did you get here?”
“It’s a long story. Do you know where you are?”
Digger looked at him for a moment in disbelief. “I’m right here.”
“In your dream, yes. But do you know where you are in real life?”
Digger considered the statement for a moment. “In a car trunk, I think. That’s all I know.”
“Okay. We’re coming after you. Don’t worry.”
He gave him a wry look. “Worry? Why should I worry?”
“You know what I mean.”
The car went over a bump, causing Digger to bang the sore part of his head against the trunk lid. He awoke to throbbing pain and the glow of brake lights. He could feel the vehicle slow down, as it went over rougher terrain. He could just make out the sounds of people talking. He heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie. He strained to move closer to the fender to listen. He heard the sound again. It sounded like a police radio. A police radio? Maybe they’re being pulled over? He shimmied away from the fender and rolled onto his back. He bent his knees as much as he could in the confined space and kicked at the fender wall, making a small thud. A stab of pain from the side mounted light made him realize that he wasn’t wearing shoes. He ignored the pain and continued to kick. He stopped for a moment and listened. He heard voices which suddenly went silent—deadly silent.
Don White had only been on duty for an hour. The fight he had with Marybeth was still fresh in his mind, as he approached the driver’s side to ask the tall fellow about the busted tail-light. The tinny clink of the hammer was the last thing he heard, as the silenced Glock fired a single round between his eyes. He crumpled in a heap where he stood. It seemed like an eternity before the trunk finally opened. Digger sighed in relief, as the dark-headed man in a brown uniform shirt peered in. Without so much as a word, the Deputy reached in and yanked Digger up out of the trunk by his clothing. He unceremoniously dragged him to the police cruiser and hurled him into the backseat, like a bag of potatoes.
Unaccustomed to such behavior, Digger lay in the seat bewildered for a moment. He had anticipated more professionalism from a man of the law. He straightened himself up in the seat in time to see the uniformed man throw the half-naked body of another man into the trunk of the car in front of the cruiser. A chill crawled its way up his spine and down his arms causing every hair on his arms to stand on end. He had awoken from a bad dream into a nightmare.
He practiced his breathing exercises to calm himself. He closed his eyes and pictured his happy place. As he watched the sunrise over Malibu, the head of the dead man popped out of the sand in front of him. He opened his eyes to stop the image. In the early morning sun behind a bright gilt-edged cloud, sunbeams burst from it. It was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He hoped it was not the last sunrise he would ever see. If it was—at least it was a nice one.
****
Marty sat, with his eyes closed on the bed. He concentrated on Digger. He looked through Digger’s eyes at the sunrise. It was beautiful and scary—all at the same time. Marty could see a tall dark-headed man wiping down a bronze Toyota in front of them. He watched as the man put the car in gear and pointed it off the road. It idled over the edge of the embankment and plummeted into the ravine below. There was no fire, no explosion, just a pillar of steam from a busted radiator. The man turned and smiled at Digger, as he walked back toward a patrol car.
Digger turned his gaze back to the scene in front of him. Bernard smiled with a sense of satisfaction, as he walked back to the patrol car. Saying nothing, he eased in, throwing a black duffle bag on the floor beside him. He adjusted the seat and mirror without a word. As he eased the car into gear, he flipped off the light bar and slowly pulled the car onto the road. It should be several hours before anyone noticed the Camry at the bottom of the ravine. Hopefully, he would be out of the country by then.
