by Vince Milam
“Are there not enough guns?” she yelled. “Do you feel an obligation to add to the killing? Do you take joy doing this? Go to Idlib! There is a lot of killing there! Go!”
Cole held out a free hand, palm facing her. Before he could speak, Francois exclaimed from a distance, “Bonjour! Bonjour! Comment allez-vous?”
They turned to watch Francois scramble over the ruins of the monastery and approach them. Sufficient light revealed white pants, a pastel green shirt, and a large smile. Nadine followed him at a much slower pace.
“Le Pere Domaine?”
“Oui, oui!”
The two chatted in French. Nadine made it to Cole and they watched, forgotten. After several minutes, Francois turned to them with a broad sweeping gesture and said, “This is Sister Rahel. Of the Order of St. Anthony. The convent is but a short distance through the trees.”
Francois made introductions all around. Sister Rahel continued to scowl at Cole and looked with sympathy toward Nadine. Cole asked if they could drive to it and the nun told of a small path through the olive grove that terminated at the convent, and warned him not to damage any of the trees. The nun and Francois turned and began to walk into the grove.
Cole and Nadine repacked the weapons into the Land Cruiser and drove around the ruins of the monastery until they found a trail and followed it, winding among the ancient gnarled trunks. Francois had earlier explained that the Order of St. Anthony had occupied this place for almost seven hundred years.
The small convent nestled at the far edge of the olive grove, its roofline just above the height of the trees. Constructed of brick and stone, it had few doors and a row of windows high on the walls. Over the chapel at one end of the compact building the roof formed a circle, above which a small cross stood and, next to it, a small satellite antenna.
Several chickens meandered about, kept out of a small garden by an undersized fence woven of cut olive branches. Cole parked the vehicle and absorbed the place. Nadine reached across and gently squeezed his neck.
“Well, we made it,” she said.
“And without hitting any trees. I wish I could say the same for those bullets.” The daylight had displayed several bullet punctures in the body of the Land Cruiser. “This is absolutely nuts, Nadine.”
“I know. Let’s go check the place out.”
More introductions were conducted inside. Sister Rahel made a point of inspecting Cole’s back to ensure he didn’t carry any weapons. Three other nuns remained; Sisters Sosa, Raca, and Elacha. Sister Rahel explained that Rome had evacuated all but four nuns after the monastery attack several months ago.
“We four were allowed to stay, for which I am most grateful,” said Sister Rahel. The other three nodded in agreement.
The nuns fed them a simple breakfast of stale bread and chickpeas mashed with spices. They spoke of events in French and English, focusing on the civil war raging around them.
“It is not necessarily religious in nature,” said Sister Rahel. “Factions initially concentrated on fighting the government of Assad. Of course they began fighting each other as well, which drew fighters from France, Russia, Lebanon, Iran, Yemen, North Africa—from everywhere. This created more chaos and death. I will not deny they all have their own version of Islamic righteousness. But much of it represents a struggle for power.”
Nadine enquired about life before the war.
“For a millennium we have lived at peace with our neighbors. Assad, and his father before him, maintained that history.”
“And now?” asked Nadine.
“We are an easy target,” said Sister Rahel. “Yes, some groups have more anti-Christian fanaticism than others, but we are simply convenient. The brothers at the Monastery attempted to maintain relationships with the factions and tribes, but to no avail.”
“Why haven’t they attacked you?” asked Cole. Their sitting duck situation made him uneasy given this little convent defined their base of operations. He began to think of potential exit route strategies.
“We exist here under the grace of God,” said Sister Rahel. “For how long is up to him.”
The conversation drifted to gossip from the Vatican, exchanged mostly in French. Cole thought of daylight. No sounds of gunfire or artillery came through the high open windows. They would hunt Moloch during the day. They would also escape back to Turkey during the daylight hours. It appeared their only chance.
The French switched back to English as the conversation moved into the purpose of their arrival. Francois spoke of traveling from the United States to Wales, the murders at the School for the Blind, and foremost their pursuit of this demon. At several intervals during his telling, the sisters crossed themselves. None of the nuns showed any incredulity toward the fact a demon walked among humans. Apparently they occupied such a hellish landscape that the appearance of demons posed few questions. Sister Rahel noted that more than once they had wondered if Satan had not formed his forces in this part of Syria.
The nuns steered the conversation back to the encounter with Moloch at the Cardiff hotel coffee shop, extracting details from Francois. They patted both Cole and Nadine’s hands during the description of their personal interactions with the demon. They explained to the Americans that those who survived such encounters were bestowed with special consideration. God had surely protected them.
“Father Domaine, you must summon the power of God to defeat this creature,” said Sister Rahel. “You must ask God’s protection to find it and most dangerous of all, to approach it.”
Francois pinched his lower lip between forefinger and thumb. “Oui. Such is my plan, Sister.”
Cole and Nadine remained silent for most of the conversation. Then Nadine began to pry for intelligence.
“Moloch leads a group called al Garal in one of the Dead Cities,” she said.
The nuns spoke in a French clamor before Sister Rahel turned to Nadine and said, “We know this group. The worst of the worst. Killing women and children. Wiping out villages.”
“How do you know them?” asked Cole. “Or better yet, do you know how to locate them?”
Sister Rahel explained that the convent maintained contact with the local world through the purchase of basic supplies from select merchants. Through these interactions, talk would move to the current situation and the latest news.
“It is blasphemous to think of the situation, but God works in mysterious ways,” said Sister Rahel. The tiny woman became angry and spit the location. “They occupy the remains of a village containing the most ancient Church of St. Ageranus. Not a great distance from here. One cries at the thought of such vileness on those sacred grounds.”
Nadine opened her leather travel bag and produced a laptop. Cole scooted over to watch her acquire the convent’s satellite feed, break through the encrypted security features, and search for the Church of St. Ageranus. A few minutes later she said, “Four miles, almost due west.”
“Let’s go now,” said Cole. “Get him while they all sleep. If they’ve fought all night, they’ll be taking sack time right about now. The element of surprise is on our side. Let’s take him down.”
He had momentum and their resolve could fade if they waited. They could find Moloch, take care of business, and get out of there all in one day. Nighttime, for sure, would bring out the fighting again.
“Américains,” said Sister Rahel to Francois.
“Texas,” said Francois, a revelation that caused tiny Sister Rahel to raise both eyebrows. The other three nuns looked sideways at Cole and then each other.
“Actually, Cole, this may call for a bit more planning,” said Nadine. “Some reconnaissance. Let’s get the lay of the land and formulate a more deliberate action.”
She had a legitimate point. But he’d formulated a personal plan, one which involved the capabilities of the M-15 and a headshot. He now accepted that no revelations would come from Moloch. He’d come to this conclusion last night on the smuggler’s road. This demon had a powerful relationship to the
Rockport and Cardiff massacres as well as Martha’s death, but Francois’s assertion that this creature lied and deceived and perverted rang true. His seething anger and frustration rose to a boil with this acceptance. He didn’t take cold killing lightly, but this was different. They were all in a life threatening position and the sooner this got done the sooner they could get out of here. The time for complexities had passed. No answers could be gleaned from this creature, except one.
Let’s see how Moloch handles a bullet, he thought. I can dang sure answer one big question after I squeeze the trigger.
“I don’t mind taking a scouting trip right now,” said Cole. “You two stay here.”
“No,” said Francois. “Let us not forget who shall lead this battle. We shall rest. Last night was tres stressful. We shall rest.”
“He’s right,” said Nadine to Cole. “A couple of hours sleep and we’ll reconnoiter.”
His head knew Francois had a valid point. They were more formidable as a team. His heart spoke of getting this deadly business done as quickly as possible. His head won out.
The nuns showed each of them to small, sparse rooms. Due to the trauma of the drive, the relief from arriving intact at the convent, and the heavy nature of the breakfast, Cole soon fell sound asleep.
Chapter 32
Nadine woke first. She lay on the cool sheets and reflected on the situation. This is the most significant experience of my life, she thought. Even the gunshots and mortars and artillery, which scared me big-time, seem fitting as part and parcel of the whole package. The adrenaline rushes, the constant edge, the mere fact they sat in the middle of such chaos lit a fire in her, and it was easy to understand how Check and the other field operatives she’d worked with so loved their assignments.
Ensconced in such a physically challenging place while her internal belief system went through radical changes brought its own element of thrill and fascination. Her relationship with a higher power had changed her. She knew the bullheadedness and a fascination with technology would remain a part of her forever, but now there was the added dimension of spirituality. It gave her insight to how Francois walked through life, and it provided a greater understanding of Cole. He clearly vacillated in the depth of his belief, but she got that. The man had gone through a lot. That didn’t let him off the hook for his Lone Ranger BS in wanting to go after Moloch right away, but she’d cut him some slack even on that. He’d obviously changed since they left Turkey and now appeared to focus on some kind of righteous retribution. His simpler approach of just blowing Moloch away had a finality in the current chaos that she understood, but her heart told her it wasn’t going to be that cut and dried.
She entered the hallway and heard Cole’s light snoring through his door and Francois’s heavier snoring through his. She contemplated letting them sleep, but Cole had been right about one thing—it was best to maintain momentum. She woke them both.
Sister Raca made them tea in the small kitchen. Francois lit a cigarette and Sister Rahel slapped an empty tin can on the table, indicating its purpose as an ashtray and her displeasure at his smoking.
“We are a burden, this I understand,” said Francois. “And as such, I insist we find a place to eat, away from here, so we may go and return before darkness falls.”
Francois had likely given considerable thought to another meal of mashed chickpeas.
“Bad idea,” said Cole.
“No, it is an idea of relieving the sisters of our burden.”
Sister Rahel stood a few feet away and leaned forward, birdlike, hands on hips.
“You will not starve here, Father Domaine,” she said, one eyebrow lifted.
“There is a small village on the back side of our little hill, not one half mile away,” said Sister Raca. “It is poor and small but it does contain a tea house which serves food.”
Sister Rahel gave Sister Raca a look capable of withering fresh flowers.
“Bon! A nice walk,” said Francois.
“Bad idea,” said Cole.
Nadine was up for it. “Let’s stretch our legs,” she said. “It’s quiet right now and we’ll be back long before sundown.” She grabbed her leather shoulder bag and removed a laptop to leave there, keeping the cell phone and electronic tablet in the bag.
Cole lagged behind on the walk down the south side of the convent’s hill and turned with regularity to check their backtrack, which drove Nadine a little crazy because a half-mile made for a minor distance, and bad guys were unlikely to pop out this time of day. He packed the .45 in the back of his pants, covered by his shirttails. Francois had said nothing as they stopped by the Land Cruiser while Cole retrieved the firearm. I’m glad Francois has stopped his commentary on guns, she thought. It might be unlikely that we run into bad guys, but not impossible. And dollars-to-donuts Cole can hit what he aims at.
Two-dozen hovels, most with tin roofs, appeared as they rounded a curve on the hillside. Smoke drifted from several of the houses, goats meandered the dirt streets, and a few old Toyota pickups sat at irregular intervals. A cluster of veiled women stood around the town’s well, hand-pumping water into their individual buckets, shooing away flies, and sharing stories. Two old men sat in the shade of a tin-roofed courtyard smoking hookahs, while two young women prepared a meal behind them. Francois strode to this establishment.
The old men stared with hooded eyes as they approached. The women at the well fell silent. The goats, sensing some change, stopped their activities. Francois doffed his Ecuadorian hat at the two old men. They did not change expressions or acknowledge the greeting. Nadine followed on his heels, nodding at everyone although no nods were returned. The whole thing felt like a scene from a spaghetti western. She looked over her shoulder to smile at Cole, but he kept moving those dark eyes with a constant scan.
Several dilapidated tables and chairs were arrayed on the dirt. Chickens scratched the ground around them. Francois ceremoniously removed a large off-white handkerchief and swiped the seats of the chairs as well as the tabletop. Cole and Francois waited for her to sit. Francois then lowered himself, lit a smoke, and placed a US twenty-dollar bill on the table.
“Universal currency, admittedly,” he said to Nadine, and looked at the two young women with a quizzical expression.
One of them came over, bowed, and mimicked the act of eating by moving her hand to her mouth and pointing at the twenty-dollar bill.
“Oui,” said Francois.
The girl smiled, snatched the bill, and barked an order at her younger sister. Lamb meat appeared and was quickly skewered, sprinkled with spices, and laid on the grill. Moments later, the aroma of lamb kebob filled the small courtyard. Flat bread and a yogurt cucumber dip arrived, followed by a pot of tea and three glasses.
“And so,” said Francois, clearly satisfied with himself. “The sisters are children of God, yet they insist on refraining from all God has to offer among culinary possibilities. It of course holds no logic, but I am not one to judge.”
Nadine took a sip of tea, stood, and announced her need to freshen up. She started to move away from the table, hesitated, and turned to collect her small shoulder pouch. It was a long held habit of hers and she hoped Cole and Francois didn’t view it as mistrust. She’d already confirmed that this little village had cell phone service, and if some critical piece of information showed up or a call from Check came, then it became a matter of immediate access to the rest of the world. Nadine approached the two young women cooking and, after exchanging universal gestures, one of the young women pointed to a doorway off the courtyard.
The barrel of an AK-47 greeted Nadine when she exited the bathroom. Another man roughly slipped a black cotton bag over her head and clamped her mouth, using the cloth as a gag. He whispered a threat in Arabic next to her ear and moved her backward along the hall and out the door. The sun on her skin and the sound of a vehicle starting woke her from the initial shock and triggered a violent struggle. She kicked and flailed with all her strength and caused the man cla
mping her mouth shut to lose his grip, allowing her to jerk the cotton bag off her head. Before she could call for help, her peripheral vision picked up the wooden butt of the AK-47 driving toward her head. A sunburst of pinpoint lights washed over Nadine’s consciousness before oblivion and darkness drew her down.
***
Cole continued to scan the immediate horizon. The women began to talk again at the well. The goats continued to graze on anything with the temerity to grow, several goat bells clanking as the herd moved. Smoke from the hookahs drifted through and mixed with the smell of the grilled lamb. A few flies joined them, darting across the table.
Francois dipped the bread in the yogurt and ate with relish, instructing Cole to relax and enjoy the meal. He provided Cole with more history of the Syrian church, its beginnings after the crucifixion, its survival during the ebb and flow of the crusades and the Arab reconquest, and the changing rulers and ruling tribes.
The lamb kebobs arrived and were set in the center of the table as a communal plate. Nadine had still not returned.
Francois ate with his right hand in the manner of local custom, commenting that the lamb was succulent and highly seasoned. Cole stood and looked for Nadine.
“Nadine!” he called, prompting Francois to tell him all was well and she would return from her toilet duties soon.
Cole headed for the door he had seen her enter. The two young women looked away, a bad sign. He rushed into the small house and saw an empty closet-sized bathroom and another open door leading to the outside. He ran through that portal, pulled the .45 from the back of his pants and cocked the hammer. A quiet dirt road and more shacks greeted him. A beat-up white Toyota pickup rolled away to the south. One man squatted in the bed of the truck with an AK-47 between his knees. There was no sign of her.
“Nadine!” he called again, looking desperately in all directions. “Nadine!”
Francois moved through the back door to join Cole on the abandoned street.
“She’s gone,” said Cole. His gun hand trembled with frustration and rage. “Just gone.”
