The Covenant Of The Flame

by David Morrell

  Craig shook his head, confused.

  'An image for the ups and downs of success and failure. The book analyses and condemns the physical values – wealth, power, and fame – by which people addicted to worldly success are tempted and ultimately disappointed. Because physical values are temporary and insubstantial. It's exactly the type of book that someone who believed in the spiritual values of Mithras would find appealing.'

  'Okay.' Craig frowned. 'But why did Joseph Martin keep a copy of the Bible? That doesn't fit. From what you've told me, Mithraism doesn't believe in Christianity.'

  True,' Priscilla said. Their theologies are different, but both religions share similar rites, and both reject worldly goals. For Joseph to read the Bible would be comparable to a Christian reading about Zen Buddhism, for example, because its mystical basis was different from but could be applied to his own religion.'

  'Anyway, Joseph didn't read the entire Bible,' Tess said. 'He ripped out most of the pages, except for the editor's introduction and the sections written by John. I don't understand. Why the preference for John?'

  Priscilla raised her shoulders. 'Because John's sections in the Bible most closely approximate the teachings of Mithraism. Here.' She held her magnifying glass over a photograph that showed a page and a passage that Joseph Martin had underlined in one of John's Epistles. 'Love not the world. If any man love the world, the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world – the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of the world – is not of the Father but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust of it, but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever. Does that sound familiar?'

  Tess nodded soberly. Take away the reference to the Father, substitute Mithras, and it matches everything you've told me.'

  'But there's something I don't understand,' Craig said. 'Why the Scofield edition of the Bible? Is that significant?'

  'Oh, very much,' Priscilla said. 'When Ronald Reagan was president, most of America's foreign policy was based on Scofield's interpretation of the Bible.' She studied another photograph. 'Here's an underlined section from Scofield's introduction. The Bible documents the beginning of human history and its end.' Priscilla glanced up. The climax of the Bible, John's Book of Revelations, describes the end of the world. Ronald Reagan believed that the end – the Apocalypse – was about to occur, that a cosmic battle between good and evil, God and Satan, was about to take place. Remember all that business about the Soviets being the Evil Empire? Reagan also believed that in the cosmic battle, goodness would triumph. I suspect that's why he encouraged confrontation with the Soviets, to begin Armageddon, with the total confidence that the United States – in his opinion, the only good – would triumph.'

  'Madness,' Craig said.

  'But also very much like Mithraism, provided you think of Satan as an evil god and not a fallen angel,' Priscilla said. 'In that respect, it's not at all surprising that Joseph Martin kept an abbreviated version of this Bible near his bedside.'

  'Keep going,' Craig said. The other books I saw on Joseph Martin's shelf. The Millennium. The Last Days of the Planet Earth:

  Priscilla set down the magnifying glass. 'Obviously, Joseph Martin was obsessed by the impending year two thousand. Each millennium is a traditional time of crisis, every thousand years a time of fear, an apprehension that the world will disintegrate.'

  'And this time,' Professor Harding said, 'given the poisons that wither my lilies, the prediction might not be wrong. The Last Days of the Planet Earth! I thank the Lord I'll be dead before that happens.'

  'Richard, if you die before me, I'll never forgive you,' Priscilla said.

  Craig, despite his distress, couldn't help smiling. 'I wish my former marriage had been as good as yours.'

  'We survive,' Priscilla said.

  'Yes,' Craig said. 'Survival.' He put his hand on Tess's shoulder.

  Electricity jumped, making her tingle.

  Craig stood. 'I'd better phone the Alexandria police chief. He and I will get you to a safe house, Tess. Richard and Priscilla, you'll be out of this. In no danger.'

  'I hope,' Tess said.

  'The nearest phone is in the kitchen.' Professor Harding pointed. 'To the left. Down the hallway.'

  With fondness, Tess watched Craig start to leave.

  But at once Craig hesitated and swung back, frowning. 'There's one thing I still don't understand. Nothing you've said explains it. I'm really bugged by… Tess, if Joseph Martin believed in Mithras, and if the people trying to kill you believe in Mithras, why did they kill him?'

  The study became silent. No one was able to answer.

  Craig frowned harder. 'I mean, it just doesn't make sense. Why did they turn against one of their own?' Shaking his head in confusion, he continued from the study.

  Yes, Tess thought. Why did they hunt Joseph down and set fire to him? Troubled by the question, she watched Craig enter the hallway.

  SIXTEEN

  And abruptly she frowned even harder than Craig had.

  Because Craig didn't pivot to the left toward the phone in the kitchen, as he'd been told.

  Instead he paused, glanced sharply to the right, and dove to the floor, at the same time drawing his revolver.

  No! Tess thought.

  With a cringe, she heard two muffled spits, then the ear-stunning roar of Craig's revolver. Once! Twice!

  Priscilla screamed.

  Craig surged from the floor, scrambling down the corridor to his right.

  Despite the ringing in her ears, Tess heard a man groaning. Paralysis seized her. Biting her lip, she forced herself into action, grabbed her pistol, and lunged toward the hallway. The stench of cordite assaulted her nostrils. Spinning, using the doorjamb for cover, aiming to the right, she saw two men sprawled on the floor in the hallway. Craig kicked pistols from their hands, leapt over their bodies, and slammed the front door shut, locking it, crouching below the door's window.

  But I shut and locked that door after Craig arrived! Tess thought. How did-?

  One of the men kept groaning. With a sudden gagging sound, he trembled and no longer moved. A pool of blood widened on the hardwood floor around both men. Stunned, Tess gaped at the crimson stain on each man's chest, where Craig's bullets had struck them.

  Adrenaline scalded her stomach. Even so, Tess felt cold. She stared past the corpses toward their pistols, more appalled, noting that the weapons were equipped with silencers.

  'Get down!' Craig ordered, checking to make sure that the men were dead.

  Tess hurriedly obeyed. 'How did they-?'

  'Picked the lock!' Craig said. They must have listened outside the study window! They knew where we were! They decided to take the chance that we wouldn't hear them sneak inside!' Staying low, he risked furtive glances through the door's window, tensely darting his gaze this way and that, scanning the porch. 'I don't see any other-'

  The back door!' Tess said. In a rush, she turned, charging down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  'Be careful!' Craig warned.

  She barely heard him, too preoccupied by an urgent fear.

  The hallway became a blur.

  But the moment Tess entered the kitchen, she saw with appalling clarity.

  Outside, on the back porch, a man smashed his gloved fist through the kitchen door's window.

  Tess heard shards of glass fall, crashing into smaller pieces on the floor. At the same instant, the man thrust his hand through the jagged hole in the window, groping for the lock.

  Tess raised her pistol and fired.

  The man's right eye exploded.

  Tess didn't have time to react to the horror.

  Too much! Because behind the falling man, another man raised a pistol with a silencer.

  Tess was far beyond conscious decisions. Automatically, she pulled the trigger again. Her ears rang as she shot the man in the forehead. In a spray of blood, the man arched up, then down, disappearing, his no longer visible body thumping heavily on the back porch.<
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  'Tess!' Craig yelled from the front of the house. 'Are you-?'

  'All right! Yes! I'm all right!' Tess ducked behind the kitchen table, aiming toward the back door. 'God help me, I just shot two men!'

  'Don't think about it! Remember, they want to shoot you!'

  'Hey, I'm too scared to think! All I want to do is stay alive!'

  'Keep telling yourself that! Where did you learn to shoot?'

  'My father taught me!'

  'Good man!'

  'He's dead!'

  'I know!' Craig yelled. 'Six years ago in Beirut! The bastards tortured him, but he never talked! I repeat, a damned good man! Be as strong as he was! Grab the phone! Dial nine-one-one!'

  Tess scuttled backward, aiming her pistol toward the back door. She yanked the kitchen phone off the hook beside the refrigerator and urgently pressed numbers, listening.

  No!

  'Craig, the phone's dead!'

  Priscilla screamed again.

  'Stay low, Priscilla! Don't go near the windows!' Craig yelled.

  'My husband!'

  'What about him?'

  'I think he's having a heart attack!'

  'Get him down on the floor! Open his collar!' Tess shouted.

  Another assassin appeared at the kitchen window.

  Tess aimed and shot. The bullet plowed up his nostrils. His face erupted.

  'Oh, my God!'

  Tess bent over, vomiting.

  'Tess!' Craig roared.

  She fought to speak. 'I'm all right! Keep watching the front!'

  Priscilla screamed again. 'Richard isn't breathing!'

  'Tess!' Craig ordered. 'Get back to the hallway! Watch the front and rear while I-'

  'Yes! Take care of Richard!'

  Tess retreated, hunkering midway along the corridor, jerking her eyes toward each door, pistol clenched, while she felt Craig lunge Past and into the study. Still sick, wiping vomit from her lips, she heard Craig press Richard's chest and breathe forcefully into his mouth, again, then again, administering CPR.

  'I can feel his heart beat!' Craig said. 'He's breathing!'

  'He needs oxygen! A doctor!' Tess kept staring back and forth toward each door.

  'Priscilla, your face is gray! Lie down here beside your husband! Tess, any sign of-?'

  'No! Maybe we got them all!'

  'We don't dare count on that! Priscilla, is there another entrance to the house?'

  Priscilla murmured, 'Through the basement.'

  'Where's the inside basement door?'

  'The kitchen.' Priscilla sounded weaker.

  'Tess!' Craig ordered.

  But Tess was already on her way, darting toward the kitchen. Behind her, she heard Craig enter the hallway, watching the front.

  As she reached the kitchen, Tess heard something else, however, and the sound made her spine freeze. Footsteps beyond a door to her right. She whirled to face it, saw the doorknob turning, and fired at the door. Wood splintered. She fired again and heard a moan, a body tumbling down the stairs.

  She didn't know how many others might be in the basement. If there were several and they rushed through the door in a group, she might not be able to shoot all of them before one of them shot her.

  The basement door was next to the stove. With strength that came from years of daily workouts, her energy intensified by fear, she shoved against the side of the stove and propped it against the basement door.

  'The neighbors, Craig! They must have heard the shots! They'll call the police! All we have to do is wait and hope the police can get here before-'

  Craig didn't answer.

  'What's wrong?'

  'You don't want to know!' Craig said.

  'Tell me!'

  'These big old Victorian houses were built so solidly… The walls are so thick… From outside, the shots might be too muffled for anyone to hear from another house! Besides, we can't take for granted that the neighbors are even home! And the hedge on each side conceals the gunmen!'

  Tess felt sick again. 'You're right, I wish I didn't know!' She kept her weapon aimed toward the back door.

  In contrast with last night, this time she'd counted how many times she'd pulled the trigger. Five. That left twelve rounds in her pistol. If the gunmen rushed the house, she might have enough to kill them all.

  But how many more could there be? Six were already dead. Surely just a few, if any, were left. All the same, she desperately wished that she'd thought to dump extra rounds into her purse, that she hadn't shoved the two boxes of ammunition under the front seat of the Porsche.

  'Craig, you shot twice! Your revolver holds six! Have you got any other-?'

  Yet again Craig didn't answer.

  Oh, Jesus, Tess thought. He's got only four rounds left, and my bullets don't fit his revolver.

  'I picked up the two pistols from the men on the floor at the front. I still don't see any other men. Maybe you're right! Maybe we got them all!' Craig said.

  'Last night, they burned my mother's house, hoping the fire would get me! And if it didn't, they planned to shoot me when I hurried outside!' Tess said. 'This time, why didn't they-?'

  'Late afternoon, the smoke would be so obvious that a neighbor or a passing driver would call the fire department! Besides, since you got away from them last night, I think this time they want to make sure they finish the job, face-to-face, no doubts! And they want to make sure they get the photographs!'

  'I mailed your office the negatives!'

  'Good! Priscilla, how's Richard?'

  Tess heard her murmur. 'His eyes are open. He's breathing. But…' Priscilla whimpered.

  'What?'

  'He can't… Richard can't seem to talk.'

  Tess cringed. A stroke? No! Please, not…! I shouldn't have come here! I shouldn't have put them in danger! 'Priscilla, I'm sorry! I-'

  'You didn't do this. The men who want to kill you did.'

  'Still no sign of them in front!' Craig said.

  'Nothing back here!' Tess crouched behind the kitchen table.

  'I'm soon going to need my insulin,' Priscilla said.

  'I'll get it for you!' Tess kept low, watching the back door while she inched toward the refrigerator. 'Craig, what if-? Suppose we didn't get them all!' When she opened the refrigerator, with a quick glance she saw a row of loaded syringes and grabbed one. 'Suppose a few of them are still outside!' She closed the refrigerator. 'Suppose they're afraid that a neighbor did hear the shots! They can't wait around! But they'll want to make sure I'm-!' She backed nervously toward the corridor, her left hand cradling the syringe. They might get desperate enough to try what they did last-!'

  SEVENTEEN

  'Night,' she began to say but flinched as an object smashed through the big kitchen window, glass flying.

  The object was metal.

  A canister.

  It banged on the floor.

  A grenade?

  A gas bomb?

  Tess had no way of knowing.

  All she did know was that the thing was rolling toward her. She couldn't get away in time! She had to-!

  She dropped the syringe, barely hearing it shatter as she lunged toward the kitchen table and heaved it over so its top landed on the canister.

  At the same time, her heart pounding, the canister blasted apart, flames whooshing sideways from beneath the table top.

  A fire bomb.

  'Craig!'

  He didn't respond.

  'Craig!'

  In the front of the hallway, glass fractured.

  'Craig!'

  'They're-!'

  Something exploded. Flames reflected down the corridor.

  'Priscilla, a fire extinguisher!' Craig yelled. 'Have you got a-?'

  'In the pantry.' Priscilla's voice shook. 'Next to the refrigerator.'

  'I'm getting it!' Tess scrambled past the fridge and yanked open a door.

  Next to shelves of boxes and cans, the fire extinguisher was mounted to a clamp on a wall. She rammed her pistol under her
belt, grabbed the fire extinguisher with one hand, released the clamp with the other, then pulled out the pin that secured the extinguisher's lever, and spun toward the flames gushing from beneath and eating through the overturned table.

  Desperate, she aimed the extinguisher's nozzle, pressed the lever down, and spewed a thick white spray toward the blaze.

  Foam gushed over the table, over the flames.

  Coughing from smoke, Tess inwardly shouted in triumph as the flames diminished.

  But another canister crashed through the window. As it landed, before it erupted, Tess tried to smother it with a dense pile of foam.

  Whump! The canister blew apart, chunks of metal bursting through the foam. Tess kept aiming the nozzle, spraying the flames, which struggled, dying.

  Tess!' Craig yelled from the front. 'I need that extinguisher!'

  Trembling, she glared at the kitchen window, saw no one, and darted into the hallway, stunned, unable to see the front door because of the spreading blaze. In a frenzy, she pressed the extinguisher's lever again, spraying foam toward the flames.

  Craig didn't try to take the extinguisher from her, realizing she had control. 'Someone has to check the back!' he blurted. 'I'll trade places!' He was gone.

  Tess kept spraying.

  The flames diminished.

  Then the foam diminished.

  Abruptly it stopped.

  We've got to get out of here! Tess thought. Throwing down the empty extinguisher, she ran toward the study.

  On the floor, Professor Harding blinked with a look of helplessness. Beside him, Priscilla quivered, her face gray, terrified.

  Tess tried not to show her own fear. 'Can you walk, Priscilla? Can you reach the hallway?'

  'Do I have a choice?'

  Their next target might be this study, Tess kept thinking. If they throw a fire bomb through the study's window…!

  She scooped up the photographs, crammed them into her purse, slung the purse across her shoulder, and bent toward Professor Harding.

  He lay on a carpet. Grabbing its end, she tugged both it and the limp weight of Professor Harding across the floor into the hallway, joining Priscilla, who sagged against a wall.