Powdered Gold: Templars and the American Ark of the Covenant (Templars in America Series Book 3)

by David S. Brody

  They hung Cam’s leg off the side of the gurney and hooked him up to a respirator and an IV. The doctor explained to Amanda, “We want to keep him hydrated. And we’ll administer the antivenom intravenously.”

  “Will … will he be okay?”

  The doctor squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve been doing this almost forty years. Only seen a handful of fatal snake bites. But more than half have been Mojave Greens. It all depends on how much venom the snake sent into him.”

  Fatal. She steadied herself against the gurney. “It was a pretty big snake.”

  “That’s actually a good thing. The older snakes know how to give either a dry bite or to limit how much venom they inject. They don’t want to waste it on something like Cam that they know they can’t eat. The younger snakes haven’t learned that yet.”

  Amanda kissed Cam lightly on the lips, he smiled bravely up at her and they wheeled him away. Involuntarily, she followed the gurney, her hand out, until a nurse gently guided her back to the waiting room.

  A half hour seemed to pass, but Amanda had no idea where it went. In some ways it felt like three days, and in some ways three minutes. It was almost like she had checked out of her body, the situation too difficult to bear. Someone must have given her a cup of water because an empty one sat on the end table next to her, and she had a vague memory of some kind of pill, but it was equally possible that the cup had been there all morning.

  The appearance of the doctor striding toward her brought her back to reality. Willum also appeared, from somewhere; perhaps he had been in the waiting room with her all along.

  The doctor sat next to her and looked her straight in the eye. “He’s doing well.”

  Amanda slumped, a sob caught in her throat.

  The doctor continued. “Whoever did the first aid on him did a great job. Probably saved his life. That and calling ahead with the species and getting him here so quickly. The antivenom is working and his vital signs are returning to normal. And it helps that he’s in good shape.”

  Amanda reached out and took Willum’s beefy hand. “Thanks,” she whispered. “He might not have survived without you.”

  Willum grinned, a few bread crumbs still in his beard from lunch. “That’s why they call me a Survivalist.”

  Amanda couldn’t help but smile back. She turned to the doctor. “What next?”

  “Well, usually we like to keep snake bite patients overnight. A lot of it depends on how much antivenom he needs. And he’s going to be in a lot of pain for a few days—his lower leg has swollen to almost twice its size.” The doctor smiled, one of those kind, caring smiles that told Amanda she had picked the right profession. “And it’s already turning some funky shades of purple.”

  Now that she knew Cam was going to be okay, Amanda phoned Georgia, updated her on the situation, and offered a shorthand version of the events to Astarte.

  Willum brought her a sandwich and a Diet Coke—only then did she realize how grubby she was and excused herself to wash up in the restroom. It was now mid-afternoon. The doctor wandered into the waiting room just as Amanda finished her sandwich.

  She smiled again. “You can go see him now if you want.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Remarkably well. His blood is coagulating nicely, which means he doesn’t need any more antivenom. Your insurance company will be happy—the stuff costs a fortune.”

  Amanda found Cam’s room, grinned at him from the door and wrapped his head in her arms. “You had me a wee bit frightened.”

  “Yeah. Me too. That stuff coursing through my veins made my whole body feel like it had been shot up with Novocain. All numb and tingly.”

  “The doctor says Willum may have saved your life.”

  “Nice of him, given that we’re here to spy on him.”

  “Yes, well, I think we owe him one going forward.”

  “Agreed.” He sat up. “Other than the throbbing in my leg, I’m actually feeling pretty good. When can I get out of here?”

  “Doctor said she’d like to keep you overnight.”

  Cam frowned. “I really hate hospitals. What if you promise to take really good care of me?”

  She smiled. “What if I don’t want to promise that?”

  Willum actually welcomed the down time, just sitting in the hospital waiting room, his thoughts on the cave. He silently pumped his fist. They had found the golden chest. And it may actually be the goddamn Ark of the Covenant. Old Boone had been right.

  In fact, in the past day or so, everything seemed to be coming together. First the fuel cell prototype, then the chest. He felt more alive than he had ever felt, more energized and motivated and focused. It was like the old Willum had died and been replaced by a new and improved version. Willum 2.0.

  He thought about Cam and Amanda. These were good people. Really good people. The kind of people he wanted Gregory to meet and emulate. The kind of people that once made America great and would someday make it great again.

  He had been right to trust them.

  Cam and Amanda chatted quietly in the hospital room, Amanda in a chair by Cam’s bed. “I feel bad that Willum and Boonie are stuck here waiting for us,” Cam said.

  “I asked Willum if he wanted to leave, but he said he’d wait another hour. If you get discharged, he can drive us back to the compound so we can pick up our car.”

  “I really want to get out of here.” He still had the IV in. “My leg is going to throb no matter where I am.”

  “One more look from the doctor.”

  Cam nodded. “The hardest part of this whole thing is the feeling of helplessness. There I am on the mountain, a rattler bites me, and my first reaction is to fight for my life. But it turns out fighting, or doing anything, will just spread the venom through my body faster. So the best I can do is turn into a ragdoll.” He sighed. “Talk about turning the survival instinct on its head.”

  “I suppose it’s like playing dead when a bear attacks you.”

  “Good analogy. But I don’t like it.”

  She smiled. “Can we talk about the chest now, or do we have to keep talking about your leg?”

  “Since I practically gave my life for the thing, talk away.”

  “So I’ve been bothered by the Tucson artifacts being made of lead. Why not silver or gold? That’s what most religious artifacts are made from.”

  “Maybe all they had was lead.”

  “Nonsense. There’s almost as much silver and gold in these mountains as there are snakes.”

  He nodded. “Good point. So maybe lead has some religious significance.”

  “None that I’ve ever heard of.”

  Cam smiled. “So you have a theory?”

  “Of course.” She shifted in her chair. “Whoever these people were, they were far from home. We know they were Jews who had adopted many Christian practices as well. My guess is that over the generations, here with the natives, they probably adopted some Native American rituals as well.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And it seems likely that whoever was here and whatever they were doing, radiation was a byproduct of their activities.”

  “Also fair.”

  “So put aside Hurech and his Templar mates for now—let’s just assume they came looking for their lost ancestors from France. So these French Christianized Jews are here, and they’re doing something that is creating dangerous levels of radiation. Now whatever they are doing must be pretty bloody important or otherwise they would just stop. But they can’t stop, despite the risks. As the decades pass, at some point they stumble upon a phenomenon: Lead vestments and lead aprons and lead gloves and lead masks protect them from burns and hair loss.”

  “And hemorrhoids,” Cam smiled.

  “Yes, that especially. They don’t understand why, but they do begin to value and even worship lead for its protective qualities—”

  “I see,” Cam interjected. “And since it is such a wonderful metal, they begin to make their religious and ceremonial object
s from it.”

  “Precisely. It is heavy and unwieldy, but apparently God favors it.”

  “And that’s why the Tucson artifacts are made of lead.” Cam nodded. “Nice theory. I like it.”

  Willum was surprised to see it, but somehow Cam talked his way out of the hospital. He and Amanda sat in the back, Cam’s leg wrapped and elevated, while Boonie rode shotgun as the late afternoon sun glowed low in the western sky.

  “Quite a day,” Willum said.

  “Can’t wait to see what we find tomorrow,” Cam said.

  Willum eyed him in the rearview mirror. “You think you’re climbing tomorrow?”

  Cam nodded. “Hoping to. It’s all swollen, but the wound is stitched up. Doctor said it’s just a question of pain management and making sure it doesn’t get infected.”

  Willum shrugged. Everybody had a different tolerance for pain. “Okay.”

  His cell rang. “Hi, Clarisse.”

  “The sheriff is here again.”

  Damn. “At five o’clock on a Friday?”

  “Probably figures it’s too late to run to court to stop him.”

  “Smart play. He alone?”

  “No. Looks like same crowd as last week.”

  “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  The gate swung open as Willum maneuvered between the police cars parked outside the compound security gate. As Clarisse reported, there were a dozen people milling around, half in police uniform and half in business suits. Willum expected the sheriff might deny him entrance, which would have forced him to sneak in via one of the hidden tunnels buried in the rear of the complex.

  “Cam and Amanda, you can go back to the domes if you want. I’m going to have to handle this,” he said as he guided the Land Cruiser back along the fence away from the gate. He drove slowly, making sure the gate closed before braking.

  He took one step out of the vehicle. Suddenly the world exploded. The ground rocked, knocking him back into his seat. What the--? Ears ringing, he staggered to his feet, steadied himself against the car door and lurched toward the fence—the explosion had come from that direction. Flames rose from a maroon sedan parked on the shoulder of the highway just on the other side of the fence. Nobody moved for a few seconds, then shouts of panic, barely audible through the ringing, cut through the desert air. “Maria is in that car,” someone yelled.

  A woman screamed. As Willum staggered closer to the fence one of the armed deputies ran over and pulled a body from the burning car. He eased her mangled body, bloodied and charred, to the pavement and began applying first aid. Willum heard whimpering. A metallic, sulfurous smell assaulted his nostrils. He knew that smell from his time in the Marines: human flesh burning.

  Sheriff Vaca caught Willum’s eye from the other side of the fence. His face was red and the muscles in his upper jaw pulsated. “That was a bomb,” he growled. “And it was set by a coward.”

  Willum’s chest thumped. Who could have done this? He raised his hands. “Sheriff, I don’t know anything about this.”

  Vaca glared. “Bombs just don’t go off for no reason. If you didn’t set it off, one of your people did.” He moved closer to the gate. “Willum Smoot, I am placing you under arrest.”

  Willum backed away. “Arrest? For what?”

  “You own this property. At a minimum, explosives are being stored here. Illegally.” He looked at the lifeless body of the woman. “And we may be talking about murder.” He put his hand on his gun. “Now open the gate and come out.”

  Clarisse, Boonie and a few other compound residents had gathered behind Willum. “Don’t, Willum. You didn’t do this,” Clarisse said. Willum looked up; the guard on the roof of the guard house had readied his semiautomatic weapon.

  He whispered to Clarisse. “If I go with the sheriff, I’ll make bail or whatever and be back in time for a late dinner.”

  She pulled him away from Vaca. “Don’t be crazy. Once they have you, they’ll never let you go,” she said. “We need you here.”

  “I’m not going to ask again,” the sheriff said. He glanced up, no doubt counting Willum’s soldiers on the rooftops.

  Willum took a deep breath. Clarisse was right. Even if he got out on bail, the feds would make sure the bail conditions mandated that he stay away from the compound. “I’m sorry, sheriff.” He pushed his people back. “And I’m sorry for whoever it is that got hurt. But I’m not leaving this compound.”

  Cam and Amanda watched from the picnic table area as the compound residents sprung into action. They had obviously trained for this kind of emergency—an alarm sounded, and within five minutes every resident was armed, the entire perimeter patrolled, the sniper nests manned, and the children huddled safely in a dome. Some kind of alert must have been sent out to residents outside the compound, because over the next hour a steady stream of cars raced along a dirt road leading to the rear of the property, got out of their cars and jogged through a hidden tunnel passing under the security fence. “Update?” Willum said quietly to Clarisse as they took a seat at the table next to Cam and Amanda.

  “All positions manned. Perimeter secured,” she said. “Most residents have returned, but it won’t be long before the police block off that tunnel.” Apparently the sheriff didn’t know about the rear entrance; that, or he didn’t feel like he had the manpower yet to block it.

  “Agreed.”

  She continued. “The children are being watched, and I’ve got a team to help me cook—I think group meals are in order until this blows over.”

  “Sounds good. How about the woman?”

  “Ambulance came. But I don’t think she’s going to make it.”

  He sighed and stared into the distance. “Any idea who set that bomb?” Not that it really mattered—both the sheriff and the feds would assume it was Willum or one of his people.

  Clarisse shook her head.

  “What about the sheriff?” he asked.

  “Still out there, with reinforcements streaming in. They’re starting to surround the perimeter.”

  “Can you say Ruby Ridge?” Willum seemed to raise himself up, probably figuring the residents were watching. Willum’s calm demeanor surprised Cam; he seemed in full control of the situation. And entirely rational, unlike the trigger-happy militant Georgia made him out to be. Cam was beginning to wonder where his allegiances should rest—he much preferred the burly Survivalist to the psychopathic Ellis Kincaid. “And what are our provisions?” he asked.

  She consulted a clipboard. “We are above 98 percent for food, water, munitions and first aid supplies. The only thing we are low on is fuel—61 percent.”

  “Why so low?”

  “Someone’s been taking a lot of helicopter trips.” She smiled. “We were expecting a delivery next week to refill the tank.”

  He nodded. “If this lasts for a while, I might need to perfect that fuel cell sooner than I thought. Is everyone back yet?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Hopefully they all said their goodbyes. I think we’re going to be here for a while.” He turned to Cam. “Sorry you guys got caught in the middle of this.”

  Cam and Amanda exchanged glances. The compound was in complete lock-down mode. With them inside.

  Cam and Amanda wandered off to a sheltered area behind one of the domes, Cam limping but able to put some weight on his leg. He phoned Georgia.

  “You’re at the compound?” She asked, surprised.

  “Just arrived. How’s the woman?” he asked.

  “She died. Never really had a chance. The bomb was hidden under a rock right next to her car.”

  “Any idea who set it off?”

  “Everyone’s assuming it was Smoot or one of his people. Who else could it be?”

  “Well, it wasn’t Smoot. He was as shocked as anyone.”

  “Or he’s just a good actor.”

  “Nobody’s that good an actor.” Cam rubbed his face with his hand. “Was it on a timer?”

  “No. It was activated remotely,
probably with a cell phone. This kind of thing is pretty easy to do—just type ‘bomb-making’ into the internet. There were hundreds of bombs like this in Iraq. The forensics people are examining the wreckage to try to get some leads, but these explosives can be made by anyone who has access to a computer and a Home Depot.”

  “The woman in the car, who was she?”

  “She worked for the ATF.”

  “ATF? What are they doing here?”

  “Once these guys arm themselves, the ATF jumps in.”

  “Any chance she was targeted because of Ruby Ridge?” The ATF agents were the primary aggressors in that standoff, so much so that the FBI agents called in late in the game were amazed at how confrontational the ATF agents had been.

  “Could be,” Georgia said. “If you were to ask the Survivalists who the bad guys were, ATF would be on the top of the list.”

  “I thought I saw Ellis there before the bomb went off,” Cam said. If someone had to die, too bad it wasn’t him.

  “You did. He’s here with me now. We need to contain this thing before it gets ugly. There’s a lot of testosterone boiling over right now if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, you’re going to need a small army to take this compound.” He looked at Amanda. She should be back at the hotel with Astarte where it was safe. “What do you want us to do?” Assuming they even had a choice.

  “Good question. Can you sit tight for a bit? It sure would be nice to have eyes and ears on the inside.”

  Cam and Amanda had discussed this—they weren’t convinced Smoot had done anything wrong and weren’t comfortable betraying him, especially after his heroism on the mountain today. On the other hand they might be able to help defuse things. And it’s not like they could just saunter out the front gate. “You still able to watch Astarte?”

  “Sure thing. She’s a trouper.”

  “Okay. We’ll sit tight. Oh, by the way, we found the gold chest. I’m not even going to tell you what we think it might be.”

  An hour later Willum found Cam and Amanda at the picnic area eating sandwiches. “Cam couldn’t wait for the group meal,” Amanda explained.