Ellis didn’t look forward to the next couple of hours, but understood it was part of the job—sort of the way a boxer knew that, win or lose, champion or bum, he’d be in agony for days just from entering the ring. Ellis was well-trained, in decent shape and about the same size as Thorne, but in order for this to work he needed to let his adversary vent a little anger and exact a little revenge.
Not that he blamed Thorne—he had it coming to him.
Cam raced toward the hotel. Almost as bad as the thought of Astarte held hostage in the compound was the wretchedness that oozed from Amanda’s pores.
“Cam,” she whispered. “Please pull over.”
Before he fully skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the highway, she had opened her door and dropped to her knees. Her body heaved, chunks of breakfast and bile pooling beneath her. Cam jogged around the Explorer and held her hair away from her face.
“You okay?”
She shook her head. She heaved again, this time only a few drops of stomach juice dribbling down her chin. Cam had never seen her like this.
After another dry heave, she sniffled, wiped her chin on the shoulder of her blouse and allowed Cam to pull her to her feet. He tried to embrace her, but she stiffened and pushed him away. “I will never forgive myself if anything happens to her, Cam.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” he responded, both of them knowing he had no way of knowing for sure.
Ten minutes later he skidded to a stop at the Tucson hotel. He jumped from the vehicle, surprised to see Ellis Kincaid leaning against a planter near the hotel entrance.
Their eyes met and Kincaid walked toward them, his hands raised in front of him in a sign of surrender. “Just hear me out. I know you’re pissed, and I don’t blame you. But the girl wanted to stay at the compound.” Ellis stopped ten feet away. Close enough to be heard but out of Cam’s immediate range. “She wouldn’t leave with me. When Clarisse saw Astarte wanted to stay, she had the guards throw me out.”
What? “You’re lying,” Cam said. Amanda sagged and gasped, steadying herself against the door.
“No,” the agent responded. “She said you hated Mormons. Said you won’t let her go to Mormon prayer services. Said you’re forcing her to live a life of sin.”
Cam’s eyes blurred. “So you left a nine-year-old-girl in a goddamn war zone?” He rushed at Ellis and sunk his fist into the agent’s midsection. As Kincaid doubled over, Cam lifted him and threw him against the back of the SUV, the agent’s head smacking back against the vehicle’s roof. Cam was about to punch him again when Amanda called out.
“Stop, Cam!” She rushed over and wedged her body between the men. “He’s right. This is our fault. My fault. I drove her away.” She sobbed and turned toward Kincaid. “This … maggot … just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
Cam pushed past Amanda and wrenched Kincaid’s arm behind his back, holding him firm. “I don’t think it’s that simple. I don’t think it’s a coincidence he just happened to be going to the compound.”
The agent nodded. “You’re right,” he gasped. “I wanted Astarte’s help trying to understand what was so important about that ark of yours. When she said she wanted to see the compound, I figured the car ride would be a good chance to pick her brain.”
“Pick the brain of a nine-year-old?” Cam hissed.
“She knows a hell of a lot more about the Book of Mormon than I do. She explained the House of Lehi carving to me.”
Cam clenched his teeth. “It’s House of Levi, asshole!” He shoved Kincaid against the SUV again, his face squishing against the rear window.
“If you say so.” Kincaid grimaced, his teeth reddened by a split lip. “But that’s not what Astarte thinks.”
Cam burst into the hotel conference room, interrupting a meeting between Georgia and a handful of white shirts. “Your piece of shit agent kidnapped Astarte and left her at the compound.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Her face blanching, she nodded to the group. “Please give me a minute.”
She reached for Cam’s arm to guide him out of the room but he shrugged her off.
“You said you could control him,” Amanda said.
She stared back at Amanda, then at Cam, her eyes wide and sad. “I’m sorry.” She sighed. “What can I do?”
“Use your satellite phone,” Cam said. “Get Willum on the line.”
She nodded. “Come to my room.”
Twenty minutes passed, presumably while someone at the compound persuaded Willum to take the call. “Cam, what the fuck is Astarte doing here?”
“Is she okay?” Amanda leaned in close to Cam to listen.
“She’s fine, she’s with Clarisse. But I have no idea why she’s here.”
“Me neither,” Cam said.
“Clarisse says she refused to leave. Started crying and howling and whatnot. Something about you guys making her live a life of sin.”
So Ellis was telling the truth. Amanda’s eyes pooled and Cam bit his lip. “Yeah, well, it’s not quite as simple as that,” Cam said.
“Listen, Cam, I hear you; I’m a parent also. And I don’t want her here either. Maybe Clarisse shouldn’t have let her stay in the first place, but I’m not sure how we get her out. You need to convince the feds to give her passage.”
Cam relayed Willum’s request to Georgia. “Can you do that, at least?”
She shook her head slowly. “While you were waiting for Willum I called my boss. He just texted back. They won’t reverse the lockdown order.”
Amanda slapped the desk. “Damn it, Georgia! Do you have any power at all?”
The older woman sighed. “Apparently not. I don’t know what’s going on here. Honestly. But whatever it is, I’m not a part of it. None of this makes sense.” She jabbed at the speaker button on the phone before slumping onto the bed.
Cam spoke into the speaker. “What about the tunnel? Can I sneak in there and bring her out that way?”
“No. That worked the first day, but they figured it out pretty quick. They blocked it.”
“So there’s no way to get her out?”
“I suppose we could just open the gate and push her out.”
Georgia interjected. “I wouldn’t try that. The orders are that anyone who opens that gate is to be shot.”
“Would they really do that?” Amanda asked.
Georgia shrugged. “Who knows these days? It just takes one yahoo with an itchy finger. And my guess is that Willum’s men will return fire.”
Willum grunted. “Ten-four on that. My guys aren’t getting much sleep. Fingers are getting twitchy, not just itchy.”
“And then Astarte will be in the middle of it,” Cam said.
“Listen, Cam, I sent the kids away for a reason.” Willum lowered his voice. “I can’t protect her if the shit hits the fan.”
Amanda asked, “Can you put her on the line?”
“Sorry. She’s on the other side of the compound with Clarisse. I think they’re getting eggs from the chickens—they’re making cupcakes for dessert. You know, just trying to do normal stuff.”
Amanda sagged against Cam’s chest. “Okay,” Cam said. “I guess the last thing we want to do is panic her. Tell her we called and we’ll call again in the morning.”
“What’s that stuff you put into the frosting?” Astarte asked.
Clarisse avoided her gaze. “Just some cinnamon powder to add a little extra flavor.” She forced a smile. “It’s an old Mormon recipe my grandmother taught me.”
“It doesn’t look like cinnamon,” Astarte said innocently.
“It’s organic; we grew it here,” Clarisse answered. A few other women were outside grilling burgers and dogs for tonight’s dinner.
“When are Amanda and Cameron coming to pick me up?”
“I think after dinner. Mr. Smoot just talked to them. But he said there’s a chance they might not be able to come back for you tonight. So would you mind sleepin
g here? You can stay in my tent with me.”
The girl frowned. “I suppose that would be okay.” She stirred the cupcake batter. “But I was supposed to go to Naomi’s house for Family Home Evening.”
Clarisse smiled. “I remember those nights.” It was one of her few happy childhood memories. She was probably five or six, even younger than Astarte, and she would sit around the kitchen table with her mom, dad and older brother and play board games. Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, Mousetrap. A year or two later her father ran off with the Avon Lady and that was the end of their family as well as Family Home Evening. “We could play some games if you want. I have cards. Do you like Crazy Eights?”
Astarte nodded. “I should warn you, I don’t often lose.”
“Perhaps we should play for money,” Clarisse said.
“I don’t have any money,” the girl said, her face serious. “But we could play that the winner gets to have her toe nails painted by the loser.”
Clarisse put out her hand. “It’s a bet.”
It had been many days since anyone at the compound paid much attention to personal grooming. Which reminded Clarisse, she needed to shower at some point if she was going to implement her plan—join Willum in his bed, wear him out with a few beers followed by sex, then sneak into his lab to steal the fuel cell. Not very sophisticated, but why make things more complicated than they needed to be? But now it looked like, in addition to a shower, she also needed an overnight body-double. She couldn’t really leave Astarte alone in her tent—the last thing she needed was for the girl to wake up and wander around the compound in the middle of the night. And she obviously couldn’t bring the girl to Willum’s tent. She shook her head. Even for the Mormons, nine was too young.
Willum had the haunting feeling that he was being manipulated, pulled by puppet strings by some unseen set of hands. The girl showing up at the compound was just the latest example—how had this come about, how did his armed, besieged fortress end up hosting a sleep-over for a nine-year-old girl? It just didn’t seem to be the way the world usually worked.
As he had for the past four nights, he sat at the picnic tables and shared a communal meal with his fellow compound residents. Not much had changed. Once again the warm, clear desert day had turned into a cool, clear desert night; weary compound residents eyed the perimeter fences as they ate; Boonie stuck by him like a flea on a dog—it was like that Groundhog Day movie with Bill Murray.
The only real difference was the girl. She sat with Clarisse, playing cards. Willum had never seen Clarisse interact with children—he was surprised to see her joyful and even a bit carefree. Clarisse had always struck him as one of those people who had been born with the soul of an adult. For a few seconds he indulged in a fantasy of marrying and having children with his lieutenant, but the thought evaporated in the echo of a military truck repositioning itself outside the compound fence. Hard to think about the future when the odds were long that you would survive the week.
Clarisse poured the milk into a coffee mug, ground the Ambien into powder using the butt end of a knife and added half of it to the beverage. “My mother always gave me warm milk before bed.” She stuck the mug into the microwave.
Astarte sat atop a sleeping bad inside Clarisse’s tent. She wore one of Clarisse’s tee shirts as a nightgown. “I’ve never had warm milk.”
“Really? It’s a Mormon tradition.”
“Like the cinnamon in the cupcakes?”
Sure, why not. “Exactly.” She remembered hearing something about the girl being raised by her uncle, but Clarisse didn’t have time for that now. She handed the girl the milk. “Drink up. Then you can read for a bit before going to bed.”
“Can we talk instead? I want you to tell me more about the Mormon traditions.” She paused. “Especially the things your mother did.”
Clarisse sighed. This was not part of the plan. And reliving her childhood was making her a bit melancholy herself. But the girl would be out cold within minutes if the warning on the Ambien label was correct; it was not meant for children, and crushing the pill caused it to enter the bloodstream faster. So even half a pill should knock her out. “Well, I remember on Sundays we always sang on the car rides home from church. It was the only time I remember Dad singing.” She wouldn’t have spoken the next words to an adult. “There was love in the car. It was nice.”
Astarte yawned. “It sounds fun. Do you like to sing?”
Smiling, Clarisse shook her head. “I have a bad voice. But I’m great in the shower.”
“What kind of songs?” She lay back on her pillow.
“Well, my dad’s favorite was Camptown Races. After we’d sing it the regular way, there were special Mormon words he had for it, something about Brigham Young making a stand and sweeping his enemies from the land.” She hadn’t thought about this in decades.
Astarte yawned again. “My uncle sings that song also.”
“Do you want to sing it now?” Clarisse sat at the foot of Astarte’s sleeping bag. “Astarte? Are you awake?”
She moved closer. Nothing except the steady breathing of a sleeping child. Clarisse was surprised she felt so disappointed. She was actually looking forward to singing a few songs with the girl.
“All right, that’s enough.” Clarisse had found Willum up in a sniper’s nest atop one of the domes. “You’ve been awake for, like, a week. Time for bed.”
He smiled at her, the bags under his eyes reminding her of the eye black her brother used to wear when he played high school football. “I’m good. Really.”
She leaned closer so the guard on duty couldn’t hear. “I have a six-pack of Corona on ice. And I was thinking, if the feds attack tomorrow I’d really like to get laid tonight.” She flicked her tongue against his earlobe. “I can ask around if you’re too busy….”
Willum grinned. “Randy,” he said to the guard. “You’re on your own for a while.”
He stood and took her hand. As they descended the ladder down the side of the pod, he called up to her. “What I wanted to say was, ‘Randy, I’m feeling randy.’ But I resisted.”
“What, did you think you’d offend me?”
“No. But it didn’t seem fair to leave him up there alone with thoughts of me getting lucky while he was stuck on guard duty.”
She knew he was peering up the leg of her cargo shorts as she descended. “Maybe if you don’t do the job I’ll come back up and give him a go also.”
Amanda tried to keep busy reading more about the Ark of the Covenant—but her mind kept wandering to thoughts of Astarte so she gave in and rented Raiders of the Lost Ark from the hotel on-demand system. Cam didn’t even made a pretense of trying to be productive—he went to the hotel gym an hour ago with a large bottle of water and some headphones.
She was glad for the alone time. Cam hadn’t come right out and said it, but they both heard his words nonetheless: It was Amanda that sparked this crisis. Her refusal to allow Astarte to be part of the Mormon community had pushed the girl into Ellis’s car. Had it been up to Cam, he would have been more accommodating. Recently, not far from their house, a distracted father with a toddler in the car had run a stop sign. A box truck rammed them, tragically killing the child. Obviously the father hadn’t intended his child to die, but how would the mother react? Could their marriage survive? Would the combination of his guilt and her resentment be fatal to their relationship as well? It had been something Amanda thought about often when the accident occurred. Now, with Astarte in danger, she couldn’t help but wonder whether she and Cam could survive if anything happened to Astarte.
At least, according to Willum, Astarte was safe. The worst had been the thought of her alone in the car with the creepy Ellis. It was incredibly frustrating that the feds insisted on keeping the gates locked—how hard would it have been to make an exception for a young girl? But Amanda took some solace: Those same gates kept Ellis safely away from Astarte.
She glanced at the clock radio on the night table. Just past ten o�
�clock. By now Astarte would be asleep, probably enjoying the adventure of spending the night in a tent inside one of the domes.
Just as the Nazis were getting zapped by the Ark, Cam’s key card interrupted her musings. “Heard anything yet?” he asked.
“Nothing. How was your workout?”
“Rode the bike for an hour. Didn’t get anywhere.”
“Been one of those days.”
He looked at his watch. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
She smiled. “As soon as you’re out of the shower, I’m ready.”
“We probably won’t be able to even get to the gate.”
“Well, it’s better than sitting here all night worrying about her.”
He shook his head and sighed. “And I thought the worst would be when she’s a teenager out on a date.”
Cam and Amanda sat in the SUV, parked a hundred yards down the highway from the compound gate. They had tried to edge closer but a soldier turned them away.
They sat in the dark, staring at the high concrete wall surrounding the compound. Cam felt helpless—Astarte was on the other side of the wall, perhaps frightened and lonely, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“I know this is my fault,” Amanda said.
“No it’s not. It’s Ellis’s.”
She shook her head. “Astarte wouldn’t have gone with him if she wasn’t so … desperate … to reconnect with her religion.”
Cam took her hand. “You were just trying to do the right thing.”
“But I took it too far.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. If I really disagreed with you, I would have fought you harder on it.”
Powdered Gold: Templars and the American Ark of the Covenant (Templars in America Series Book 3) Page 24
