The Lucifer Genome: A Conspiracy Thriller

by Glen Craney

  Heaving against his chest, she looked at him, as if wondering what he was trying to say. Nodding through the tears, she motioned Zaynah over to her.

  The girl became frightened when she saw Marly’s tear-puffed eyes.

  Cas’s heart soared as he pulled away. In the next instant, he wiped his eyes and deliberately calmed his pulse, switching back into operative mode. Had he just lied to Marly? No, he really did love her. That much he knew for sure. But what was he going to do? Save the woman he loved? Or betray her and this girl to save his son?

  He didn’t have a clue.

  Never make a decision until absolutely necessary. That was the one lesson he had learned after thirty years in the field. He had bought more time. If he could just, for once, see Farid again and look into his eyes. Maybe then it would all become clearer to him. He pulled Marly closer. “Listen up. It’s time we get this show on the road. Here’s the plan, okay? I’m going to head for the BMWs and—”

  “The hell you are!”

  “You are going to steal the tourist bus and drive it out of the Jaffa Gate.”

  “The hell I am!”

  “If we can get to Masada—”

  “Masada? Isn’t that where everybody killed themselves?”

  He nodded. “It’s the perfect place to hide until we can shake off their tail. Caves and tunnels all around—”

  Marly cut him off. She shifted her chin, angling his attention toward the girl. “She could give birth at any moment!”

  “Mossad and those cops with them know that. They will have every hospital and clinic staked out. No one will expect us at Masada. Thousands of tourists go there every day. If we can get the bus there, we’ll be able to merge into the crowds.”

  She studied him hard, not quite knowing what to believe. “Oh, for a minute there, when you talk about us and … I thought that you really hadn’t lost your mind.”

  He pointed her toward Patriarchate Lane. “When you steal that bus, try to do it quietly. Wait until the driver steps out for coffee or something. Then get the girl into the bus with you and just drive off, with no one the wiser.”

  “Of course,” Marly said sarcastically. “No problem. And where do you plan to be during all this, once we supposedly drive off with no one the wiser?”

  Cas winked at her. “Save me a window seat. I hear the scenic drive down to Sodom and Gomorrah is spectacular this time of year. The pillars of salt are just turning white.”

  Before she could protest, he motioned the pregnant girl over to him and nodded for them both to get ready to run again. With a collective inhale for courage, they all leapt out of the alcove and headed into the crowds.

  Cas crossed the alley first and slid along the buildings until he returned to the corner. The police car was still there, but one of the BMW sedans was gone. The two CrossArrow men were still leaning against their black car. The Israeli detective had returned to the patrol vehicle and was sitting in the passenger seat. He could tell by the anxious looks on their faces that they were about to launch a manhunt.

  From across the street, he motioned Marly and the girl toward the coach.

  Taking a deep breath, Marly put her arm around Zaynah’s shoulders and led her to the bus. They took a peek inside, and then boarded it. Moments later, the driver tumbled out the bus and fell into the street. The doors slammed shut—and the whoosh of the hydraulic brakes set the bus into motion.

  Cas clenched a fist. Dammit, Marly! I told you to wait until he got off first!

  Bewildered tourists returning to the bus shouted for it to stop. Alerted, the detective jumped out of the cruiser. Unable to flag down the bus, he opened his passenger-side door for a shield, but then realized it wouldn’t offer much protection. He clambered to the roof just in the nick of time.

  Marly flew past and sliced the cruiser’s door off its hinges.

  Another cop car sped down the street from the opposite direction and flashed its bubbles, trying to stop the bus.

  Watching from behind the corner of a building, Cas pumped his right foot nervously against the cobblestones, pressing an imaginary accelerator.

  Go, Marly! Don’t stop now!

  But there was no way for her to drive the bus around the second cruiser.

  The cops pulled their weapons.

  Cas leapt out and fired a couple of rounds at the approaching patrol car. Blood and brains sprayed against the shattered windshield. The detective’s body slumped into the steering wheel—the cruiser slammed into cars parked along the avenue.

  Sirens blasted as Cas sprinted for the bus.

  Marly didn’t see him. Picking up speed, she miraculously avoided hitting pedestrians as she snaked down the curving streets toward the Jaffa Gate.

  Dozens of cops ran after Cas and the bus. They had to hold their fire because of the terrified crowds converging around them.

  Cas veered off the street and dashed down the sidewalks, looking for a short cut through the irregular blocks. He glanced over his shoulder. More police cruisers were flying toward him. Lungs burning, he darted into a side alley, praying it wasn’t a dead end. Seconds later, he came out the other side.

  The bus was hurtling down a hill—straight at him.

  He tried to wave Marly down. Looking demon-possessed, she didn’t see him. He dived out of the way and landed in a pile of refuse. Struggling to his feet, he brushed himself off and ran for the rear of the bus. With bullets pinging all around him, he reached the ladder and finally grabbed the middle rung.

  As the bus sped through the Jaffa Gate, he pulled himself up and scrambled to the roof. Sprawling atop the bus cab’s roof, he came face-to-face with an Israeli Defense Force helicopter swooping down from Mount Zion. He fired a few token shots toward the helicopter’s bulletproof windows.

  The gunner responded by leaning out of the helicopter and aiming a fifty-caliber weapon. Slugs ripped into the coach, shattering its windows.

  The bus weaved wildly through the heavy traffic on the Ma’ale HaShalom highway that bordered the Old City walls. Barely hanging on, he crawled to the front of the roof and managed to drop his head over the cracked windshield.

  Seeing him suddenly appear, upside down, Marly nearly crashed.

  He pointed to the door. When the panels finally screeched back, he grabbed the rim of the roof and flung himself into the coach.

  Marly was clutching the wheel in a near-death grip.

  He peeled her hands off the wheel and pulled her out of the driver’s seat. “My turn! I need eyes in the back!”

  The bus nearly caromed off the highway as he turned onto an exit for Ein Gedi and the Dead Sea.

  Dead Sea. Just perfect.

  Zaynah, terrified, clutched her seat three rows back, trying not to throw up.

  Marly ran down the aisle and stationed herself in the rear of the bus to watch for the police. She shouted at Cas, “That helicopter is still buzzing the Jaffa Gate! I think we’ve slipped them.”

  He enjoyed a manic grin of triumph. But he knew this window of opportunity wouldn’t last long, so he wheeled the smoking bus into a parking lot of an archaeological dig park and yelled for the two women to get out.

  Marly froze. “What are you doing?”

  He shoved them off the bus. “Get in that Peugeot over there!”

  Marly and Zaynah staggered across the lot and climbed into the backseat of the empty sedan.

  Running behind them, Cas spotted several drivers standing at a coffee bar, waiting for their tourist passengers to return. He shouted, “I need a bus driver!”

  The men stared at the bullet-ridden bus, and ignored him.

  He pulled a wad of bills from his front pocket. “Three thousand shekels to drive it to Haifa!”

  The men just looked at each other, until one shrugged and took up the offer. “What do I do with it when I arrive?”

  Cas pushed him toward the bus. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The baffled Israeli climbed into the bus, shut the door, and chugged off. The approaching p
olice helicopter veered off and followed the bus.

  Cas rushed to the Peugeot and slid his head under the wheel. He yanked out a bunch of wires, flipping open his pocketknife to cut them. In the back seat, Marly and Zaynah watched in disbelief as he rearranged the wires to jump-start the engine. They glanced at the market stalls across the street, expecting the car’s owner to arrive at any second.

  Cas threw the gearshift into Reverse, spun out of the lot, and sped off in the opposite direction of the departing bus.

  Seconds later, a dozen police cars came flying over the hill with bubbles flashing. No doubt alerted by the helicopter pilot, the cops on the ground slammed their brakes and, screeching into U-turns, pursued the bus heading north, in the opposite direction from the road that led to Masada.

  CAS DROVE THE PEUGEOT into the Masada parking lot just as dawn broke over the sweeping desert horizon. He searched the gates. Eight long hours had passed since their escape from Jerusalem, but fortunately no cops had shown up, not even after they had pulled off onto a remote maintenance road to hide during the night.

  Hearing the car churn to a stop, Marly roused from her slumber in the back seat. The girl, still asleep, lay on her lap. Marly looked up at the ancient fortress on the mountain. “And just how are we going to get up there?”

  Cas checked his watch. He had fifteen minutes until the tram made its daily dry run, always an hour before the first tourists were taken up. There wasn’t another soul around. He had to give it to Jubal and Cohanim. Those two knew what they were doing, all right.

  He leaned over the seat and shook Zaynah awake. She gazed up at the looming fortress and rubbed her swollen eyes, as if caught in a strange dream. He climbed out and nearly dragged her, still groggy, out toward the cable station at the base of the mountain. His hands were shaking. He usually got cooler when things turned nasty, but right now he felt like a nuclear reactor spiraling toward a meltdown. Without a word, he herded the two women into the gondola terminal. A lone kiosk manager nodded as if expecting their arrival.

  Marly looked around at the station. The place was empty except for the tram manager in the glass ticket booth. “I thought you said there’d be hordes of tourists here. Where is everybody? How are we going to hide now?”

  Cas avoided her questioning glare. “I guess we’re the first to arrive.”

  The tram manager pushed a button to open the cable car door. He pointed for them to step inside.

  Cas knew the guy was probably one of Jubal’s men, substituted for the real operator. He rushed the girl to a seat. Seeing Marly holding back, he tried to spur her along. “What’s wrong?”

  Marly held her stomach. “I’m not good with heights.”

  Cas rushed out and pushed her inside. “How are you with foreign jails?”

  Before Marly could escape, the door whooshed shut behind them. She sat with her arms around the girl, trying to comfort her and working hard to dampen her own fear. The car began moving up the cable and Marly shuddered as she looked down at the desert floor.

  “Just keep your eyes closed.” Cas stood at the front of the car and watched the terminal at the top of the mount. “We’ll be up on top there in no time.”

  Exhausted and dehydrated, Marly was losing the battle to focus her brain. “We didn’t even pay for the ride? Did that man know we were coming?”

  Cas had to think quickly. “All reservations have to be made in advance.”

  “When did you call them in?”

  “While I was casing those cops yesterday.”

  Marly blinked hard. Nothing was making any sense. In the hazy distance, another gondola appeared, descending toward them.

  Cas glanced at Marly, and a vision of Shada suddenly came to him. Had his dead wife returned in spirit to be with him in this moment of his permanent reunion with their son? As the descending car neared, he searched its windows. Three men stood in the gondola. That had to be Farid, between Cohanim and Jubal, with his face pressed against the glass.

  His heart was nearly beating through his chest.

  He turned to Marly. “Get ready.”

  “Get ready for what?”

  Cas waved at Farid in the distance, and his son waved back at him with his left hand. Cas dropped his hand and looked to the floor, thinking.

  The two cable cars moved side by side, and slowed to a stop.

  Marly had turned even greener. “What’s going on?”

  He didn’t answer her. Standing just inside the closed doors, he tensed every muscle as the panels on the other cab opened. He could see Jubal pushing buttons on a remote-control device.

  The doors on the ascending gondola slid open.

  Across the gap, Marly saw Cohanim and Jubal for the first time. “What are they doing here?”

  “Just stay put!” Cas told her.

  Jubal motioned for him to jump into his car, ten feet away, with nothing but air and a deadly drop between them.

  Cas hesitated—and then leapt across the gap. He landed with only a few inches to spare. Farid grabbed him and pulled him inside.

  Jubal punched another button on the remote device to shut the doors of both gondolas. “Nice job, Casbo. You may have a future with Cirque du Soleil.”

  Cas snuck a glance over his shoulder at the cab he had just left. Marly and the Lebanese girl, now frantic, stood at the closed door, banging on the window and trying to get his attention.

  He turned to Cohanim. “What now?”

  “Jubal and I will cross over and take that one up. You stay here with your son. Once we’re off at the top, we’ll send you down.”

  “You’ll be on your way home,” Jubal said. “You can leave the rest to us.”

  Cas noticed that they had brought a wide plank with them, apparently to bridge the two dangling gondolas. He turned and locked eyes with his son. “Did they teach you to write in prison?”

  Farid frowned, confused. “Of course, Abba.”

  “I want you to write a goodbye note to my … friend … for me. Her name is Marly.”

  Annoyed with the sentimental delay, Jubal motioned for Cohanim to give Farid a pen.

  Farid found a tourist brochure in a slot on the cable-car wall. “What would you like me to say for you, Abba?”

  “Write that there was something I forgot to tell her when I had the chance.”

  “Yes, Abba?”

  “That I love her. More than anything in the world.”

  Farid hesitated, not expecting to hear such a message, but then he scribbled it quickly. He was about to give the note back to Cas when—

  Jubal intercepted the note. “I’ll be happy to deliver it.”

  “Okay, then.” Cohanim inched toward the door. “Everybody ready?”

  As the cab switch was about to be made, Cas kept his eyes fixed on Farid.

  Suddenly, he wheeled and slammed his shoulder into Jubal.

  Jubal flew against the car’s wall—the remote sailed across the gondola.

  Cas pounced on the control device and pushed madly at the buttons.

  Marly’s cab began ascending toward the fortress.

  Jubal struggled to his feet and watched in horror as the two women moved out of his reach. Glaring at Cas, the CrossArrow general reached for his gun. He turned pale, reminded that he had checked the weapon at the station before entering the scanner. “You fucking screw-up!”

  Cas backed away. “Little fly in the ointment.”

  Circling Cas with fists balled, the Texan snarled at Jubal, “I told you we couldn’t trust him. We should have put a bullet in his head back in Jerusalem.”

  Jubal switched into his benevolent-uncle act. He inched closer, trying to bring Cas back into the fold. “What’s the problem here, Casbo? Something else we can do for you?”

  Cas reached for Farid’s hand. When Farid reached back, Cas grabbed his son and spun him around. He twisted Farid’s arm behind his back, until the young man let out a yelp. “Little family history you may not know, Jubal. My son was born left-handed.”


  Jubal glanced worriedly at Cohanim, as if not following the import of that detail. “I think I recall hearing something about that.”

  Cas edged Farid toward the door, forcing the two men to back off. “Here’s something you may not have heard. Just so happens, the tribe I infiltrated doesn’t allow boys to grow up left-handed.”

  Jubal watched his every move like a hawk. “We’re all fascinated with your camel stories, Casbo. But we’re a little pressed for time.”

  “He waved with his left hand. And just wrote that note with his left hand.”

  “Yeah?”

  “In my wife’s sect, the left hand is considered coarse and impure. So, she trained him to become right-handed.”

  Cohanim turned and glared at Jubal for having failed to turn up that detail.

  Cas cranked the imposter’s shoulder to its limit. “Alridey, then, Farid the Fakir. What’s your real name?”

  “Diyah! Diyah! They made me study the prison files of your son!”

  Cas wrenched the imposter’s arm until his shoulder was nearly disjointed.

  Jubal glanced at the other gondola slowly making its way up to the fortress. “Well, you’ve really outsmarted yourself this time, Casbo.”

  “Is that so?”

  “In about three minutes, the woman you love more than anything in the world”—he spat those words out mockingly—“is going to smash into that mountain up there.”

  With the terrified young man still in his grip, Cas began frantically pushing buttons on the remote device.

  Yet the cab containing Marly and Zaynah kept rising.

  His plan to send her to safety atop the mountain while he took care of these lowlifes had hit a snag … the buttons wouldn’t work!

  “Don’t bother,” Jubal said with a grin. “You have to punch in a code first.”

  “Couldn’t be more perfect,” Cohanim said. “Pregnant teen and American woman killed in tram accident. Really makes our job a lot easier.”

  Without the code, he couldn’t get the damn buttons to function. And without an operator to press the brakes, Marly and Zaynah would crash into the stanchions on the face of the Masada. That tin can they were in would collapse like an accordion.