by James Becker
‘I also think it’s possible they spread a story that the man didn’t die here, but had returned to his own country and died there years earlier, whereas in fact he lived out his days in Kashmir. And we know he fathered a child here, a man named Isaac, according to the Persian text. In fact, I think that Isaac was either the author of that text or very closely acquainted with the person who wrote it.’
‘And there’s the Baigdandu anomaly,’ Donovan interjected.
‘That’s a contributing factor, yes,’ Angela nodded. ‘Whatever the source of the genes that throw up occasional fair-skinned, blue-eyed children in that village, you can be reasonably certain it wasn’t some wandering tribe of Greeks. It’s far more likely to have been a single source, one very different bloodline that became intermixed with the local genetic make-up.’
‘This is making no sense to me,’ John Cross interrupted. ‘What is this all about?’
Angela smiled at him, half-turned and pointed at the wall behind her. ‘On the other side of that stone door,’ she continued, ‘we’ll find a tomb, and in it will be the body of a late-middle-aged or elderly man who in his time acquired a certain reputation, both here and in the country of his birth, which is a long way to the west of here. In India, he was called Yus Asaph or Yuz Asaf, and occasionally Isa-Masih, but you all know him better by another, much more familiar, name.’
She looked around the cave, taking her time. She took a deep breath.
‘I believe that in the cavern just behind me is the last resting place of Isa-Masih or Jesus the Messiah — the man better known to you all as Jesus Christ.’
62
‘Four minutes,’ the pilot murmured.
‘OK. Time we sent the Hind in front,’ Tembla said, then issued a crisp order.
Almost immediately, the pilot of the Dhruv banked the helicopter to the left, hauling it around in a tight turn.
As the manoeuvre started, Killian glanced to his right and saw the Hind gunship’s nose dip slightly as the pilot accelerated ahead of them. Then he concentrated on keeping what little he’d had for breakfast in his stomach as the Dhruv seemed to roll completely on to its side, the ‘whupwhup-whup’ of the rotor blades clawing at the air rose to a crescendo, the sound exploding through his skull as the chopper seemed to defy both gravity and the laws of physics.
Below the aircraft, the ground spun past at a dizzying speed, a grey-brown featureless blur. Then the pilot righted the helicopter, pulling it straight, the nose dipping as he increased speed.
Killian looked through the windscreen and saw that the Hind was now well ahead of them, maybe half a mile in front.
‘Good,’ Tembla said. ‘We’ll let the gunship take out the mercenaries; then we’ll go in and see what Bronson and Angela Lewis are up to.’
For a long moment there was absolute silence in the cave, then John Cross muttered, ‘Bullshit.’
Donovan started a slow, ironic hand-clap. ‘Bravo,’ he said. ‘Impeccable reasoning based upon an imaginative and expert interpretation of the available evidence. It’s just a shame you’ll never get to find out whether or not you’re right.’
Angela looked startled.
‘What’s behind that wall may be the most important archaeological find ever,’ Donovan continued, ‘but it means far more to me than that. If the stories in the Bible are true — and I believe that they are — then Jesus had the power to heal the sick and raise the dead. That’s why I’ve been following this trail for so long. Just think what I could do with that kind of power today.’
‘But how can the bones of a two-thousand-year-old corpse be. .?’ Bronson’s voice trailed off as he made the connection.
‘You’re a geneticist,’ Angela said flatly, making an intuitive leap. ‘And the whole purpose of all this’ — she gestured at the armed men in the cave — ‘is so that you can get your hands on the body. Or more accurately get your hands on a sample of tissue from the remains.’
Donovan nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve been looking for all along — the DNA of Jesus Christ. Have you the slightest idea what that could be worth today? To medical science? To cutting-edge genetic research? To achieve this, any risk, any price, and any sacrifice is entirely justified. And that’s why I’m afraid you’re both going to have to die. There can be no witnesses to what happens next.’
‘What about the two men with you?’ Bronson asked, desperate to keep some sort of dialogue going. ‘Have you told them about the sacrifice you’ll be expecting them to make?’
Donovan smiled. ‘These men are part of my private army. I’d trust them with my life. But I’m afraid you two are surplus to requirements.’ He turned to Masters. ‘Kill them, will you, Nick, and then we can get started.’
A few yards further up the valley from the cave entrance, one of Masters’s men was sitting on a rock, his Kalashnikov resting across his lap, his hand holding the pistol grip. About fifty yards down the slope, another two of the mercenaries were staring down towards the foot of the valley, their AK-47s slung over their shoulders. The three men were covering the two possible approaches to the cave.
They all heard the unmistakable roaring, clattering sound of a helicopter and for an instant none of them took any notice. They knew they were in a disputed border area, and they had seen and heard several helicopters since they’d crossed into India, so a chopper wasn’t exactly a new sight. But then the Hind appeared over the side wall of the valley, nose-down and heading straight towards the cave.
‘Take cover!’ one of the men yelled, swinging his weapon round to point at the approaching gunship, as his companion opened fire.
The mercenary closest to the cave looked round desperately for somewhere — anywhere — to hide. He knew he’d never make it to the cave entrance, but it was the only possible shelter. He had to try.
His finger slid on to the trigger of his AK-47 and fired a long burst, then turned and started running. But at that very moment the crew of the attack helicopter opened fire. There was a flicker of flame from the nose of the aircraft and a stream of machine-gun bullets ploughed a deep furrow across the rocky ground, ricochets from the impact of the shells and rock splinters flying everywhere.
Half a dozen rounds caught the running man in the chest and almost cut him in two. His momentum carried him forward another couple of steps, but he was dead before he stopped moving.
The Hind’s crew switched their aim, and in less than two seconds the other soldiers’ weapons fell silent as their bullet-riddled bodies slumped down among the rocks.
* * *
The cave echoed with the sound of automatic weapons’ fire. The armed man at the back of the cave reacted immediately, unslinging their weapon and starting to move. Bronson’s attention was fixed on Masters.
The former soldier glanced across at him, then at John Cross and what little was visible of the mountain slope outside the cave. Then he reached inside his parka and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol.
For an instant Bronson thought he was going to shoot them both. Instead the soldier turned, and in a single fluid movement reversed the weapon in his hand and tossed the pistol over to Bronson. Then he swung back, snapped off the safety catch of his Kalashnikov and headed for the cave entrance.
Donovan was white with fear and anger. ‘What’s happening?’ he demanded.
‘Just get out of sight, JJ, and shut the hell up while I sort this,’ Masters snapped. Then he turned away. ‘Don’t go outside,’ he yelled.
But he’d picked his men well — they were all ex-military — and the last thing John Cross was going to do was run out of a dark cave into bright sunlight where enemy troops were probably waiting to cut him down.
Bronson didn’t question, didn’t hesitate. He caught the weapon in mid-air, grabbed Angela by the hand and pulled her as far away from the entrance as he could.
‘What’s going on?’ she demanded breathlessly, crouching beside him in the darkness at the far end of the short right-hand tunnel of the cave.
Bron
son craned his neck as he tried to see outside. ‘That sounded to me like two different weapons. One was definitely like a heavy machine-gun, and that could mean-’ He broke off as a renewed burst of firing sounded from outside the cave, and then a familiar deep throbbing noise, overlaid by the roar of jet engines.
‘That’s a chopper.’ Bronson pulled back the slide on the pistol to chamber a round and clicked on the safety catch. ‘Maybe some Indian Army troops have pitched up.’
He looked around the cave. There was nowhere they could hide. He didn’t know how many men the American had at his disposal, although clearly he’d left at least one or two outside the cave, otherwise there would have been no firing. He also had no idea how many troops were in the attacking force, and no clue what the outcome of the fire-fight was likely to be.
But there was one thing he could do that might help their personal odds a little. And he needed to do it straight away.
63
Nick Masters stood in the entrance to the cave. Down the slope he could see the unmoving shape of one of the three men he’d left on sentry duty. Over to his right, in a left-hand turn, the evil light-grey painted shape of the Hind gunship was unmistakable.
‘Shit,’ he muttered.
‘What the hell’s that gunship doing out here?’ John Cross asked.
As he spoke, the Hind lined up for its next attack, and a short burst from its cannon chewed up the ground immediately in front of the cave entrance. Both men ducked back inside.
Masters tore his glance away from the Hind and looked around the cave. There was no other way out, that was for sure, and nowhere they could hide where the gunship’s weapons couldn’t find them.
Despite the odds, Masters knew they had to neutralize the Hind. But how? With three men dead — and a friend whom he now realised was way too greedy and ambitious for his own good — he was fresh out of options.
‘Wait here,’ Bronson hissed at Angela, and crept forward.
JJ Donovan was cowering behind a pile of rocks, trying to make himself as small as possible. He was staring fixedly at the cave entrance.
Bronson stepped up behind him, smashed the butt of the pistol into the side of his head, then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the back of the cave.
‘What on earth are you doing, Chris?’ Angela snapped, her indignation at Bronson’s attack on an unarmed man temporarily overcoming her fear.
‘I’m giving us an edge,’ Bronson said, resting the barrel of the semi-automatic pistol on Donovan’s shoulder so that the end of it rested against the side of his neck. ‘As I see it, there are two groups of armed men out there fighting each other. I don’t know who this guy is, but if his people come out on top, the fact that he’s my hostage might mean we can talk our way out of here.’
‘And if the other group wins?’
He sighed. ‘Then it won’t matter either way.’
When Masters had seen the Barrett on sale in the arms bazaar in Islamabad, he’d immediately decided to buy it. He didn’t imagine they’d need to use it, but it was a useful insurance policy. Now he was glad he’d spent the extra money.
The Barrett is arguably the most powerful rifle in the world. In expert hands it is capable of placing a half-inch bullet in a man-size target at a range of well over a mile.
And Masters was an expert. A former SEAL, his particular speciality had been sniping. Thirty seconds after the Hind’s heavy machine-gun had annihilated three of his men, he had the weapon loaded and aimed, and was looking through the scope towards his target.
But that, of course, was only half the problem. There was no doubt in Masters’ mind that he could hit the Hind. But hitting it wouldn’t be enough. The supersonic half-inch bullet would leave a hell of a dent in the chopper’s armour plating, but wouldn’t penetrate it. There was no point in aiming at the twin cockpits, because they were heavily protected, and the engines, too, would be a difficult target with no guarantee the round would destroy or even damage them.
But there were weaknesses with the Hind, as with all helicopters, and these were what Masters was going to try for. And he would, he figured, have only the one shot. If he missed, and the crew of the gunship spotted he was firing from the cave, they’d torch the area and that would be that.
He had to make the shot count.
He turned to John Cross. ‘I need a clear shot at that gunship, and the only way I’m going to get it is if the crew are lookin’ somewhere else. Can you exit the cave with your hands up, and then move over to the left?’
Cross looked shocked. ‘Sounds like a hell of a bad idea to me.’
‘If you can think of something better, just tell me right now.’
Cross stepped forwards and peered cautiously out of the cave entrance. The Hind was quartering the area, the crew apparently looking for anyone else outside the cave.
‘OK, Nick,’ he said at last. ‘This had goddamn better work.’
Lowering his Kalashnikov to the ground he walked slowly to the mouth of the cave.
A sudden noise from his left attracted his attention. Another helicopter, this one a small utility aircraft, was approaching. As he looked, the pilot flared and landed it about a hundred yards away, keeping the rotors turning.
Cross stepped forward and raised both arms above his head in a clear and unequivocal gesture of surrender. He just hoped that the crew of the gunship hadn’t been instructed to sanitize the area, and that they would be prepared to take prisoners.
Well, he reflected, as the nose of the Hind swung around towards him, he’d soon find out.
64
The moment the Dhruv touched down, Michael Killian released his seatbelt and fumbled for the door handle.
‘Wait,’ Tembla instructed. ‘We haven’t secured the area yet.’
‘They’ve surrendered,’ Killian retorted, pointing at the man standing outside the cave entrance. ‘It’s all over. I need to see what they found.’
He pulled off his throat mike, stepped out of the helicopter and started walking quickly over towards the cave.
‘Your orders, sir?’ the pilot asked.
‘We’ll stay here, just in case,’ Tembla said. ‘We’re not carrying weapons, and I’m still not satisfied this situation’s under control. There were six men in the area, plus Bronson and Lewis, but all I can see are three bodies and one man who’s got his hands in the air. That still leaves four people unaccounted for. Until I know their locations, I’m not moving. And if the mercenaries are still at large, maybe one of them will do me a favour and shoot that irritating priest.’
As Masters had hoped, when Cross walked out of the cave entrance and over to the left, the Hind moved slightly to follow his path. The pilot brought the gunship to a low hover about fifty feet off the ground and perhaps seventy yards away from the cave. He then selected the public address system and keyed the microphone.
‘Step forward five paces, then lie face down,’ he ordered.
Cross obeyed, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.
In the cave, Nick Masters took a deep breath, and concentrated on the sight picture. The Hind had swung round slightly clockwise, and he could now see most of the port side of the aircraft.
Helicopters have several weaknesses, but the big three are those parts of the machine that keep it in the air — the main rotor, the tail rotor and the gearboxes that drive them. The gearboxes were probably hidden behind armour plate — Masters didn’t know enough about the design of the Hind even to be sure where they were — and because he was looking at the helicopter from the side, the main rotor was almost invisible. So his target of choice — in fact his only target — was the tail rotor.
Slowly, carefully, Masters adjusted his aim, settled down until the sight picture was absolutely clear, then gently squeezed the trigger.
The Barrett kicked into his shoulder — he’d almost forgotten how hard the weapon’s recoil was. When he’d recovered, he checked the view through his telescopic sight. There was a neat hole drilled t
hrough the rear of the fuselage about six inches forward of the tail rotor disk. Damn, he thought. The chopper had obviously moved very slightly at the moment he’d fired. But the Hind was still in the same position, so he guessed that the bullet had simply passed through a part of the fuselage without armour plating, and the crew had felt nothing and were still unaware what had happened.
Masters settled his breathing — the weapon was semiautomatic and another round was already in the chamber — and again concentrated all his attention on the view through the telescopic sight. Moments later, he squeezed the trigger once more.
Travelling at supersonic speed, the half-inch bullet hit almost the exact centre of the tail rotor disk. The rotors were designed to withstand the impact of rounds from small-arms fire and even bullets from assault rifle, but the Barrett M82 was in a different league.
The bullet tore one blade completely off the hub and splintered and twisted the one next to it. That in itself would probably have been enough to cripple the helicopter, but the round hadn’t yet completed its journey. It ploughed on, smashing through the thin aluminium skin of the fuselage into the tail rotor gearbox. The bullet crumpled and deformed as its kinetic energy was spent, and the effect on the gearbox itself was catastrophic. The casing split, driving fragments of metal between the spinning gears and cogs. In a little under a tenth of a second after the bullet hit, the gearbox seized solid.
As the gunship lurched sideways, Masters saw a portion of one of the tail rotor blades spin away from the fuselage. The nose of the helicopter lifted as the pilot struggled to control an aircraft that suddenly wasn’t responding the way it should. He tried to gain height, which was exactly the wrong thing to do, because it made the situation worse. As the nose pitched even higher, the gunship started to spin on its own axis.
And then there was nothing the pilot could do. The moment the tail rotor gearbox seized, he’d lost all directional control. The spin became even more violent and suddenly the Hind was plummeting to the ground, the main rotor blades smashing into rocks, debris flying in all directions as the fuselage impacted. There was a brief moment of silence, and then the fuel in the helicopter’s ruptured tanks ignited, turning the wreckage into a massive fireball.
