by Alex Lukeman
The door to the inner office opened. The man standing there was older than Nick by a few years. He wore khaki slacks, comfortable brown shoes and a checked shirt open at the collar. He'd been Special Forces and came recommended. He was about Nick's height and a little heavier. His left sleeve was pinned up against his shoulder.
"Nick? I'm Dave Milton. Come on in."
They shook hands. Milton gestured to a chair. "Have a seat."
"Do I call you Doctor or what?"
"Doctor is fine. Doc, if you prefer." He sat down in a wingback chair a few feet away. Nick looked around. A half dozen diplomas, an Army discharge certificate and several award plaques hung on the walls.
"Let me guess," Milton said. "Marines?"
"Recon. Thirteen years."
Milton nodded. "How did you hear about me?"
"A guy I know from Afghanistan."
Milton nodded.
Nick said, "I have to tell you. I'm not sure this is going to help anything."
"It might not."
"Aren't you supposed to tell me it will?"
"Would you believe me if I did?"
"Probably not."
"There you go."
Milton looked relaxed. His presence was calming. Probably a good thing in a shrink, Nick thought.
"How does this work?" he said.
"You come in. We talk about whatever you want to talk about. Everything is confidential."
"That's all?"
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Maybe some tests. Questions about my childhood, that kind of thing."
"Nope. Just conversation."
"What if I just want to talk about football?"
Milton shrugged. "It's your money. You might get better results if you talk about what's bugging you."
"I can't talk about what I do."
"If it's important, you'll find a way to talk about it. Where do you want to begin?"
"What happened to the arm?" Nick said.
"Afghanistan happened. You were there?"
"I was." Nick thought about how he'd hit Selena in his sleep. "I have this dream," he said. "I'm back in Afghanistan, on a mission that went bad."
After he'd described the dream, Nick waited.
"Is that what happened on the mission?" Milton asked.
"Pretty much."
"Was there anything else you could have done?"
"I don't know."
"Think back. You were taking heavy fire."
"Yeah. Then this kid comes out of the doorway."
"And you hesitated."
"He was a kid."
"With a grenade."
Nick was silent.
"Where was the rest of your unit?"
"Taking fire. There must have been twenty Tallies on the roof. My sergeant was down, three of the others."
"How many died?" Milton asked.
"What do you mean?"
"How many of your men died?"
"What's that got to do with it?"
"How do you feel about the men that died?"
"How do you think I feel?"
"I don't know unless you tell me. Do you feel responsible?"
Rage.
Nick stood. "Fuck you."
He walked out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Are you going to tell me how it went?" Selena said. It was late in the afternoon. Nick was making coffee. They were in his apartment.
"You mean the counseling thing?"
"You haven't said anything about it."
"There isn't much to say."
"What happened?"
"I told him about the dream. He wanted to know how I felt about what happened."
"And?"
"I don't want to talk about it. You want coffee?"
"You're changing the subject. Yes, I want coffee. Why don't you want to talk about it? That's the whole point. Talking about it."
"I've talked to you."
"I'm not a therapist."
"I don't see the point. Talking won't change anything." He brought her a cup. "That kid is still dead. So are my men."
"That's not your fault."
"Damn it!" He slammed his cup down on the table. She jumped. Coffee slopped out over the clean surface. "It is my fault. I was in command. So stop with the platitudes."
Selena looked at him. "You walked out, didn't you? You didn't finish the session."
He was silent.
"You need to go back. For yourself. For us. I can't keep dealing with this."
She was wearing a long sleeved blouse. Selena pulled it up along her ribs. Her side was turning black and blue.
"That's from last night. You didn't even wake up. You yelled something and started thrashing around."
He stared at the bruise. "I did that?"
"Now do you see why you have to go back?"
He sat down, let out a long breath.
"I'll think about it."
Selena got up. "You do that. You think about it."
She walked to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Home. While you think about it." The door slammed behind her. Her untouched coffee steamed on the table. He stared at the door. It had nothing to say.
He decided to go for a run. Running helped him clear his mind. Nothing to think about except the feel of the pavement under his feet and the movement of his body. He changed into sweats and put on his running shoes. He tucked a Colt .380 under his sweatshirt and took the elevator down. He stepped out of the entrance and saw a black, armored limousine waiting by the curb.
Adam, he thought. Damn.
Adam was an unknown quantity. Every time he showed up things got difficult. It always meant trouble.
The driver held the rear door open. Nick wondered how Adam managed to time his arrivals to catch him when he was coming out of his building. He got in the car. The door closed and he heard the click of the lock going home.
The car was a Cadillac Presidential Model, several hundred thousand dollars worth of armored protection and luxury. The protection part was handled by run flat tires, 5 inches of armor plate, a turbo charged engine with over 500 horses, bullet proof glass and for all Nick knew, rocket launchers. The seats were covered in smooth black leather. The carpet was dark blue. The windows were completely blacked out. Halo lighting on the padded roof cast a soft glow over the interior.
The driver was invisible behind a partition of black glass. A floor to ceiling panel of black glass divided the entire rear compartment straight down the middle, making it impossible to see who or what was on the other side. There was a speaker grill at head height in the partition and a slot where things could be passed back and forth.
"Hello, Nick."
The voice was masked with electronics, as if it were underwater. The sound was eerie in the confined space of the car.
"Adam."
The car began moving.
"You've stepped into a hornet's nest again. How do you manage it?"
"Just lucky, I guess. What's going on, Adam?"
"You have become a problem for some very powerful people. Have you heard of Cask and Swords?"
"No."
"Cask and Swords is a network of men prominent in every important aspect of American government, finance and business. That includes the military and the Pentagon. Members are recruited during their junior year at the University and sworn to lifelong secrecy. Money, intelligence and connections are required for consideration. There are no female members, no minorities, no Jews."
"A conspiracy, you mean?"
"They would not call it that. If they were to talk about it at all, they would probably say that they share a natural consensus about what the world needs to further their aims. They would couch it in terms of national security and the best policies for the nation."
"What are their aims?"
"Power, wealth and control. There's nothing new about that. That's the way it's always been. What's new is that a small, hard core faction has decided that Ame
rica needs another war."
"They never quit, do they?"
"No. That's where you come in. You got involved when Bertrand sent you the Nostradamus manuscript."
It didn't surprise Nick that Adam knew about the manuscript.
The electronic voice continued. "The Ark is the symbol of God's agreement with the human race and by extension, of Israel's lawful right to exist. It can be used to provoke a war."
"It probably doesn't even exist."
"The men behind this think it does. They're looking for it. That's why those gunmen came after you in Jordan and Virginia. They don't want you interfering in their plans and they don't want you to find it."
"Something doesn't make sense. We're the ones who have the manuscript. Why would they want to take us out without finding out what's in it?"
"Because they already know what's in it. Yours isn't the only copy. Bertrand made a copy and sent it to himself."
"His place in Provence?"
"Yes. Cask and Swords found it."
"But no one has the Ark. I don't understand how that fits with what you say is their goal. Starting a war."
"If they can find it, they'll use it to raise tensions in the Middle East to the breaking point. War would follow. The US would get involved. Cask and Swords members behind this would make a great deal of money. There is also a religious component. One of the leaders is somewhat fanatical. He wants to instigate a new crusade against Islam."
The car stopped. After a moment it began moving again. It was very quiet.
"What if there isn't any Ark?"
"Then they'll manufacture some provocation. These people already have great wealth. It's not just about the money, it's as much a game of power as anything else for them. They are determined to have their war. Just like before."
"Jesus, Adam."
"Follow the trail, Nick. Find it before they do. Watch your back. I'll help if I can."
The car came to a stop. Nick heard the lock click. After a moment the door was opened by the driver. Nick got out of the car. They were back in front of his building.
He watched the Cadillac pull away. He knew the license plate would yield no information. One day, he'd find out who Adam was. Right now that was the least of his concerns.
Watch your back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Selena sat across from Nick in the Ops Center. She'd said nothing to him when he came in. Stephanie brought up a detailed map of Jordan on the monitor.
"In my opinion, the best place to look is Petra." She pointed at a spot on the map in the southern part of Jordan, 80 miles inland from the Israeli border.
"Why Petra?" Nick said.
"Look at the route we decided Moses had to take. It goes right to Petra."
The line was almost a straight shot from Egypt across to Jordan. At Petra it turned north to the Biblical Holy Land.
"There wasn't anything in Petra in the time of Moses," Lamont said. "Why go there?"
"There's a mountain there called Jabal al-Madhbaḥ. It's where Moses made water spring from a rock and where his brother Aaron is supposed to be buried. Sometimes winter storms in the area create vivid plasma displays. That could fit the description of fire on the mountain in the Bible."
"I don't know," Nick said, "that's slim."
"There's more. Petra is at the end of a narrow gorge. The wind comes through it and makes a trumpeting sound. The locals call it the Trumpet of God. That fits with the Bible story too."
"That's the place in the Indiana Jones movie," Lamont said. "The one about the Nazis and the Grail. Buildings carved out of red rock."
"I've been there," Selena said. "It's an amazing place."
"Tourists have been crawling over that place for years. There's no way the Ark is there." Nick shook his head.
"Remember the fourth quatrain?" Selena said.
Where water is bartered as gold
A small castle guards treasure beyond price
A cross and dome point the way
Beware the Red Horseman
"Go on."
She looked at him. Her voice was impersonal. "The people who lived there controlled the trade route. They built cisterns and canals to store water and sold it to travelers in the desert."
"Water bartered as gold."
"Yes. Petra is famous because of elaborate tombs carved out of red sandstone. When the sun hits it just right, the whole place turns red."
"Like Sedona," Ronnie said, "in Arizona."
Lamont started humming an Eagles tune.
"Any castles?" Nick asked.
"There's a crusader castle," Selena said, "in ruins."
"We could fly into Amman and play tourist," Lamont said.
Nick said, "Let me run it by Harker."
Upstairs he took Selena aside. "You're right. I'll make another appointment with the shrink."
"Why did you walk out of the last one?"
"I got angry. It felt like he was accusing me. But when I play it out in my mind, I can see that he wasn't."
"Are you going to tell him that?"
"I guess."
"Want to go get lunch somewhere?" she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"You pissed me off," Nick said.
Milton nodded.
"It sounded like you were blaming me for what happened. For the deaths."
"Why don't you talk about that?"
"You were there. You know what it's like."
"Yes. But we're not talking about me."
"Why is this important?"
"You tell me." Milton sipped from a mug with an inscription that read I Used To Be Schizophrenic But We're So Much Better Now.
"You're not going to give me much, are you?"
"What do you think I should give you?"
"I don't know. Advice, maybe? About how to stop the dream?"
"Would it help if we spent time analyzing it to try and figure out what it meant?"
"No. I already know what it means."
"There you go. Talk about that."
"Seems pretty straightforward. I had to kill a kid. I didn't want to. I feel bad about it."
"So why do you keep having the dream?"
"Isn't that what happens with PTSD? You have nightmares."
"More happened than just that kid. You were almost killed. Several of your men were killed."
"It's what happens in war."
"That's like saying the sky is blue."
Nick felt himself getting angry again.
"You're getting angry. Want to tell me why?"
"It feels like you're not listening. I say something and you throw another question at me or dismiss what I say."
"Because I said that about the sky."
"Yes."
"When you say people getting killed is what happens in war you're ducking the issue."
"What issue?"
"You tell me."
Nick wanted to get up and walk out again. He thought about Selena.
"I guess almost getting killed."
Milton nodded. It could have been approval. Or not. "How did you feel when you saw that grenade coming at you?"
Nick's back began hurting. "I didn't feel anything."
Milton waited. Nick remembered.
The boy's head explodes in a cloud of blood and bone. The grenade is in the air, coming at him. He starts to move but he can't get out of the way. He's helpless...
"I don't remember," Nick said.
Milton waited.
"Helpless," Nick said. Milton nodded, just a little.
"We're almost out of time," he said. "Do you want to come next week?"
"I'm going out of town. I'll have to call when I get back."
"Good," Milton said.
As Nick walked to his car he felt like something had happened, but he wasn't sure what it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
They flew into Amman, rented a Land Rover and dropped Lamont and Selena at the hotel. From there Nick and Ronnie drove to the American Emb
assy. Harker had sent their weapons ahead in a diplomatic pouch.
The embassy didn't look like a diplomatic outpost. It looked like a fortress. It was a massive, white building three stories high, set back behind a high wall of fitted stone. An armored personnel carrier manned by Jordanian troops patrolled outside the wall. Palm trees planted at regular intervals tried and failed to create the impression of a normal building. A forest of antennas and satellite dishes rose from the roof. The windows were square and featured diamond shapes that reinforced the thick glass. Tall black iron fencing and metal gates blocked the entrances.
At the front desk they were directed to a room on the second floor. A brass nameplate on the door announced the office of Eric Anderson, Second Cultural Attaché.
"Agency," Ronnie said.
"Our man in Havana."
"Havana?"
"An old British movie about spies. It's a comedy," Nick said.
"I know you like those old movies," Ronnie said, "but these guys aren't very funny."
They knocked and went in. A blond man in his thirties sat behind a desk. He rose when they entered. He had the look of an athlete who was starting to go to seed. Nick's ear tingled.
"Carter?" Anderson said. "Been expecting you."
He smiled and held out his hand. Nick shook it.
"You have our package?" Nick asked.
"Yes. You do realize that Jordan is off limits for covert activity?"
"Who said anything about covert activity? We're here on vacation."
Anderson laughed. "Of course, sorry." He took a card from a case in his pocket and handed it to Nick. "You need anything while you're here, let me know. I'll call down about the package. Sign here."
He pushed a form across his desk. Nick signed it.
"Thanks. Appreciate it."
As they went down the stairs, Ronnie said, "I don't trust that guy."
"Me neither. But he doesn't concern us."
In the office they'd just left, Anderson was speaking on his private satellite phone with Phillip Harrison.
