47 |

Aksum, Ethiopia

 

Tesfay ducked as gunfire erupted all around him. His head swiveled, searching for shelter, but finding none that wasn’t already teeming with terrified shoppers, and he wasn’t willing to push one of them out of the way to save his own skin.

He was better than that.

And it would probably get him killed.

Two groups of the new arrivals were battling it out. Who, he wasn’t sure, but they were well armed with plenty of ammo. Better equipped than the Ethiopian regulars that had rolled up on the situation, probably initially to investigate the attack on his truck.

There was a pause in the shooting, one of those unusual moments where everyone ran out of ammo at the same time, or were all taking cover from each other.

Whatever the cause, it gave him a moment of clarity from his position, now prone in the dirt.

A little girl was crying.

He turned to find her, then cursed when he saw the child from earlier, her candy still gripped in her hand, but her mother nowhere in sight, as she stood in the middle of the road, in the middle of the three battling parties. He pushed to his feet and rushed toward her, holding his hands over his head as best he could while at a crouch, hoping the shooters would recognize his actions as stupidity rather than hostility.

And all hell broke loose once again, the brief reprieve over.

He dropped to his knees, pleading for the little girl to come toward him, but she stood frozen in place, tears staining her cheeks while her mouth continued to work the candy between gasped cries.

Please, God, protect us both.

He rushed forward and scooped her up, then spun around, racing for the cover of the vehicles lining the road. Something hit him in the shoulder and he cried out, dropping to a knee, his bag containing all his equipment falling to the ground. He reached for it, but bullets tore into the pavement only feet away.

Save the girl, idiot.

He struggled to his feet then stumbled the last few paces, dropping between two cars.

But it wasn’t safe, stray bullets tearing into the metal and tires. He fumbled forward, the girl in one arm, his other aching from the hit he had taken, then spotted an alleyway. On adrenaline alone, he rose and sprinted for the shelter it would provide, the darkness swallowing him up, the deafening rattle of the weapons immediately muted. He put the girl down then pointed at her. “You stay here, okay?”

She nodded, the candy back in her mouth, the flow of tears easing.

He checked his shoulder to find a hole through it, a matching one on his back. A through-and-through.

Thank God for small miracles.

He tore off his sleeve and tied a tourniquet over the wound using his teeth, good hand, and a lot of painful gasps.

He’d live.

Now for the really stupid part.

He needed his bag. It had his weapon, but more importantly, it had his camera, and all the critical intel his handlers were waiting for. He headed back for the street and the gunfire, then assessed the situation from relative safety. He could see his bag, too close to the middle of the road for his liking, though only paces from the vehicles that could provide him with some cover.

To his right was a group he recognized from earlier, three Middle Eastern-looking men hiding behind an SUV, their number half of what they had arrived with. To his left was another group he recognized as well, all white but tanned, their numbers equally diminished.

Then there was the military, farther still to his left, pouring lead on both the warring parties, a few of their number bleeding on the road.

It was a Mexican standoff where no one seemed to care if they survived.

What is it that’s so important you don’t care if you die?

His handler hadn’t told him what this was all about, or at least the truth about what it was about. As far as he had been told, this was about recovering two professors, an American and a Brit, who were in trouble. But mercenary groups from around the world didn’t show up to rescue professors when American Special Forces were already on the job.

No, something else was going on here. These men were motivated by money, and the amount had to be significant for them to be willing to die for a chance at it.

He rushed from the safety of the alley and dove between the two cars he had used as cover earlier. He crawled to the edge of their tires and peered out at the gun battle still raging. He reached for the bag, stretching as far as he could, but came up short by only an arm’s length.

He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and said a silent prayer.

Then surged forward, grabbing the bag, then dragging it back toward the cars.

Someone noticed, the ground erupting beside him.

He rolled sideways, his back hitting the tire of one of the cars, blocking his retreat, then closed his eyes as the wall of lead reached him.

Then suddenly stopped.

He opened one eye to see the last of the Middle Eastern men eliminated, the white men now battling the military exclusively, both groups to his left. He leaped to his feet and returned to the alley, gripping his bag. He peered into the darkness to see the little girl still standing there, concentrating on her candy, then grabbed his camera and began uploading the photos using his satphone before someone managed to succeed in their attempts to kill him today.

The guns fell silent, somebody finally victorious, and he was willing to bet it was the military. He peered out from his cover, confirming his suspicions, the soldiers now moving in on their opponents’ positions.

Something tugged on his pant leg.

He looked down to see the little girl standing there, her candy finished, her arms stretched upward. He picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.

“How about we find your mommy, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

Mussa stood over the final remaining hostile, a white man with a dark tan, now lying on the ground, disarmed, his leg oozing blood as his comrades lay either dead or dying around him.

“What was this about?”

The man glared at him. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Mussa drove the heel of his boot into the man’s wound and he cried out in agony as all color drained from his face. “Want to talk now? I’ve got all day.” He eased up on the pressure, relief washing over his prisoner’s face.

“Fine, dammit, I’ll tell you. But you’ve got to let me go.”

Mussa shook his head. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“When you hear what I have to say, you’ll change your mind.” The man beckoned him closer. Mussa glanced about, his men covering the area, all but his sergeant not within earshot.

“What?”

“It’s worth tens of millions to whoever finds it first.”

Mussa’s heart hammered as he realized this could be the break he had been waiting for all these years. “What is it?”

“Do I have your word?”

He nodded. And why not, it wasn’t as if he had to keep it.

“It’s the Ark.”

His eyes narrowed, disappointed. “The what?”

“The Ark of the Covenant. You know, like in the Bible.”

“What about it?”

“Somebody found it.”

Mussa thought for a moment, trying to think of what the man might be talking about. He had never read the Bible, though considered himself Christian like most in Ethiopia. Then it dawned on him what the man meant, and it sent a surge of excitement through his body. “You mean the Ark of Zion? The Tabota Seyen? That which contains the word of God?”

The man shrugged. “Sure.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Mussa pressed a little harder and the man gasped.

“I’m telling the truth, dammit! It’s south of here, that’s all I know.”

“That hardly helps me.”

“Just follow the others like my team. God knows there’s enough here that someone has to figure it out.”

He placed two bullets in the man’s chest.

“Why’d you do that?” asked his sergeant.

“If he tells anyone else, we’ll have to share it with more people.”

His sergeant chuckled. “I like the way you think. But where are we going to find it?”

“We’ll head south, like he said. There are some churches there I know claim they have the Ark. Let’s get in the area, look for white people with guns.” He surveyed the scene, including his surviving men. “We’re going to need more firepower. Gather who you can trust, but tell them nothing. This is our big payday, my friend, and I don’t want to risk losing it for the lack of guns.”