The Second Messiah

“Don’t question me. I know what I’m doing. I know the area where Savage wants to meet. It’s right on the border and there’s more rock cover, which is to his advantage, but remember we have Cane.” Hassan gestured to one of the other bodyguards from the second pickup. “Bring him here.”

The man did as he was told and dragged Cane from the truck cab over to Hassan, who stared him in the face. “You’ll do the driving, Cane. I’ll tell you which direction to take to meet Savage.”

Jack met his stare. “No doubt you’ll kill him, too?”

Hassan showed not a flicker of emotion. “That all depends.”

“On what?”

“If he safely hands over my property, everyone can go on their way. But if Savage double-crosses me, or either of you tries anything, I swear, Cane, you’ll both die.”

136

Savage saw the pinpricks of headlights approach through the binoculars. They were at least a mile away, he guessed, the dawn light a murky gray.

He stood on a rugged outcrop of rock, the Land Cruiser parked nearby. The rocks would offer him solid cover if there was any shooting.

The headlights drew closer. He scanned the desert for any other signs of life but saw nothing, and heard only the faint throbbing of the approaching engine. It was too dark to distinguish the solid form of the vehicle just yet.

He stepped down off the rocks and moved back to the Land Cruiser, tossed the binoculars on the seat, and slid out the briefcase. He clicked it open again and removed the Browning pistol. He flicked off the safety and cocked the slide, chambering the first round. One thing he’d never forgotten from his stint in Vietnam was how to use a gun. He’d been a good shot, not a virtue he boasted about. He flicked on the safety again, lay the pistol down, and picked up the binoculars once more.

The headlights came closer.

Even in the poor light he was pretty certain it was a single vehicle.

He listened carefully and heard the low growl of an engine. He saw no trace of any other vehicles or movement in the murky landscape.

It was still cold out in the desert and he shivered, as much from the temperature as from a growing fear. He knew now what he was going to do, everything planned out in his head, or as much of it as he could.

Using one hand, he held on to the briefcase by placing four of his fingers behind the bottom part of the case, his thumb against the front part. Using his free hand, he slipped the pistol between his four fingers and the briefcase, keeping the weapon pressed hard against the leather so that it was out of sight.

The headlights came closer and turned in a slight arc.

Savage flipped open his cell phone with his free hand and thumbed the redial. It rang. The man’s voice sounded when it picked up. “We’re here, Savage. I can see you.”

Savage said curtly, “Well I can’t see you. Turn on the interior light like I told you.”

The cab light came on. Inside, Savage saw Jack in the driver’s seat. An Arab was seated beside him. Arrogant-looking, wearing a pale linen suit and open-necked shirt.

Savage put up his left hand, indicating for the pickup to stop.

Jack braked and it came to a halt with a squeal.

Savage spoke into the phone to the Arab. “Kill the lights and switch off the engine.”

The lights and the engine died.

“Tell Jack to get out of the car. You do the same.”

Jack stepped out. Hassan followed.

Savage, close enough now to be heard, put down his cell phone and said to the Arab, “We meet at last.”

“You have the scroll?” Hassan demanded.

Savage held up the briefcase, still concealing the Browning pistol. “Right here. So how about we get this dirty little business over and done with and we can all be on our way?”

137

Hassan was silent a few moments, then said, “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Mr. Savage.”

“I’m not here to listen to your woes. Let’s get this done with.”

Hassan said, “I’ve kept my part of the bargain, now keep to yours.”

Savage held out the briefcase, his thumb on top, his fingers below, holding the Browning in place. “Here, take it. The scroll’s inside.”

“Toss it on the ground, away from you.”

“There’s a two-thousand-year-old scroll in here. If it was me, I wouldn’t want to risk damaging it. But that’s your choice.”

“Toss it on the ground,” Hassan repeated.

Savage seemed to hesitate, and then some instinct in Hassan sensed danger and he stepped backward toward the pickup and called out, “Bruno!”

Jack shouted, “Look out, Buddy!”

At that precise moment, the Serb rose from the back of the pickup. He raised the Heckler & Koch just as Savage dropped the briefcase and brought up the Browning. He fired twice, and twice again, hitting the Serb in the chest, sending him flying backward, his body toppling from the rear of the truck into the sand. He lay sprawled and motionless, then gave a groan.

As the gunfire echoed across the desert a shocked Hassan raced to grab the machine pistol. Savage fired again, hitting him in the shoulder, spinning him round, knocking him off his feet. But Hassan struggled to his knees and crawled toward the machine pistol with a fierce determination.