Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

42

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Friday, 14 July 2006. 8:31 p.m.

Andrea’s afternoon had been a series of close calls.

She had barely managed to escape from under the platform when she heard the soldiers getting up from the table. And not a moment too soon. A few more seconds of the hot air from the generator and she would have passed out for good. She crawled out through the side of the tent opposite the door, stood up, and walked very slowly towards the infirmary, doing her best not to keel over. What she really needed was a shower, but that was out of the question, since she didn’t want to go in that direction and run into Fowler. She grabbed two bottles of water and her camera and left the infirmary tent again, looking for a quiet spot on the rocks in the index finger.

She found a hiding place on a small slope above the canyon floor and sat there watching the archaeologists’ activities. She didn’t know what stage their grief had reached now. At some point Fowler and Dr Harel went by, probably looking for her. Andrea ducked her head behind the rocks and tried to piece together what she had heard.

The first conclusion she came to was that she couldn’t trust Fowler – which was something she already knew – and she couldn’t trust Doc – which was something that made her even more uncomfortable. Her thoughts about Harel hadn’t gone much beyond the tremendous physical attraction

All I have to do is look at her and I’m turned on.

But the idea that she was a spy for Mossad was more than Andrea could handle.

The second conclusion she reached was that she had no choice but to trust the priest and the doctor if she wanted to get out of this alive. Those words about the Ypsilon protocol had totally undermined her sense of who was really in charge of the operation.

On one side there’s Forrester and his stooges, all of them much too meek to pick up a knife and kill one of their own. Or maybe not. Then there’s the maintenance people, tied to their thankless work – no one pays them much attention. Kayn and Russell, the brains behind this madness. A group of hired soldiers, and a secret code word to start killing people. But to kill who, or who else? What’s clear, for better or worse, is that our fate was sealed the moment we joined this expedition. And it seems fairly certain that it is for worse.

Andrea must have fallen asleep at some point because when she woke up, the sun was going down and a heavy grey light had replaced the usual high contrast between sand and shade in the canyon. Andrea was sorry she had missed the sunset. Each day she tried to make sure she went to the open area beyond the canyon at that time. The sun would dive into the sand, revealing layers of heat that looked like waves on the horizon. Its final burst of light was like a gigantic orange explosion that remained in the sky for several minutes after it had disappeared.

Back here in the canyon’s index finger, the only twilight scenery was large, bare sandy rock. With a sigh she reached her hand into her trouser pocket and pulled out her packet of cigarettes. Her lighter was nowhere to be found. Surprised, she began searching her other pockets until a voice in Spanish almost made her heart leap into her throat.

‘Looking for this, my little bitch?’

Andrea glanced up. Five feet above her, Torres was lying on the slope, his arm outstretched, offering her the red lighter. She guessed that the Colombian must have been there for a while – stalking her - and it sent a shiver up her spine. Trying not to betray her fear, she stood up and reached for the lighter.

‘Didn’t your mother teach you how to speak to a lady, Torres?’ Andrea said, controlling her nerves enough to light the cigarette and exhale the smoke towards the mercenary.

‘Sure, but I don’t see no lady here.’

Torres was staring at Andrea’s smooth thighs. She was wearing a pair of trousers that she’d unzipped above the knees to convert them into shorts. With the heat, she had rolled them up even further, and the white skin above her suntan seemed sensual and inviting to him. When Andrea noticed the direction of the Colombian’s gaze, her fear increased. She turned towards the end of the canyon. One loud scream would be good enough to get everyone’s attention. The crew had started digging some test pits a couple of hours before – almost the same time as her little trip under the soldiers’ tent.

But when she turned, she couldn’t see anyone. The mini-excavator was sitting there by itself, off to one side.

‘Everybody’s gone to the funeral, baby. We’re all alone.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at your post, Torres?’ Andrea said, pointing to one of the cliffs, trying to appear nonchalant.

‘I’m not the only one who’s been somewhere they shouldn’t, right? That’s something we need to correct, no question about it.’

The soldier jumped down to where Andrea was standing. They were on a rocky platform no bigger than a pingpong table, some fifteen feet above the canyon floor. An irregular pile of rocks was heaped up towards the edge of the platform, which had served to conceal Andrea earlier, but now blocked her escape.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Torres,’ Andrea said, playing for time.

The Colombian took a step forward. He was now so close to Andrea that she could see the beads of sweat covering his forehead.

‘Of course you do. And now you’re going to do something for me, if you know what’s good for you. It’s a shame that such a fine-looking girl has to be a dyke. But I think that’s because you’ve never had a good stiff one.’

Andrea took a step back towards the rocks, but the Colombian placed himself between her and the place where she had climbed on to the platform.

‘You wouldn’t dare, Torres. The other guards could be watching us right now.’

‘Only Waaka can see us… and he’s not going to do a thing. He’ll feel kind of jealous, can’t get it up any more. Too many steroids. But don’t worry, mine works fine. You’ll see.’

Andrea realised that it was impossible to get away, so she made a decision out of pure desperation. She tossed her cigarette to the ground, planted her two feet firmly on the rock and leaned forward a little. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

‘Come on then, you son of a whore. If you want it, come and get it.’

A sudden gleam ran across Torres’s eyes, a mixture of excitement at the challenge and anger at the insult to his mother. He lunged forward and grabbed Andrea’s arm, pulling her roughly towards him with a strength that didn’t seem possible in someone so short.

‘I love that you’re asking for it, bitch.’

Andrea twisted her body and hit him hard in the mouth with her elbow. Blood spilled down on to the stones and Torres let out a grunt of rage. Pulling violently on Andrea’s T-shirt, he ripped it at the sleeve, revealing her black bra. Seeing this excited the soldier even more. He grabbed both of Andrea’s arms, intending to bite her breast, but at the last minute the reporter took a step back and Torres’s teeth shut on nothing.

‘Come on, you’re going to like it. You know you want to.’

Andrea tried kneeing him between the legs or in the stomach, but anticipating her moves, Torres turned aside and crossed his legs.

Don’t let him throw you to the ground, Andrea said to herself. She remembered a story she had followed two years before on a group of rape victims. She had gone with some other young women to an anti-rape seminar led by an instructor who had almost been raped when she was a teen. The woman had lost an eye but not her virginity. The rapist lost everything. If he throws you to the ground, he has you.

Another violent grab from Torres ripped off the bra strap. Torres decided that this was enough and added more pressure to Andrea’s wrists. She could barely move her fingers. He twisted her right arm violently, leaving the left one loose. Andrea now had her back to him, but was unable to move because of the Colombian’s pressure on her arm. He forced her to bend over and kicked her ankles to open her legs.

The rapist is weakest at two points, the words of the instructor rang in her mind. The words were so strong, the woman had been so sure of herself, so in control that Andrea felt new strength. When he takes off your clothes and when he takes off his. If you’re lucky and he takes his off first, take advantage of it.

With one hand, Torres undid his belt and his camouflage trousers fell to his ankles. Andrea could see his erect member, hard and menacing.

Wait until he leans over you.

The mercenary leaned over Andrea, searching for the fastening on her trousers. His rough beard scratched the back of her neck, and that was the signal she needed. She lifted her left arm suddenly, shifting all her weight to her right side. Taken by surprise, Torres let go of Andrea’s right arm and she tumbled to the right. The Colombian tripped on his trousers and fell forward, hitting the ground hard. He tried to get up, but Andrea was on her feet first. She gave him three swift kicks to the stomach, taking care that the soldier didn’t grab her ankle and make her fall. The kicks found their mark and when Torres tried to roll into a ball to protect himself, he left a much more sensitive place open to attack.

Thank you, God. I never get tired of doing this, the youngest and only female of five siblings confessed silently as she pulled back her foot before blasting Torres’s testicles. His scream bounced off the canyon walls.

‘Let’s keep this between us,’ Andrea said. ‘Now we’re even.’

‘I’m gonna get you, you bitch. I’m going to get you so bad you’re going to choke on my dick,’ Torres whined, almost crying.

‘On second thoughts…’ Andrea began. She had reached the edge of the terrace and was about to climb down but she turned quickly and ran a few steps, aiming her foot once more between Torres’s legs. It was useless for him to try to cover up with his hands. This time there was even more force behind the kick and Torres was left gasping for breath, his face red and two big tears running down his cheeks.

‘Now we’re really good and even.’