Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

82

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Thursday, 20 July 2006. 9:23 a.m.

‘Wake up, Padre.’

Fowler came to slowly, not knowing exactly where he was. He only knew that his whole body hurt. He was unable to move his arms because they were handcuffed above his head. The cuffs were somehow pinned to the wall of the canyon.

When he opened his eyes he verified this, as well as the identity of the person who had been trying to wake him up. Torres was standing in front of him.

A big smile.

‘I know you understand me,’ said the soldier in Spanish. ‘I prefer to talk in my own language. I can handle the subtle details much better that way.’

‘There’s nothing subtle about you,’ said the priest in Spanish.

‘You’re wrong, Padre. On the contrary, one of the things that made me famous in Colombia was the way I’ve always used nature to help me. I have small friends who do my work for me.’

‘So you’re the one who put the scorpions in Ms Otero’s sleeping bag,’ Fowler said, trying to pull the handcuffs loose without Torres noticing. It was useless. They were fastened to the canyon wall with a steel nail that had been driven into the rock.

‘I appreciate your efforts, Padre. But no matter how hard you pull, those handcuffs are not going to move,’ said Torres. ‘But you’re right. I wanted to get your little Spanish bitch. It didn’t work. So now I have to wait for our friend Alryk. I think he’s abandoned us. He must be enjoying himself with your two whore friends. I hope he screws them both before he blows their heads off. Blood is so difficult to wash off your uniform.’

Fowler yanked at the cuffs, blind with anger and unable to control himself.

‘Come here, Torres. You come here!’

‘Hey, hey! What’s up?’ said Torres, enjoying the fury on Fowler’s face. ‘I like seeing you pissed off. My little friends are going to love this.’

The priest looked in the direction Torres was pointing. Not far from Fowler’s feet was a mound on the sand with a few red forms moving about on top of it.

‘Solenopsis catusianis. I don’t really know any Latin, but I do know that these ants are fucking serious, Padre. I was very lucky to find one of their hills so close by. I love to watch them work and I haven’t seen them do their thing for a while…’

Torres squatted down and picked up a rock. He stood up, played with the rock for a few moments, then stepped back a few paces.

‘But today it looks as if they’re going to work extra hard, Padre. My little friends have teeth like you wouldn’t believe. But that’s not all. The best part is when they stick their stinger into you and inject the poison. Here, let me show you.’

He brought back his arm and lifted his knee like a baseball pitcher, then hurled the rock. It hit the mound, destroying the top of it.

It was as if a red fury had come alive on the sand. The ants swarmed out of the nest in their hundreds. Torres stepped back a little further and threw another rock, this time in an arc so that it landed halfway between Fowler and the nest. The red mass was still for a moment and then charged at the rock, making it disappear beneath its anger.

Torres stepped back even more slowly and threw another rock, which landed about a foot and a half from Fowler. Once again the ants advanced on the rock until the mass was no more than eight inches from the priest. Fowler could hear the crackling of the insects. It was an ugly, frightening sound like someone shaking a paper bag full of bottle caps.

They use movement to guide themselves. Now he’ll throw another rock closer to me so that I move. If I do that, I’m done for, Fowler thought.

And that’s exactly what happened. The fourth rock fell at Fowler’s feet and the ants converged on it immediately. Slowly, Fowler’s boots were covered by a sea of ants that grew by the second as new ones emerged from the nest. Torres threw more rocks at the ants which became even angrier, as if the smell of their smashed brothers added to their desire for vengeance.

‘Admit it, Padre. You’re fucked,’ Torres said.

The soldier threw another rock, this time not aiming at the ground but at Fowler’s head. It missed by two inches and fell on the red tide that was moving like an angry vortex.

Torres bent down once more and chose a smaller rock, which he could throw more easily. He aimed carefully and let it fly. The rock hit the priest on the forehead. Fowler fought back the pain and the urge to move.

‘You’ll give up sooner or later, Padre. I plan to spend the morning like this.’

He bent down again, looking for ammunition, but had to stop as his walkie-talkie crackled into life.

‘Torres, Dekker here. Where the fuck are you?’

‘Taking care of the priest, sir.’

‘Leave that to Alryk, he’ll be back soon. I promised him, and as Schopenhauer said, a great man treats his promises as divine laws.’

‘Roger, sir.’

‘Report to Nest One.’

‘With all due respect, sir, it’s not my turn.’

‘With all due respect, if you’re not up at Nest One in thirty seconds I’ll find you and skin you alive. Do you copy?’

‘I copy, Colonel.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Over and out.’

Torres returned the walkie-talkie to his belt and slowly began walking back. ‘You heard him, Padre. Since the explosion, there are only five of us, so we’re going to have to postpone our game for a couple of hours. When I get back you’ll be in worse shape. Nobody can sit still for that long.’

Fowler watched as Torres rounded the bend of the canyon near the entrance. His relief didn’t last long.

Some of the ants on his boots were beginning to inch their way up his trouser leg.