Covenant

33

They weren’t with us,” Ethan said quickly, aware of the sweat soaking his skin. “The man being beaten was our Bedouin guide, Ayeem. He was captured by those guards in the desert.”

The Palestinian’s features tightened as sheet lightning danced behind his dark eyes.

“And you filmed it. How do you say? Something for the folks back home?”

“I filmed it and then shouted out to them,” Ethan gasped. “If I had film of it, then they couldn’t kill Ayeem. They’ve chased us from that moment onward.”

The Palestinian sneered at him and stood upright, handing the camera back to his companion. They exchanged something and then he turned back to Ethan. Ethan saw one of the explosive devices he had stolen from the camp in the man’s hands. The Palestinian’s head blocked the light from the bulb. His voice was almost a whisper, but laden with an electric charge that crackled as he spoke.

“Each year, Israel attacks our homes with tanks and fighter planes. They kill innocent men, women, and children. They fire mortars at hospitals and United Nations buildings, and they shoot white-phosphorus rounds at fleeing Palestinians, burning them alive. They use remote- controlled drones to attack civilians hiding in buildings and then claim that they were being used as human shields.” He set the device down at Ethan’s feet and then reached down to his own waistband. From within it he withdrew a long, wickedly curved blade, a crescent of steel that glittered in the light. “My sister, my mother, my father, and two of my brothers were all killed during the wars that Israel has waged upon us, and I am not unusual in this. We all live among the ghosts of our murdered families.”

Ethan managed to drag his eyes away from the blade, looking instead at his captor.

“We did not come here to kill anyone,” he insisted.

The Palestinian looked at Ethan with an expression that was no longer angry but far beyond such a pitiful emotion. It was the look of a man who had descended through the worst dungeons of horror that mankind’s prodigious talent for inflicting pain could offer, and had returned fearing nothing, not even death itself.

“I believe you,” he whispered finally. “But I don’t care. You see, my dead sister was three months old. They dug her corpse out of the remains of our mother’s home. She had burned to death, but they wouldn’t show the pictures of her remains on your Western television networks because it might offend some people.” The Palestinian suddenly grabbed Ethan’s hair, yanked it back until it hurt, and turned the blade against his throat. Ethan felt the cold steel touch his skin, felt his pulse throbbing against the blade. “I asked you, my friend, to tell me why you are here.”

Ethan peered at the man through the corner of one bleary eye. Tell him everything, for Christ’s sake. His voice sounded thin in his own ears.

“You asked me who sent us and why. Nobody sent us. We came here looking for someone, but were forced to jump from the airplane to protect that camera and what it contains. The explosives I stole from an American camp in the Negev, owned by the same people who pursued us. Check the photographs in the camera!”

The Palestinian raised the blade in his grip. “Who were you looking for?”

“A scientist who went missing in the desert: Lucy Morgan, Rachel’s daughter.”

The Palestinian’s left eyelid twitched erratically.

“Why would you be here and not the mother alone?” he snapped.

“I was asked to help her by the American Defense Intelligence Agency. They’re afraid that Lucy’s abduction might be an attempt by insurgents to derail the peace efforts out here.” Ethan let what felt like an unconvincing glare settle on his strained features as he hissed. “They think that you took her.”

“Why did they ask you?” the Palestinian shouted, spittle flying into Ethan’s face.

“Because I know Gaza!” Ethan yelled back as a sudden and unexpected anger surged through him. The pale flame flickered back into life. “Because you bastards took my fiancée away from me and I spent years searching for her in this shit hole! If I could have my way, I’d blow every single one of you terrorist bastards to hell for what you’ve done!” Ethan glared at the Palestinian for a moment longer, felt hot tears scalding his own face and running down across the hands of the man about to kill him. The anger faded, lost amid a turmoil of despair, regret, and helplessness. “So go ahead and do it, because like you, I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

An unexpected void of calm descended upon Ethan’s shoulders, the fear suddenly purged from his veins as he realized that he meant every word. The Palestinian held the blade still, his expression riveted on Ethan, and then from the deep silence another voice spoke softly.

“That is enough, let him be.”

The Palestinian looked past Ethan, then lowered the blade and stood back without another word.

Ethan struggled to look over his shoulder and saw that another narrow tunnel led away from the chamber into some unknown darkness. A figure moved out of the shadows, thin and bespectacled, his features drawn and lightly touched with graying stubble. He moved to stand before Ethan.

“Who are you?” Ethan rasped, his throat parched.

“My name is Dr. Hassim Khan. I was working with Lucy before she disappeared. I am truly sorry for your suffering, Mr. Warner, but these men had to be sure you were who you said you were. Rachel has told us everything.” He turned to Ethan’s captor. “Release him; he is telling the truth.”

Ethan blinked in confusion as the Palestinian moved behind him and began loosening the restraints from his wrists.

“We thought that you’d been abducted by insurgents,” Ethan said to Hassim.

The doctor shook his head. “No, Mr. Warner. These men are not insurgents. They are protecting me.”

Ethan’s mind reeled as he tried to assimilate what he’d heard.

“Protecting you from what?”