The Revelation Code (Wilde/Chase 11) (20 page)

‘Do you think you can trust this person?’

‘Nope. Which is why I want to go back to the museum.’

‘Oh, I hope poor Markus is all right,’ Rothschild said.

‘So do I. I need his help with something.’ He looked across the river at the city beyond, then asked a question that left his companion puzzled. ‘You know what time the shops open in Berlin?’

17

Antigua

M
aps and notes covered the desk, the laptop open and displaying a chapter from the Bible, but Nina was not reading it. Instead she was in the kitchen making herself breakfast, having forced herself away from her work.

She hadn’t planned to continue Cross’s task, but she found herself being drawn back in, first by boredom and then by her own insatiable curiosity. She kept telling herself that she wasn’t helping her captor by doing so – certainly there had been no blinding flashes of inspiration revealing the last angel’s location – and that with Eddie now free and on the way to her, even if she did discover a secret hidden within Revelation, Cross would never hear it. But a small voice kept warning her that she was falling into a familiar trap . . .

‘I know, damn it!’ she whispered to herself, annoyed by the chidings of her own personal Jiminy Cricket. A glance at the nearest camera, then at the small glass jar beside the sink, containing a cloudy liquid in which a few of the chopped and mashed ingredients were faintly visible. While Norvin had taken over the task of escorting her, Miriam had still been acting as housekeeper; to Nina’s relief, she had left her recipe untouched.

She quickly looked away, suddenly concerned that the attention would somehow alert the watchers to her plan, and took her breakfast to the desk. The Bible text was still waiting on the screen. She munched her toast, trying to ignore it, but her inquisitive side was already drawing her gaze back to the words. They were not from Revelation, but a part of the Old Testament, Exodus, which she had come to suspect was an important piece of the puzzle laid out by John of Patmos almost two millennia earlier. Exactly how, she didn’t know, but the references in Revelation to specific numbers and people and places now seemed unlikely to be coincidences— ‘Mommy’s doing it
again
,’ she told her bump as she caught herself. As irresistible as she had always found an unsolved puzzle, this time she had to fight the urge to discover the solution.

She finished her meal, battling tedium as she pretended to be working. Even then, part of her mind was still trying to fit the pieces together for real. Finally, she caved in and checked one of the reference books. A map showed the ancient Near East, Egypt to one side and the lands that were now Israel, Jordan and Syria on the other, with the possible routes of the Exodus winding across the arid desert. Landmarks mentioned in the Bible stood out: towns, mountains, oases . . .

Nina looked back through her notes, frowning as an idea gently brushed her thoughts like a passing moth. There was something important, if not on this map then in another she had seen in her research, but she couldn’t quite make the connection—

The answer came to her.

It almost
did
feel like a blinding flash, so clear that she couldn’t believe she had missed it before. Excited, she peered more closely at the map, about to trace one of the lines with a fingertip before remembering that she was being watched. Instead, she forced herself to follow the path with her eyes alone until it reached a particular named spot.

Could that be it? The clues were in keeping with those that had led to the angels hidden in the catacombs of Rome and the Altar of Zeus. And however insane Cross might be, the fact remained that he
had
broken the code in Revelation, lacking only the archaeological knowledge to pin down the actual locations. If he were also correct about the third clue, then she might just have identified the Place in the Wilderness . . .

The sound of the door lock snapped her back to the present. ‘Dr Wilde!’ said Norvin, entering before she could answer. ‘The Prophet wants to see you.’

She tried to conceal her sudden nervousness. This was her chance – the only one she would get. ‘Okay, let me wash these,’ she said, quickly tying her hair into a ponytail before standing and collecting her plate and cup.

He folded his arms. ‘Now.’

‘It’ll only take a second.’ Nina went to the sink and ran the crockery under the faucet. ‘Can you pass me that dishcloth?’ She nodded over her shoulder.

Norvin grudgingly picked up the cloth. ‘Here,’ he said, stepping up behind her—

Nina whirled and threw the jar’s contents into his face.

The big man staggered back, trying to cry out, but could only manage a strangled gasp. The recipe was something Eddie had once taught her: a makeshift chemical agent of dried chillis and garlic and vinegar, weak compared to commercial pepper sprays . . . but still more than potent enough to blind and choke an assailant.

Nina took full advantage and smashed the plate against his head. Norvin collapsed, clawing at his burning eyes. She ran for the door, hoping her observers had been frozen by the shock of the attack—

She pulled it open just as a
clack
came from the lock. The watchers had recovered and tried to seal her in, but too late. She rushed out into the sunlight, alone in the grounds of the Mission.

Waving trees beckoned beyond the fence. She ran to it, grabbing the barbed topmost wire and pulling it upwards before forcing herself through the gap. Her clothing snagged; she tore free, pregnant belly sliding over the steel line below before she almost fell out on the other side.

Her back and one thigh were bleeding from stinging cuts, but tetanus was currently the least of her worries. She looked over the fence. The nearest CCTV camera turned to track her. Cross’s voice barked from the loudspeakers: ‘Dr Wilde! Come back, right now!’

She ran into the trees. The cult leader’s tone became more strident as he issued orders to his followers. ‘Dr Wilde has escaped! Everyone – hunt her down!’

His wording sent a chill through Nina. Another glance over her shoulder, and she saw white-clad figures pouring from the houses. They ran towards the fence after her.

‘Shit!’ she gasped, fear driving her on. One hand outstretched to protect the baby from low branches, she used the other to swat foliage aside as she hurried deeper into the jungle.

It took only seconds before the Mission was lost to sight amongst the greenery, but she could see nothing except plants in every direction. Which way? Following the coastline either north or south would probably bring her to somebody else’s seafront property, but she might end up trapped on a promontory.

Inland. She adjusted her course, hoping she was heading due west. The country’s eastern, Atlantic side was less developed than the calmer Caribbean west, but on such a small island, she couldn’t imagine being more than a mile at most from any settlement.

Running a mile while pregnant presented new problems, though. At this stage, it was not a danger in itself to the baby, but nor was it actively encouraged. And she had let herself slack off in recent months, the combination of reduced exercise and occasional binge-eating now combining with the heat to sap her energy.

No choice. This was her only chance to escape.

The ground began to slope more steeply as she weaved between the trees. She angled upwards, breath starting to burn her throat. There might be a viewpoint at the top of the hill, letting her see which way to go instead of trusting to blind chance.

If she could reach it. Shouts came from behind. The cultists were spreading out through the trees after her. The dense layers of wet fallen leaves masked her footprints to an extent, but she had already been through patches of mud, leaving clear tracks. Could she risk trying to decoy them in the wrong direction?

Another shout, this time clear enough for her to make out. ‘Over here!’ She hadn’t been seen directly, but her path had been spotted. They were on her, closing fast.

No time to decoy them – and she couldn’t outrun them for much longer either, already tiring. Once they were close enough to see her, her flight was over. That would happen in a minute, less. Nowhere to run—

Hide
. But where? All she could see were trees and shrubs . . .

A large rock jutted from the ground higher up the slope. She ran to it. Could she hide behind it, under it, inside it?

No – but it had a smaller neighbour, and there was a gap between them. Would she fit?

She would have to. The hunters were closing, calling to each other as they swept the hillside.

Nina crouched and backed into the hole feet-first. Stone barked against her heels even before her waist was under cover; the opening was only shallow.

She twisted to fold herself almost into a foetal position as she squirmed backwards, then on some desperate instinct grabbed the broken fronds of a palm from the ground and spread them like a fan, holding them up in front of her. It was a pathetic ruse, she knew. Anyone giving it more than the most casual glance would see through it.

The flat thump of footsteps warned her that her time was up. She froze, hardly daring to breathe.

A middle-aged man with a greying beard came into view past the rock, moving at a rapid jog. He cast a brief sidelong look at the stones to make sure nobody was skulking behind them . . . then continued on.

Nina felt a moment of relief – which was instantly consumed by fear as a second white-clad man rounded the other side of her hiding place. ‘Anything?’ he called.

The first man slowed. ‘Not yet.’

‘I definitely saw footprints. Try down the hill.’

‘No,’ said someone else. Nina recognised the voice: Simeon. ‘Maintain spacing. If you spread out too far or bunch up, we could miss her.’ The Witness came into view, his rough clothing instantly recognisable. He stopped to gaze into the trees ahead, his back to her.

More people passed, some of them panting. Not all Cross’s followers were super-fit ex-military or CIA, it seemed. ‘Are you sure she came this way?’ someone gasped.

Simeon turned towards the unseen speaker. Even though he was not looking directly at Nina, merely seeing his eyes filled her with terror. The slightest movement at the edge of his vision could draw his attention . . .

‘I’m sure,’ he replied, glowering at the unseen man – then setting off again. ‘Okay, remember she’s pregnant!’ he called as he ran. ‘She’ll get tired long before we do!’

He disappeared into the trees. More figures in white flitted between the palms, then were lost to sight deeper in the jungle.

Nina let out an exhausted breath. She waited for a minute to be sure her pursuers had moved away before hesitantly lowering the frond and emerging.

No voices, no flickers of white clothing amongst the trees. As far as she could tell, the hunters had gone.

How long before they came back, she couldn’t guess. All she could do was keep going. She regained her breath, then resumed her ascent.

It did not take long to reach the summit. The trees thinned out, the sun’s position high above helping her get her bearings. She finally cleared the undergrowth, looking west to see . . .

‘No!’ she gasped, heart sinking in despair.

She was looking at Antigua –
in the distance
. Between the mainland’s coast and the jungle below was a stretch of open ocean, the Atlantic’s winds kicking up churning whitecaps. The two shores were well over a mile apart, far beyond her ability to swim. She had escaped one prison only to find that it was nested within another.

Nina closed her eyes as the hopelessness of the situation rose to swallow her . . . then snapped them open again. ‘No,’ she said again, this time with determination. ‘Not happening.’ She had come this far; no way was she giving up now.

She turned, taking in the entirety of the island. It was an elongated rough triangle, about a mile in length. Its westernmost tip pointed towards the mainland; the Mission, the church spire rising above the trees, was near the south-eastern corner. Nothing was visible beyond it except the empty Atlantic. Trapped . . .

Wait
, she told herself. There had to be
some
way on and off the island other than by helicopter; it would be insanely expensive to ship everything by air. That meant boats. The shoreline at the enclave itself was a wave-pounded cliff, so nobody would be able to land there. They would need somewhere more sheltered . . .

There. A small cove south-west of the Mission, almost perfectly circular behind its narrow entrance – and visible within was what looked like a jetty. Any boats would be there.

She judged the distance. Not much more than a quarter of a mile. Even moving through the jungle it would not take long to reach – if she didn’t get caught.

No sign of any pursuers below. Resolute, Nina set off downhill. Occasionally she paused on hearing calls and shouts on the wind, but none were close by. She pressed on.

The terrain flattened out. She crossed faint paths through the woods – the Mission’s residents were not forced to stay within its boundaries, then – but still nobody was in sight. Crashing waves gradually became audible. She hurried through the undergrowth towards the sound, emerging at the edge of a low cliff overlooking the cove.

A pounding
whump
and
whoosh
to her right. Some quirk of geology was forcing incoming waves into the western corner of the little bay, where they hit a narrow ridge and surged upwards before erupting like a geyser. Given time, the sea would eventually gnaw entirely through the barrier to join up with the coastline on the far side, but for now the Atlantic was still dashing itself against a near-vertical wall rising ten feet above the frothing waters. Nina had read about a similar feature on the Antiguan mainland called Devil’s Bridge; this was less impressive, but both had been carved by the same almost metronomic blasts of spray.

The ragged spit arced out to form one side of the cove. The curving cliff on which she stood made up the other, a stony beach at its foot. The wooden jetty extended out from it; a boat was tied to its end.

She ran along the cliff until the slope to the beach became shallow enough to traverse, then scrambled down and headed for the jetty. The boat had an outboard motor; if she could start it, she should be able to reach the mainland in minutes—

‘Down there!’

Nina glanced back at the shout with renewed fear. Simeon and a couple of others were on the clifftop. They ran after her, Simeon leaping down to the shingle as his companions rounded the cove’s perimeter. There was an open-walled shed near a path that she guessed led to the Mission, a couple more boats inside. The cultists could pursue her, but they would have to carry their craft to the water, giving her a head start – if she could launch before being caught.