Read Online The Blood Gospel by James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell
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glints of sympathy and compassion in her eyes as she searched the rubble, studying bodies, mourning deaths. She wouldn’t soon forget today.
He walked back. “You okay?”
“As long as I keep moving. Stop too long, and you’ll be carrying me the rest of the way.” She offered him a hollow smile—it seemed to take a gargantuan effort.
He walked, more slowly than before, trying to pick a path that kept them away from the scattered bodies. “Most victims died instantly. Chances are they didn’t feel a thing.”
It was a lie. And she only had to look at the bodies to know it.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but she didn’t call him on it, which he appreciated.
She stared at a young woman’s body. Blisters covered her face and dried blood crusted around her mouth and eyes. Not your typical earthquake victim. “Not all these bodies were crushed. What happened to the others, Sergeant?”
“Call me Jordan.” He hesitated. He bet she’d call him on it if he lied this time. Better to tell her as little as possible than to have her guessing. “We’re still testing, but from the initial gas chromatograph readouts, we suspect they were exposed to a derivative of sarin.”
She tripped over a stone brick, kept going. He admired her grit. “Nerve gas? Is that why the American military is involved?”
“The Israelis asked for our help because we’re experts in this field. So far, we haven’t confirmed the nature of the gas. It most closely resembles sarin. Rapid effects, quick dispersion. By the time the first responders arrived on Masada, the gas was already inert.”
A bit of luck there, Jordan thought, or the casualty count would have been much higher. The Israelis had thought the earthquake was their biggest problem. The first responders hadn’t donned suits until they found the first bodies.
“Who would do that?” Her voice carried the shocked tone of one unused to confronting everyday evil firsthand. He envied her.
“I wish I had an answer for you.”
Even the gas was a mystery. It had none of the markers of a modern, weaponized agent. In breaking down the gas’s essential components, his team had found bizarre anomalies. Like cinnamon. Who the hell puts a spice into a nerve agent? His team was still trying to track down several other equally odd and elusive ingredients.
It unsettled him not to know the gas’s true origin. That was his job, and he was usually damn good at it. He hated to think he’d found a previously unidentified nerve gas with this kind of killing power, especially in the Middle East. Neither his superiors nor the Israelis would be happy to hear that.
He had to step over a body bag. He reached for Dr. Granger’s hand, both to steady her and as a gesture of reassurance. Her grip was more muscular than he expected. She must be lifting more than pencils.
“Was this a terrorist attack?” Her voice remained firm, but he felt the fine tremor in her arm. Best to keep her talking.
“That’s what the Israelis initially thought.” He released her hand. “But the toxic exposure coincided exactly with the earthquake. We suspect old toxic canisters might be buried underground here, and the tremor cracked them open.”
Her brow furrowed. “Masada is a sacred archaeological site. I can’t see the Israelis dumping anything like that here.”
He shrugged. “That’s what my team and I are here to find out.”
He had his orders: find the source and safely remove or detonate any remaining canisters.
He and the doctor walked a few steps in silence. He heard a thump as someone dropped a body bag into a helicopter. They’d better work faster. Night would fall soon, and he didn’t want to waste a man on jackal patrol.
He noted that the doctor’s eyes had grown glassy and wide, her breathing harder. He needed to keep her talking. “Almost to camp.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“One. A boy.” He gestured toward the mobile P3 containment lab, the billowing plastic tent
He walked back. “You okay?”
“As long as I keep moving. Stop too long, and you’ll be carrying me the rest of the way.” She offered him a hollow smile—it seemed to take a gargantuan effort.
He walked, more slowly than before, trying to pick a path that kept them away from the scattered bodies. “Most victims died instantly. Chances are they didn’t feel a thing.”
It was a lie. And she only had to look at the bodies to know it.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but she didn’t call him on it, which he appreciated.
She stared at a young woman’s body. Blisters covered her face and dried blood crusted around her mouth and eyes. Not your typical earthquake victim. “Not all these bodies were crushed. What happened to the others, Sergeant?”
“Call me Jordan.” He hesitated. He bet she’d call him on it if he lied this time. Better to tell her as little as possible than to have her guessing. “We’re still testing, but from the initial gas chromatograph readouts, we suspect they were exposed to a derivative of sarin.”
She tripped over a stone brick, kept going. He admired her grit. “Nerve gas? Is that why the American military is involved?”
“The Israelis asked for our help because we’re experts in this field. So far, we haven’t confirmed the nature of the gas. It most closely resembles sarin. Rapid effects, quick dispersion. By the time the first responders arrived on Masada, the gas was already inert.”
A bit of luck there, Jordan thought, or the casualty count would have been much higher. The Israelis had thought the earthquake was their biggest problem. The first responders hadn’t donned suits until they found the first bodies.
“Who would do that?” Her voice carried the shocked tone of one unused to confronting everyday evil firsthand. He envied her.
“I wish I had an answer for you.”
Even the gas was a mystery. It had none of the markers of a modern, weaponized agent. In breaking down the gas’s essential components, his team had found bizarre anomalies. Like cinnamon. Who the hell puts a spice into a nerve agent? His team was still trying to track down several other equally odd and elusive ingredients.
It unsettled him not to know the gas’s true origin. That was his job, and he was usually damn good at it. He hated to think he’d found a previously unidentified nerve gas with this kind of killing power, especially in the Middle East. Neither his superiors nor the Israelis would be happy to hear that.
He had to step over a body bag. He reached for Dr. Granger’s hand, both to steady her and as a gesture of reassurance. Her grip was more muscular than he expected. She must be lifting more than pencils.
“Was this a terrorist attack?” Her voice remained firm, but he felt the fine tremor in her arm. Best to keep her talking.
“That’s what the Israelis initially thought.” He released her hand. “But the toxic exposure coincided exactly with the earthquake. We suspect old toxic canisters might be buried underground here, and the tremor cracked them open.”
Her brow furrowed. “Masada is a sacred archaeological site. I can’t see the Israelis dumping anything like that here.”
He shrugged. “That’s what my team and I are here to find out.”
He had his orders: find the source and safely remove or detonate any remaining canisters.
He and the doctor walked a few steps in silence. He heard a thump as someone dropped a body bag into a helicopter. They’d better work faster. Night would fall soon, and he didn’t want to waste a man on jackal patrol.
He noted that the doctor’s eyes had grown glassy and wide, her breathing harder. He needed to keep her talking. “Almost to camp.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“One. A boy.” He gestured toward the mobile P3 containment lab, the billowing plastic tent
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