Read Online The Cana Mystery by David Beckett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Beckett
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straight through the damn base. Trust me.”
Paul trusted his coach. He did not dive. He did not jump. He ran directly at Ava, who gaped at him. He kicked with all his might, forcing his body to the limit, and just as he heard the rifle’s report, he ran straight through, tackling her at full speed and wrapping his arms around her waist as he knocked her backward. The machine-gun burst missed by centimeters. Bullets pulverized the area where she’d stood a moment before. Paul felt something hot slice across his calf. It burned like a scorpion’s sting.
They crashed into a crowd of pilgrims, sending many sprawling. Ava hit the turf hard. Paul could see he’d knocked the wind out of her. He prayed he hadn’t broken any of her ribs, but there was no time to check. He gathered her in his arms and ran through the nearest doorway. Just behind him, a hail of bullets splintered the paving stones, spraying razor-edged shards in all directions. Pilgrims, wild with panic, rushed for the exits. A horrific bloodstain marred the ancient masonry, but Paul couldn’t discern who’d been hit. Then he saw two more gunmen fighting to clear a path through the terrified crowd. Only seconds remained.
“Paul, hurry, this way!” It was Father Bessarion, motioning toward a hallway that led deep into the monastery. Paul followed. He had no choice. In a second, the gunmen would have a clear shot. Bessarion led Paul down the hall and around a corner. Paul stopped to catch his breath.
“Ava,” he said, panting, “you okay?”
“Don’t . . . worry . . . about . . . me.” Ava struggled to speak. She was dazed, likely concussed, Paul thought, but she wasn’t bleeding.
Bessarion led them around another corner. From his pocket he produced a key in the shape of a traditional Coptic cross. He slid it into a hidden aperture and gave it a sharp twist. Paul heard a heavy lock spring, then a section of the wall wedged open.
“Go through here,” Bessarion commanded. “At the intersection, turn right. That path leads to the front entrance. I’ll try to delay them, but once you leave the monastery, you must make your own way.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Father.”
“Go, quickly,” Bessarion urged, pushing Paul into the passage, “and remember, my son, Gardez bien ! Protect what you found!” Then the monk heaved his weight against the door. With a bang, it slammed shut, and the lock dropped heavily into place.
Paul didn’t hesitate. Lifting the now unconscious Ava over his shoulder, he ran down the passage, turned right, and emerged from a concealed exit about a hundred meters from the front gate.
The bus was waiting. The bedouin had kept his promise. When the driver spotted them, he waved furiously, urging them to hurry. Paul shifted Ava’s weight across his shoulders and broke into a sprint. His lower leg was bleeding copiously. Ignoring the pain, he drove himself faster and faster. In the distance he heard gunshots. One assailant had taken up a firing position in the tower. Bullets rained down into the gravel.
“If he has a sniper rifle,” Paul thought, “we’re dead.” Luckily, the gunman didn’t, and at long range an AK-47 isn’t accurate. Paul threw himself inside the bus. The driver slammed the door shut as he stomped on the accelerator. The diesel engine rumbled to life. Slowly the monastery receded, but then Paul noticed two gunmen running toward a khaki-colored jeep.
“Damn! This overloaded old bus will never outrun that.” He should surrender now and offer to exchange the jars for Ava’s freedom.
The jeep remained immobile. It wouldn’t start! Laughing aloud, the bedouin driver shifted into high gear. The bus rumbled and thundered across the desert road, leaving mountains of dust in its wake.
Atop the monastery wall Father Bessarion watched the Americans escape. He heard angry shouts from the men kicking the jeep’s four flat tires and glanced at his grinning novices.
“You two have a sin to
Paul trusted his coach. He did not dive. He did not jump. He ran directly at Ava, who gaped at him. He kicked with all his might, forcing his body to the limit, and just as he heard the rifle’s report, he ran straight through, tackling her at full speed and wrapping his arms around her waist as he knocked her backward. The machine-gun burst missed by centimeters. Bullets pulverized the area where she’d stood a moment before. Paul felt something hot slice across his calf. It burned like a scorpion’s sting.
They crashed into a crowd of pilgrims, sending many sprawling. Ava hit the turf hard. Paul could see he’d knocked the wind out of her. He prayed he hadn’t broken any of her ribs, but there was no time to check. He gathered her in his arms and ran through the nearest doorway. Just behind him, a hail of bullets splintered the paving stones, spraying razor-edged shards in all directions. Pilgrims, wild with panic, rushed for the exits. A horrific bloodstain marred the ancient masonry, but Paul couldn’t discern who’d been hit. Then he saw two more gunmen fighting to clear a path through the terrified crowd. Only seconds remained.
“Paul, hurry, this way!” It was Father Bessarion, motioning toward a hallway that led deep into the monastery. Paul followed. He had no choice. In a second, the gunmen would have a clear shot. Bessarion led Paul down the hall and around a corner. Paul stopped to catch his breath.
“Ava,” he said, panting, “you okay?”
“Don’t . . . worry . . . about . . . me.” Ava struggled to speak. She was dazed, likely concussed, Paul thought, but she wasn’t bleeding.
Bessarion led them around another corner. From his pocket he produced a key in the shape of a traditional Coptic cross. He slid it into a hidden aperture and gave it a sharp twist. Paul heard a heavy lock spring, then a section of the wall wedged open.
“Go through here,” Bessarion commanded. “At the intersection, turn right. That path leads to the front entrance. I’ll try to delay them, but once you leave the monastery, you must make your own way.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Father.”
“Go, quickly,” Bessarion urged, pushing Paul into the passage, “and remember, my son, Gardez bien ! Protect what you found!” Then the monk heaved his weight against the door. With a bang, it slammed shut, and the lock dropped heavily into place.
Paul didn’t hesitate. Lifting the now unconscious Ava over his shoulder, he ran down the passage, turned right, and emerged from a concealed exit about a hundred meters from the front gate.
The bus was waiting. The bedouin had kept his promise. When the driver spotted them, he waved furiously, urging them to hurry. Paul shifted Ava’s weight across his shoulders and broke into a sprint. His lower leg was bleeding copiously. Ignoring the pain, he drove himself faster and faster. In the distance he heard gunshots. One assailant had taken up a firing position in the tower. Bullets rained down into the gravel.
“If he has a sniper rifle,” Paul thought, “we’re dead.” Luckily, the gunman didn’t, and at long range an AK-47 isn’t accurate. Paul threw himself inside the bus. The driver slammed the door shut as he stomped on the accelerator. The diesel engine rumbled to life. Slowly the monastery receded, but then Paul noticed two gunmen running toward a khaki-colored jeep.
“Damn! This overloaded old bus will never outrun that.” He should surrender now and offer to exchange the jars for Ava’s freedom.
The jeep remained immobile. It wouldn’t start! Laughing aloud, the bedouin driver shifted into high gear. The bus rumbled and thundered across the desert road, leaving mountains of dust in its wake.
Atop the monastery wall Father Bessarion watched the Americans escape. He heard angry shouts from the men kicking the jeep’s four flat tires and glanced at his grinning novices.
“You two have a sin to
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