“I…understand.” Drummond knew his voice sounded a little high, as the fingers began to dig into his flesh. He crushed his eyes shut, and the pressure on his shoulder eased and then vanished. He looked up in time to see that the figure had retreated behind the altar, and then, as if by magic, it simply shrank or dropped from sight.

He fell forward and threw up, his stomach continuing to roil within him. After another few moments, he got to his feet and backed to the door. As soon as he got there, it was pulled open by the bald priest, who motioned for him to immediately follow him back along the way he had come.

Back in his car, he used both hands to wipe his handkerchief up and down over his face. He had already discarded his jacket, as the smell of the handprint made his stomach turn over again.

Kroen sat silently, waiting for his command.

“Get our Syrian people on the line. Prepare the fast jet, and a team; I’ll take charge.” He smiled, his eyes burning with excitement. “We can’t beat them to it now, but who cares? We will let them find it, and bring it to us.” He confidence was returning. “I want that fucking book, Kroen.”

“Yes sir,” the big man said, staring straight ahead.

Drummond smiled thinly. “And I want to find out what else this Dr Hussein ben Albadi really knows.”

Chapter 11

They’d left the road hours back, and the tough four-wheel-drive vehicle was now bounding over a dry, rock-hard clay pan, throwing up clouds of yellow dust. Abrams scowled as he looked back through the rear windshield. “We’re sending up a plume a mile high.”

Hartogg spun the wheel. “Nothing we can do about it, sir. Place hasn’t seen rain for weeks – dry as the dust in a mummy’s jockstrap.”

Abrams snorted and then tried to make room between the two SEALs. He turned to the other passengers. “Everyone all right back there?”

The major looked at each of them briefly before his eyes travelled once again to the rear window. Matt knew he wasn’t checking their own dust plume again; he was looking for other plumes – pursuit.

Matt sat at the window to the right in the rear seat, and Tania had demanded the one on the left for security. Andy got the middle as he had scrambled to be next to her.

“Are we there yet?” the geologist asked over the sound of the engine.

Abrams smiled patiently. “About a hundred miles, but definitely not as the crow flies – so maybe a day’s driving – longer if we need to do some avoidance maneuvering.”

“How will we know when we’re in Turkey?” Andy continued to watch the landscape go by.

“People will be speaking Turkish…and hopefully won’t be trying to cut your head off.” Tania nudged him when he rolled his eyes. “Just pulling your leg, Bennet. As there’s no border, and just miles of empty land, we’ll have to rely on our GPS to tell us.”