F Paul Wilson - Novel 03 Read Free

his
countrymen.
                  "Of course."
                  "Well, you aim a SCUD at Tel Aviv and it
just misses the Dead
Sea . I'd say
that's one hell of a hook."
                  Missed Tel Aviv by 120 miles. That was indeed
far off course. Too far off. Almost . . .
                  Don't think crazy thoughts, he told himself.
It's an accident. Another one of those crazy things that just seem to happen.
                  But he'd long known from personal experience
that some things which seemed to "just happen," didn't.
                  And he trembled at the possibility that this
errant SCUD incident might be one of those.
     
    The Judean Wilderness
     
                  Achmed darted about the field, collecting
metal scraps of assorted sizes until both arms were full, then he scampered
back and dumped his finds on the steadily growing pile by the donkey. The clang
of metal on metal echoed like cracked bells through the still air.
                  On his next run he ranged farther from the
donkey, searching for the crater where the missile had exploded. He figured he
might find the most metal there. Then again, he might not—the blast might have
hurled it in all directions, leaving metal everywhere but the crater. But either way, he wanted to see it, be near it,
wanted to stand in the heart of its power.
                  He thought he saw a depression in the sand on
the far side of the field, at the base of the opposite wall of the canyon. He
ran for it.
                  As he neared he noticed that the otherwise
smooth sand of the field was increasingly littered with shards of stone and
streaks of darker earth, and how the trees surrounding the depression were
broken or knocked flat. The sparse grass smoked from fires that had already
burned out.
                This was it. The missile must have
exploded here.
                  When he arrived at the crater he saw that the
blast had shattered part of the cliff wall, causing a minor landslide into the
crater. A deep cavity there in the wall. Almost as if ...
                  He picked up a stone and hurled it at the
hollow. It flew into the blackness but did not bounce back. It disappeared, as
if it had been swallowed. Then Achmed heard it strike. Not with the solid
impact of rock upon rock—with more of a clink. And then a clatter. As if it had struck something hard and thin and hollow
. . . and broken it.
                  Achmed stood on the crumbling rim of the
crater and stared into the blackness in the wall. No mere blast cavity here.
This was a cave. He shivered with anticipation as thoughts of Muhammad adh-Dhib
raced through his mind. Every Bedouin knew the story of the ten-year-old boy
who discovered the first Dead Sea scrolls in Qumran , not too many miles north of here; the tale
had been told around the fires for nearly half a century. And had there been a
Bedouin boy since who did not dream of finding similar treasure?
                  "Nabil!" he called. "Nabil come
quickly! And bring the light!"
                  Nabil came running up. "What is it?"
                  "I think I've found a cave!" Achmed
said, pointing to the dark splotch in the wall.
                  Nabil snorted. "There are caves all over
these hills."
                  "No. A secret cave."
                  Nabil froze an instant, then flicked on the flashlight
and aimed the beam into the darkness. Achmed's heart picked up its rhythm when
he saw the smooth edges of the opening and the deep blackness beyond.
                  "You're right, little brother,"
Nabil said, keeping the beam trained on the opening as he moved around the rim
of the crater. "It is a
cave."
                  Achmed followed him to the mouth. Together
they peered in. The floor of the cave was littered with