Digitalis (44 page)

“You don’t believe that, Azzan,” Baba said.

Piper glanced at her father, understanding rippling through her. She turned to her cousin. “He’s right. If you cared only for Israel, you’d have left us long ago.”

After smashing the necklace Raiyah had worn, Azzan knelt and lifted her hand, kissed it, then removed a ring. He stood and stalked to the door. “Let’s go.” He tossed a key to Midas. “Lock yourselves in. I’ll radio if we need you.”

Just before they stepped through the front door, Azzan paused. Looked at her. “You would die for this man?”

She stilled, surprised by the sincerity of his question.

“Because once we leave this building, there’s no turning back. You may never see your father again. You may never reach this Cowboy.” Azzan glanced toward the glass door, where a filter of light trickled into the foyer. “You hesitate.”

“My hesitation is not because of Colton. It’s because you question it.”

“He’s American.”

“Yes.”

“What are his loyalties? The Americans I’ve known are loyal only to their own whims and fortunes.”

Piper smiled. Reached for the door. “Then you’ll need to get to know him. His loyalty is to his family, to his team—which, by the way, is out there trying to save our country.”

Azzan grunted. “True enough.”

They sprinted across the road, down Sycamore.

Boom!

An invisible force knocked her sideways. She yelped as Azzan steadied her. She pushed wide eyes to his. “What was that?”

“A sign we’re too late.”

T
hunder had nothing on the booming rattling his head. Colton dragged himself to his knees. A grunt. Then onto his feet. Shoulders hunched, he waited for the swooning to subside. Warmth gushed over his face, spilling down his neck and into his shirt. He shrugged, rubbing his shoulder against his chin. He had to get back onto the roof. Take the shot. Kill the seventh messenger.

Pain lanced through him, nearly dropping him. He stumbled forward. Raised a hand to his head—only to pull it away sticky and red … but … blurry … double. Colton shook his head—a thousand daggers stabbed him. Bearing through the sheer agony raking his scalp raw, he tucked his chin and peered through knotted brows at the rubble around him. He took in a long, ragged breath and dust swirled into his mouth. He coughed. But what bothered him was that there was two of everything. Two left feet. Two right hands. Two support walls.

Palm against the wall, he tried to shake off the disparity in his vision. Fire ripped through every nerve ending in his body. Panic wrapped a vise around his throat, making it hard to breathe.

I’m seeing double
. “No …” This couldn’t happen. “No—no—no—no!” He had to take the shot! Stop the messenger. Where was his rifle? Mind focused, he glanced up. Excruciating pain pushed against his vision. He blinked. A cursory glance gave him no sign of his weapon. Must be on the roof still. Four paces to his right, a hole revealed the first floor in ruins. Where … where had Scar gone? What happened to him?

Didn’t matter. Colton had one mission—take the shot. If the rifle was down there, he was out of luck. He’d just have to believe it was still up top. The rubble swirled, his double vision blurring things, making everything seem all over the place. That combined with the blood told him something must’ve hit him when the roof gave in. No way could he see straight or clear.

His pulse raced. He had to take the shot. Or they’d be wiped out. Millions of people—of
God’s
people—wiped from the earth. Careful to avoid the gaping maw in the floor, he shifted around, looked for the stairs—and of course, on the other side of the chasm, swirling from one … two … one … two holes.

Touching his head, he tried to think. Tried to find a coherent thought. Up. Had to go up. Take the shot.
You can’t see straight
.

God would help.

He had to believe that. No way would he accept they’d come all this way to lose, to have Israel deep fried. Colton turned around. Light stabbed through the windows—a window.

That gave him an idea. He scanned the room, doing his best to make sense of the confusion his mind created with the multiple images. “If it’s not a flashback, it’s got to be something tormenting me, eh, Lord?”

Squinting against the incredible throbbing at the back of his eyes as sunlight poked his vision, Colton stepped up on the ledge of the window. Aimed himself to the right, where the roof of the building hung almost completely vertical, having only come to a rest thanks to the floor of the second level. But … there was enough of a slant—he could use that. As long as it didn’t cut loose and slide off into the lower level, he’d be fine. If it
did …

“Keep your mind stayed on Him,” Colton whispered as he eased onto the wall. He reached for a groove—only to miss and slide. Raw burning scraped his calf. Quickly, he grunted and reached for the other groove. Forget the pain. Forget the obstacles. He had a mission to accomplish. His fingers dug into plaster.

He peered up, gauging his next move. Blood dribbled down his face and into his eyes. Though he blinked, it didn’t help. Wherever his head had taken the injury, it was bent on reminding him he was injured.

A sniper who can’t see. Yeah, that’s gonna work real well
. The image at the back of his mind of a mushroom cloud filling the Israeli sky propelled him up the ten-foot incline.

Finally, he caught the upper level. Arms trembling, head pounding, he dragged himself up with a loud growl. Heaved onto the unstable roof, he lay on his back, trying to make sense of the multiple versions of objects that his corneas couldn’t align into a coalesced image. Like his rifle … rifles.

Dawg.

They—
it
dangled precariously on the edge of the collapsed roof. With great care, he rolled onto his belly and low-crawled toward it. The multiple rifles almost seemed comical. The whole “will the real Remington stand up” feeling kept his mind above the agony.

Tense and rigid to keep the shrieking pain at bay, he reached. His fingertips brushed against the stock. With a grunt, he stretched harder, farther. Fingers coiled around the weapon, he dragged it from the drop and over the ledge, careful to keep his head down—and attached. Because no doubt the terrorists were still down there, waiting to see if he’d survived. He righted the weapon and set it up.

It flopped to the right.

He tried again.

It flopped again.

Colton nearly cursed when he finally made sense of what the double vision portrayed. One leg of the bipod was broken. With a grunt, he piled pieces of concrete and compensated for the stand.

On his belly, he put his eye to the scope.

Two blurry images. He adjusted the scope to eliminate the fuzziness. But that’s when he realized it wasn’t the scope. His eyes … they were getting blurry.

And darker.

I’m going blind!

The target. He had to stop the target. Colton took a deep, cleansing breath. This wasn’t about him. Maybe that’s what he should’ve figured out long ago. “God … be my eyes. Show me where this man is.” With great effort, he scanned the roads. The paths.

The strain made him dizzy. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Everything ached. Throbbed. Blood had saturated his shirt, which now stuck to him.

Do it! Take out the messenger
.

He lifted his head and exhaled. Peeked through the scope. He saw the fence along the perimeter of the plant. Dark forms moving along the street. Too many people. How would—there! A blur of red.

But was that the backpack? Or someone else wearing a backpack—or a red jacket?

Colton studied the splotch of color. No. It wasn’t a jacket. The spot was too narrow. This was a backpack. And he doubted someone would be walking toward a nuclear power plant this early in the morning with a red backpack.

No, this was his target. The seventh messenger.

His conviction that he’d found the messenger firmed. He worked to figure the variables. To dial the gun … the spinning numbers, his mind frantically working to make out the numbers.

“Whose hope is in the Lord his God …”

“I get it, God,” he mumbled as he peered through the scope again. Aligned the sights. Targeted the red spot in the middle. He’d watched them swim and spin—but always around a center point.

Finger on the trigger, he let himself relax. Ignored the blood sliding down his face. Over his nose. Down his neck. Tickling … sticky …

His vision darkened.

He tensed. Closed his eyes.

No! He had to finish this. He stared through the scope. The scene quickly washed gray.

In that second, he heard that familiar scream again of an RPG.

“Take the shot,” he ordered himself.

“Roger,” he replied to himself. “Taking the shot.”

Another scream.

Colton eased back the trigger. A sonic boom sounded from his rifle.

Boom! Booooom! BOOOM!

He plummeted, darkness devouring him.

W
hat was that?” Panting from running through the city, Piper stared wide-eyed at her cousin just as another rumble rattled the ground beneath her feet.

Azzan grabbed her arm and tugged her against the side of the building. “RPGs. Stay close.” Together, they darted down the alley. To the right, across another street, and into another alley. He motioned forward. “The building should be just ahead.”

Piper rushed the last dozen feet from the dark shadows of the alley toward the bright, sunlit street. “There! I see it.” As she raced toward the cobbled street, a strange noise streaked through her awareness. A low, whining, shrieking noise.

As her foot hit the stone, Azzan stopped cold. She plowed into him. He shoved back, his arms down and to the side, holding her back. “Get down!” Without warning, he spiraled around and dove into her.
SCREEECH!

Confusion raked over her as she tried to cushion her fall. Her shoulder impacted hard, jolting the breath from her lungs. Slow motion choked the moment. Azzan rolling to the side. A streak of gray whizzing past the alley. Flames licking the air. Smoke trailing it.

“Wha—”
BOOOM!

Seconds later, an invisible weight slammed her backward. Thunderous and deafening, a roar barreled into them. Dust and pebbles rained down. The ground shook violently.

Piper glanced over her shoulder, past Azzan, who pushed to his feet—

The … the building …
Colton
. Jaw slack, she stared. As if a sand castle was being washed away, entire walls collapsed in a heap. Plumes of dust and smoke erupted, enshrouding the building.

“No …” The word caught in her throat.

As the haze of dirt and smoke cleared, the far side of the structure loomed like a beaten, wounded sentry over the rubble.

Panic jerked her to her feet. Piper tried to breathe. Tried to scream. Only a guttural sound warbled from her. “No!” She darted forward.

“Lily, no!” Azzan’s fingers glanced off her arm, but she didn’t stop.

Hurrying over what had seconds earlier been a threshold, she ignored the thundering panic in her chest. She stopped. Opened her mouth—and choked. Coughed. Eyes burning from the smoke and dust, she peered through the film snaking through the air.

“Colton!” Throat clogged, she covered her mouth and whirled around, searching, probing, panicking. “Colton, where are you?” She pivoted, powder-fine dust grating between her teeth. Rocks crunched as she moved and searched, her gaze stabbing every pile. Every heap. Mound. He had to be here.

Behind her, the clatter of rock and plaster. She turned. Instead of finding the man she loved, she was met with a crumbling wall, pieces still breaking off and dribbling to the piles.

“We can’t stay in here,” Azzan said as he eased over the debris. “It’s going to come down.”

“I won’t leave without him,” Piper said. He’d come to Israel for her, to help find her father. He didn’t want to, she knew that much. But he’d come. Sacrificed … everything. “Colton?”

Azzan’s blue green eyes met hers. She saw defeat, surrender of what had happened.

To Colton.

But she wouldn’t accept that. “He was on the roof, so he’d be closer to the top if he got buried, nachon?”