They had failed.
“Helicopter,” Christian said, stiffening in warning next to him.
Arella turned her eyes to the north, where she had been gazing frequently, as if she had expected as much. “So they all come at last. To see if what was once broken can be mended.”
“And what if it can’t?” Erin asked. She noted the sun sitting not far from the horizon. Sunset was little more than an hour away.
Rhun dreaded the answer.
“If it cannot”—Arella brushed her hands across her soiled white dress—“then the reign of man on Earth is over.”
50
December 20, 3:28 P.M. EET
Siwa, Egypt
If I only had their ears . . .
Jordan cocked his head, trying to discern any sign of a helicopter’s approach, but all he heard was the swish of wind across sand. He tried his eyes, but he found only a featureless tan horizon, sand dunes spreading in all directions, and a few flat-topped hills in the distance. Above him, the sky had turned a dark gray, the sun a wan brightness through the murk, sitting low this time in winter.
Jordan sized up their team’s ability to resist an attack—in case it was an assault force winging their way.
Who am I kidding? he thought. Of course it’s an attack.
His team certainly had no cover out here in the open, and the two Sanguinists were their best defense—and offense, for that matter.
But how many were coming?
If it was Iscariot, the bastard had boundless resources: men, strigoi, even the monstrous blasphemare.
He turned to Christian. “How about flying to someplace more defensible?”
“The bird is almost out of gas, but even if it weren’t, it’s not fast enough to outrun the machine that approaches.”
Jordan pictured the hellfire missiles shot at them.
“I see,” he said with a sigh.
He swung his machine pistol up from his shoulder. He had little ammunition left. Erin checked her pistol and shrugged. Same boat as him.
Jordan gave her what he hoped was a reassuring grin.
From the expression on her face, he failed.
Then he heard a distant whump-whump. His eyes picked out a dark mote in the glare off the sands. A small commercial helicopter swept toward them, coming in low and fast. It could hold at best five or six enemies. And it certainly had no missiles.
That was at least a small blessing.
The pilot seemed to be pushing the craft beyond its limits. White smoke trailed behind it. Jordan widened his stance and lifted his pistol, aiming for the cockpit. If he could take out the pilot, maybe the chopper would crash and solve all his problems.
As the helicopter sped closer, Jordan sighted on the right side of the bubble-shaped front, where the pilot should be seated. He moved his finger to the trigger.
“Wait!” Christian pushed his gun barrel down.
Jordan backed a step. “Why?”
“It’s Bernard,” Rhun answered. “In front, next to the pilot.”
Okay, now I want their eyes, too.
Jordan wouldn’t have recognized his own mother at that distance.
“Is that good news or bad news?” he asked.
“He’s not likely to shoot us, if that’s what you’re asking,” Christian said. “But I don’t think he’s going to be happy with us either.”
“So mostly good news, then.”
The helicopter aimed straight for them and made a rough landing at the crater’s rim, teetering at the edge, smoke boiling out of the back of the engine as it coughed to a stop.
Bernard hopped out, accompanied by a massive pilot, a true beast of a man in a flight suit. The latter ripped off his helmet, revealing a shock of dark red hair. From the cabin behind them, two women joined them. The first out had her long gray hair tied in an efficient braid, wearing Sanguinist armor. The second wore jeans and a silver shirt, covered by a long cloak. That cloak billowed into wings as the woman broke away from the others. Jordan noted the flash of chains binding her wrists.
Bathory.
She came scary quick, swooping down the slope, half skidding on her backside, showing little concern about the indignity of her approach. Her face was a mask of concern, her eyes fixed to one member of their group.
“Elizabeth!” Tommy ran up to meet her and hugged her hard.
She tolerated it for a moment—then roughly pushed his chin up, examining his neck.
“You look well,” she said, but her terseness belied her true feelings.
Jordan leaned to Erin. “I don’t get what the boy sees in her.”
Bernard reached them, eyeing Tommy, too. “You were able to heal them both,” he said gruffly, glancing at Arella. “Very good.”
The two other Sanguinists flanked behind him, backing him up, both stone-faced.
Bernard pointed to the large man. He was even larger up close, a true tank of a man, with a barrel chest and thick arms covered in mats of curly red hair.