“No!” Dracup leaned over and knocked her hand away from her mouth. The fruit fell, slowly turning, and smashed into a pulp on the soft, mossy ground.
“Daddy!”
Another voice in Dracup’s head was speaking urgently and rapidly now.
... The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the Tree of Life and eat, and live forever...
With a huge effort of will Dracup grabbed Natasha’s hand and turned away from the tree. There was Moran’s hand, gesticulating urgently from the other side of the curtain that separated the tree from the wasteland of Eden. The policeman’s shape was dim, but discernable.
“Daddy. Please. I don’t want to...”
“We must,” he hissed through gritted teeth, muscles trembling with the sheer effort of pulling away. “This isn’t for us. Not now. Not in this life.”
Moran’s arm and shoulder appeared. Dracup prayed that the DCI would not succumb and join them in the circle. Natasha was resisting, digging her heels into the soft turf. “No, Daddyyyyyy –”
Sweat sprang from his forehead. He reached out for Moran, felt his tendons straining as the steely fingers enclosed his wrist.
Sara knew where they were heading. Her feet could have found their own way, so often had she felt the cold stone of these steps beneath her bare feet. Here was the central stairwell that led to the chamber of Adam. How right it was that he should lie at the ziggurat’s pinnacle, how fitting. But surely Jassim would not bring Farrell, an outsider, to that place, of all places? And then she remembered Jassim’s duties, his role here amongst the Korumak. Jassim was the keeper of the flame, the high priest of the great chamber. And he kept his accoutrements appropriately close by, in a small storeroom accessed directly from the stairwell. She heard the jangling of his keys as he turned off the great staircase and down the narrow corridor that led to his domain. Farrell was expressing his unease by means of his usual tuneless hum. It jangled her nerves in sympathy with Jassim’s keys. “Farrell – give it a rest.”
Farrell stopped humming. “Okay. If you tell me where we’re headed.”
“You’ve agreed to come. Jassim has given his word that he won’t harm you.”
They were waiting outside a polished wooden door. It was set into the passage wall, surmounted by a low beam. Sara followed Jassim through the narrow space. Farrell was hesitating, toying with his automatic. “He won’t harm me?”
“That’s right, Farrell. Come on.”
She watched with satisfaction as the tall American ducked his head and joined them inside. Jassim closed the door.
Sara inhaled slowly. The scent of the room evoked bittersweet childhood memories of visits to Jassim’s predecessor, a wizened, hunched servant of the chamber named Mahalalel. Even with her small hand firmly clasped in her mother’s it had seemed a forbidding place. Her young eyes had widened at the ointments, ceremonial robes, jars of musky oil and strange, illusory tapestries hanging from the walls of Mahalalel’s sanctuary. Even now she felt the familiar foreboding settling on her. She gazed at the sacristan’s paraphernalia and shivered, catching a similar reaction on Farrell’s bemused face as he took it all in. Jassim brought her back to the present, his soft voice lulling childhood fears away.
“Mr Farrell. The weapon is unnecessary.” Jassim made a slight, dismissive movement with his hand.
Sara watched Farrell. She could see the agent’s fascination in the small, distracted movements of his head, the nervy moistening of his lips.
“What is this place?” Farrell holstered his handgun and let his arms drop. “There’s a feeling, I can’t –” He shook his head, bewildered.
“Mr Farrell. You know your scriptures, I am told.” Fine lines appeared around Jassim’s eyes, the faintest of smiles raising the corners of his mouth. “But as you say in the West, seeing is believing.”
Sara caught her breath. Her brother had taken the greatest risk; now there was no going back for either of them. She felt a pang of guilt and caught Jassim’s arm. “Jassim – I – I don’t know... Kadesh is only doing –”
“– what he feels is right.” Jassim nodded. “I know. And what about Ruth? Was that right?”
Sara took a deep breath. She watched Farrell moving around the room, touching, inspecting. Confusion raged inside her. She took her brother’s hand and squeezed it.
“It just feels like a – a betrayal. He is one of us. He is our leader. Are you sure –”
Jassim’s grip was firm. He looked into her eyes. “No, sister. This is not betrayal.” Jassim held her by the shoulders, gently reinforcing his words. “This is survival.”