The congressman raced towards the heavy door, grabbing the woman by the arm and propelling her in front of him as the guards opened fire at the empty metal monster surging crazily out of control, veering now into the side of the house towards the sliding glass doors of the veranda. Inside, Evan crashed his shoulder into the door, slamming it shut. That action and the thick steel-reinforced panel of the door saved their lives.
The explosions came like thunderous successive combustions from some massive furnace, shattering windows and walls, firing curtains and furniture. Out in front of the house the seven guards from the Central Intelligence Agency fell, pierced by shards of glass and metal sent flying by ninety pounds of dynamite lashed to the undercarriage of the engine. Four were dead, heads and bodies riddled; two were barely alive, blood streaming out of eyes and chests. One, his left hand no more than a bleeding stump, had summoned rage, his weapon on automatic fire as he lurched across the lawn towards the priestly terrorist who was laughing insanely, his submachine gun spitting fire. Both men killed each other in the chill of the brisk Colorado day under the blinding Colorado sunlight.
Kendrick lunged up against the stone wall in the hallway, pressing himself into the bulging rock design. He looked down at the nurse. ‘Stay where you are!’ he ordered as he inched his way towards the corner of the living room. Smoke was billowing everywhere, carried by the breezes through the shattered windows. He heard the shouts outside; the guards from their flanking positions around the house were converging, professionals covering each other as they moved into new positions. Then there were four detonations one after the other—grenades! These were followed by other voices screaming in Arabic. ‘Death to our enemies! Death to a great enemy! Blood will be answered by blood!’ Repeated bursts from automatic weapons broke out from different directions. Two other grenades exploded, one thrown through the smashed windows directly into the living room, blowing apart the far wall. Evan spun around for the protection of the stone, then, as the debris settled, he shouted.
‘Manny! Manny? Where are you? Answer me!’ There was no reply, only the apparently perverted, steady ringing of a telephone. The gunfire outside escalated to deafening proportions, burst upon burst, bullets ricocheting off rock, thumping into wood, screeching wildly through the air. Manny had been on the porch, the porch with glass doors! Kendrick had to get out there. He had to! He rushed into the smoke and fire of the living room, shielding his eyes and his nostrils, when suddenly a figure flew into the shattered front windows, crashing through the fragments of glass. The man rolled on the floor and sprang to his feet.
‘Ahbyahd!’ screamed Evan, paralysed.
‘You!’ roared the Palestinian, his weapon levelled. ‘My life has glory! Glory! Beloved Allah be praised! You bring me great happiness!’
‘Am I worth it to you? So many killed? So many butchered? Am I really worth it? Does your Allah demand so much death?’
‘You can speak of death? shrieked the terrorist. ‘Azra dead! Yaakov dead! Zaya killed by Jews from the skies over the Baaka! All the others… hundreds, thousands—dead! Now, Amal Bahrudi, such a clever traitor, I take you to hell’
‘Not yet came the voice, half whispered, half shouted from the archway leading to the porch. The words were accompanied by two loud, reverberating gunshots that momentarily drowned out the rapid fire outside. Ahbyahd, the white-haired one, arched back under the impact of the powerful weapon, a portion of his skull blown away. Emmanuel Weingrass, his face and shirt drenched with blood, his left shoulder pressed into the interior of the arch, slid to the floor.
‘Manny!’ yelled Kendrick, racing over to the old architect, kneeling down and lifting his upper body off the hard floor. ‘Where are you hit?’
‘Where wasn’t I?’ replied Weingrass throatily, with difficulty. ‘Check the two girls! When… everything started they went to the windows… I tried to stop them. Check them, goddamn you!’
Evan looked over at the two bodies on the porch. Beyond them, the sliding doors were no more than frames bordering sharp, pointed fragments of thick glass. The car bomb had done its work; there was little left of two human beings but shredded skin and blood. ‘There’s nothing to check, Manny. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, you call yourself a God in your fucking heaven!’ screamed Weingrass, tears welling in his eyes. ‘What more do you want, you fraud!’ The old man collapsed into unconsciousness.
Outside the gunfire stopped. Kendrick prepared for the worst, wrenching the .357 Magnum out of Manny’s hand, wondering briefly who had given it to him, instantly knowing it was Gee-Gee Gonzalez. He gently lowered Weingrass and stood up. He walked cautiously into the smouldering living room and was suddenly assaulted by the stench of wet smoke, aware that water was showering out of the ceiling sprinklers.
A gunshot! He dropped to the floor, his eyes darting in all directions, followed by his weapon.
‘Four!’ shouted a voice from beyond the shattered windows. ‘I count four!’
‘One went inside!’ yelled another. ‘Approach and fire at any goddamn thing that moves! Christ, I don’t want our body count! And I also don’t want one of these motherfuckers to walk out alive! Do you understand me?’
‘Understood.’
‘He’s dead!’ yelled Evan with what voice he had left. ‘But there’s another, a wounded man in here. He’s alive and he’s severely wounded and he’s one of us.’
‘Congressman? Is that you, Mr. Kendrick?’
‘It’s me, and I never want to hear that title again.’ Once more the telephone started ringing. Evan got to his feet and headed wearily towards the charred pine desk, drenched by the separated sprays from the sprinklers. Suddenly, he saw the nurse who had saved his life walk hesitantly around the stone arch of the hallway. ‘Stay out of here,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to go out there.’
‘I heard you say there was someone wounded, sir. That’s what I’m trained for.’
The telephone kept ringing.
‘Him, yes. Not the others. I don’t want you to see the others!’
‘I’m no spring chicken, Congressman. I did three tours of duty in “Nam.’
‘But these were your friends!’
‘So were countless others,’ said the nurse, no comment in her voice. ‘Is it Manny?’
‘Yes.’
The telephone kept ringing.
‘After your call, please contact Dr Lyons, sir.’
Kendrick picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’
‘Evan, thank Christ! It’s MJ! I just heard from Adrienne—’
‘Fuck off,’ said Kendrick, disconnecting the line and dialling information.
At first, the room spun around, then far away thunder grew louder and bolts of lightning crashed into his mind. ‘Would you please repeat that, operator, so I’m absolutely clear about what you’ve just said.’
‘Certainly, sir. There’s no listing for a Dr Lyons in Cortez or the Mesa Verde district. In fact, there’s no one named Lyons—L-Y-O-N-S—in the area.’
‘That was his name! I saw it on the clearance from the State Department!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Nothing… Nothing!’ Evan slammed down the phone and no sooner had he done so than it started ringing again. ‘Yes?’
‘My darling! Are you all right?’
‘Your fucking MJ blew it! I don’t know how many are dead and Manny’s shot up like a slaughtered pig! He’s not only half gone but he doesn’t even have a doctor!’
‘Call Lyons.’
‘He doesn’t exist!… How did you know about here?’
‘I spoke to the nurse. She said a priest was there and, darling, listen to me! We found out only minutes ago that they were travelling as priests! I called MJ and he’s beside himself. He’s got half of Colorado moving in, all federals and sworn to secrecy!’
‘I just told him to take a hike.’
‘He’s not your enemy, Evan.’
‘Who the hell is?’
‘For God’s sake, we’re trying to find out!’
‘You’re a little slow.’
‘And they’re very fast. What can I tell you?’
Kendrick, his hair drenched and his body soaked from the sprinklers, looked over at the nurse who was ministering to Weingrass. Her eyes were filled with tears, her throat holding back her hysteria from the sight of her friends on the veranda. Evan spoke softly. ‘Tell me you’re coming back to me. Tell me it’s all going to end. Tell me I’m not going mad.’
‘I can tell you all of those things, but you have to believe them. You’re alive and that’s all that matters to me right now.’
‘What about the others who aren’t alive? What about Manny? Don’t they count?’
‘Manny said something last night that impressed me very much. We were talking about the Hassans, Sabri and Kashi. He said we will each remember them and mourn for them in our own ways… but it must come later. To some that may sound cold, but not to me. He’s been where I’ve been, my darling, and I know where he’s coming from. None are forgotten, but for the moment we must forget them and do what we have to do. Does that make sense to you… my darling?’