Part 7 (1/2)

I remembered what Colonel Peterson had told me.

”You're talking about the end-times people,” I said. ”Those wis.h.i.+ng for Armageddon.”

”Yes.”

Just at this moment, the low whine of four-wheelers interrupted our conversation. They were still far away but were bearing down on us at a fast pace. People everywhere were hurrying to break down their tents and gather their belongings.

”We'd better get out of here!” I said, jumping up and loading my pack.

”I'll get my tent and be right back,” he said, rus.h.i.+ng into the darkness.

Just then, I was jolted by a woman's scream about fifty feet away. Several men with big flashlights had grabbed her and were looking all through her belongings. Several more men were heading my way.

With no other choice, I stuffed everything into my pack and ran into the darkness. All over the area now, I could see men with flashlights searching through people's campsites, obviously looking for something. I crouched low as one group of men rushed into a camp less than thirty feet from where I was hiding. Beams from their lights swept over me.

”Let us have your translations,” one of the men said in an Arabic accent. Another shouted to an a.s.sociate in what was clearly continental Indian. I recognized one of the men as belonging to the group holding Rachel. He was the tall man with a beard.

Now the four-wheelers were on us, and the men quickly scattered, the flashlights suddenly going dark. I moved away from the rangers, looking around as best I could for any sign of Coleman. Finally, I hid among some rocks about a hundred yards away. Dozens of rangers were herding people into groups and moving them out of the clearing. I headed farther north.

After about an hour, I froze. Someone seemed to be creeping toward me from the left. The sound stopped, and I backed away in the other direction and right into the grasp of a lone figure who pushed a handgun into my ribs. I was wrestled to the ground by another man, and one of the big flashlights popped on in my face.

They pulled me along for about a half mile farther toward the north into an area of thick pines, where more than twenty people met us. A small campfire flickered light over the scene. This was the rest of the group that had Rachel.

A man who seemed to be the leader came over and gazed at me for a long moment. He was thickly built, had dark hair that was graying, and was dressed in military fatigues. He shook his head and turned away. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my wits about me and stay out of panic. After all, I told myself, Rachel had been with these people for a while, and she hadn't looked too upset earlier.

On the other hand, they had just come into the clearing and had terrified everyone, apparently looking for parts of the Doc.u.ment. I could see folders and loose papers stacked near a lone cactus. One man walked over and began searching through my pack, easily finding my copies.

Suddenly, two other people emerged from the darkness. One was Rachel and the other was an Arab male of about thirty-five who was attired in more formal Arab dress. Rachel moved closer and saw me, our eyes meeting for just an instant before our view was blocked.

The leader then walked over and casually sat down in front of me.

”Where are the rest of your Doc.u.ments?” he asked. It was the same man I'd heard speaking with a continental Indian accent.

I was determined to stay centered and to be truthful or say nothing. ”That's all I have,” I said.

He gave me what I could only describe as a serene smile. ”Okay, my friend, then where might we find the rest of this artifact?”

”I don't know. One has to be guided to it.”

”And you, are you guided by Colonel Peterson?”

I was stunned, which made the leader's eyes light up. He was obviously pleased with himself that he knew of the colonel's existence.

”Oh, yes,” he added, ”I know all about his group. And I want you to tell me all you know about him.”

”That's easy,” I said. ”I only met him for the first time earlier today, and I don't know anything about him, except that he's interested in what this Doc.u.ment has to say, just as you apparently are.”

”Yes, we're studying it right now,” the leader said. His eyes tellingly glanced at Rachel, who was sitting beside the stack of papers.

”So what about you?” I asked. ”What do you think about this Doc.u.ment?” He seemed to be amused that I would dare to ask a question in this circ.u.mstance.

”It has nothing to tell us,” he a.s.serted. ”We already have the truth.”

He turned and began talking to the well-dressed man who was with Rachel. He called him Adjar.

At that moment, Rachel looked directly into my eyes, which was so overwhelming I had to s.h.i.+ft my gaze. The connection wasn't romantic-at least I thought it wasn't. But it was definitely unusual, and I felt it at depths I had no idea how to explain. As I looked at her with my peripheral vision, I realized she was trying to communicate something.

Cooperate, she seemed to be saying with her eyes. Don't make waves. Which threw me into a quandary. To stay clear, I had to remain centered and aware, and to do that I had to tell the truth as I knew it. I would have to phrase my truthful comments in a way that would keep me out of trouble with this guy.

The leader was walking back toward me.

”This idea of ideology,” he said. ”It refers to people who are living lies and know it, yes? Like those who lie and steal for money, like you people in the West.”

He looked closely to see if I was going to defend Modern life, but the thought came to me to go in another direction.

”I think the Doc.u.ment is pointing,” I said, ”to those people who have set ideas about reality and aren't open to any discussion about it. They stop growing and just repeat the past. They aren't conscious in their conversation.”

”Like Peterson?”

”Well, I don't know.”

”You know!”

For the first time he looked fully menacing, and I knew I was on tricky ground here.

”Okay,” I said. ”I think he is trying to find a way to stop the war over religion before it's too late.”

He looked as though he was trying to control an inner outrage.

”He only wants power for himself,” he said. ”Besides, the war cannot be stopped. It is destined. I think you are trying to deceive me.”

With that he turned away again. Rachel was staring at me, cautioning me to be careful.

The leader looked at Adjar. ”Set a guard over them all night.”

Adjar nodded to two other men who lifted me up and had me sit by Rachel, then he said something to the other woman in Hebrew. She moved over to a rock about ten feet away to watch us, an Uzi machine pistol in her lap. He called her Hira.

I leaned over toward Rachel and noticed her rose perfume again, which in this setting made her seem otherworldly, or angel-like.

”Who are these people?” I whispered.

”I've been with them a while,” she said quietly, ”and I still don't know much about them. They mostly belong to Arabic sects, but they have Westerners with them, too, Jews and Christians from all over. The only connection I can see is that they are all into end-times Prophecy. The leader's name is Anish. He's the one who holds them all together.”

I quickly told her what Peterson had said about religious extremists desiring Armageddon.

She thought for a moment. ”I know Anish is planning something. I just don't know what it is. They call themselves Apocalyptics.”