"And that we cannot allow" The voice was Tachyon's, from the back of the mosque. Sara allowed herself to feel a desperate hope.
"And that we cannot allow" Gregg heard the words as his fingers strained toward Nur al-Allah's sandals. Puppetman added his strength, but it was as if Nur al-Allah stood atop a mountain and Gregg were reaching vainly up from the foot. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Sayyid glanced down scornfully, not even deigning to kick Gregg's hand away from his master.
Nur al-Allah laughed at Tachyon's words. "You'd challenge me, you who do not believe in Allah? I can feel you, Dr. Tachyon. I can feel your power prying at my mind. You believe that my mind can be broken the way you might break the mind of one of your companions. That's not so. Allah protects me, and Allah will punish those who attack him."
Yet even as he spoke, Gregg saw the strain on Nur al-Allah's face. His radiance seemed to dim, and the barriers holding Gregg loosened. Whatever the prophet's boast,
Tachyon's mental attack was getting through. Gregg felt a quick hope.
At that moment, with Nur al-Allah's attention on Tachyon, Gregg managed to touch the shimmering flesh of the prophet's foot. The emerald radiance burned hot; he ignored it. Puppetman shouted in triumph.
And then quickly recoiled. Nur al-Allah was there. He was aware, and Gregg could sense Tachyon's presence as well. Too dangerous, Puppetman cried. He knows, he knows.
From behind, there was a thud and strangled cry, and Gregg looked back over his shoulder at the doctor.
One of the guards had come up behind Tachyon, clubbing the alien on the head with the butt-of his Uzi. Tachyon was on his knees, his hands covering his head, moaning. He struggled to rise, but the guard struck him down brutally. Tachyon lay unconcious on the tiled mosaic of the floor, his breathing labored.
Nur al-Allah laughed. He looked down at Gregg, whose hand still reached futilely toward the foot of the prophet. "There, you see? I am protected: by Allah, by my people."
"What about you, Senator Hartmann, you with Kahina's strings? Do you still want me now? Perhaps I should show you the strings of Allah and make you dance for His pleasure. Kahina said you are a danger, and Sayyid wants you killed. So perhaps you should be the first sacrifice. How would your people react if they saw you confess your crimes and then, begging Allah's forgiveness, kill yourself? Would that be effective, do you think?"
Nur al-Allah pointed a finger at Gregg. "Yes," he said. "I think it would."
Puppetman yammered in fear.
"Yes, I think it would."
Misha listened to her brother's words with unease. Everything he had done was a slap in her face: the flaunting of the stoned jokers, the attack on Tachyon, his haughty threats now. Najib betrayed her with every word.
Najib had used her and lied to her, he and Sayyid. He'd let her go to Damascus thinking that she was representing them, that if she brought the Americans, there might be a chance of some agreement. But Najib hadn't cared. He hadn't listened to her warnings that he overreached himself. A slow festering rose inside her, leaching away her faith. Allah. I believe in Your voice within Najib. But now he shows his own second face. Is it Yours, as well?
The doubt diluted the magic of Najib's voice, and she dared to speak and interrupt him.
"You move too fast, Najib," she hissed. "Don't destroy us with your pride."
His glowing face contorted, his speech halting in midsentence. "I am the Prophet," he snapped. "Not you."
"Then at least listen to me, who sees our future. This is a mistake, Najib. This way leads away from Allah."
"Be silentl" he roared, and his fist lashed out. A red-hued dizziness blinded her. In that moment, with Najib's voice dulled by pain, something in her mind gave way, some barrier that had been holding back all the venom. This fury was cold and deadly, poisonous with every insult and abuse Najib had given her over the years, laced with frustration and denial and subjugation. Najib had turned away from her, expecting her obedience. He resumed his tirade, the power of the voice coiling out over the crowd once more.
It could not touch her, not through what spilled from the bitter pool.
She saw the knife in his sash and knew what she had to do. The compulsion was too great for her to resist. She leapt at Najib, screaming wordlessly.
Sara saw Nur al-Allah point his glowing finger toward Gregg. Yet in following that gesture, her attention was snagged by Kahina. Sara frowned even under the spell of Nur al-Allah's words, for Kahina was trembling-she stared at her brother and there was nothing in her eyes but acid. She shouted something to him in Arabic, and he swung around to her, still pulsing with flaring power. They exchanged words; he struck her.
It was as if that blow had driven her into a divine madness. Kahina leapt at Nur al-Allah like some predatory cat, screaming as she clawed at him with bare hands. Dark rivulets of blood dimmed the moon of his face. She tugged at the long, curved knife in his sash, pulling it from the bejeweled scabbard. In the same motion she slashed across his throat with the keen edge. Nur al-Allah clutched at his neck, blood pouring between his fingers as a strangled, wet gasping came from him. He toppled backward.
For a moment the horror held everyone in suspension, then the room erupted into shouts. Kahina was standing in shock above Nur al-Allah, the knife dangling from white fingers. Sayyid bellowed in disbelief, swinging a huge arm that sent Kahina tumbling to the floor. Sayyid took a clumsy step forward-Sara realized with a start that the giant was a cripple. Two of the guards seized Kahina, dragging her to her feet as She struggled. Other men crouched beside the stricken Nur al-Allah, trying to stanch the flow of blood.
Sayyid had reached Kahina. He picked up the dagger she'd dropped, staring at the dark stains on it. He wailed, his eyes raised to heaven, and then drew the blade back to stab her.
But he moaned, the blade still raised. He sagged, his knees buckling as if some great weight were pressing down on him from above, crushing him. Sayyid screamed in agony, dropping the weapon. His massive body collapsed in on itself, the skeleton no longer able to support the flesh. Everyone heard the dry, sickening crack of snapping bones. Sara glanced around and saw Hiram sweating, his right fist squeezing into a white-knuckled fist.
Sayyid whimpered, a shapeless mass on the tiles. The guards let go of Kahina in confusion.
Kahina ran. One of the guards brought his Uzi to bear, but he was slammed against the wall by Mordecai Jones. Jack Braun, glowing golden, picked up another of the Nur alAllah's guards and tossed him bodily across the room. Peregrine, her feathers molting, was unable to take to the air. Still, she slipped on her taloned gloves and slashed at a guard. Billy Ray, with an exultant whoop, spun and kicked the knees of the gunman alongside him.
Kahina ducked through an archway and was gone.
Sara found Gregg in the confusion. He was safe; a wave of relief flooded through her. She began to run toward him, and the relief turned frigid.
There was no more fright on his face, no concern at all. He seemed calm. He almost seemed to smile.
Sara gaped. She felt nothing but a yawning emptiness. "No," she whispered to herself.
What he would do to me, he would also do to you. "No," she insisted. "That can't be."
Nur al-Allah had pointed his accusing finger at Gregg, and Gregg had known that his only hope lay in the bitterness within Kahina. Nur al-Allah was beyond his control, he knew now, but Kahina was his. Gregg's rape of her mind was brutal and ruthless. He'd stripped everything from her but that underlying hate, letting it flood and swell. It had worked beyond his expectations.