Nina gave him a faint but cutting smile. ‘It helps a lot, if you know something about geology as well as archaeology. Remember that John is describing his hallucinogenic interpretations of the Elders’ writings. They wrote about a flood — possibly a flash flood, which in the desert can happen miles from where any rain actually fell. But the earth opened up and swallowed it before it reached the Place in the Wilderness.’ She paused, waiting for a response. ‘Seriously? Did nobody do Geology 101? The only thing that could be is a sinkhole! A sinkhole swallowed the flood — and those things don’t just disappear. It’ll still be there!’
Realisation filled Cross’s eyes. ‘The sinkhole will mark the angel’s location!’
‘Finally!’ said Nina. ‘Yeah, that’s right. That’s what I worked out this morning. Somewhere in that desert’ — she gestured at the screens — ‘is a sinkhole, either near or actually in a water channel. And somewhere very close to that… is your last angel.’
Everyone regarded the satellite map. ‘So how do we find it?’ asked Dalton.
‘Hell if I know,’ she snorted. ‘If there are any more clues in Revelation, I haven’t figured them out. I don’t know who the Woman of the Apocalypse is meant to represent, or what the reference to her being “clothed with the sun” means. She’s pregnant — for all I know, it’s a prophecy about me.’ She indicated her bulge, before remembering Cross’s threat and putting her arms protectively over it.
‘We don’t need any more clues,’ Cross decided. ‘We can locate all the sinkholes in the region from the satellite imagery, then find any archaeological traces near them from the air.’
‘Oh, you can, can you?’ Nina said scathingly. ‘Maybe I should have traded my PhD for a pilot’s licence.’
He ignored the comment. ‘We know we’re looking at waterways, so that’ll cut down the area we need to check.’ He turned to Dalton. ‘I know people in Israel who can get us free access to their airspace, and hopefully even provide military assistance if we need it. If you can call on your diplomatic contacts to get us into the country without drawing attention…’
‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘But that’s the fourth angel — what about the third one?’
‘We’ll have it soon. Simeon? Get some people and meet Mr Chase at the airport.’ He faced Nina again. ‘If your husband’s sensible and hands over the angel, I’ll let him live.’ Simeon clearly did not approve, but said nothing. ‘I can be magnanimous.’
‘I can’t,’ she replied with cold anger. ‘You were going to kill my baby. That’s not something I’m willing to forgive. If I ever get the chance… I’ll kill you.’
She couldn’t tell if the threat had affected Cross or not. ‘Take her away,’ was all he said.
19
Eddie emerged from the arrivals gate at VC Bird airport to see his name in crooked marker pen on a piece of cardboard. He had expected a reception committee, but at the back of his mind throughout his flight was the thought that it might not be friendly. However, he knew this one had been arranged by a friend simply because he had acquired some extra initials: E. B. G. Chase. ‘Cheeky bastard,’ he said with a grin.
The man holding the card was not the one he had called, but a middle-aged Antiguan wearing a battered baseball hat and a long baggy shirt bearing patterns of shells and starfish. Eddie approached him. ‘I’m Eddie Chase. Are you Nelson?’
‘Thas right,’ the man drawled, giving him a broad, lazy smile. ‘Nelson Lightwood, at your service. At your service,’ he repeated, for no reason the Englishman could determine. ‘Tom ask me to take you to Jolly Harbour. Jolly Harbour.’
‘That’s great. That’s great,’ Eddie replied, unable to resist gently ribbing him.
Nelson either didn’t notice or didn’t care. ‘You wan’ me to take your luggage?’
Eddie had only a carry-on bag, and wasn’t planning to relinquish it — for the moment. ‘No, that’s okay. You’ve got a cab?’
‘Outside. The white Toyota.’ He jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the exit. ‘The Toyota.’
Eddie saw as he stepped into the humid heat outside the terminal that while Nelson was being accurate, he was not being specific; about a dozen taxis were lined up at a stand, all white Toyota vans. He wondered why there were no American vehicles, the US being much closer, before realising the answer: the former British colony, like Japan, drove on the left. ‘The one with the flower,’ his driver offered.
‘Tell you what, just show me.’ He followed the nodding Nelson down the rank, glancing back to see if anyone was paying him undue attention.
A tall black man with a close-cropped haircut looked away just a little too quickly, while one of the three Caucasian men near him was almost giving a masterclass in how to look suspicious. All four wore similar white outfits, feebly disguised under jackets. Eddie remembered seeing the black guy lurking near the exit when he’d met Nelson. He had company, then, but he would have been surprised if he hadn’t.
‘This one, my friend,’ said Nelson. The dented Toyota Hiace minibus looked little different from its neighbours, though Eddie was amused when he spotted its identifying feature: a fake sunflower on the dashboard. ‘Step inside.’ He pulled back the sliding side door.
Eddie took a place on the rear bench seat. The interior had seen a lot of use, but otherwise appeared to be a perfectly normal island taxi. Of more concern was the object beneath the driver’s seat — a half-empty bottle of vodka. Hoping it was only enjoyed after its owner finished his shift, he waited for Nelson to amble around the vehicle and climb aboard. ‘Okay, my friend,’ said the Antiguan. ‘Jolly Harbour.’
He pulled away. They passed the four waiting men, all of whom watched them go. Eddie looked back as the cab cleared the end of the rank to see the whole group make a beeline for a parked car.
The taxi left the airport grounds and headed south-west around the outskirts of the capital, St John’s. ‘How long will it take to get there?’ he asked.
Nelson shrugged. ‘Who can tell? This is rush hour.’ The traffic didn’t look to Eddie any heavier than he would expect of a quiet Sunday afternoon in England, but the squealing brakes and sudden swerves of other drivers suggested that the Antiguan attitude towards road discipline was a lot more lackadaisical.
‘Well, there’s no hurry.’ He looked at the bag on his lap, then over his shoulder. The silver Honda his tails were driving was a few cars behind. ‘You got a map of the island?’
‘Sure, man.’ Nelson passed him a brochure. St John’s was in the island’s north-west quarter; Jolly Harbour, his destination, was down on the south-western Caribbean coast. The distance between the two was only about seven miles, but he doubted that any part of the trip would be on a motorway.
Of more concern was that once past the southern fringes of St John’s, there only appeared to be a few small villages dotted along the route, nothing but green between them. ‘The way we’re going — does it go through open countryside?’
Nelson nodded. ‘Oh yeah, man,’ he said, turning to peer back at him. ‘We goin’ along Valley Road, very pretty along there, very pretty. You get a good view of Mount Obama there, yeah.’
‘You might want to get a good view here,’ Eddie suggested, seeing a stationary bus looming in the taxi’s path.
Nelson gave him another languid smile and looked ahead, slowing just in time to avoid a collision. ‘No problem, man. I been driving here thirty-three years, thirty-three years. Not dead yet.’
The Honda was still holding position not far behind. ‘You ever had any trouble in that time?’ asked the Yorkshireman. ‘I don’t mean with cars, but with their drivers. Or anyone else.’