CHAPTER 1

The surface-to-air missile blasted out of a rocket launcher resting onthe monk's shoulder and streaked toward the hovering helicopter. Fireplumed from the rear of the bazooka-like weapon, bright in the night-timegloominess of St. Catherine's courtyard, momentarily blindingJagger Baird, who stood behind it and off to one side. Through thehaze of bleached retinas he saw the 'copter rise and whirl around withthe aerial agility of a hawk and the rocket sail past it. Seeming confused,the projectile corkscrewed toward the moon and exploded. Thehelicopter moved beyond the compound's west wall, over the monastery'sgardens, and vanished.

Jagger watched for a few more seconds. When it didn't reappear,he stepped closer to Father Leo. The youthful monk's splotchy beard,flowing black cassock, and—mostly—the smoking weapon stillperched on his shoulder made him look more like a Taliban fighterthan a man of God.

Jagger said, "Where'd you get that?"

Leo turned a big grin on him. "If only the rocket had beenheat-seeking."

"Any more?"

Leo let the launcher slide off his shoulder and fall to the stoneground. "I wish." He reached inside his cassock and pulled out a blackshotgun. He pumped the forestock, chambering a shell.

"I need a gun," Jagger told him.

Leo's forehead creased. "Where's yours?"

As head of security for the archeological dig outside the east wallof the monastery, Jagger should have been armed to the teeth—atleast better equipped than the monks—but Egypt enforced strictgun restrictions, especially among foreigners. Still, he had petitionedGheronda, the monastery's abbot, for a firearm, and the old manhad reluctantly given him a Ruger Super Redhawk Alaskan, a short-barreled.44 magnum revolver with a wicked recoil. "All the brothersare afraid of it," Gheronda had explained with a slight smile. It wasJagger's under one condition: he had to keep it locked in a pistolsafe in his apartment. Far from ideal—how many bad guys waitedaround while you ran for your gun?—but it was better than nothing.Or maybe not. Not when you were making your rounds when theaction started, as he had been just as someone tried to blow open thecompound's main gate.

Jagger looked up to his third-floor apartment, where he hoped hiswife and son were holed up in a makeshift panic room: a small closetwith a bolted metal door, which Jagger had installed after the lastattack on the monastery. "Beth has it," he told Father Leo, picturinghis wife pointing the weapon at the door in a two-handed grip. Don'tmess with Beth.

Leo reached into his cassock again and produced a semiautomaticGlock, a model 17 9mm. He handed it to Jagger, who ejected themagazine, checked it for bullets, shoved it back into the grip, andchambered a round. That done, the two of them turned toward thegate. The inner iron door—one of three that blocked the entrance—bulged inward. Smoke seeped through the edges and streamed up thewall like a waterfall in reverse. Five other monks—Fathers Bardas,Luca, Antoine, Mattieu, and Corban—stood or crouched in a thirty-footsemicircle around it. Three of them wore black cassocks and caps.Luca, obviously rousted from bed, had on a gray flannel nightshirtthat fell to his knees; all he needed was a cloth nightcap—and thirtymore years—to be Ebenezer Scrooge awakened by a ghost. Corbanwore a brown bathrobe cinched tight around his waist; a silver pectoralcross hung over his chest. Each of them was pointing either a rifleor a handgun at the gate. They looked as incongruous and awkwardas Clint Eastwood competing in the Miss USA pageant.

"Back away!" Jagger yelled. He gestured with RoboHand, hisprosthetic forearm and clamping hook. "Hurry! Move!" The onlyway anyone was coming through would be if they detonated anotherexplosive, which would most likely send the doors and surroundingstone walls hurling toward the monks.

Apparently, when the first explosion failed to breach the gate, theattackers had decided to use the helicopter to get in. Having encounteredLeo's rocket, and with no way of knowing the one shot hadexhausted his supply, their next move was anyone's guess.

"Only six of you?" Jagger said to Leo. "Where're the rest?"

"Not all of us are fighters. Not the kind you're used to."

"What kind are they?"

"Prayer warriors," Leo said. "You can bet they're engaging theenemy at this very moment."

"Wonderful," Jagger said. He scanned the grounds. The courtyardwas wedge-shaped, about thirty feet at its widest point. It wasformed by the front wall; the long basilica, which angled diagonallyfrom the back of the courtyard toward the wall; and a structure builtaround the Well of Moses. No Disney-cute names here: supposedlyit was the very well at which Moses met his future wife, Zipporah.Radiating out from the courtyard was a crazy jumble of buildings—constructed at odd angles, in various shapes and sizes and materialsover the course of seventeen centuries—honeycombed by alleys, stairs,walkways, terraces, and tunnels. All of it was crammed into an areathe size of a city block, hemmed in by ancient walls sixty feet high andnine feet thick.

Over the multileveled rooftops and terraces he could see the topfloor of the Southwest Range Building at the far back of the compound.It stretched the entire length of the rear wall and, situatedon high ground—the entire monastery was built on the sloping baseof Mount Sinai—it appeared even larger than it was. In addition toa hospice, chapel, and monk cells, it housed a library and icon gallery,second only to the Vatican's in historic importance and monetaryvalue. Whatever the attackers wanted, chances were it was there.

Behind the Southwest Range Building, the mountain on whichMoses had received the Ten Commandments rose like a watchfulpresence, a charcoal silhouette against a slate sky. Jagger was thankfulfor the moon, which here in the Sinai always seemed closer to Earththan it did back in Virginia. Even in its current half-lit state, its radiancewashed away many of the compound's shadows and gave thesurfaces a silvery luminosity.

He turned in a circle and stopped when he was facing Father Leo.The monk held the shotgun in one hand, its muzzle pointed up. Feetapart, spine straight, eyes slowly scanning the top of the front wall, helooked ready for anything. No fear, just vigilance. Jagger wonderedhow many times the man had defended the monastery and if he'dknown what he was getting into when he joined the order.

Jagger asked, "What are they after?"

Continuing his visual sweep across the wall's ramparts, Leo shookhis head. "I don't know."

In the still air Jagger could hear the blades of the helicopter slowing,its engine dropping to a purr, then cutting off. It had landed infront of the gardens, on the opposite side of the monastery from thearchaeological dig. He ran toward the compound's northwest corner,bounded up a long flight of stone stairs, and came to a patio in frontof a row of unused monk cells. He climbed onto a railing and hoistedhimself onto the porch's steeply sloping roof. After twice almost losinghis footing, he reached the flat roof of the monk cells. It was only abouteight feet from the porch roof to the exterior wall; "small" didn't evenbegin to describe the private living space the monks allowed themselves.Crossing it, he reached the compound's outer wall, the top of whichcame to his chest. He climbed up and crawled to the outside edge.

The helicopter sat in the faded edge of the light from lamps mountedon the outside wall. It was canted on the slope leading to the mountainopposite Mount Sinai, its blades turning as slowly as a rotisserie. Thethings scrambling out of its wide side door and running toward themonastery made Jagger's breath stop in his lungs.

A single word gripped his mind, momentarily paralyzing him:monsters.

CHAPTER 2

Beth sat on the floor of the bedroom-closet-turned-panic-room, kneesbent up in front of her, back to a side wall. By the light of a battery-powered,pull-chain light, she smiled assurances at Tyler, sitting againstthe opposite wall, frightened eyes, brave smile.

She said, "Everything's all right."

"How do you know?"

"Your father's out there. That's good enough for me." But shedidn't blame him for being scared. The last time there was trouble atthe monastery, the boy had been shot. That time the attackers hadbeen the Tribe, a small remnant of the original forty who'd beencursed with immortality for their transgressions with the goldencalf. They sought redemption by killing sinners, but through millenniaof secrecy and violence, their motives and methods had twistedinto behavior Beth believed God could never condone. Together thefamily had discovered that Jagger was like them, an Immortal—arevelation even he had found as startling as the existence of Immortalsin the first place. A car crash nearly two years earlier had fragmentedhis memories, making them neither complete nor reliable. It had alsokilled a family beloved by the Bairds and taken Jagger's left arm.

Hearing the blasts outside, Beth wondered if the Tribe hadreturned.

Tyler was now fully recovered from the gunshot wound, largelythanks to possessing a bit of Jagger's incredible healing ability, buthe'd almost died and the whole ordeal had been traumatic for everyone.On the bright side, Tyler had snapped out of his need to regressto an age when things were less complicated and scary, when he foundcomfort in a blankie and his thumb. It amazed her that an event thatshould have thrown him further into fearfulness and insecurity hadinstead made him one amazingly courageous and independent ten-year-old.He even wore around his neck the bullet they took out ofhim. She was proud of him for using it as a reminder of his victoryover forces that had tried to kill him. She looked for it now, but hispajama top covered it.

"If everything's fine," Tyler said, "why do we have to be in here?"

"Because we promised Dad," she said. "Remember?"

Rolling his eyes, he made his voice deep and mimicked his father:"'Anything weird happens—gunshots, screams, little green men fallingfrom the sky—get in there and bolt the door. Don't come outuntil you hear me on the other side.'"

She nodded and glanced at the rectangular metal door set flushto the wall above Tyler's head—the gun safe, just large enough to holdone handgun and a box of ammo. The lock was biometric: to open it,she or Jagger needed only to press a thumb on a square of black glassbeside the door. She could get to it in seconds. Jagger wanted her toarm herself whenever she used the closet as a panic room—"If ever,"she'd corrected him, truly believing he was being overcautious butloving him for it. She had also told him she'd wait until she neededthe gun. Despite his teaching her and Tyler how to handle it safely,she didn't want to accidentally shoot herself or Tyler if somethingstartled her while she was holding it in that tight space.

It was such a tight space, in fact, that if all three of them used it atonce, Tyler would have to sit on one of their laps. She tried to imaginea situation in which Jagger ever would join them instead of fightingthe threat, and she couldn't.

What had turned the closet into a panic room were a metal door,a special door-length hinge, four commercial-grade deadbolts, thegun safe, a light, and a bunch of supplies like batteries, a first-aid kit,freeze-dried food, two gallon jugs of water, and blankets.

She wished they'd invested in a satellite phone, though she didn'tknow whom she'd call. She didn't even know what the danger was.She had been washing the dinner dishes, Tyler had been brushinghis teeth, and Jagger had been out making his evening rounds whenthey'd heard an explosion, and a tremor had run through the floor.Both her and Tyler's first inclination was to rush outside to see whathappened, but she'd restrained herself and grabbed Tyler's arm. Thenthey'd heard shouting and doors slamming; that's when she'd guidedher son into the panic room and locked the door. Since then, shethought she'd heard a helicopter, gunshots, and another explosion, thisone farther off.

On the way into the closet she'd grabbed her Bible. She cracked itopen now and turned to the book of John. It reminded her of God'sactive involvement in their lives, and she felt a tinge of hope. TheBible had been given to them by John the Apostle—also an Immortaland now using the name Owen Letois—who'd appeared at the monasteryin time to save Tyler's life. And it was Owen who'd crashed hisjet into the Tribe's drone control center, terminating their attack onLas Vegas. That he walked the earth was wondrous and miraculous;that she could call him friend was God bestowing a blessing on herfamily.

She read aloud: "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you;not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled,neither let it be afraid."

Tyler smiled, and his face visually calmed. What she wouldn'tgive to have the faith of a child. The Bible says it, so it must betrue. She believed that too, but her adult mind had a propensity toovercomplicate, to put a but after every sentence: But bad things dohappen ... but my husband is out there, no doubt right in the thick ofwhatever's happening ... but I'm still afraid.

"Read more," Tyler said, so she did.

CHAPTER 3

As the assault team came more fully into the light, Jagger realizedthey weren't monsters, only men—wildly dressed and cosmeticallymade up. One, two, three, all of them gripping assault rifles, two withbig packs bouncing on their backs. They seemed a ragtag bunch, nouniformity.

One was bald with a mustache and long, pointed goatee; blackraccoon makeup over his eyes; no shirt, showing off layers of bulgingmuscles. Another, tall, maybe six five, six six, wore jungle commandogarb: an olive flak vest, matching long-sleeved shirt, and many-pocketedpants. Long black hair flowed out from under a camo hat, the soft brimpinned up on the sides. Two dark lines ran diagonally over each cheekfrom the bridge of his nose: war paint. The massive gun he carried easily,as if it weighed nothing, appeared to be a .50-cal Browning machinegun—BMG—the kind meant to be mounted in the rear of a Jeep. Anammo belt ran from the weapon and looped over his shoulders.

And one, he realized, was a woman. Jagger's stomach tightened,but then he realized she wasn't Nevaeh, leader of the Tribe. WhereNevaeh was catlike, smooth, this woman moved in sharp, fast jerks,twitchy. She could have fronted a rock band: shiny leather vest fastenedin front with studs—bare arms and cleavage suggested nothingunderneath—studded wrist bands, leather pants.

A fourth attacker fast-walked into the brighter light, arms swinginglike upside-down metronomes, and Jagger decided "ragtag" didn'tcut it; insane fit the bill better. The guy was a character straight outof a steampunk graphic novel. A tight leather mask covered his faceand head, stitches everywhere; round brass-framed goggles; where hismouth should have been, a ribbed gas-mask hose dangled, ending in acanister bouncing against his sternum. He wore a leather trench coat,buttoned from collar to midthigh. The material itself went all the way tohis ankles. He was carrying a crossbow, a quiver of arrows on his back.

Movement caught Jagger's eye, and he saw a man standing on theopposite slope in line with the main gate. He seemed to have beenthere awhile, watching. He wore all black: a tee under a sport coat,snappy slacks, and gleaming dress boots with pointed toes. A fedoraangled slightly over a movie star face, dark features, evening shadow,close-cropped mustache, and soul patch. One hand hovered over hischest, a smoldering cigarette between two fingers. The other handrested on his hip. All casual, just waiting for the show to begin.

Which it did, with an overture of machine-gun fire. Bulletschipped away the stone edge in front of Jagger. Fragments pelted hisforehead and cheeks. He scrambled back and jumped down to the roof.Going from there to the porch's roof, in the darkness he misjudged thedistance and slope and tumbled forward. He twisted himself around,continued to roll, and felt the roof vanish under him. His right handgrabbed the edge, lost it. RoboHand shot to an upright patio-roof supportand clamped it with vise-like strength. He snapped to a stop,dangling fifty feet above a stone walkway.

He hefted himself up and over the railing and clambered downthe stairs. He found Leo and the other monks just off the courtyard,huddled together between the Well of Moses and the basilica. They'dheard him coming, and every gun was pointed his way.

"What was that?" Leo asked. "The shooting."

"I guess they wanted me off the wall."

(Continues...)