The Devil Colony (Sigma Force 7)
To help with the passage of time and to distract himself from the burn of the sun, Hank walked beside Painter. “The moon and the star,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about that symbol and the name for the tribe. Tawtsee’untsaw Pootseev.”
“The People of the Morning Star.”
Hank nodded. “The morning star that shines so brightly in the eastern skies at dawn is really the planet Venus. But Venus is also called the evening star because it shines brilliantly at sunset in the west. Many ancient astrologers figured this connection out. That’s why the crescent moon is often associated with the morning star.” He swung his arm in a low arc from east to west. “The two horns of the moon represent the star’s rise in both the east and the west, connecting them together.”
“Okay, but what are you getting at?”
“This particular pairing of moon and star is an ancient symbol, one of the oldest in the world. It speaks to man’s knowledge of his place in the universe. Some religious historians believe the Star of Bethlehem was in fact the morning star.”
Painter shrugged. “The symbol’s also found on the flags of most Islamic countries.”
“True, but even Muslim scholars will tell you that the symbol has nothing to do with their faith. It was in fact co-opted from the Turks.” Hank waved this all away. “But the symbol’s reach goes much further back. One of the earliest attestations of this paired symbol goes back to the lands of ancient Israel. From the Moabites, who were relatives of the Israelites according to the Book of Genesis—but who also had ties to the Egyptians.”
Painter held up a hand, stopping him from elaborating in more depth. “I get it. The symbol may further support your conjecture that these ancient people came from Israel.”
“Well, yes, but—”
Painter pointed toward the horizon, toward the distant mesa. “If there are any answers, hopefully we’ll find them out there.”
12:46 P.M.
San Rafael Swell
What have I done?
Kai stood still, dull with shock, in the middle of the Humetewas’ main room. Iris sat in a chair by the hearth, her tears bright in the firelight, but the old woman kept her face hard. Her fingers clenched the arms of her chair as she looked at her husband. Alvin was lying on his back across the pine table, stripped to his boxers. His thin chest rose up and down, much too rapidly. Blistered red welts marked his ribs. The reek of burned flesh filled the room.
A large-boned black woman stoked the fire. A second iron poker rested in the flames. Its tip was of the same shape as Alvin’s blisters. The shadowy woman didn’t even look up as Kai was dragged into the room.
Behind her, the giant blond soldier who’d captured them threw Jordan to the floor in the corner. With his wrists tied behind his back, he could not brace himself against his fall, but he twisted enough to hit the ground with his shoulder and skid up against the wall.
The other occupant of the room was seated at the head of the table. He stood up, pushing on a cane. Kai thought he was an older man—maybe it was the cane, or the ultraconservative suit, or the frailness that seemed to emanate from him. But as he thumped around the table, she saw that his face was smooth, unblemished, except for a dark stubble of beard, as artfully groomed as the sharp lines of his dark hair. He could be no older than his midthirties.
“Ah, there you are, Ms. Quocheets. My name is Rafael Saint Germaine.” He glanced to his watch. “We expected you much sooner and had to start without you.”
The man waved his cane over Alvin’s body. The old man flinched, which tore the hole in Kai’s heart even wider.
“We’ve been trying to ascertain the whereabouts of your uncle, but Alvin and Iris have been most uncooperative . . . despite the tender ministrations of my dear Ashanda.”
The woman by the fire glanced up.
At the sight of her face, Kai’s insides went slippery and cold. The woman, apart from her large size, looked ordinary enough, but as her eyes glinted in the firelight, Kai noticed that they were unfathomably empty, a mirror for whoever looked into them.
The crack of the cane on the floor drew her full attention. “Back to business.” The man named Rafael waved for his torturer to remove the hot iron. “We still need an answer.”
Kai stumbled forward to the table. “Don’t!” she blurted out. It came out as a half sob. “They don’t know where my uncle went!”
Rafael’s eyebrows rose. “That’s what the Humetewas have been claiming, but how can I believe them?”
“Please . . . my uncle never told them. He didn’t want them to know. Only I know.”
“Don’t tell them,” Iris said, hoarse with anger and grief.
The man named Rafael searched the beams overhead and sighed. “Such melodrama.”
Kai ignored Iris and kept her focus on the man with the cane. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.” She found her voice again. “But not until you let the others go . . . all of them. Once they’re safely gone, I’ll tell you where my uncle went.”
Rafael seemed to weigh this offer. “While I’m sure you’re an honest and forthright person, Ms. Quocheets, I’m afraid I can’t take that chance.” He waved the black woman closer to Alvin. “Mouths have a tendency to be harder to pry open without good leverage. It’s all a matter of basic physics, of action and reaction.”
The poker lowered toward Alvin’s cheek. Its iron tip glowed a smoldering red, smoking and softly hissing.
Rafael leaned both hands on his cane. “This particular scar will be much harder to hide. That is, of course, if he lives.”
Kai had to stop this. There was only one option. In order to buy some time and keep them from torturing Alvin, she had to tell them the truth.
She opened her mouth, but Jordan spoke first.
“Keep me prisoner!” he called from the floor. “If you need Kai’s cooperation, you can use me as leverage. But please let the Humetewas go.”
Kai latched onto that chance. “He’s right. Do that, and I’ll talk.”
“My dear, you’ll talk whether we release Iris and Alvin or not.”
“But it will take longer,” Kai pressed. “Maybe too long.”
She turned and matched gazes with Iris, trying to absorb the old woman’s strength. If need be, Kai would resist for as long as possible, do her best to convince the interrogators that they would only waste precious time in torturing Alvin and Iris, that they could get what they needed much faster by letting the old couple go.