Adam & Eve - By Sena Jeter Naslund Page 0,107

the pressure and drama that come with procrastination.”

“You killed him?”

“Whatcha got, boss?” the American voice asked: jeans, a Stetson, chewing gum. His body was relaxed, languid but alert.

“Where is the case of the French horn?” the old man in black asked in accented English.

“We’ll get it,” Gabriel said casually. “No rush. This wilderness is almost Eden, my friends. Let time stand still.”

“I want to go home, Gabriel,” I said. I forced myself to speak calmly. Nothing had ever been harder. I made myself swallow. I felt my own tears clinging to my eyelashes. Now I must focus, think, be smarter than all of them.

“Cool as a cucumber,” Gabriel said. His voice took on a cruel curl. “Do people have that expression in little Memphis?” The tip of his tongue wetted his thin lips and seemed to taste the air.

Although I felt a strong impulse to run, I hesitated. Could I start the plane? If I outran them to the plane—I was younger than any of them—if I could start the Cessna, I could escape. With the flats of my fingers, I pressed the memory stick against my breastbone. Could I come back for Adam? Would I? What constituted treachery?

“I’ve always wanted you, Lucy.”

“Wanted me?”

“All those years you were with Thom, the two of you growing older together. You always the trusting child to Papa Thom. I wanted you to look at me that way and then have the power to betray you. As Thom did.”

“Leave,” I answered. I tried to filter the hatred from my voice. “Just leave me here. You’ve got what you really wanted, Gabriel.”

“Oh, no,” the rabbi remarked. “We also want the texts, the Genesis parchments.”

I feared I might faint. I closed my eyes to steady myself and drew in a deep breath. Lemons! Distinctly, I smelled the odor of lemons.

Adam had followed me!

He had disobeyed.

At that moment, his voice rang out, “Run!”

As I spun around to run, I saw Adam burst into the clearing, swinging the French horn case at Gabriel’s head. Though the Texan lunged toward me, I evaded him and ran. In an instant, I was sprinting toward the Cessna.

At the edge of the jungle, without hesitating, I ran across the tarmac and up the steps into the plane as though they were the stairs to heaven. Freedom and joy canceled every feeling but determination. Panting, I rushed into the cockpit, sat in the pilot’s seat, and pushed the ignition square. The twin engines sputtered to life.

Certain of our triumph, I imagined Adam subduing his enemies as he wielded the French horn case, like Samson with the jawbone of an ass. Soon he would join me. Soon we would fly. Quickly, while I waited, I picked up Gabriel’s knapsack and looked in it. Yes, a wallet. Money.

I would fly to the cradle of Western civilization, to Greece; we would abandon the plane, buy new clothes, take the train to the south of France. Would they follow? Would they perish in the wilderness? Never mind. Money! New clothes! I laughed hysterically to think of dressing Adam, like Barbie’s Ken, in expensive casual clothes. Myself, too.

I was out of my mind with joy and foolishness. Run, Adam. He would look like a fashion model, strong and cruelly handsome. I could not stop myself from giggling; nonetheless, I fastened my seat belt in preparation for takeoff. People on the train to France would surely wonder how I had managed to snag someone so young and comely. Run, run! But he was mine, yes, he was mine! And I would marry him—I vowed it—and make him well.

Adam hurried across the tarmac toward the plane, but he did not run. The sleeves of Riley’s camouflage shirt were rolled up, and I admired Adam’s sinewy forearm and the hand that grasped the black snail of the French horn case. We would take the Genesis codex to Pierre Saad. I imagined Adam had knocked the thieves out cold. Now all three were lying crumpled together among the jungle greenery, stars orbiting the interiors of their skulls. Perhaps dead. Their venomous brains registering blackness. I touched the titanium case of Thom’s flash drive.

With perfect competence, Adam efficiently mounted the Cessna’s stairs, pulled them up after himself, bent to kiss my cheek, assumed the copilot’s chair, and buckled his seat belt as I began the taxi for takeoff.

Glancing over at Adam, I thought he had never looked so handsome. The plane and my propeller heart roared into the sky.

PART THREE

THE FRENCH QUARTET

ARIELLE WAS

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