Etana, it was a means to an end. In any event, for them both, the house was a dead thing, a pack animal at best. It was not holy, it was not a gateway to the divine. They did not understand that Tanirt had chosen the spot, using the ancient incantation she possessed and he coveted. He had once asked her what language she was chanting. It was Ugaritic. She said it was spoken by the alchemists of King Solomon's court, in what is now Syria. That was why she had placed the statue in the very center of the house, the space from which its holiness emanated. He'd had to have it smuggled in because any statues of this sort were strictly forbidden by sharia. And of course, neither Benjamin El-Arian nor Marlon Etana knew of its existence. They'd have had him burned alive as a heretic. But if Tanirt had taught him anything, it was that there were ancient forces - perhaps mysteries was a better term - that had preceded religion, any religion, even Judaism, which were all the inventions of mankind in attempts to come to terms with the terror of death. The origins of the mysteries, Tanirt had told him, were divine, which according to her had nothing to do with man's conception of God. "Did Baal exist?" she had asked rhetorically. "I doubt it. But something did."
Save for the wind, the night was still. He knew they were coming, but he didn't know from where. All attempts to follow them had ended in failure - a failure, he told himself, that was not unexpected. On the other hand, there had been attraction. Arkadin's three men had been neutralized at the sacrifice of four of his own. These Russians were fierce warriors. Not that it mattered; Arkadin would not gain entrance no matter what he tried. All houses had vulnerabilities that could serve as points of entrance - sewers, for instance, or drains, or the place where the electrical lines came in. Because this house was not designed for people there were no sewers. Because there was no heating or cooling, no refrigerators or ovens to drain electricity, all the electrical systems ran off a giant generator in a shielded room within the house. There was, literally, no way into the house that wouldn't set off the various alarms, which would in turn trip other security measures.
His son, Badis, had wanted to come, but of course Idir wouldn't hear of it. Badis still asked about Tanirt even though at eleven he was old enough to know better. Badis remembered only when Tanirt loved his father, or at least said she loved him. Now she engendered in Idir a bone-deep terror that invaded his nights, his very sleep, shattering it with unspeakable nightmares.
It had all gone wrong when he had asked her to marry him and she had denied him.
"Is it because you don't believe I love you?" he had said.
"I know you love me."
"It's because of my son. You think that because I love Badis more than anything I can't make you happy."
"It isn't your son."
"Then what?"
"If you have to ask," she had said, "then you will never understand."
That's when he had made his fatal mistake. He had confused her with other women. He had tried to coerce her, but the more he threatened her, the larger her stature seemed to grow, until she filled his entire living room, asphyxiating him with her presence. And, gasping, he had fled his own home.
The sounds of the bolt-action Sakos brought his mind back into focus. He peered through the darkness. Was that a shadow flitting across the rooftop of the house? His sharpshooters thought so. In the hallucinatory moonlight there was a blur, then nothing. Utter stillness. And then, out of the corner of his eye, the shadow moved again. His heart leapt. His order for them to fire was already on his lips when from behind him he heard his name being called.
He whirled to see Leonid Arkadin standing spread-legged, an odd-looking boxy weapon in his hand.
"Surprise," Arkadin said and promptly shot off two sharp bursts from the Magpul that took off the heads of the sharpshooters. They folded like marionettes.
"You do not frighten me," Idir said. His face and robes were soaked with the blood and brains of his men. "I have no fear of death."
"For yourself, perhaps."
Arkadin motioned with his head and the woman, Soraya Moore, appeared out of the shadows. Idir gasped. She