Free Kardinal by Thomas Emson Page B

is something inside that is different. There is something alive in you that isn’t of you.”
    He gently eased her hand away. “Can you take me to Nimrod?”
    “After blood.”
    When he’d given Jenna his blood, he’d felt weak. Now he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. He faced a long journey. He faced a dangerous one. Enemies hunted him. He was becoming paranoid, and needed to be alert.
    “Blood,“ she said, throwing herself against him. “Blood, now.”
    He dropped the swords and gripped her arms. He wanted her, this undead thing. This witch. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He twisted her around, aiming to toss her on the floor and mount her.
    But he managed to control himself again and shoved her away.
    “No,” he said. “No.”
    But she flung herself back at him, sailing through the air as if on wings, and crashed into him, sending him staggering backwards.

CHAPTER 20. DESCENDENTS OF KINGS.
     
    Hillah, Iraq – 12.30am (GMT + 3 hours), 18 May, 2011
     
    ALFRED Fuad knew he was being watched. He was aware of it even before the scouts from Hillah came that morning to say a man and a woman had rented a house on the outskirts of the city. They were foreign, said the scout. The man was tall with dark hair and a thick moustache. He carried a cane decorated with a gold ferrule. The woman was tall and beautiful, her skin dark, her eyes fiery. The scout said she looked like an African princess.
    Aaliyah Sinclair, thought Alfred.
    Did that mean the man could be Jake Lawton?
    The name made Alfred shudder.
    He got up from his desk, where he’d been reading the scout’s report and viewing some photographs.
    He got a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and poured himself a tumbler.
    Lawton? Was that possible?
    The description did not fit the ex-soldier, but who knew with Lawton? He might have changed his appearance. He might have miraculously made it to Iraq.
    “No,” Alfred told himself. “It’s impossible. You are being paranoid.”
    He drank again. The liquid was fiery. It gave him confidence to believe the man wasn’t Lawton. It just couldn’t be. Nebuchadnezzar agents had been tracking the bastard across Europe. They’d lost him a few times. Found him again. Lost him again. He was devious and slippery. He was clever and dangerous. Very dangerous.
    They knew he’d left Britain after the battle in February. He and his companions had been picked up in Rotterdam. Christine Murray, her son, David, and the Chinese troublemaker, Kwan Mei, had been sent back to the UK. The Chinese woman was due to be deported back to her own country, because she was an illegal immigrant, but once in London, she’d slipped away with David Murray.
    But Christine Murray, that interfering hack, was apprehended by George’s men in Folkestone.
    He downed another whisky. His head was swimming. He needed a nap. But he didn’t have time. George would not be happy if he slept on the job.
    Alfred loved his brother. He always wanted to please him. Perhaps if Lawton had a brother like George, he wouldn’t be so much trouble. He would have had guidance. He would have had a sibling to smack him around when he did something wrong. Burn his back with their dad’s cigarettes. Force his hand into a jarful of wasps. Rub his face in dog shit.
    Bloody Lawton. The man was impossible. Five bullets lodged in his body from various conflicts. Two from Afghanistan, they said. One from Iraq. The other two, who knew. But he was still alive. None of his enemies had managed to kill him.
    But I will, thought Alfred. If he is the man in the house, if he ever comes here, I will kill him. I will kill Jake Lawton, and George will love me even more.
    He drank again, brimming with confidence now.
    He surveyed the maps and the plans pinned to the wall of his office at the dig. He buzzed with excitement. He felt so powerful. He was making history. He was creating a new future. He would excavate a god and give it to his brother.
    He thought about