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THE FORBIDDEN TEXT

Greenleaf Book Group Press

Chapter One

A drenaline pushed James Clark hard. Twenty-two minutes and three and a half miles of mountainous terrain behind him, a bright orange light briefly illuminated his path through the woods. Explosions erupted in the distance, shaking clumps of lingering snow from the trees. Heart pounding, chest heaving, he paused briefly to look back. Fire painted the night sky orange.

His mind flashed back to less than an hour before. He had infiltrated the secret soviet compound to extract her before the airstrike hit. startled awake, she had opened her mouth to scream, but Clark's hand had been faster, stifling her into silence. Black clothing veiled his tall, sinewy form, and in the dark confines of her room, her fear-filled eyes searched out his shadowed face.

"Hello, Eliza," he whispered, his breath falling warm against her face.

Her eyes softened in recognition and he released her mouth.

"Get dressed," he urged her. "We don't have much time."

"I had given up. I thought you were dead!"

"I'm hard to kill," he replied as he pulled back the scratchy woolen blanket. Everything was going according to plan until he saw the newborn infant swaddled on her chest.

"What the hell?" he stammered.

"Her name is Alexia," Eliza offered in abbreviated response as she passed the sleeping baby to Clark, leaving unspoken questions unanswered.

Awkwardly, he accepted the tiny bundle and his stomach knotted. His plans hadn't included extra passengers.

Sensing his tension, the child began to stir in his arms.

Clark didn't know much about babies. A nuclear warhead would have been easier for him to handle—those he knew how to disarm.

Eliza scrambled to dress and began stuffing final items for her daughter into a well-worn, brown leather bag.

Seconds counted down inside Clark like a timer on a detonator. He didn't have to look at his watch. He could sense it—the airstrike was in motion. "Hurry!"

"We can't leave until I go to the lab!"

"There's no time for that! All you need is a coat."

The baby squirmed again, threatening to rouse.

Eliza hurriedly handed Clark the bag and slipped into a threadbare gray overcoat. "I've got to get the map. I can't leave it behind!" she said.

"Damn it, Eliza! Forget the map," Clark said, as he awkwardly jiggled the bundle to keep it quiet. "We have got to leave now!"

"I can't let them have it. The map leads to the Forbidden Text!"

"You're the real asset. You can re-create the fucking map!"

"It's not that simple," she argued. "It's cryptic—filled with symbols and ciphers."

Clark wanted to let her retrieve it, but every second spent at Blackheart's lair—Himmelshaus—was a second closer to death. Unceremoniously and without another word, he shoved the baby back into her arms, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and motioned toward the door. "We're moving out," he ordered, leaving no time for a reply.

With a frustrated sigh, Eliza complied, and hurriedly, they retraced Clark's earlier footsteps through the hall and down the stairs, his weapon leading the way. stopping short in a darkened stairwell, Clark paused to scout ahead with his senses. He had learned much from his Apache grandfather, Tsóyéé, during childhood; becoming `one' with his surroundings had saved his life countless times.

He felt it before he heard it—a forewarning in his gut. Instinctively, he shoved Eliza flat up against the wall with an arm across her chest, as the fingers of his other hand wrapped silently around the handle of his carbonized dagger.

In Eliza's arms, the blanketed bundle stirred, threatening to cry. she kissed her daughter's forehead softly and began almost imperceptibly swaying from side to side, praying that her racing heart would not further alarm the child.

From down the hall, two long shadows approached, hurriedly making their way across the white tile. Clark couldn't see the shorter man's face but immediately recognized the taller of the pair as Nikolai Krueger, a high-ranking KGB official he'd code-named Cobra. The medium-built, slick-haired, pinch-faced Russian had the smile of a charlatan and a razor-like mind. Cunning, Krueger was determined to procure, to steal if he had to, the maximum personal gain from the system in which he lived. What the hell was he doing here? Clark wondered. He was supposed to be dead! Regardless, in a few short moments, the airstrike would introduce Krueger to his maker.

As the shadows passed, Clark grabbed Eliza's hand and sneaked them out an unmarked fire exit. Outside in the snow, they pressed into the dark shadow of the building. A crackling, cold siberian wind bit Clark's face as he surveyed their escape route through the compound.

"Damn. The cloud cover's breaking," he muttered almost imperceptibly.

Intermittent rays of moonlight reflected brilliantly off smattered patches of icy snow. Their shroud was rapidly dwindling.

"Wait here," Eliza said as she thrust Alexia into his arms. "I'm not leaving without the map." The silk scarf wrapped around her head concealed all but a few golden tresses. Her sapphire eyes showed no fear, only determination.

Clark shot her a stern look. "My job is to get you out!" he snapped, shoving the child back at her. "It's too dangerous!"

Eliza understood his fear but ignored his warning. Meeting his gaze, she took his hand in hers and placed it on the brown satchel.

"Sewn inside the lining," she began, her voice low and earnest, "are my journals, along with notes about Blackheart's master plan. I can explain everything later, but right now I've got to get the map. The Forbidden Text can never be allowed to fall into Father's hands!"

"Just tell me where to look. I'll go."

"You'll never find it in time," she replied. The resolve in her voice left no doubt. she would be going with or without his permission.

"If you're not back in eight minutes, I'm coming after you."

She leaned in and placed a quick kiss on her daughter's cheek. Wisps of the baby's auburn hair glinted in the moonlight. She glanced at the timer on Clark's wristwatch—fourteen minutes until Himmelshaus would be leveled. Pausing only a second longer to press her lips against his, she turned to leave. Clark pulled her back, against his better judgment, and deepened the kiss. Despite himself, emotions—a counterintelligence agent's greatest weakness—flooded his being. For an instant he found himself lost, floating in that space of timelessness, until a roving searchlight descended out of the blackness and snapped them back to the bitter, cold reality at hand.

"I'll be right back," Eliza whispered. Turning, she darted through the shadows and disappeared into a neighboring building.

Clark crouched and carefully laid the sleeping infant down, tucking it out of harm's way. Silently, he threaded a suppressor onto the barrel of his custom .45 caliber Colt Commander. Six terrible minutes passed.

A shrill alarm sliced through the air.

The baby whimpered and burst into a wail just as Eliza came crashing, stumbling, out of a side door fifty yards away with guards in hot pursuit.

"Run!" Clark roared, drawing his gun up to aim.

Quickly regaining her footing, Eliza sprinted full-tilt in his direction.

The first guard from the door intercepted a muffled bullet from Clark's suppressed Colt...