Only a little further…
At least the rain had stopped.
He leaned his shoulder into the line and hauled the trailing boat toward solid ground. Behind him, Danny worked the oars while Painter guided the boat around the rocks. At last, the beach opened up ahead, a clear shot.
“Pull hard!” Painter called back to Danny.
Slack grew in the line as Danny obeyed. The launch leaped forward with a sweep of oars. Painter fought the water, climbing out of the waves, knee-deep. He slogged forward and to the side.
The launch surfed a final wave and passed to Painter’s right. He ducked to avoid being hit. “Sorry!” Danny called to him, dragging in the oars.
The boat’s prow ground into the sand with a screech of aluminum. The wave receded, leaving the boat beached.
Painter crawled and kicked out of the water, gaining his feet.
The eight men and women clambered from the launch. Coral helped Kara, while Danny, Omaha, and Clay half fell out of the boat. Only the three Desert Phantoms—Captain al-Haffi and his two men—remained on their feet, scanning the beach.
Painter lumbered farther out of the lapping water, sodden, limbs heavy. He crossed beyond the tide line in the sand. Winded, he turned to see how the others were faring with the launch. They’d have to hide the boat, drag it somewhere, or sink it.
A shadow loomed behind him. He failed to see the raised fist. He was struck in the face. Too weak, he simply fell backward onto his rear.
“Omaha!” Kara called out.
Painter now recognized his attacker. Omaha stood over him.
“What are you—” Before Painter could finish, the man was on him, shoving him back into the sand, one hand on his throat, the other going for another punch.
“You goddamn son of a bitch!”
Before the fist could land, hands grabbed Omaha’s shoulder, shirt. He was tugged backward. He fought, twisting, but Coral had a fistful of the man’s collar. She was strong. Cotton ripped along the neckline.
Painter took the opportunity to scramble backward. His left eye wept from the first punch.
“Let me go!” Omaha bellowed.
Coral threw him bodily into the sand.
Kara circled to his other side. “Omaha! What the hell are you doing?”
He sat up, red-faced. “That bastard knows more than he’s been telling us.” He jerked a thumb at Coral. “Him and his Amazon sidekick.”
Even his brother tried to calm him. “Omaha, this isn’t the time to be—”
Omaha shoved up to his knees, panting, spittle flying. “Goddamn right it’s time! We followed the bastard this far. I want answers before we move one step further.” He heaved to his feet, swaying a bit.
Painter gained his feet with an arm from Coral.
The others all faced them, a line drawn in the sand between them.
Kara stood in the center, glancing at each group. She held up a hand, seeming to settle on a side. She faced Painter. “You said you had a plan. Let’s start there.”
Painter took a deep breath and nodded. “Salalah. That’s where they’ll be taking Safia. Where we have to go next.”
Omaha called out, “How do you know that? Why are you so sure? They could be taking her anywhere…for ransom, to sell the artifact. Who the hell knows where?”
“I know,” Painter said coolly. He let silence stretch before speaking again. “This was no random raiding party that attacked us. They were focused, purposeful in their assault. They whisked in and grabbed Safia and the iron heart. They knew what they were going after and who knew the most about it.”
“Why?” asked Kara, clipping some outburst from Omaha with a thrust of an arm. “What do they want?”
Painter stepped forward. “What we wanted. Some clue to the true location of the lost city of Ubar.”
Omaha swore under his breath. The others simply stared.
Kara shook her head. “You haven’t answered my question.” Her tone darkened. “What do they want? What do they seek to gain by finding Ubar?”
Painter licked his lips.
“This is bullshit!” Omaha growled. He shoved past Kara, fast.
Painter stood his ground, holding Coral back with a hand signal. He would not be punched again.
Omaha lifted his arm. Metal glinted in the meager light. A pistol pointed at Painter’s head. “You’ve been yanking our chains long enough. Answer the woman’s question. What the hell’s going on?”
“Omaha,” Kara warned, but there was not much energy in her voice.
Coral sidled to the side, positioning to go for Omaha’s flank. Painter again signaled her to hold.
Omaha punched the gun at him harder. “Answer me! What goddamn game is going on here? Who do you really work for?”
Painter had no choice but to come clean. He needed the group’s cooperation. If there was to be any hope of stopping Cassandra, of rescuing Safia, he would need their help. He couldn’t do it with Coral alone.
“I work for the U.S. Department of Defense,” he finally admitted. “Specifically DARPA. The research-and-development arm of the DOD.”
Omaha shook his head. “Fucking great. The military? What does any of this have to do with them? We’re an archaeological expedition.”
Kara answered before Painter could. “The explosion at the museum.”
Omaha glanced at her, then back at Painter.
He nodded. “She’s right. It was no ordinary blast. Residual radiation pointed to an extraordinary possibility.” All eyes were on him, except Coral, who still had her full attention on Omaha and the gun. “There is a high probability that the exploded meteorite contained some form of antimatter.”
Omaha let out an explosive sound of derision, as if he had been holding it all along. “Antimatter…what a load of bullshit! Who do you take us for?”
Coral spoke at his side, matter-of-fact, professional. “Dr. Dunn, he is telling you the truth. We tested the blast zone ourselves, detecting Z-bozons and gluons, decay particles from an antimatter/matter interaction.”
Omaha frowned, less sure.
“I know it sounds preposterous,” Painter said. “But if you’ll lower your gun, I’ll explain.”
Omaha steadied the pistol instead. “So far this is all that’s kept you talking.”
Painter sighed. It was worth the try. “Have it your way, then.”
With the gun pointed at his face, he gave a brief overview: of the Tunguska explosion in Russia in 1908, of the unique gamma radiation found both there and at the British Museum, of the plasma characteristics of the explosion, and how evidence hinted that somewhere out in the deserts of Oman lay a possible source of antimatter, preserved in some unknown fashion to make it stable and unreactive while in the presence of matter.