by K. T. Tomb
“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Sara yelled in response, swatting his hand away as she got back on her feet.
Judge recognized her right away, and had already decided on an aggressive approach when he met her. “Honey, you’re the one who should look where you’re going. I’m not the one who just got knocked to the ground.”
Sara glared at Judge. “I could change that for you if you’d like.”
Judge laughed at her. “Love to see you try, sweetheart. I’m sure you are a tornado at your kickboxing class, but that stuff doesn’t work on real people.”
“I bet you’d get off on fighting with a woman…make you feel like a big man!” Sara sneered.
Before she could add anything else, a man walked out into the museum lobby to take in the scene. “What’s going on here? Sara, are you bothering this man?”
Sara looked shocked at the accusation, but Judge just laughed and quickly offered an explanation. “Not at all. She is amusing me, though. To think Sara Goldstein just walked right into me, got knocked flat on her ass and is now threatening to beat me up. This must be my lucky day.”
“How do you know my name?” Sara asked. She eyed Judge, trying to figure out if there was a reason she should recognize him as well.
Judge held out his hand. “Hello, Dr. Goldstein. I’m Judge Foster, with the CIA. I’m here to find out if there’s any truth to this rumor that you’re helping terrorists smuggle contraband into the Middle East.” He turned to the other man. “Who are you?”
“I’m Michael Steward. Sara helps me and the American Museum sometimes and just so we’re very clear on the matter, I’m no terrorist.” He looked around the lobby nervously, trying to get an idea of who might be overhearing their candid conversation. The coast was essentially clear, but he took precautions anyway. “Let’s go to my office, so we don’t attract a crowd.”
Sara grudgingly followed Michael Steward back through the museum lobby toward his office, with Judge sauntering along behind her. He’d already decided two things about her, based on her general demeanor and obvious candor; firstly, she wasn’t engaged in any terrorist activity, at least not knowingly, and secondly, he wanted to take her out for dinner.
When they got to Michael’s office, Judge turned his chair so he was looking directly at Sara. His line of questioning went straight to the heart of the matter. “Dr. Goldstein, I’m going to need you to tell me as much as you can about your relationship with Gionni Gallo.”
Sara’s eyebrows shot up. “Gionni? You think Gionni’s a terrorist? He’s barely smart enough to button up his own shirt, much less to have a racket of that magnitude operating under my nose. Yes, he’s funded some of my digs, but he never leaves Napoli.”
“Does he send a representative to any of your locations?” Judge asked. He was quickly coming to like Sara. Her jet-black hair, intelligent blue eyes, and sharp cheekbones combined for a unique beauty.
Sara nodded. “Yes, Ricardo Estes makes frequent visits, but he never stays long. He just looks over the books and takes an occasional peek at some of the artifacts that are packed for shipment.”
“And those shipments are usually going to Israel, right?” Judge asked, as he wrote Ricardo Estes in his notebook.
“Yes, all of them, in fact, but he’s no terrorist either,” Sara said. He and Gionni have known each other since their childhood. Ricardo’s one of the few people who stuck with Gionni when he had his drug problem.”
Judge said, “There’s a good reason for that, I think. I’m almost positive this isn’t a terrorist case. This is a drug case. Ricardo is sneaking drugs into Israel through your shipments. When did you send your last one?”
“Three days ago,” Sara said, “we found a stash of Torah holders in Egypt. They should be landing in Tel Aviv tomorrow.”
Judge stood up. “Did you find those along the path to Pi-hahiroth?”
Sara cocked her head. “Yes, how did you know that?”
“CIA, remember?” Judge joked. “As it turns out, you’re not the only one here with a master’s in archeology, but enough about that. I’ll have our partners there take a close look at the crates in that particular shipment. Dr. Goldstein, I have two last requests for you. Number one, please don’t tell anyone about our little conversation here. I don’t want to spook anyone at the Israeli Museum of History or in Gallo’s camp.”
Sara nodded. “That makes sense. What is your second request?”
Judge smiled. “I would like to take you out to dinner tonight.”
Michael Steward coughed, embarrassed to be caught in the exchange which had suddenly taken a rather personal turn. He was also impressed at Judge’s gall. The man had started the day fighting with Sara, and was now openly flirting with her.
Sara held Judge’s stare and then, with a cynical smile, she said, “Tell you what, Agent Foster, I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow night if it turns out there are drugs in the shipment, simply because I think we might have something of value to discuss. If there aren’t any findings, though, I don’t want to see you around here, or any other workplace of mine, again. Understood?”
“Completely,” Judge said. “I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow. Wear something nice.”
Chapter Three
Judge thought often about that dinner as he rode his Indian motorcycle across the country after returning from Iraq.
He had plenty of wonderful memories of his time with Sara, but that had been the first. They had spent the entire evening talking about archeology and especially about Sara’s most recent dig. As the restaurant shut down, they left and Judge drove Sara to her home. She’d invited him in for a drink, but he had refused; instead, he’d stolen a kiss as they stood on the doorstep and got back into his car.
“I should have gone inside that night,” Judge said to himself as he sat in his crate apartment, so many years removed from that night. “Everything would have been different if I had gone inside.”
Judge wasn’t lying to himself, because when he arrived back at his studio apartment, Ed had been waiting for him with a packet of papers and a plane ticket to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Judge spent the next month there, following Ed’s directions and investigating all kinds of different leads for multiple cases. It had been the start of his and Ed’s new relationship as field agent and handler. During the first few weeks, Judge had deluded himself that he would be able to pick up with Sara when he returned. But when he got back to D.C., he learned that Sara had left for Egypt, researching her family’s genealogical history. They traded emails every so often, but nothing concrete came out of it for the longest time.
Not that Judge had too much time to dwell on ‘what-ifs’ at that crucial stage in his career. With the rise of the Taliban and Al-Qaeda, he spent very little time stateside over the next three years. After hitting the same roadblocks time and time again, Judge and Ed pitched their superiors an idea to keep him in the Middle East on a full-time basis. The idea was an elaborate ruse that Judge had become disillusioned with the CIA and had quit to follow his first love, archeology. As a covert operative, the cover of an American expatriate with CIA ties would be much more attractive than a straitlaced Agent Smith. To make it even more enticing, Judge suggested letting him write adventure novels, touting his experience as a Ranger and CIA operative.
“What do you know about writing adventure novels?” Left Smith asked. Judge had learned his name was actually Carl Mattingly, but he still saw him as Left Smith, even if he was now his superior’s superior.
Judge shrugged his shoulders. “What’s to know? Put a bunch of words in a row, throw in some punches, kisses, and intrigue, and then ship it to a publisher. I’ve been doing the same thing for you guys for pretty much the last three years. You know I have no shortage of bullshit to put down in writing.”
Left Smith snorted, but Judge could see he liked the idea. Two weeks later, Judge was given his last official order from the CIA: take the next month and write a novel. It took him just two weeks, to
everyone’s surprise. What they didn’t know was he had already been working on the book in his very limited spare time. Getting the book in front of a publisher didn’t take too much pressure, thanks to Judge’s easygoing, conversational style. In less than three months, Judge had successfully created the persona of an ex-CIA operative and published author. His next step was to find a job that sent him overseas. His first stop was the American Museum.
Chapter Four
“Why should I hire you, Mr. Foster? I certainly don’t have a shortage of eager young men and women knocking on my door, looking for a chance to travel,” Michael Steward said. “Some of which have a lot more experience in the field than you do.”
Judge was not in the least prepared for an interview; he hadn’t called ahead for an appointment, didn’t bring a resume, or even wear a tie. He’d felt the museum director should be jumping at the chance to have him on board. Even though Judge had already assessed that was exactly the case, it seemed Michael had felt it necessary to play a little hardball first. Michael liked the man’s brashness, and remembered vividly how he’d handled Sara Goldstein three years earlier, but really didn’t have a need for another exploration team member.
Judge knew all of this, but smiled with confidence anyway. “Mickey, I have no doubt that you are flooded with inexperienced recent graduates flashing their expensive pieces of paper at you. But I have something they don’t, and that’s research and reconnaissance experience, contacts, and name recognition.”
Michael scoffed, “You mean that book of yours? The American Museum doesn’t exactly need that kind of attention. And please don’t call me Mickey.”
“Have you read my book?” Judge asked.
“No, I have a few dozen non-fiction books to digest before I have time for pulp novels,” Michael said.
Judge nodded at the insult. “Funny, Rob Howard also called it a pulp novel, but he meant it as a compliment. Of course, he plans to turn it into a blockbuster movie. You know him, right?”
Michael was a little stunned. He did know Rob Howard and his magic touch when it came to directing movies. Maybe there was something to be gained by hiring this Judge Foster guy after all.
“Okay, say I do hire you,” Michael said, “what assurance do I have that you won’t actually still be working in part for the CIA and just using this job as a cover for recovery operations?”
Judge’s smile widened. “No assurance at all. They could call me up tomorrow and say they need me to look into something, tell me it has anything at all to do with national security and it would be my job as a patriot to help my country in any way I can. But what I can tell you for sure is that I burned enough bridges at the agency to make it where that kind of call would cause whoever is on the other end of the line some serious indigestion. I will be a last resort.”
It hadn’t been true then, but it definitely is now, Judge thought to himself as he ate Cup O’ Noodles in his self-imposed crate cell.
For five years, Judge had enjoyed the best of all worlds. Most of his days were spent working alongside some of the best archeologists on the planet, digging up, brushing off and solving the mysteries of the past. A few times each month, Ed would contact him about online chatter. Judge would explore, investigate, and then, report back. Often the result would be a raid from other field operatives. On rare occasions, Judge did the wet work himself. He didn’t relish those instances, but he knew how the world worked and what needed to be done to protect innocent people from the malicious intents of others.
The best part of his new assignment was getting a chance to reconnect with Sara. Thanks to a little behind-the-scenes manipulation by Michael, they were both assigned to a dig near Nekhel, Egypt. Random satellite shots of the area turned up what looked like a half-finished pyramid, and the American Museum received permission from the Egyptian government to take a look. It had made sense to select the two, since Sara and Judge were already in the country.
“Michael, I am more than willing to check this out for you, but I don’t need Adventure Boy turning into a distraction,” Sara said, refusing to look at Judge, despite being the only two people in the room while talking to Michael over the phone.
“So, I still distract you, Sara? That’s good to know,” Judge responded. His success as a fiction writer had rankled Sara, as well as several other people who considered themselves ‘real archeologists.’ He particularly liked the nickname they had given him, much to their chagrin. The consummate professional that she was, Sara didn’t rise to the bait.
“I understand why you hired him, Michael, but he would bring the wrong kind of attention to any dig he worked on.”
Michael’s voice came from the speaker phone. “Do you have a problem with international reporters flocking to report on our finds? Personally, I don’t, and neither do the people who donate money to the American Museum...even if their only reason was that Judge Foster was present. Can you attest to there being something fundamentally wrong about his methods? Is he reckless or disrespectful?”
Sara thought for a moment about lying and saying yes, but knew she couldn’t do that. “No, Michael, nothing like that.” In fact, Sara had always been surprised by Judge’s insistence on following all protocols and scientific methods to the letter. She’d found his precision and attention to detail irritating on some occasions.
“Well, that is good to hear,” Michael said, his voice crackling. “It would therefore be my suggestion that you two sit down over dinner and work out your differences. As the circumstances are at the moment, the Nekhel dig may turn out to be nothing more than a one- or two-day job or it could develop into months of work if it develops into a completely new find. You two need to be able to work together.” Michael hung up, leaving Sara and Judge alone in a quiet room.
“Glad to hear you don’t think I’m reckless, Sara,” Judge said, “I respect your opinion and your work ethic. If Mickey wants us to work together, he must have a good reason for it.”
Sara sniffed. “I’m sure he does, but I’m not sure I want to know that reason. By the way, you know he hates when you call him Mickey, right?”
Judge nodded. “Yep, but it’s growing on him. I can tell. Where do you want to go eat? I know a place in Al Marj that serves the best soul food.”
“No, you don’t.” Sara laughed. “But I do know a good restaurant in that area. Let’s get this over with.”
Forty minutes later, Judge and Sara were sharing their second meal together. The conversation started out much more stilted than the first, but as the hours wore on, their chemistry reignited. When Judge drove back to the hotel and Sara offered him a nightcap, he didn’t hesitate to accept; he wasn’t going to make that mistake twice. As soon as Sara opened the door to her room and Judge closed it behind him, they both knew that drinking was not on the agenda for the evening.
Sara pushed Judge against the door and kissed him deeply. The move caught him by surprise, but he liked the way she took charge. Judge let Sara take the lead for several minutes, enjoying the feel of her against him. Then he turned the tables, taking her in his arms and spinning so that she was against the door.
“You are an amazing woman, Sara. I should have accepted your offer for a nightcap all those years ago,” Judge whispered as he kissed her ear and neck.
“Why didn’t you, Adventure Boy?” Sara asked, enjoying the feel of his three-day beard against her soft neck.
“I’m an old-fashioned guy, and wanted you to know that I respected you too much to ravish you on the first date,” Judge said and kissed her deeply.
When they parted, Sara asked, “And now? Have I lost your respect?”
Judge stopped kissing her for a second, staring straight into Sara’s blue eyes. “Never. I will always respect you. But the way I see it, you started it, and technically, this is our second date. Besides, only a fool would walk away from someone as beautiful and intelligent as you, twice.”
Sara grabbed the back of Judge’s head. “Good answer, Adventure Boy, so sto
p fooling around.” She mashed her lips against his and wrapped her legs around his waist. He got the message and walked them both over to the bed. They didn’t say much to each other after that; they were too busy spending the night making up for lost time.
Chapter Five
In the morning, neither Judge nor Sara seemed to be able to wipe the smiles off their faces as they drove the four hours to the Nekhel site in a beat-up Hummer.
They had both decided to start off alone, worried that bringing an entire crew along could attract too much attention this early in the investigation. Michael had sent them the satellite coordinates, as well as aerial pictures. The road would only take them so far, and then, they would have to take their chances on the sand. The Hummer was equipped for it, but it could still be dangerous. After three hours of tense navigation over sand dunes, through dry riverbeds, and around unexpected cliffs, they found the site. There were two clear walls of stone, forming the familiar sides of a small pyramid. Judge could see a small opening in one of the walls that could possibly be the entrance. The remains of a sand dune obscured the rest of the structure.
“I can’t believe it,” Sara said, jumping out of the Hummer. “How could anyone have missed this?”
Judge thought that was a good question, and he was almost sure the answer was that someone had found it, and that someone might still be there.
“Sara, let’s take this slow. It looks like everything could be okay, but my spidey senses are tingling,” Judge said. He drew his M9 from its holster and walked toward the ruins. Sara noticed the gun and let him take the lead. She’d seen more than her share of scavengers at sites like this one, and could certainly appreciate the need for caution. Although the place looked deserted, safety was a good call. She made her eyes search for all the tiny details that would give away the presence of people.
Sara noted how the wind pushed sand through the entrance, and realized that if someone had entered the structure; his tracks would have been obscured. She looked at the ground around the perimeter of the site, and didn’t see any evidence of tire tracks, but as they walked closer to the structure, she did see the slowly disappearing hoof prints of a camel. She tapped Judge’s shoulder to draw his attention.