by M. B. Lewis
Curt picked up a Federal Express envelope from the table and struggled with the taped over pull-tab. He reached behind his back and pulled out a knife to cut through the top of the envelope.
“You all are booked on the 6:00 a.m. flight to Istanbul . . .” Curt said. His voice drifted off as Kadie focused on the knife. It was a knife she had seen before—inches from her head. The wide blade and narrow handle with the manufacturers’ logo inscription seared into her brain.
Curt stopped spewing their itinerary. “What’s wrong?”
Kadie couldn’t speak. Her mind raced as she put together the pieces of this puzzle.
“W-where did you get that knife?”
Curt paused and studied the knife in his hand as if he had just acquired it. “Oh, you recognize this, don’t you?”
Kadie nodded, trembling.
Curt walked to her, tapping the blade flat on his other hand. “This was the knife that was embedded in your wall. I pulled it out to keep as a reminder. I thought you might want a souvenir when all this is over.”
He presented the knife to her as if it were some kind of majestic gesture on his part. Kadie stared at the knife, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath to compose herself. Her eyes locked on to Curt’s. For centuries, it has been said the eyes are the window to the soul. Curt’s soul was empty.
“No, thank you,” she said, shaking her head. She gathered her and Brian’s boarding pass and turned to leave the room. There was one thing she was sure of—she was in Samuel’s room when the police removed the knives from the wall and door and placed both in an evidence bag. Curt hadn’t arrived yet. And she didn’t need to be a detective to figure out why he just lied, or why he had a knife exactly like the ones that almost killed her.
Duke was right—the man was not who he said he was.
Kadie had been up most of the night, unable to sleep due to the lie Curt told her and the potential implications it held. She didn’t want to believe it, but it was the only possibility. Curt must be Samuel’s killer. But why?
Several times throughout the night, she called Duke’s room, but he’d yet to return from the airfield. If she had a choice, she would much rather fly to Istanbul with him than with Curt and the GDI team. An uneasiness crept through her body, and she found herself shaking.
Curt had scheduled a 2:00 a.m. bus from the hotel to the airport. Four hours early was a little much she thought, but it was an early flight, and Israeli Customs could be a challenge.
Brian walked through the room like a zombie. She had woken him up in time to get him ready and help him pack. Once again, he was reluctant to do anything, and her main struggle had been to get him moving. Now they sat in their room, staring at the clock. The last thing she wanted to do was sit in the lobby with the other GDI team members, or worse, alone with Curt until any of them arrived. It pained her to think about her discovery, but at this point, she wasn’t sure who she could trust.
At 1:45, she tried Duke’s room one last time. No answer. She then had the front desk ring Mac’s room. No answer there either. Ten minutes later, she grabbed their bags and ushered Brian to the elevator and descended to the lobby. The team was already in the hotel van. Curt waited inside the lobby for her.
“Good morning, Kadie.”
He seemed too chipper for this early in the morning. A little too enthusiastic.
“Good morning. And this is my brother Brian.”
She didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but the comment flowed out too smoothly. Curt rarely acknowledged Brian while they were on this trip. He really was a jerk. While Brian sensed that from the beginning, she was slow to recognize Curt’s true persona.
They climbed on the bus and Kadie searched the faces of the rest of the team, searching for any sign that might reveal something . . .
Most of them dozed gently. When she and Brian took their seats, the van door closed, and the driver pulled away. She glanced out the window at Curt. Odd, she thought. For some reason, Curt remained on the steps of the hotel.
Duke and Mac walked out of the hangar at 4:30 in the morning. They thought getting the engine through customs was going to be the hard part, but it turned out monitoring the mechanics was far more difficult. Thankfully, Mac had an A & P License, making him a certified mechanic on the King-Air. Mac had suggested they hang around while the mechanics hung the new engine, and they were glad they did.
When the maintenance guys tried to sling the chain around the engine, the tension of the chain would have crimped the fuel line, thus ruining the new engine. After a little investigation, Mac discovered the two mechanics had never replaced an engine on a King-Air. Mac and Duke spent the next seven hours monitoring their progress. Closely.
Mac lit up a cigarette, and Duke put in a fresh dip as they meandered out of the hangar. Across the ramp, a group of six people milled around behind a roped-off area.
“Duke, do those folks look familiar?”
He studied the group from a distance: five males and one female. The female had her arm around one of the males. Mac was right. It was the GDI team, and he recognized Kadie and Brian even from this distance. What he couldn’t figure out was why the team stood on the ramp waiting for a commercial aircraft.
“What’s going on? Do they know something we don’t?” Duke said.
“Twenty bucks says our Delta Force Commando pulled a fast one behind our backs. He’s not happy you’re cutting in on his girl.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me.” Duke spat on the ground. “Any way we can reach them from here?”
Mac shook his head. “Straight across the ramp. But then you’d have the IDF swarming over you.”
“Over me?”
“Yeah. This is one I’m gonna let you do on your own.”
Duke grinned. “Thanks, partner. You’re a lot of help.”
“Hey, I’ve been running interference for you for days now.” Mac dropped his cigarette in the bucket of sand next to the hangar door. “Speaking of which, I don’t see that clown over there anywhere, do you?”
“No, just the team. GDI must have arranged for them to leave early.”
“Most likely that Curt guy, trust me. He’s so jealous of you, it’s ridiculous.”
“Could be,” Duke said, reflecting on the incredible revelations they had over the last few days. “But something is up. I’m sure of it.”
26
Tel Aviv, Israel
Ben Gurion International Airport
* * *
Duke attempted to reach the team on the other side of the ramp but couldn’t get through security on the commercial side. He stood at a distance as a Turkish Air 737 pulled up. The pilots shut down the jet’s left engine. When the stairs pulled up to the side of the plane, the team boarded. Kadie was the last of them to go up, following Brian. Duke’s heart ached, a feeling he hadn’t had in some time. The stairs pulled away, the pilots started the left engine, and the 737 taxied out for takeoff. He shuddered and wondered if he would ever see Kadie and Brian again.
Someone went to a lot of expense to get them out of here. Why? What was so important that they couldn’t wait another twenty-four hours?
Duke found the airport management office and confirmed his theory. GDI paid for a Turkish Air flight to drop in and pick up the team. None of this made any sense. They would test-flight the new engine this afternoon, and the plane would be ready by tomorrow. They still had artifacts and equipment the team had hand-carried from Egypt on the King-Air. And the weapons Curt Baxter had brought on board as well.
Their company still had them scheduled to fly to Istanbul, then across Europe before heading back to the States. Perhaps they could swing a long stay-over in Turkey. Maybe. But Duke had his doubts.
The two pilots took a cab back to the hotel. It had been a long night, but Duke wanted answers. He went straight to the front desk and had them call Curt’s room, only to discover Curt had checked out with the rest of the team.
But he wasn’t at the airport with the team. Where was he
? Duke’s mind reeled as he tried to figure out what was going on. He took the elevator to the third floor and stepped into the hallway. Knowing the team was no longer here gave the floor a sense of emptiness. He glanced at Kadie’s door. She and Brian were gone; he wished he could have said goodbye. Duke swiped the card to his room and entered. A blinking red light illuminated the dark room.
His answering machine had several messages. There were three messages from Kadie, desperately wanting to speak with him. He played her last one, again.
“Duke . . .” It was Kadie’s voice. “GDI has arranged for us to leave this morning. There’s so much I wanted to say . . . and I think you were right about a lot of things. I need to talk to you. I don’t know who else I can trust. We’re heading to the airport. Goodbye, and God bless you.”
God bless you? Duke smiled. Perhaps he did have some positive influence on her. The last message was from Isaac, less than an hour ago. Odd. How did he track him down here? Perhaps the old man had contacts beyond Samuel.
“Mister Ellsworth, this is Isaac Abelman. When we last spoke, I told you that you and your friends were in danger. I’m afraid I was more prophetic than I realized. It appears that I, too, am in danger. I have more information for you both. Meet me at work as soon as you can.”
Duke hung up the phone. Danger? Isaac? What in the world was going on? He started to call Mac’s room, then decided just to write a note and slip it under his door. Rushing to the elevator, he rode down to the lobby and found a driver to take him to the Israeli Museum in Jerusalem. The only thing he added was, “And step on it.”
Duke arrived early. Several employees showed up for work, but Isaac was not one of them. At 9:00 a.m., the museum opened, and Isaac was still a no-show. Duke walked up the steps and went to the ticket counter.
“Hello,” he said to the familiar woman at the desk. She had sold him tickets each of the past two days, which made her seem as permanent a fixture here as the objects inside. “I’m a friend of Isaac Abelman’s. I was supposed to meet him here this morning.”
The woman smiled and nodded. “Of course, I recognize you. Unfortunately, we don’t know where Isaac is. He didn’t report for work this morning. He should have been here at 8:30. We’ve called his home several times but received no answer.”
Duke became worried. “Is your manager here?”
The woman nodded as her pleasantness dissipated. It was clear she detected Duke’s concern.
The manager came to the desk moments later. Duke introduced himself and showed the manager his identification and passport. It wasn’t necessary, but he was trying to establish some trust.
“I’m a friend of Isaac’s. He called me last night and said he needed to talk to me. Said he might be in danger. Do you know where he lives?”
The manager was reluctant to give Duke his address until Duke suggested he also call the police. Convinced Duke was on the level, the manager gave him Isaac’s address. Duke ran outside and took a cab to Isaac’s home. It was up the hill about two miles away.
Duke paid the cabbie and hurried to the door, which he found cracked open. His heart raced. This was not good, and Duke tensed and clenched his fists, preparing for someone to be in that house. The police were on the way. He knew he should wait for them, but Isaac could be in trouble.
Pushing the door open with his hand wrapped about the front edge of the door, Duke peered inside. The house was quiet. Stepping inside, Duke left the door open to let in some additional light and allow for a quick escape if he needed it. He stood motionless, listening for any signs of someone else in the house.
Nothing.
Duke walked into the middle of the living room. “Isaac?” he called out.
“Uuugghn . . .” The sound came from the kitchen. Duke raced around the corner and saw the old man on the floor in a pool of blood. His body appeared to have several stab wounds in his chest area.
He rushed to his side. The pale and lifeless face stared into the abyss.
“Isaac, can you hear me?” The old man didn’t have much time. He had lost too much blood. His eyes blinked, and his mouth quivered. Isaac tried to speak, and Duke moved his ear closer to Isaac’s mouth.
“Riddle . . .” Isaac whispered.
“What? What riddle?”
“. . . of . . . three . . .”
Riddle of three? What was he talking about?
“To . . . find scroll . . . solve riddle of . . . three . . .”
Riddle of three? What’s that? Isaac continued to talk, describing a vase. Not just a vase, the vase. Isaac gasped, and the air left his lungs. His head rolled to the side, his eyes open wide and unmoving. He was dead.
Duke stood and surveyed his surroundings. He had two options.
Wait for the police and try to convince them he had nothing to do with this or leave. He had to make a decision fast, so he chose to leave.
Aware he hadn’t touched anything since coming into the house, he remained conscious not to do so on the way out. Passing a coat rack in the living room, he removed the sweater and driver’s cap and put them on. Palming the sweater sleeve in his hand, he wiped the edge of the door and slipped outside. No one was in sight, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t seen going in or coming out. He walked casually until the next block. Just as he made his turn, the police sirens wailed behind him down the street. He made the next right, and as he passed a thicket of trees, he stripped off the sweater and cap and tossed them in some bushes.
Pulling out his sunglasses, he made another left and right turn and found a taxi in front of a restaurant.
“David Citadel Hotel?” he said. It was the hotel Mac had stayed in the first time he came to Israel.
“Yes,” the driver replied, putting away his cell phone and activating his meter.
Duke climbed into the back of the cab and rode in silence to the David Citadel Hotel. Once there, he crossed the street to the Mamilla Mall, where he walked the entire length of the mall to the Tower of David on the other end. He picked up another cab and rode across town to the Kidron Valley and the Church of All Nations at the Garden of Gethsemane. There he found another ride to Tel Aviv. He slept most of the way and had the cab drop him off at a restaurant near his hotel in Jaffa. After a short walk to the Market House, he went to his room and collapsed on the bed.
27
Tel Aviv, Israel
The Market House Hotel
* * *
Duke awoke to the sound of his hotel room phone ringing.
“Yeah.” A tired glance at the clock through the darkness revealed it was 3:00 p.m.
“Duke, the plane’s ready for a functional check flight. You ready?”
He recognized Mac’s voice and shook the cobwebs from his head.
“Yeah, give me a minute . . . better yet, make it five. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Duke rose from the bed. He still wore the clothes he had on yesterday when he fell asleep on top of the covers. Marching straight to the bathroom, he relieved himself, then quickly washed his hands and face and ran a wet comb through his disheveled hair. His thumb and forefinger wiped the sleep from his eyes, and the weary pilot left his room for the elevator.
Downstairs, his friend and partner waited in the lobby.
“You look like crap,” Mac said. “Sleep much?”
Duke squinted as the sunlight pushed into the lobby. “A couple hours.” He pulled his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and slid them on.
“Better,” Mac said, “but you still look like crap.”
Duke grimaced as they exited the lobby and climbed into the waiting car. Mac didn’t question him about anything. Duke suspected his co-pilot wanted him to focus on the flight. When they reached the airport, they walked to the hangar. Duke struggled to keep up with Mac’s pace, which didn’t go unnoticed.
“I’ll take care of everything, Duke. You just crank her up. I’ll do the takeoff, landing, and all the tests.”
“Perfect.” Duke acknowledged the fatigue. Best to let Ma
c handle everything he could.
When they reached the hangar, they found the mechanics had already towed the plane on the ramp. It had been fueled with the amount Mac had requested and was ready to go. They grabbed their gear and climbed into the airplane. Mac did the walk-around, then climbed back in the plane, and briefed the sortie. Duke followed what he said, nodding and acknowledging when required.
The two pilots took off and flew over the Mediterranean, away from the Class B airspace surrounding Tel Aviv. Mac accomplished the engine shutdown and restart procedures without issue. The engine operated normally. They were hesitant to pressurize the aircraft as they were skeptical of the repair job the guys had done on the bullet holes in the side. Mac suggested they just stay below ten-thousand feet the rest of the trip back to the States. Duke wearily agreed.
Mac landed the plane uneventfully, and Duke taxied back to the hangar. They exited the aircraft and secured the airplane on the ramp.
“You gonna be okay?” Mac said.
“Yeah, just need some rest.” Duke dropped his flight bag on the ground and walked along the front of the wing. “I went back to Jerusalem this morning.”
“What? No wonder you’re walking like a zombie.”
Duke nodded. “I got a call from our friend. He sounded really nervous, which I thought was unusual. Two days ago, he told Kadie and I that we were in danger. Yesterday, he left me a message on my hotel phone and said he was in danger, too.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed, and his chin stuck out. Duke had his interest.
“I went to the museum before it opened . . .” Duke continued to lay out what had happened earlier that morning, Isaac’s murder, and how he had escaped and evaded back to Tel Aviv. His E&E techniques were effective, and he made it back undetected and in good time. But now he was ready for a few more hours of sleep.
In the distance, an Airbus A-330 lifted off from the runway and climbed westward into the vastness of the cloudless orange sky. A myriad of thoughts zipped through his mind. He recapped everything that had happened since they picked up the team in Egypt: the firefight at the airfield, the computer incident at Customs, the ‘restriction’ to the hotel, and the guy’s juvenile behavior toward Kadie.