“Wait,” Cade said, “isn’t rose quartz common? How do you know it’s from Spain?”
“Soil and pollen contaminants were on it. In fact, the stone itself probably originated at El Yelmo, but it’s where the stone likely journeyed next that’s interesting.”
“And where is that?” Jana said.
Bill continued. “You were hiking the Camino trial, Jana. The large stone pile at Cruz de Ferro, it’s from there. Soil contaminants are a spot-on match, and pollen grains.”
Jana nodded in recognition.
“Knuckles, you have the lab report on the pollen grains?” Bill said.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Elaeagnus angustifolia, Fraxinus ornus, and Platanus hispanica, all native trees and plants that surround the area.”
“Cruz de what? What’s that?” Cade asked.
“Cruz de Ferro,” Jana said. “Look, all along the Camino trail, people leave stones. They’re everywhere. Along trails, on headstones, they’re laid down in the shape of arrows to point the way, and especially at Cruz de Ferro. It’s like a shrine. There’s a tall pole there with a cross at the top. Everyone that hikes the trail brings a stone from home to leave there, at the base of the cross. The pile is huge, probably thirty feet high.”
“Why do people leave stones?” Cade said.
“I don’t know, Cade,” Jana said with a hint of frustration in her voice. “We all did it. Stones are kind of permanent, like you’re leaving something lasting behind. People have done it for so long, it makes you feel a part of it all.” A distant gaze painted her face. “For a lot of us it’s different. We carry a stone from our homes that represents something we’ve been carrying around inside us. Something we want to let go of. Part of hiking that trail is coming to grips with something you need to let go of. And we leave it at the base of the cross.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Cade said, “I didn’t know.”
Jana said, “Gilda and Latent. Jarrah left evidence at both murder scenes to point toward his next victim. God I miss her.”
Cade said, “Bill, what about the fig and wasp?”
“I can’t wait to hear this one,” Jana said.
“We did genetic testing on both the fig pulp and the wasp to identify them down to the species. They are interrelated. These type of fig trees live in two distinct regions in the world. They originate in the Middle East and did not exist anywhere else until the mid-1800s when they were imported to California. And they’re only grown in a very limited region there. The wasp is a species known as Blastophaga psenes.”
“So what’s the relationship between the two?” Kyle said.
It was Knuckles who answered. “It’s got to do with the history of the fig trees when they were first brought to California. The Californian farmers couldn’t figure out why the trees weren’t germinating. It took them a long time, but they finally figured out that they needed a particular wasp to pollinate the trees. Without the wasp, the fig fruit grows but is inedible. So, they started importing those wasps and releasing them around their fig orchards. After that, they had successful crops.”
“Okay,” Jana said, “so what are you saying? Jarrah is telegraphing the location of his major attack by indicating the region of California where these fig trees grow?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Knuckles said, still proud of his earlier commentary on the nuances of fig fertilization.
Cade shook his head. “But wait a minute. How big of a region in California are these trees grown? Does it narrow it down any?”
Silence and the shuffling of feet were all that could be heard across the phone line.
“Bill?” Jana said.
“Well, that’s the problem.”
“How big of a problem?”
“About half a million acres running for miles up and down California.”
30
AN IMPROBABLE THEORY
On board a Gulfstream Six. Altitude 7,300 feet. Airspeed 376 knots. Seventy-three nautical miles west-north-west of New Orleans, Louisiana
Jana put her fingers into her hair. “So how are we supposed to narrow it down?”
Bill said, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“Where?” Jana screamed. “Where is he going to hit?”
“That’s anyone’s guess,” Knuckles said. “Looking at it on the map, the fig orchards run for miles. He could hit anywhere along there.”
“We’ve got to find out, and right now. We can’t guess! We have to stop him.”
Cade unbuckled his seatbelt and placed his hands in hers.
“Jana, calm down. We’re all under a lot of stress here.”
Jana’s chest heaved in an effort to vacuum in enough oxygen, and her face began to pale. “And that’s not all,” she said. “It’s misdirection. I’m telling you, he’s purposely misleading us. He’s going to get us off chasing the wind while he detonates a nuclear device somewhere else.”
Her head began to shake, the effect similar to a person with Parkinson’s Disease. “I can’t take this not knowing. I can’t take it!”
Cade grabbed her shoulders. “You need to look me in the eye. Don’t slip away now.” But it was too late, her PTSD went into hyperdrive. Jana’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her body began convulsing.
“Kyle! Grab her legs! Don’t let her thrash around.”
“What’s going on?” Uncle Bill yelled into the phone. “Is she okay? What’s happening?”
“Jana, stay with us,” Kyle said. “Jana!”
“Dammit, Bill,” Kyle said as he held Jana’s legs, “I told you something like this would happen.”
Cade glared up at him. “What do you mean you told Bill something like this would happen?”
“Look at her, Cade!” Kyle belted. “She’s a danger to herself and a danger to us. She’s going to get someone killed.”
“Screw you, Kyle!”
“Hey!” Uncle Bill yelled across the phone. “You two get ahold of yourselves. We’ve got a man down. Now what’s happening?”
The rigidity began to abate from Jana’s muscles and light started returning to her eyes.
“She’s coming around,” Kyle said. “Listen, let’s take a break. It will be two hours before we touch down. We’ll call you back in a little while, once we get settled. And, Bill?”
“Yes, Kyle.”
“We can talk about this offline.”
“I know what you’re going to say, Kyle,” Bill replied.
“And let’s have a rundown of all the evidence. I mean everything. The evidence hidden inside the bullet and broadhead, the glass beads, everything we’ve got. There’s a pattern here and we’re missing it.”
“Agreed. Talk to you in a bit.” The phone line went dead.
Jana’s color returned to her face and she sat upright.
“You okay?” Cade said. “You scared us there.”
“I’m fine. Dammit, I thought I was past this.”
“It’s the job, Jana. This job is killing you.”
“It’s not the job, Cade. It’s the asshole.”
Kyle scowled. “So you think getting rid of Waseem Jarrah will make your PTSD episodes go away?”
“Bet my life on it.” Jana stared out a port-side window onto a mountain range below, then said, “He’s misleading us.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but we have to go with what we have,” Kyle said.
“I’m with Kyle on this one,” Cade said. “And, Jana, think about it. Let’s say you’re right and we’re being misled. My question would be, what else would we do right now? I mean, if we have absolutely no idea what other direction to take, we have to pursue the leads we currently have. You never know, but I think he’s leading us in the correct direction.”
“Why?” came her whispered reply.
Cade studied her face, then said, “Like you said earlier, he’d want to keep the game close.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jana said. “But he’s never wanted to keep us close in th
e past. He’s wanted to send us in the wrong direction. This is the last of his nuclear warheads. He’s already detonated one in the United States, which means he’s accomplished his lifelong goal. If this one doesn’t go off, he’ll be pissed, but he’s always got the first one to look back on.”
But Jana’s thoughts trailed back to her suspicion that Waseem Jarrah was misleading them. In the previous attack, he used a second jihadist as a decoy to carry a backpack containing radioactive material. The material was meant to leave a trail that would be detected by Geiger counters. The entire investigative team, including FBI and NSA, had taken the bait.
The real bomb had been parked half a mile from CIA headquarters. And since the blast radius of the device was one mile in diameter, the entire facility was destroyed. It was a failure of epic proportions and hundreds of thousands of Americans had lost their lives in the process.
“And it’s not just misdirection I’m worried about. Remember what he said? He said he would detonate in the place that would cause the most destruction.”
“Right,” Cade said, “in California. The most destruction in California.”
Jana looked at him but her eyes wandered, as if she was entranced in a thought that would not abate.
Half an hour later they accessed a secure satellite uplink to NSA headquarters and initiated a video conference from the plane with Uncle Bill, Knuckles, and a dozen other analysts.
“All right, Bill,” Jana said, “let’s have a rundown of all known evidence. There’s so many details, and new information you’ve apparently just discovered from the crime lab. We’ve got to piece it together.” Jana cocked her head at Bill. “Bill, what are you smiling at?”
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the first time I met you.”
“And?”
“That was a green FBI agent, full of fire and vinegar, eager to prove herself.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear the rest of that thought. And now?”
“Now, a leader. Still full of fire and vinegar, of course.”
“Thanks, Bill, I think,” Jana said as she laughed. “Knuckles, are you doing the briefing?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, yes Jana. Okay, on the monitor I’ve listed the evidence we’ve collected so far. Number one. Director Latent was killed with a crossbow. The broadhead on the arrow that killed him had been hollowed out and filled with the pulp of a fig.” He repeated what Uncle Bill had already told them about the figs. “We did further analysis and determined that this particular fig came from the California orchards, not from the Middle East.”
“Thanks for the recap, professor,” Cade said.
“Wait,” Jana said, “how do you know? How do you know the fig in question came from California?”
“The lab doesn’t lie. Pesticide residue, pH of the soil, salinity, pollen grains, and pollutants. They all are a spot-on match to this region right here,” Knuckles said as he pointed at a spot on the map of California. “Although this species of fig can be grown in most of the state, these soil properties are a match for this region, just outside of San Francisco and San Jose.”
“Wait,” Kyle said, “are you thinking he’s going to target San Francisco?”
Uncle Bill said, “People, let’s stay on point. We need to see all the evidence in total before we rush to judgment on where the next target might be.”
“As I was saying,” Knuckles said, “the lab has pinpointed the region where that fig was grown. It might be significant, it might not. But let’s not forget, we also recovered a glass bead at the scene. This one contained a tiny figurine of a man riding a horse and carrying a bow. Now the bow might signify something, or it might just be that Director Latent was assassinated with a bow—we don’t know.”
Jana rubbed the uppermost bullet scar on her torso and her eyes took on a distant gaze. She was entranced in a memory. “Oh, it means something.”
“Number two. Jana’s friend Gilda. Gilda von Horscht. Ms. von Horscht was killed in Spain, stabbed through the heart with a sword. We believe the killer was Waseem Jarrah himself. A glass bead was found embedded in the chest cavity. The bead also contained a tiny figurine of a man riding a horse. This horseman was carrying a sword. Again, the sword could be significant in that Miss von Horscht was murdered with a sword, or maybe not.”
Bill glanced at Jana then cleared his throat. “No need to be so graphic, son.”
“Sorry,” Knuckles muttered.
“And what else have you found about this one?” Kyle said.
“There was something else found inside the body cavity of Miss von Horscht.”
Jana crossed her arms and sat down.
“It was a leaf, a fig leaf. Soil toxins, pesticides, pH level, everything is a match to the exact fig found inside the broadhead at Director Latent’s assassination.” He continued. “The leaf was also covered in a powder. The lab says it’s Chicorium intybus, roasted chicory root.”
Jana’s hand moved to her forehead. “Chicory. New Orleans. Shit, he telegraphed he was going to that area for his next murder by leaving us evidence that pointed in that direction.”
“I don’t get that one,” Cade said. “What’s roasted chicory root used for? And what’s that got to do with New Orleans?”
It was Jana who answered. “When I was a kid at Christmas, Willy Chalmette would bring my mom a can of chicory coffee from New Orleans. In fact, when I was little, Mom took me there one time, to the French Quarter. There’s a place called Café du Monde. It’s old and really famous for chicory coffee and beignets. And before you ask me what those are, they’re like a fried pastry covered in powdered sugar. They’re heaven in your mouth is what they are. Anyway, I always remembered the cafe because Willy pointed out this busboy to us. He was this little old man cleaning tables. Willy said he could remember the same guy having worked there from thirty years ago.”
Knuckles shifted in his seat. He had found more information about chicory and looked as though it would erupt from him if he did not start speaking soon. “Chicory was grown in France. In the early 1800s, when Napolean initiated a blockade, the French were deprived of their coffee imports, and turned to roasted chicory as a substitute. When the blockade finally ended, people has become accustomed to the taste and continued using it. Other areas of French influence, like New Orleans, continued as well.”
“Again,” Cade said, “thanks, professor. Is there anything else, not related to chicory, that might help us?”
“The sword used to kill Miss von Horscht may be significant. The Spanish secret service says the wounds inflicted on Miss Gilda are a direct match to a sword recently stolen from the Museo Nacional del Prado, the largest museum in Spain. The sword, and a knife that was also stolen, were believed to date back to the time of Mohammad and the prophets. In fact, both objects are believed to have been owned by the Prophet Mohammad himself.”
“Hold on a minute, professor,” Cade said. “You’re telling me the sword that was used to kill Gilda was actually owned by Mohammad? As in the Koran’s Prophet Mohammad?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Here’s what we know about it. It, in particular, is said to be one of the original nine swords that Mohammad owned. The other eight are in museums as well. This one is known as Al-Battar, apparently taken by Muhammad as booty from the Banu Qaynaqa, one of the three main Jewish tribes living in seventh-century Medina, modern-day Saudi Arabia. This one is called the ‘sword of the prophets’ and is inscribed in Arabic with the names of several key players in the Bible. David, Solomon, Moses, Aaron, Joshua, Zechariah, John, Muhammad himself, and,” Knuckles paused a moment, “Jesus.”
Jana turned her head toward the monitor. “Jarrah killed Gilda with a sword that has the name of Jesus on it?”
“There’s more.”
“Go on,” Jana said.
“It’s the only one of the original nine swords that wasn’t housed in a museum that sits in an Islamic country.”
Uncle Bill nodded. “Perhaps Jarrah was pissed o
ff that the historic sword belonged in his homeland in the first place. And perhaps the origin or timeframe of the sword has significance as well.”
“Why does Knuckles look like he’s not done talking about the sword?” Jana said.
Knuckles exhaled. “This particular sword is claimed by some to be the actual sword that Jesus will use when he returns to earth to defeat the Antichrist.”
“The sword Jesus will use?” Jana let the thought play forward in her mind. “Jarrah murdered Gilda with a sword Mohammad stole from the Jews, that will one day be used by Jesus when he returns? He’s laughing at us.”
Cade said, “He knows we’ll find these details. Jarrah went to an enormous amount of trouble to set this up.”
Jana said, “I’m telling you. He’s laughing at us, and he’s spitting on Christianity. Now tell me that the figurines of horsemen don’t have significance.”
“No argument here,” Uncle Bill said. “Let’s get to the other evidence.”
“Third. Sheriff Will Chalmette, assassinated in Louisiana, in Saint Tammany Parish, just north of New Orleans. The sheriff was killed with a sniper rifle. The bullet that killed him was never recovered, but the first round fired struck a semi-trailer and killed the driver. It was recovered. The base of the bullet was found to be hollowed out, similarly to the broadhead. Inside was a strange concoction of items: wheat, barley, oil, wine, and a single flea. Chemical residue from each of these are all traceable back to exactly where they were grown and produced. Except the flea, of course.”
Jana wrapped her arms around her torso and she rocked back and forth.
Cade watched, fearing another post-traumatic stress episode might ensue at any moment.
“What’s the flea supposed to mean?” Jana said.
“Wait,” Kyle said, “all four of the items were grown in the same place?”
Knuckles pointed back to the map of California. “Same region as the fig orchards. Same soil contaminants, pollutants, everything.”
“He’s got to be telegraphing his intent,” Uncle Bill said. “He’s going to target this area.”
Jana again repeated, this time in a whisper, “He’s misleading us.”
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