“You–”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. They kidnapped my wife.”
He kept his eyes on the road, but he had the look of someone who had seen too much of this. Someone who had learned that detachment from everyday horrors was necessary to protect your sanity. At least now I knew Eli Zalman’s account of how I had been targeted by the Guardians was correct. And I was more than ever convinced that dealing with the Temple Alliance could well prove the greatest challenge I had ever faced.
Chapter 30
Jake pulled in at a long, multi-story building fashioned of concrete and stone, located on a hill. He parked in front and pointed to the unit across from us.
“I’m lucky,” he said. “Got a first-floor apartment. Come on in.”
“Okay to leave my bag out here?” I asked.
“Sure. We don’t have a crime problem.”
I certainly hoped he was right where I was concerned, but I had my doubts.
“Well, I think it best to bring in one item anyway,” I said. “It’s the prime exhibit in the case.”
I pulled the canister out of my bag and we went inside. In the foyer just beyond the door stood a tall clay pot quite similar to the Dead Sea Scrolls jars. A red and green umbrella was stuck in it, along with the long, gnarled olive wood staff Jake had used on our tour. The apartment’s rooms were small but comfortable. He had decorated the walls with pictures of Jerusalem’s gates painted by one of his fellow guides. The furniture was rattan. A pass-through bar opened between the kitchen and living room, with two bar stools parked beside it.
“Just like home,” I said, smiling.
“Not quite, but close enough.” He gestured toward a bar stool. “Have a seat there and I’ll put the spaghetti on to heat. I hope you like mushroom and garlic sauce.”
“Sounds great to me.”
“Now tell me what you’ve got in that can, and what the devil this is all about.”
I looked at Jake in his yellow sport short and faded jeans. Now that he was away from his tour guide role, I took a good look. He was a short man in his early forties with a full, black beard and gray eyes that glowed with curiosity. During our trip I had learned how much he loved this troubled land and its biblical roots. He thought of himself more as a teacher and a researcher than as a guide. If there was ever a man in tune with his surroundings and content with his lot in life, it was Jacob Cohen.
“I might not be doing you any favors by telling you my story,” I said. “I’m sorry I got David involved in it, and I feel terrible that a friend of his got killed because of what happened.”
Jake took a microwave container out of the fridge and stared at me. “David didn’t mention that. How was he killed?”
“Some people from the Guardians of Palestine were looking for what’s in this can.”
His eyes narrowed. “The Guardians are new, but I’m well aware of the Temple Alliance. If they could find an excuse to march up on the Temple Mount with crowbars and jackhammers, they would start the biggest war the Middle East has ever seen.”
“Fortunately, I’m not dealing with that. But this little plastic can contains something they want badly enough to hold my wife hostage for it.”
Jake put the spaghetti dish in the microwave. As the fan began to whir, he said, “It sounds bad, Greg, but I’ve been living in a war zone for so long it seems forever. Your story can’t be any worse than those I hear nearly every day.”
So I told him about the smuggled scroll. My plate was empty by the time I wound up with the phone call from Moriah.
Jake had a troubled look. “Now I understand a little better what David was driving at. And he cracked the code in the scroll?” He glanced up at a clock on the wall. It was nearly eleven. “It’s about three p.m. in Nashville. Let me get David on the line and you can talk to him. I have his business number.”
But a couple of minutes later, he hung up. “He’s out and they’re not sure when he’ll be back.’
“He’s always in meetings.” I looked around. “I haven’t noticed any ash trays. Should I go outside to smoke?”
“I’d prefer that. David and I almost broke up as roommates over his smoking. We were like the Odd Couple anyway, too picky to survive together.”
“I quit smoking a few months ago, but I’m afraid the pressure of Jill’s kidnapping got to be too much. I started again.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked.
“I’d love it.” Looking around at the small kitchen, I thought of the one in my boyhood home in St. Louis. My mother always kept a pot of hot coffee on the counter. And for a moment, until I could push her away, I saw Jill in our own kitchen, coffee pot in hand, smiling at me.
I decided to call Ted Kennerly. I told Jake I would put the call on my credit card, but he insisted that I dial direct. It would be quicker and simpler, he argued. So I fished out my little black book and direct-dialed Ted’s office number. I was a little surprised when he answered.
“I thought I’d have to chase you down,” I said.
“I’m stuck here for the moment. Where are you?”
“Jerusalem. I’m visiting that friend of David Wolfson’s.”
“Have you talked to Wolfson?”
“No. I called but he wasn’t there.”
“I talked to him yesterday and briefed him on everything. I figured it wouldn’t hurt, since he had already been contacted by Adamson.”
That gave me a sinking spell. “How did Adamson get onto David?”
“They found him on your answering machine.”
So they had gotten a search warrant for my house. I should have anticipated that and turned off the machine. “What did David tell him?”
“Not a lot. He didn’t know anything beyond what you had discussed when we were at his apartment that night. He told Adamson how you got the scroll, and about the thugs who were holding your wife. He also mentioned that you suspected they had murdered J. Q. Welch. He knew you and I had gone looking for a green van with some kind of white design on it.”
“So he mentioned your name to Adamson?”
“Yeah. The detective came down to my office yesterday. Needless to say, he was more than a little miffed that you hadn’t leveled with him at the start. But after I reminded him of Sergeant Christie’s visit and related some of the harassment you had been getting, he didn’t seem to have his nose so out of joint. Matter of fact, he seemed a bit sympathetic. He confirmed the guy who died with so-called Nagy was Palestinian. And the van with the swirl fit the description of the one seen outside Dr. Welch’s house. Adamson seemed pleased I had helped him solve a couple of crimes. He said he would start a search for the two characters we talked to, but I told him they were probably back in Israel by now.”
What he said reminded me of something. “Two Palestinians died in that burned-out panel truck, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember the guy I shot at in Cool Springs?”
“Right. He’s apparently still out there somewhere.”
“And he knows all about what’s happened.”
“I imagine he’s gone into hiding. He shouldn’t cause any more problems.”
“I hope you’re right, Ted,” I said. But I wasn’t all that confident.
“There’s something else you should know,” he said. “Wolfson was adamant that you shouldn’t give up that animal skin. He wouldn’t tell me on the phone what he had found, but he said it could have disastrous consequences. If I heard from you, I was to insist you contact him immediately.”
I still couldn’t figure what disastrous consequences might happen if I turned it over to the Temple Alliance. “I’ll try him again later,” I said.
I was relieved that things had been cleared up with Metro, but I realized I had taken one step forward and two steps back. “Right now I feel like I’ve jumped out of the frying pan right into the fire,” I said.
“Something about Jill?” I could hear the concern in Ted’s voice.
�
�Yeah. These guys knew I was here from the moment I stepped off the plane. This Moriah I was supposed to contact called me at the hotel. He insisted Jill was okay and said he would call back in the morning. But I trust those guys about as much as I did the guy on Sheridan Drive. I was afraid they might make a midnight visit to my hotel room, so I checked out.”
“What do you plan to do about that document?”
“I’m not certain what I should do. I’d sure like to know what’s bugging David. And I’m not at all confident that Jill and I would survive any exchange. But right now that’s my only alternative.”
“You are between a rock and a hard place, Boss. At least things have calmed down here. Our terrorists turned out to be a bunch of copycat carjackers. But I’m afraid the colonel wouldn’t be too thrilled if I traipsed off to the Middle East.”
“It might be helpful if I knew the Air Force attaché over here,” I said. I knew a few ex-OSI guys who had switched to the Defense Intelligence Agency and taken overseas embassy postings.
“If you’ll hold on a sec,” Ted said, “I’ll get on the computer and check it out.”
I held for several minutes and reminded myself to make a generous contribution to Jake Cohen’s phone bill this month. The clock showed we were coming up on midnight, and I still hadn’t found a place to stay. Ted’s voice finally came back on.
“Do you know a Colonel Warren Jarvis?”
I explored my tender jaw. I was lucky Zalman didn’t break it.
“The only Jarvis I remember was Fancher Frederick, better known as Fancy Fred. We worked together out in California. He was a funny character, but solid as a rock in his fundamentals. That’s been years ago and he wasn’t far from retirement then. Seems like he had a son at the Air Force Academy.”
“Well, Colonel Warren is the man at the embassy in Tel Aviv. I can give you his home phone number.”
I copied the number, then thanked Ted for his help. After hanging up, I turned to Jake. “I’ve got the name and number of an embassy guy who may or may not be of any help. But I owe you for the phone calls. Here.” I tried to hand him two twenties, but he’d have none of it.
“Save your cash. You’ll probably need it before this is over. Your tour group was quite generous with the tips. I haven’t even started to spend it yet. Incidentally, it’s getting pretty late to go looking for another hotel. I’ve got a spare bedroom. Why don’t you just put up here for the night?”
It sounded good, but there was one problem.
“Do you know if the security service keeps an eye on your place because of your tour work with foreigners?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors. But if they do, it’s likely just an occasional thing. They don’t have the manpower to put a team on all of us permanently.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “Unless you do something to arouse suspicion, they wouldn’t make a big effort.”
So I decided to stay and went out to get my bag. On the way back in, I noticed a small plot of flowers that I had missed earlier. It lay only a few feet from Jake’s front door. I could see red geraniums and yellow marigolds among the greenery. It struck me as a good burial site for an ancient scroll.
Back inside, I explained my plan and asked Jake if he had a small spade I could use for digging.
“Wouldn’t it be better to hide the thing somewhere inside?” he asked.
I shook my head. “If the TA people learn that I’ve been here, they could come in and take the place apart looking for it. I’m sure it would be safer outside.”
Borrowing a pair of binoculars, I went back out to Jake’s car as if I had left something behind. I climbed in and used the glasses to check all around the area. I could detect no signs of surveillance. Returning to the apartment, I dug a small hole in the midst of the geraniums and buried the canister, covering it over with greenery so it wouldn’t resemble a fresh grave.
After a soothing shower I retired to the spare bedroom. It was small, but not much smaller than Jill and I had experienced in some on-base housing we had “enjoyed” early in my career. There was a daybed and a chest, a small table with a metal pencil holder plus a few travel books, and a bentwood rocking chair. The floor was tile, with a rug in the center.
I checked the windows, which were securely locked, then rigged an alarm at the door. I placed two books like a T, with the top one against the outer edge of the door. After testing the clink quotient of the pencil holder, I set it on the top book. If anyone opened the door, the metal holder would hit the tiles and make a racket. I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed.
By now Moriah would have learned of my check-out at the Hotel Patriarch. I only hoped he hadn’t found somebody who could identify the Dodge that had picked me up out in front. If he had . . . well, I just wished I had my Beretta under the pillow. But as my granny used to recite when I was little:
“If wishes were horses,
beggars would ride;
if turnips were watches,
I’d wear one at my side.”
Or, maybe, “If bunnies were Berettas, I’d hop–”
I was too tired to think. Instead, I got down on my knees beside the bed and prayed as I had never prayed before. I asked God to keep Jill safe until I could find her and set her free. I don’t know how far I got in my prayer, but I wound up falling across the bed, dead asleep from exhaustion.
Chapter 31
When I awoke in the darkness, I could hear the sound of the refrigerator. A clock ticked softly somewhere beyond my door. I checked my watch. Five forty-seven. Since Moriah could not reach me–at least I didn’t think he could–he would be expecting me to call. I couldn’t delay it too long, but I needed to have a plan before I called. And I needed to know what resources I had before I could generate a plan.
Officers on overseas postings do not appreciate being awakened in the middle of the night by mysterious callers. But I didn’t have the luxury of waiting. I hoped Colonel Jarvis would be one of those early risers who chose to walk or run before breakfast. That was never my style, though I always tried to work out during the day to keep in some sort of shape. Jill claimed I was in pretty lousy shape for the shape I was in, but she tends to exaggerate.
After defusing my book alarm, I opened the door and looked into the hallway. A night-light had been left on in the kitchen, and I could see the closed door to Jake’s bedroom and the open door to the bath. I padded quietly into the living room and laid the slip of paper with the colonel’s number on the counter. I lifted the phone and dialed.
It took three rings before a deep male voice answered. It was not a happy voice. “Colonel Jarvis.”
“Sorry to bother you at this hour, Colonel,” I said, keeping my voice low, “but I am in great need of some help. And right away.”
“Who is this?” The tone implied that whoever it was had better have a Class A excuse for this indiscretion.
“My name is Gregory McKenzie, sir, and I’m a retired Air Force OSI agent. I need to talk with you in person as soon as possible. It involves a complex situation involving a sensitive document that came into my possession.” I was aware that it would sound like a classified document, which was misleading, but I didn’t want to explain any further on the phone. The Israelis would be listening. And he knew I would know that.
“Where are you, McKenzie?”
“In Jerusalem. I don’t have transportation, but I have a friend here who could probably bring me to wherever would be convenient.”
“Can you give me a number where I can call back?”
That was standard procedure. He would want to check me out before agreeing to a meeting. I looked down at the phone, gave him the number and hung up.
I figured while I waited I might as well make some coffee. I switched on the kitchen light, poured water in the coffee maker, located a canister with some ground beans and shoveled a conservative measure into the filter. Back at the bar I sat down and listened to the brew gurgle. It made such a soothing sound tha
t I decided I could forego a morning cigarette for the moment.
A few minutes later, a sleepy-eyed Jake Cohen wandered in. “I see you found the coffee,” he said.
“I decided it would be best to make contact with the Air Attaché early, so I’ve already called him. He’s checking me out, I’m sure, and promised to call back. I told him I had a friend who might be able to take me to a meeting place. Don’t worry if you can’t make it. I’ll take a taxi.”
“To Tel Aviv? Not on your life.” He strolled into the kitchen, pulled out a couple of mugs, and poured the coffee.
“I’ve been thinking about where they might be holding my wife,” I said, staring at my cup. “Probably somewhere outside the major population centers. Maybe somebody’s country home.”
“How about a kibbutz?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. They’re communal farms, aren’t they?”
“Mostly. But some have developed around manufacturing. In recent years, those around cities and in resort areas have been catering to tourists. There’s a group of about thirty that have their own hotel chain, with a booking office in Tel Aviv.”
“Really? But most are agricultural, right?”
“Yes. And traditionally they’ve been anti-religious.”
We sat there with our coffee, waiting for the Air Attaché’s call. Jake explained that the kibbutz movement was started in the early nineteen-hundreds by socialist Russian Jews who fled to Palestine to escape persecution under the czar. Another wave after World War II came out to get away from the communists. Most were still secular and socialistic, but a more recent development was the creation of communal farms with a strongly religious character.
“I’d say that would be the more likely place for the Temple Alliance to hold your wife,” Jake said.
He put some biscuits in the oven and scrambled a few eggs with grated cheese.
As we ate, we talked about America.
“My Israeli friends frequently ask my take on what’s happening to America,” he said. “Frankly, I’m at a bit of a loss myself. The drug culture, the poverty amidst plenty, the corruption of public officials . . . what’s happening to the Great American Dream?”
Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) Page 16