Sparkles

by Michael Halfhill

  Jan thought about the rash of armed muggings of gem couriers that had plagued Jeweler’s Row for months now. Bobby O’Farrell among them. Only new or unregistered stones were taken—nothing from Canada, where every stone imported or exported was carefully examined and catalogued, right down to where it was mined. He wondered if this theft was connected, and if so, could it be the break the police needed to find the thieves?

  “Larry, Stephen has to go to the police, and—”

  “Jan! If he does that, he’ll be killed!”

  “The police aren’t going to kill anyone.”

  Larry shook his head impatiently. “Not Stephen, his boyfriend, partner, lover, life-mate, or whatever—he’s the one who’s being ransomed.”

  Jan thought, This is beginning to sound like a B movie. Then, “Does this partner have a name?”

  “Armande, Armande Bonnet.”

  Jan sprang from his chair, almost spilling what remained of his drink. “Bonnet? The banker’s son?”

  Larry’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Do you know him?”

  Jan nodded. “Yeah… well, no… I mean I’ve heard of him. Larry, how do you know this banker’s son?”

  “I don’t. But I do know his father. He served on a board that oversaw some contracts for NATO. I was there, NATO I mean. I served as liaison for three years before I retired.”

  Jan joined Larry at the window. His mind raced with questions. What could a prince and a banker have in common aside from the obvious? Money. The two stood for what seemed like an hour before Jan spoke. “I never realized how beautiful your garden is—especially at night.”

  “Can you help? Will you help?” Larry pleaded, without taking his eyes off the quiet scene before them.

  Jan considered the request and what it implied. He wondered if Jacques Malreve had known any of this before he asked Jan to find Bonnet’s son. He wondered, too, what Armande Bonnet was doing along Iran’s border. Was he really just a hiker who’d lost his bearings, only to be snagged by an Iranian patrol? How would Mundus’s investigating the disappearance of a French banker’s son impact the negotiations over Iran’s nuclear ambitions? The French Republic may try to find one of its citizens who’d strayed into unfriendly territory, but it certainly wouldn’t expend vital energy looking for a lump of shiny carbon, no matter how valuable it was or who wanted it back. No, Mundus would be needed to find both Armande Bonnet’s son and the Vice-Regal Diamond, wherever it might be.

  Jan turned and looked at the old general.

  “Perhaps, to your first question, and yes, if I can, to your second question. I’ll need to have a talk with Stephen. Can you get him to my office tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I can do that. How much can I tell him?”

  “Nothing for now. I’m getting a very uneasy feeling about all this—so mum’s the word.”

  Larry nodded. “Loose lips sink ships, I know. In a past life, I was a general with secrets to keep.”

  Chapter 28

  A Village on the Iranian Border

  A RAW wind howled across a narrow plateau high in the Sabalan Mountains. Joachim Nussbaum squatted in a one-room stone hut. A cast-iron coal stove provided the only heat against the biting cold. The ever present wind that swept over these mountains sucked away most of the room’s warmth.

  Why in the world would anyone willingly choose to live in a place like this? Joachim wondered.

  A toothless old man, his dirt-brown hands and face cracked like crumpled paper, poured strong black coffee into tin mugs. He handed one to Joachim. A Jew in a Muslim’s home in this region was as rare as hen’s teeth, but once he saw the cipher of a flame surrounded by protecting wings that Joachim had scratched on the ground, the old man immediately rubbed it out with his boot and pointed to his tiny house.

  As they settled down, the old man pulled a shawl around his broad shoulders and said, “It has been a long time since I saw that sign. Who sent you?”

  “America,” Joachim answered.

  The old man considered this. To most of the people on the mountain, America was a word tantamount to Satan. He looked at Joachim for some time before he spoke.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I am looking for a young Frenchman. He was hiking in these parts. It may be he has been arrested by an Iranian patrol, or kidnapped, perhaps by al-Qaida. My job is to find him, and bring him out—alive if I can.”

  “Your search is ended. The word is, the one you seek is dead. He stopped here to ask the way to the Kala-Tor. It is the peak above where we are now. I pointed the way, and then he left.” The old man looked around the room and lowered his voice. “The ones you mentioned took him. A courier came through here some weeks ago. He had a silly letter demanding ransom.”

  “You saw this letter?” Joachim said.

  “Oh yes, the boy who was to deliver it to his contact was very proud of his position as a runner. He foolishly showed it to me.”

  “Do you remember what it said? Who it was for?”

  “That is the silly part. It was addressed to a dead man!”

  “A dead man? What do you mean?”

  “A Russian tsar.” The old man scratched an itch under his wool cap. “Foolish people, they live in a world where only their thoughts are real.”

  “What was the ransom? I mean, what did the letter demand?”

  “Oh, some diamond. I do not know what kind. As I said, it was nonsense.”

  “Why would al-Qaida kidnap a hiker and demand such a thing? Do you know who he was?”

  The old man shrugged. “He was French, I can tell you that, yet there was something about him that made me think he was a spy. Can you imagine, a French spy falling into the hands of al-Qaida?”

  “If he was a spy, and I am not saying he was, do you think he learned anything?”

  The man considered this. After pouring another cup of coffee, he said, “Perhaps. Al-Qaida is planning something, something big—possibly in America. Even I know something is going to happen, and I am but a poor old man. The rumor is, they have been moving large quantities of money, mostly through Holland.”

  Joachim’s heart began to race. Holland, the jewel capital of the world.

  “You said the young man was killed. How do you know this?”

  “This is a small world we have here. Nothing remains secret for long. I spoke with Nasreen, the woman who washed the man’s body before it was buried. For her service she was allowed to keep his possessions—his money belt had a picture of him with another man. She showed it to me. It was the same man I spoke with.”

  “How did he die?”

  The old man pulled on his earlobe. “If you are asking if he died bravely, that I cannot tell you. I can tell you his path to death was long, and painful.”

  “And yet, you say his body was washed for burial? Was he Muslim?”

  “Of that, there was some question. Nasreen told me he had a copy of the Noble Quran with him. She said it looked as if it had been read many times. That is why he was buried correctly. How an enemy is treated before death is one thing, but after he is dead, the Prophet, blessings be upon him, teaches that he is no longer your enemy, but one who rests in the arms of Father Abraham. Reverse the heavy hatred in your heart, lest it burden your soul.”

  Joachim took all this in. He shook his head. “Then sadly, my job here is finished. I will leave you now. I want to be back in the valley before nightfall. I have traveled a long way. My way home will be longer still. You have answered many questions, and made more.”

  “Perhaps not,” said the old man.

  Joachim shot him a hard look. “What do you mean? Is the Frenchman dead or not?”

  “Nasreen has a son. The story is, al-Qaida recruited him, but it was more like they took him against his will.” The old man took a sip of his coffee and once again lowered his voice. “This son returned home badly injured. It seems he was used as a live exhibit for their hand-to-hand fighting.”

  Joachim’s stomach turned at the thought. “I suppose I shou
ld be surprised, but somehow, I’m not.”

  The old man nodded. “It was a terrible thing to do to an only son, especially since Nasreen is a widow, and he was her only help in raising her goat herd. It was a miracle that he survived at all, but Allah is, as always, merciful.”

  “So what has this to do with the Frenchman?” Joachim asked.

  “The other day I saw Nasreen and her son walking down the mountain. I know that boy very well, and the one I saw was not her son, of that I am sure. So, I ask myself, where did this man come from? I believe you should see about this before you leave.” The old man shook his head. “I am sorry that I was not able to get more information for you. I must be very careful.”

  Joachim thought for a long minute. “How do I get to her? A man, such as I, a stranger, cannot simply walk into her home.”

  “Nasreen comes down every day to get the wood I gather. She pays me for my wood in goat’s milk and cheese. Sometimes she comes with the man, but she has not been down today. Do you wish to wait for her?”

  “Of course!”

  “You should rest, then. It may be a long wait.”

  Joachim considered what he should do. Jan was clear that he was to be kept informed every step of the way, and that Joachim was to use the female contact that had sent him on this mission. He could send a text message, but he felt strongly that his wireless communications were probably being intercepted. That meant telling Jan what he’d been told had happened to Armande. Sending a death notice would also throw off anyone else who might suspect Armande was alive. If it turned out he had survived al-Qaida’s torture after all, no harm done. Joachim sent the message that Armande Bonnet was dead. He closed his eyes in a silent prayer that the text he had sent was false.

  JOACHIM WOKE with a start. The old man was shaking his shoulder. As the man turned away, Joachim instinctively felt for his gun. He had no reason not to trust the old man, but his training had taught him that survival favored the wary. He breathed a sigh of relief. The Luger the priest had given him was still there.

  “What time is it?”

  “Just after noon. You’ve been sleeping for an hour. They did not come today.”

  “That is unfortunate. I cannot stay.” Joachim sat deep in thought.

  Then the old man said, “If you wish to speak with the man, you can reach their house by taking the path to the top of the hill. Go left at the big rock. You cannot miss the rock because it blocks the path. Remember. Go left.”

  Joachim nodded, rose, and went to the door. “I will go to see this woman. Perhaps the man with her is her son, after all. It is worth a try. If he is this Frenchman, I must find out for sure.” Once outside, Joachim turned, and without thinking said, “Shalom.”

  “Allah Salaam,” replied the old man with a smile.

  Chapter 29

  Doorstep Savior

  JOACHIM APPROACHED a stone cottage and listened to the muffled conversation through the rough wooden door. A man and a woman. So far, so good. He rapped on the doorjamb. A moment later the door slowly opened. There, a tall thin man wearing a black turban that covered most of his light brown hair leaned on a cane made of elm wood. He stood eyeing Joachim with suspicion. His face, partially covered by a lightly woven cloth, showed the unmistakable signs of bruises that had not quite fully healed. Finally Joachim said, “Bonjour, mon ami. Je viens te raccompagner.”

  At this the young man took a step forward and said in French, “You’ve come to take me home? But this is my home.”

  “Armande, your father and your brother are heartsick. I’ve been sent to get you out.”

  Armande shook his head as if to make sure he’d heard correctly. “You know my name, then.”

  “I know everything.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “It is my job.”

  Nodding to the woman who now stood behind Armande, Joachim said, “Waʿalaykumu s-salām.”

  Although unsure of this big foreigner, she responded, “As-salāmu ʿalaykumā.”

  “May I come in?” Joachim said.

  Armande stepped aside. Once indoors, Joachim asked, “Does this woman know who, or should I say, what, you truly are?”

  “I’m not sure. Nasreen has been taking care of me ever since—”

  “There is no need to discuss that now. I’m leaving in a short while. We don’t have much time, so listen carefully. By this time tomorrow there will be a boat at Astara. You will identify the boat by a red and yellow pennant flying from the mast. The captain will be wearing a cap with the same colors. He will take you north into Azerbaijan. From there you will be taken by land across into Turkey. Our people there will bring you out. There may be many days where nothing will happen, but I caution you to be ready to move at a moment’s notice—al-Qaida has many eyes.”

  Armande plopped down on the carpeted floor. “I can’t believe it. You are serious!”

  “I have risked my life to find you. It doesn’t get more serious than that.”

  “But… what if we’re stopped?” Armande frowned. His eyes darted nervously around the room, as if calculating his chances of making an escape. He said, “If they find out I’m still alive, I’ll be killed on the spot. Why do you think I’ve stayed here all this time? I don’t know… I’m not sure.”

  The woman, who until now had remained silent, spoke. “What is going on?” she said in Farsi. To Armande she said, “Who is this man?”

  “I have come on a special mission to rescue this man and take him back to his family.”

  “I am his family!” she shouted through tears welling in her eyes. “I am a poor widow! I saved his life! What will become of me if he is gone from me!”

  Joachim rubbed his forehead. She’s right. She needs a man to help her. Besides, leaving her behind would bring suspicion on the old man. Everyone will wonder why a son would leave his mother. Questions will be asked.

  Joachim considered the idea of taking her out too. If I arrange passage for both, they risk detection. If I leave her, the plan may be exposed. Al-Qaida is very unforgiving. Hmm, what would Jan do?

  Joachim squatted down in front of Armande and motioned the woman to come closer. “Here is what you are to do,” he said in Farsi. “Early tomorrow, both of you are to go down the mountain to the old woodcutter. Give him your goat’s milk. Then leave immediately for the coast and the boat. The boat will wait until the following morning. That should give you plenty of time.”

  “How will the boatman know who I am?” Armande said.

  “You will say that the sea is salty.”

  Armande furrowed his brow. “Why do I need to know the recognition phrase?”

  “I won’t be going with you. Others will pass you along. First, you, Armande will go to France to see your father.” Joachim thought about Jan and how much he’d invested in finding Armande. “Also, there is a chance you’ll be in America soon,” he said. “I am certain the one who sent me will want to see you.”

  The woman spoke up. “America? Is it warm in America? I am sick of the cold. I want to go to someplace warm!”

  Joachim thought a moment. “How about Miami?”

  “Is it warm in… what is it, Miamee?”

  “You will love it.”

  The woman beamed a smile. Armande twisted his hands in the cloth that earlier had covered his face. His eyes became misty. “Home,” he whispered as if saying it louder would break some spell that had been cast against all odds.

  As Joachim rose, he caught a glimpse of a worn copy of the Quran. Armande noticed and immediately tensed. Joachim eyed the book and then Armande. “Is that yours?” Joachim said.

  Armande gave a slight nod, hoping the woman wouldn’t catch the significance of Joachim’s question.

  Joachim picked up the book and paged through it. Underlined passages and small notations in pidgin English told of a cipher within the text. Joachim looked Armande in the eye and said, “Perhaps I should take that with me, just to ensure it gets where it needs to be.” />
  “Yes…. Perhaps you should.”

  At the door Joachim turned. “I will leave you now, but keep in mind, this will be your one and only chance to get home. There won’t be another. I suggest you take it. Speak to no one about the plan. Go straight to the coast. Remember the red and yellow pennant…. Bon courage.”

  Joachim left the pair standing in the doorway of the stone cottage. As he walked down the path toward the valley below, Joachim hoped Armande would find his way home. The cipher in the Quran meant that Armande was a trained agent, but Joachim knew that training was no substitute for experience. That Armande had been captured at all spoke to his handlers’ unpreparedness for such an eventuality. That Armande had survived al-Qaida’s brutish methods spoke to his inner strength and to the woman who’d brought him back from the brink of death. Joachim patted the Quran in his pocket. I’ve got to get this to the code breakers before anyone realizes what Armande has done.

  Chapter 30

  Kazakhstan

  Kaysm Khan Royal Hotel

  JOACHIM CHECKED at the hotel desk for messages he knew would not be there. The routine of a visitor had to be maintained, especially for one who’d caught the eye of the feared SVR. The young man who’d followed him was waiting for him when he returned from his trip to the mountains.

  Joachim had been away from his room for just over two days. He was tired, and he needed a shower and sleep, but before sleep came the necessary room sweep. Removing his wristwatch, he pulled out the stem, activating a debugging device. The second hand ticked past thirty-one. Hmm, no bugs… these guys must be slipping. Joachim went to the desk where his laptop computer lay. A fine line of dust edged its case. His first impression was that the maid service had dusted, but this tiny layer was missed, and yet there was no residue around the desk lamp or the telephone. Idiots! Was this trick supposed to fool me?