"I was a fool to trust you. You're a damned liar."
"No! I told you the truth!" Abdel whined. "I admitted I was once involved with al Qaeda, but that was before Tariq's time. I detest him and everything he stands for. I am not his brother – I never have been. That was his ruse to make you distrust me. You must believe me. Everything I told you is the truth. We must protect the treasure immediately!"
"That's not what you want at all! He kept you with him when I was taken back to the cell. What did you talk about? Did he give you instructions on how to steal the treasure?"
"No! No, that is not true! He wants me to do a job for al Qaeda. He wants me to find out who the Zulqarnayn is. It's a legendary figure – a person who guards a treasure and who protects the world against evil, false gods. I told him I don't know who it is and I can't find out."
"You expect me to believe that a terrorist asked you – his follower – to tell him about some legendary creature?"
"It's not a creature. It's a man. It's a position that's been passed down for centuries. Some people believe Cyrus the First was a Zulqarnayn. Do you see why they might think that? It was he who allowed the Jews to leave Babylon and recover the temple treasures. Tariq wants the treasure for himself. That's what that is all about."
Brian refused to believe anything the man said now. He needed Abdel for just one more thing. Then it would all be over. There would be no help from him to move Abdel's precious objects to London. They wouldn't create a documentary together. Brian would cut the cord after just one last mission.
He leaned toward the front seat and asked, "I'm not a prisoner, correct?"
"No, sir," the agent replied.
"Then please turn on your radio. I want to speak to my colleague in private."
The man complied, selecting a station with American pop music and turning it up enough to mask a conversation in the back.
Brian whispered, "If you want me to believe you, then take me back to Beth Shean. How early can we get inside the park and go back to the cave?"
Abdel raised his eyebrows. After all this, why did he want to go back? The experience with Tariq had terrified Abdel. He could only imagine how scared Brian must have been, yet he wanted to go to the cavern again.
The man's delusional, he thought to himself. But Brian's request gave him hope. As much as he distrusts me now, he still needs me to show him where the cave is. He still wants to do a documentary. If I am to be part of it, I must regain his trust.
"Certainly, I will take you," he murmured eagerly. "We could leave at four in the morning, be there by six, spend two hours and be back at your hotel by noon. But it may be dangerous."
"Tariq won't do anything to me for now, because I'm his messenger boy," Brian replied, hoping that was true.
"It's not Tariq I'm concerned about. War could break out at any moment. I'm not sure how safe it is to travel anywhere in Israel."
"I'll take my chances and I'm arranging the driver this time. I don't trust Mohammed or you, and maybe it'll be less dangerous if we do things my way. Leave the hood at home. There are no more secrets after what you put me through today."
Abdel apologized again. Even after everything, part of Brian wanted to believe that his trust had not been misplaced – that he wasn't as bad a judge of character as he'd been on other occasions in the past. But none of that mattered. At 6:15 p.m. tomorrow Brian would be on a flight to Turkey and this part would be over.
Brian hadn't been in his hotel room five minutes when his cellphone rang. He took a split of white wine from the minibar, poured a glass and lay back on the bed, ready to explain everything to Harry.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Five men sat around the president's desk in the Oval Office. Besides Harry, there were Stan Kendrick, the CIA director; Clark Vernon, Secretary of Defense; Ken Upton, NSA director; and Bob Cruickshank, head of the CIA's Mossad desk.
The president's advisers had been brought up to speed on where things stood. They knew that the two CIA agents assigned to follow Brian yesterday had been forced to drop the tail when the driver became aware he was being followed. They were far more skilled at this than the driver was, but with so little traffic at that time of day, there was no way to stay out of sight. Instead they had headed to the toll road and driven as quickly as possible to Beth Shean, knowing that Brian was supposed to be returning to the site that morning. But the driver and his passengers hadn't shown up.
CIA agents at the American embassy tracked Brian's phone as he'd been driven to the border town of Hamat Gader, Israel. The agents who had gone to Beth Shean were redirected to the area, where they found a long-abandoned dirt road with fresh tire tracks. The tracks ran directly to the border, where from a distance they watched Jordanian soldiers guarding a hole in the fence – one large enough for a car to pass through.
A few minutes later Brian's phone had stopped sending signals. The CIA agents waited until they saw Brian's driver driving back along the abandoned road, alone. The soldiers waved him through the fence into Israel and then began to repair it.
The agents had been told to follow without intercepting, and they successfully tailed him back to Jerusalem without his realizing it. He went directly to his house and parked the Land Rover outside it. They returned to the embassy, but if they'd watched his house for another hour, they'd have seen him leave to meet his handler.
They'd lost track of Brian for several hours, but his cellphone came back online at the Sheikh Hussein border crossing, twenty miles south of where he had entered Jordan. Minutes later he had called Cynthia Beal and spoken with the president.
"I'm going to try Brian's phone now," Harry said when the background discussion was concluded. The call went through, and he told Brian he was on speaker and announced who the others in the room were. His first words expressed his relief that Brian was safely back in Israel.
Brian told them everything that had happened after he donned the hood when they were on the road to Beth Shean. He described the kidnapping and Abdel's apparent fear of Tariq. He said that the terrorist had seated Abdel next to him and called him a brother. After the experience, he had no idea if Abdel was friend or foe. He revealed the terror he'd felt when Tariq told him Nicole had been taken captive, and his relief when he learned that wasn't true.
"Please keep an eye on her," he implored. "I'm certain Tariq's men would have kidnapped her today if the FBI hadn't gotten there first."
"I agree," Secretary Vernon interjected. "That failure must have really pissed him off, like poking a rattlesnake with a stick."
"Is there any way she could safely meet me in London? I'm planning on flying there tomorrow and I was hoping she could be there too."
"Throw enough money at a problem and you can make anything happen," Harry kidded. "It's a good thing you're a wealthy adventurer!"
"Whatever it takes is fine. I'd appreciate it if your people could check into it. If she wants to, that is."
Harry promised to speak with her.
"Now to the real issue here. What message does Tariq have for America?"
"He made me write it down. I'll shoot a picture of my notes and send them when we're done. He has three demands, each one with its own consequence should you fail to act. The first one's about the embassy. You have seventy-two hours to announce that you will move the embassy back to Tel Aviv within thirty days. If you refuse, he will inflict terrible casualties on the Americans who work there.
"Next, he wants US involvement in the Syrian civil war to end within three months. If that doesn't happen, he promises to rain down terror from the skies on what he calls the Hebrew infidels."
"That son of a bitch!" the CIA director blurted. "Mr. President, you know what he's capable of. How can we respond –"
"Hang on, Stan. There's one more demand."
"Right. The last one is that all fourteen members of al Qaeda who are prisoners in Guantanamo must be released within sixty days. If you refuse, beginning on day sixty-one he will kidnap and publicly execu
te one American per day until the demand is met."
Harry thanked Brian for the information and expressed his regret for the danger Brian had gotten himself into. "Get out of there safely," he urged. "We all want you back."
"Tomorrow," Brian promised. "Istanbul tomorrow, London the next day. I can't wait."
He had one thing left to do – one last visit to Beth Shean.
Once Brian was off the call, the men in the Oval Office sat in silence. They'd heard bluster from one wannabe terrorist after another, but this was different. Tariq was a known quantity. He had no compassion or scruples. Moreover, each of them knew this wasn't about justice for al Qaeda.
"Bob, give us your take on what he's up to," the president said.
"Sir, Tariq's not in this for the noble gesture of helping his people," Cruickshank replied. "This is about humiliating America. He's been furious ever since he found out you and Vice President Taylor didn't really die a couple of years ago. He was tricked and he's fumed about it ever since. What he wants is to force America to comply with his demands, giving him stature and credibility as someone we're afraid of."
"That's right," Secretary Vernon interjected. "He's a classic bully who didn't get his way. The problem for us is that he has the power to do everything he's threatening. We have only one course of action – take him out and do it quickly."
"Let's stay on this subject for now and we'll get to that one later. Any suggestions on how we deal with his demands?"
Upton said, "Mr. President, there's only one of that bastard's demands that we have to deal with immediately. Everything but the first one is months out. Let's cut to the chase. Do you have any intention of moving the embassy back to Tel Aviv?"
"Absolutely not."
"I figured as much, and I agree wholeheartedly. But Tariq only gave us seventy-two hours to comply. If you don't make a statement in three days, he says he'll inflict casualties on the people there. Can he do it? Who the hell knows, but the clock's ticking and we don't know exactly when he started the timer. Since we're not going to give him what he wants, I think we need to get our people out of harm's way immediately."
"What kind of safe rooms do they have in the compound?" Harry asked.
"Nothing like what an embassy would typically have. As you know, they're occupying temporary space in the consulate general's office. It's a grouping of buildings with perimeter security and there are rooms below ground level, but they're meant for classified briefings, not protection."
"Get the ambassador's assessment," the president ordered. "I want his people out of there if there's the slightest risk of harm to them. They can go right back to the compound in Tel Aviv. It'll be inconvenient, but safety's all that matters. Get back with me as quickly as you can. We'll meet again tomorrow morning."
_____
Thirty minutes after his conversation with Harry, Brian lounged in the bathtub, savoring the second martini from a pitcher room service had delivered, and recalling his frightening day. It all seemed surreal now that he was back in civilization. This time he'd gone too far, Brian had to admit. He'd been terrified during the ordeal, but now he felt confident that he could make one final trip without putting himself in danger. He had an amazing, irrational ability to cast off negativity when he wasn't in trouble, and he was aware of it. Now he allowed the martinis to do the talking, presenting a convincing case for a quick trip up to the cavern and back before anything bad happened.
The ring of his cellphone pierced the reverie and the rational argument the martinis were making.
The caller’s words were curt. "Mr. Sadler, this is John Sheller. I hear you plan to go to Beth Shean again before you leave tomorrow."
"You know, Ambassador, that pisses me off. I asked for a conversation in private. What did they do, record it? With all due respect, my only requirement is to be on a plane at 6 p.m. tomorrow. Unless you're placing me under arrest, I'm free to do anything I wish until then. Am I correct about that, or am I missing something?"
The ambassador was almost out of patience. "I'm being as tolerant of the situation as possible only because of your relationship with President Harrison," he snapped. "To be perfectly frank, I can see why the prime minister is fed up with all this. We're in a crisis here and more than enough time has been wasted on one American visitor. I've offered you protection, but you refused. You're pissed, Mr. Sadler, but so am I. I've informed the president that if you're not out of Israel by tomorrow's deadline, I refuse to help you further. He agreed with me. We can only do so much. It's up to you to cooperate."
"Understood," Brian replied, a little remorseful at how he'd treated the man who had helped him out of trouble more than once. Brian truly did understand. He hadn't wanted the problems he'd encountered, and he had undoubtedly created his own perils. Even now his quest for the treasure of Isaiah was causing him to make plans that might be dangerous. The smart thing to do was to go to the embassy and stay until a chauffeur took him to the airport tomorrow afternoon. He'd be safe and he'd get out of the country without a hitch. But instead of cooperating, he was throwing curveballs. And here came another one.
"You're correct that I'm going to Beth Shean tomorrow morning," he continued. "My driver will drop me at the airport by four. That's two hours before my flight, so I won't need your people to pick me up in Jerusalem."
"Have it your way," Sheller replied. "There's just one last thing. The prime minister is sending a man from the Mossad over to the hotel to interview you about what happened to you and Abdel Malouf today. He'll be in the lobby in a few minutes."
"I've had a long day –"
"And it's about to get even longer," the ambassador replied testily. "You have no choice, sir. You're in Shigon's country and you'll do what he requires."
It was after ten when he walked downstairs, found the Mossad agent and told him their conversation was going to be over dinner. Brian hadn't eaten all day and he was famished. He spent an hour with the man, giving him every detail about the kidnapping, Abdel's involvement and why Tariq had brought him to Jordan.
"What message did he want to give to your president?" the agent asked.
"I can't tell you that. The information was for President Harrison and it's not my place to say what it was. If my government wants to share it, that's a decision for someone in a higher pay grade than mine."
His phone rang from the same blocked number Nicole had used earlier. "I have to take this," he said. "Give me some privacy, please."
The agent walked across the room and waited by the entryway, his eyes never leaving Brian's table.
"Hey, baby. I'm being interviewed by the Mossad, so we need to make this quick."
"Where are you?"
"In the dining room at the David Citadel. Everything's fine and I'll be in Istanbul tomorrow night. Why don't you fly to London and I'll meet you at the flat the day after tomorrow?"
She said she'd think about it and he explained that he had to get some sleep tonight for an early wake-up call. He was making a last trip to Beth Shean to video the treasure in hopes of making a documentary, and he asked that she call him again after 8 p.m. Dallas time. They would be on the road to Beth Shean by then.
Dear God, she thought to herself. After all this he wants to go back.
“This time nothing’s going to happen because they’ve asked me to communicate with Harry. I’ll explain everything once we're together. I have to get some sleep. Call me later, sweetie."
He motioned the agent back to his table. After more questioning Brian went to his room, grateful to be alone at last. He packed his gear, crawled into bed and fell into a dark, dreamless void that only ended with the shrill sound of his phone's alarm at 3:30 a.m.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brian checked out and the concierge directed Abdel and him to a black sedan. The driver stowed Brian's luggage in the trunk and asked where they were going.
"Beth Shean National Park," Abdel instructed and moments later they were speeding through empty streets that would
be jammed with traffic in a few hours. He asked the driver to use Highway 90 through Jericho, the shorter route that Mohammed had taken, but the driver said it wasn't possible.
"They closed parts of the highway last night because of the troop buildups along the border. We have to take the toll road, but it should be a quick trip this time of the morning."
"What have you learned about your wife?" Abdel asked anxiously, having heard Tariq's claim to have kidnapped her in Dallas.
Brian was conflicted. He had trusted Abdel once and the Arab was his key to seeing the cavern again, but naively trusting people was a fault of his. Warning signs about Abdel were everywhere. Was he an al Qaeda operative after all? Brian couldn't afford to be naive again. He wouldn't tell Abdel about Nicole.
"Tariq was bluffing," he said as his phone rang. It was Nicole; he told her that he was in a car with two other people and she understood that he wouldn't be saying much on his side. Exuberantly she advised him that she was taking the overnight flight to London this evening.
"Did Harry call you?" he asked.
"Yes, and Brian, if you’ll just meet me tomorrow I’ll forgive you for being such an ass. I feel like all I’ve done is nag at you but I really don’t think you understand how what you do makes me feel."
“I’ve been a fool,” he admitted. “I’ve been selfish about all this. I can’t talk now but I promise things will be different.”
He changed the subject. Since he knew she’d been in federal protection, he asked her how Harry had arranged for her safety during the flight.
"He said it’s not going to be cheap, but I told him you were good for whatever it took. I hope I’m right about that!”
She explained that an armed federal marshal would take her from the safe house to the airport. He’d fly to London in the seat next to her. Upon arrival, she would be handed over to agents from a London security firm Brian had used in the past. There would be a guard inside their apartment and two more outside, twenty-four hours a day. It all sounded fine to Brian and he told her how glad he was too.
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