"This truly is a special place, isn't it?" The words in accented English came from the darkness behind them.
Startled, they whirled about and saw two men emerging from the shadows, each holding a pistol. A third had an automatic rifle trained on Elisabeth; he ordered her to drop her weapon. When she paused, he brandished his AK-47 menacingly.
"He will kill you," the first man said evenly. "You have no part in this. Don't be foolish."
Becky nodded, giving Elisabeth her approval. She had no choice. She removed her pistol from its holster and dropped it to the floor.
The first man – their leader – barked orders while he held his gun on the three of them. The others tied their prisoners' hands behind their backs, searched their pockets and tossed their cellphones aside.
"You'll never get away with this," the archaeologist snapped. "I have soldiers coming –"
"I'm certain you do," he snarled. "That is why we have no time to spare. Allah willing, we will be gone before they arrive."
Brian glanced at Becky. Her eyes were wide with terror and for once the indomitable adventurer was beginning to feel the same way. Despite the security precautions and their careful planning, he knew what this was about. There was a bounty on his head – Harry had said that. Tariq's men had caught up with him and he'd put another person in danger because of his indifference to reality. For once, he was truly, deeply afraid. He had used up his nine lives; it was time to pay the price for his folly.
They were prodded back the way they had come until they were on top of the bluff. The leader paused, gave a whistle and got a faraway one in response. "We will go now," he said. "It is safe."
About an hour later, a truckload of Israeli soldiers arrived at the archaeological site. The lieutenant in charge was surprised that Dr. Kohl wasn't there to meet them, as he'd been told would happen. When darkness fell and she still hadn't arrived, he tried her cellphone several times. He waited two more hours and then contacted his superior. He and his squad were ordered to return to base until someone could figure out the apparent miscommunication between the army and the director of antiquities.
Brian and Becky lay on their sides in the bed of a pickup truck, bound, gagged and covered by a filthy tarp. It was just the two of them – they had no idea where Elisabeth was. They were driving on a road with enormous potholes, and they felt every jarring bump. After fifteen minutes the truck stopped; someone removed the tarp and prodded them with rifles. Despite the tethers on their hands, they managed to sit up, stretch their aching legs and get out.
The truck sat in front of a boarded-up building that had been abandoned for some time. Judging by junk strewn about, it could have been a mechanic's shop. The sun was setting and they could see a dim floodlight every twenty feet or so that did little to illuminate an eight-foot-high fence that ran as far as they could see either way.
"That's the border with Jordan," Becky whispered.
They were shoved into a bay that reeked of motor oil and grease. Its floor was sticky and there was trash everywhere. A single low-watt bulb hanging from a wire provided the only light.
A door opened and a man entered. Brian quivered when he saw who it was.
"We meet again, Mr. Sadler," Tariq began, his words smug and satisfied. "I see you've brought a guest. Dr. Kohl, welcome. Like Mr. Sadler, you're a famous person too. Today seems to be my lucky day. I have won two prizes for the price of one. What do you think your government will be willing to trade for your safe return?"
"Who is this?" she asked Brian.
Brian mustered every ounce of strength he could. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to do it sniveling around and begging for mercy. He was responsible for everything that had happened, and if he could get Tariq into a conversation, he might think of some way out of this. That possibility seemed remote, but it was worth a chance. He pulled himself up straight and looked the terrorist in the eyes.
"He's a punk who's crazy with power, that's what he is. That's Tariq the Hawk, the leader of AQS. He's also a liar – he told me he kidnapped my wife, but the US government got her first. You were a little slow on that one, Tariq."
Tariq flashed an evil grin. "I don't want to hurt you too badly while you're my guest," he said to Brian, "but if you continue to provoke me, I will be forced to return you in, shall we say, somewhat less pristine condition than when you arrived." He looked at Becky Kohl. "You, my dear, are a different story. When I have received what I want, perhaps I will allow my men to have you."
Despite being a strong, determined woman, his words made her shiver and Tariq picked up on it. "I do not wish to alarm either of you," he continued without emotion. "If you and your governments do everything I ask, both of you will be returned safely and with minimal inconvenience."
"Where's the girl who was with us?" she demanded.
He laughed. "Your guard? She proved to be completely ineffective, didn't she? I regret to advise you that she is wherever Jews go when their time on earth is completed. I can't imagine it's Heaven – I believe that place is reserved for the followers of Allah."
Becky gasped in horror. She looked at Brian, her eyes glistening with tears. "He's serious?" She sobbed, torn apart inside at having put one of her young people into this deadly, terrifying situation.
Brian nodded, knowing this warped animal's love for killing.
Tariq issued a command and the guards untied their hands. They rubbed their aching wrists as the men handed them bottles of water.
"Where are we? Where's Abdel Malouf?" Brian asked.
"Here we go again with the questions. You are in Israel, but shortly you will go to Syria. I hope you're looking forward to the trip as much as I am. As far as Abdel, I was going to ask you the same question. You helped him escape and you met him in Athens. Where did he go from there?"
Nothing about Tariq should have surprised Brian by now, but he did wonder how the man had found out so quickly that Abdel was gone. "I never saw him. He was gone when I arrived."
"You'll forgive me for not believing you," Tariq responded coldly. "He isn't what you think he is, Mr. Sadler. You may think Abdel is a man much like you – a respected antiquities dealer and a friend – but he is something else entirely. Have you heard of the Zulqarnayn?"
Brian didn't want to disclose that Abdel had mentioned the name earlier, so he shook his head. "Is it a man?"
Becky answered, "It's a title."
"I thought you would know," Tariq said with a smile. "Explain it to Mr. Sadler."
Her voice was shaky, but she was determined to show strength, not fear. "The Zulqarnayn is a title that's been passed down since biblical times. According to legend, there's a person – usually an Arab – who is the leader of a band of brothers. One of their missions is to guard a sacred treasure. Some think it was the sacred objects that King Cyrus returned to the Jews around 540 BCE."
"Yes," Tariq added. "I believe he was the Zulqarnayn at that moment in history. There were others before and since."
One thing about this ruthless bastard, Brian conceded, is that he's highly intelligent. He's a student of history.
The terrorist continued, "I knew a scholar such as yourself would know the legend. Today you saw the treasure. I cannot imagine what a pleasure that must have been, at least until the time when my men showed themselves. But please continue. Enlighten us with the rest of the story. When was the treasure actually hidden at Beth Shean?"
She answered, "There's a difference of opinion on that. I believe it didn't happen until the final destruction of the temple in 70 AD. The high priests moved the treasure there as the Romans sacked Jerusalem. Others believe it was the same cave where their valuables had been stored five hundred years before, when the Jews were taken into captivity. But it makes more sense to me that King Nebuchadnezzar took the treasure to Babylonia along with the Israelites."
Tariq smiled, enjoying the debate. "I disagree. I think Cyrus brought the Israelites to the cave and showed them the hidden treasure. They took
it to Jerusalem and rebuilt the temple. Five hundred years later the Romans burned it and the treasure was hidden back in the same place – the cavern where the golden idols are today. And soon I too will be a part of history, when I remove the temple relics. I doubt any biblical prophecies will be fulfilled this time because I'm taking the hoard for myself! How many gold ingots do you think there will be after I melt down that pile of Israelite rubbish?"
Brian's mind was spinning, torn between the knowledge that he and Becky Kohl were in terrible danger and the understanding that this priceless cache of artifacts was in the hands of a man whose delight in destroying history had been proven time and again. He had to think of something and he had to keep Tariq talking until he did.
Abdel had also believed the treasure had been hidden in the cavern not once, but twice. But something nagged at Brian. Something about this Zulqarnayn account didn't make sense. Why would a band of Arabs be the guardians of an Israelite treasure?
Tariq appeared to be enjoying himself very much. He said, "The first Zulqarnayn was Alexander of Macedonia. King Cyrus was another, as you said. He and his men safeguarded the treasure until it was returned to the Jews. There has been a Zulqarnayn ever since."
"And are you the present one?" Brian asked.
Tariq burst out in laughter. "Quite the opposite! Why would you think such a thing? Were you not listening to your friend describe the Zulqarnayn? He is the protector of the treasure, while I intend to destroy it. Your precious goblets and chalices will soon be bars of gold.
"You know what I'm about, Mr. Sadler. The president must have told you what a dangerous man I am. And he is right. But I have noble goals. I am not protecting treasure on earth; I am destroying everything that drives men away from Allah. Men worship ancient ruins, statues, mummies, and golden objects from the past. I cleanse the Earth of those things. I defend the Arab people against infidels everywhere, but especially those in Israel and the United States. I will find my storehouse of treasure in Heaven, Allah willing."
The more they kept him talking, the more time someone might have to rescue them. "How admirable," Brian replied sarcastically. "But something doesn't make sense. Cyrus gave the temple treasure back to the Jews twenty-five hundred years ago, right?"
Tariq nodded.
"When that happened, didn't the Zulqarnayn's obligation to safeguard it end? It wasn't hidden any more. It was in Jerusalem once again."
"From the first, each Zulqarnayn has assumed responsibility for safeguarding the infidels' treasure. It has been carried out to this day. When the Romans were about to occupy Jerusalem in AD 70, the Jews hid the temple relics again at Beth Shean. And they stayed there for two thousand years, until Abdel Malouf decided to tell you about them."
"But Abdel said he's known about the cave for a long time. Someone else showed it to him."
"Your friend's a liar, Mr. Sadler. Haven't you figured that out by now? He's one of the Zulqarnayn's men. He was one of the people entrusted to safeguard the treasure, but instead he revealed its whereabouts to an infidel. That would of course be you."
Brian was astounded. "I don't believe a thing you're saying. He never said anything about Zulqarnayn. He admitted he had done bad things in the past. He said he had been part of al Qaeda –"
"Bad things? He is a fool who was part al Qaeda once, long before I became the leader!" Tariq exploded. "I would never have asked a weakling like him to join me! That is why I have never called upon him. He was unreliable; a Jew could have done al Qaeda's work better than Abdel. Only when you arrived did I ask him to perform tasks for the cause. They were simple – tell me who the Zulqarnayn is, lead me to the treasure and hand you over to me."
"And who is the Zulqarnayn today?"
"Abdel disappeared without telling me that. I will find him, Allah willing, and then I will know who that enemy is. In the meantime, I am taking control of things. I will destroy every single idol to the false god of the Israelites."
He glanced at his watch and issued an order in his language. "There is a bathroom in there," he told them, pointing to a door. "You should use it now." Then Tariq ushered them outside. "We will continue this enjoyable conversation tomorrow," he said as politely as if he were bidding old friends goodbye. "Now you must go."
Tariq's soldiers retied their hands, put duct tape over their mouths and took them outside. They were jostled and marched along the fence into the darkness. There were no buildings now; they walked in scrub brush and saw a light pole every hundred feet, dim bulbs barely illuminating the fence to their right.
They heard the soft bleat of sheep and saw a group of Bedouins sitting around a fire on the other side. There was no fence here; someone had knocked it down so the animals could graze on either side. The nomads ignored the activity as their captors whispered and got a response. Two men sitting in a Jeep walked over, took Becky and Brian and shoved them roughly into the backseat. Seconds later they were speeding down a dirt road with their headlights off as the moon's soft glow guided them on a rutted path toward the lights of a town far in the distance. Brian turned around, gazed into the darkness behind them and wondered if he would see Israel again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
An hour later the Jeep pulled up beside a long strip of dirt that functioned as a runway. They parked next to an ancient twin-engine Beech airplane. They were put in the backseat and a guard took the right front one. The pilot flew off into the starry skies over Jordan. If Tariq was telling the truth, they were on the way to Syria, one of the most dangerous places imaginable for an American millionaire and an Israeli government official.
The first light of dawn was breaking as they landed on another makeshift airstrip outside a dusty, war-torn village. They were shoved into another Jeep; now there was no attempt to hide the fact that they were hostages. Their mouths taped and hands bound, they rode along dirt streets filled with rubble from bombed-out buildings. There were no people – the town appeared to have been abandoned for a long time.
The Jeep stopped in front of the only structure in the tiny village that had four walls and a roof. It had a door, panes of glass in its windows, and a satellite dish. Three men in their early twenties milled about in front of the building, each with an AK-47 strung across his chest. They were ushered inside, where a swarthy, unkempt man in a filthy uniform jerked the duct tape from their mouths, untied them and handed them water.
It had been hours since they last had a drink, and they gulped it down. He gave them another and pointed to a door, indicating that Becky should open it. She cautiously looked inside and found a small room with a barred window. Flies buzzed around a hole in the floor. It was a bathroom, and as horrible as it was, it was a welcome sight. She closed the door. When she was finished, he took his turn.
For two hours, they sat in a stiflingly hot room ten feet from an overweight guard who hadn't bathed in days. He had a rifle in his lap and wore earplugs connected to a wire running to an old MP3 player. Neither of them was sure what Tariq's demands would be; they simply prayed for rescue. Brian was aware of America's longstanding policy of not negotiating with terrorists, but he also knew Harry would do whatever he could. His greatest concern was for Nicole, and he grieved inside that he had selfishly let her down once more.
Becky was consumed by her own thoughts. Her prime minister harbored a deep hatred for those who sought to destroy his nation, and she had no idea whether he'd negotiate or not. When she became head of the Antiquities Authority, she'd never imagined being a kidnap victim and a possible pawn in the war between Israel and its neighbors, but that was exactly what had happened.
God, if I get out of this, I'll never let it happen again, she prayed, even though she knew there could have been no way to predict this dilemma. It had been a simple trip to see a recently discovered treasure hoard, until everything went wrong.
Brian suggested they concentrate on other things than their situation until they knew what was going on. They talked quietly about the treasure and what would
happen to it now that Tariq had them as prisoners.
Half an hour went by and Brian touched her sleeve gently. He nodded his head in the direction of the guard. The man's head fell forward and snapped back up now and then as he struggled to stay awake. They could hear faint sounds of music from his earplugs and his fingers tapped his leg in rhythm. At one point, he closed his eyes for a particularly long time and Brian moved to the edge of his chair. He wasn't sure himself what he thought he was going to do, and anything was risky since there were armed men outside, but in here it seemed it was just the three of them.
The guard's head jerked back up and his eyes popped open. He yawned and rubbed them with his grimy fingers. He satisfied himself that his prisoners were doing nothing alarming and went back to the reverie of his music. Seconds later his eyelids closed again.
Brian rose quietly and tiptoed across the room. In a single move, he grabbed the rifle by its barrel, pulled it out of the man's lap and swung it in the air, the stock connecting solidly with his right temple and sending him crashing in a heap on the floor. Brian aimed the weapon toward the door in case one of the guards had heard the man fall, but no one came inside. He felt for a pulse, but there was none.
Becky's face was filled with terror. "What have you done?" she cried as he shushed her. "There's no way out of here. Tariq will kill us now for sure."
"I had to do something," he whispered. "I couldn't sit here and let them kill us. We have no idea how much time we have. See what's in the other rooms."
He kept the rifle trained on the door while she was gone. In a moment she returned and said, "Someone's been living here. There's a kitchen and a bedroom. There are three handguns in there and some knives in the drawer. There's an old cellphone in a charger in the bedroom. There's also a back door, but how can we escape? We don't even know where we are!"
"Bring me a pistol and take one yourself. Be sure they're loaded. Bring the phone too." She came back and he told her to be ready to shoot anyone who walked through the door. The phone was an old flip version, grimy and scratched. Wondering if it would work, he entered 01 – the country code for the USA – and dialed a number he'd committed to memory long ago. It was evening there, but he hoped she'd get the message.
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