by Alex Lukeman
"What happened?" she said.
"You were drugged. What do you remember?"
"Abidi's man brought me a drink. I remember thinking it tasted a lot better than the one I'd ordered at the bar. I just sipped it. Then I remember whispering in Yusuf's ear, trying to get him into the alley. He was wearing this awful cologne."
"Then what?"
"I had to go to the bathroom. The next thing I knew I was throwing up in the car."
"Yeah, that was a mess. When the rental people find that Mercedes they're not going to be happy. We left it in the parking lot."
"What happened to Abidi?"
"He's dead."
Nick told her about the fight in the alley.
"I thought I had him fooled," Selena said. "I guess I'm not so smart after all."
"Don't blame yourself. It was always a long shot."
She looked out the window. There was nothing to see except the night sky. Out here over the Atlantic, away from civilization, the stars were bright. Banks of clouds passed below the plane.
"He could have raped me. I could have been killed."
"He didn't and you weren't. That's what counts. We were there to back you up."
"This time. What happens if you're not?"
"You can't think about it like that. I've seen what you can do. You can handle yourself if things get dicey."
"That's what I've always thought," Selena said. "After they gave me that drug I was helpless. What good is all my training if I can't even stand up?"
"I don't have a good answer for that."
"I wish you did."
Selena closed your eyes and lay back in her seat.
Nick watched her.
What if I hadn't been there? he thought.
He imagined what could have happened to her and forced the images out of his mind.
CHAPTER 14
"Did you have to kill him, Nick? You were just supposed to question him."
"I didn't have a choice."
Elizabeth sighed. It was two days later. No one had made the connection between the foreigners visiting Beirut and Yusuf Abidi's death. It was just one more murder in a city that had seen thousands die over the past decades. Life was cheap in Beirut.
"All right. Moving on, Stephanie thinks she's found something," Elizabeth said.
"We know that the man who wrote the scroll was named Ephram," Stephanie said. "I plugged that into the computers and set search parameters for the first century CE. There was an Ephram back then who was part of the revolt against Rome. I think he's the one who made that scroll. He wrote in Aramaic, which fits. The Romans caught him the year after they took Jerusalem."
"Sounds like our guy," Nick said. "What happened to him?"
"He was crucified."
"Did you find anything that might lead us to the tomb?" Selena asked.
"There's another scroll in the British Museum written by Ephram that mentions the Queen of Sheba. There are stories that connect Sheba and Solomon, so there might be something in that. It's the only thing I found that might be related."
"I thought Sheba was a legend," Diego said.
"Most scholars think she was real," Selena said, "although they argue about it, like everything else in the Old Testament. She probably ruled in what's now Yemen. Some think it was Egypt or Ethiopia. In the Bible she visits Solomon, bringing treasure as gifts. She's called the black queen in some legends and the Queen of the South in the Gospels. That could be anywhere south of Galilee. A lot of different cultures claim her for their own."
"I couldn't find out much about the scroll in the British Museum," Stephanie said. "There's no translation posted, just a note that it mentions Sheba. It was written by Ephram around the same time as the other one. I know it's a reach. It's all I could find."
"It might be worth checking out," Elizabeth said.
"We should go look at it," Selena said. "With my academic credentials they'll let me see it. I'll tell them its research for a lecture."
Elizabeth nodded. "Go ahead and set it up."
"What's the next move, Director," Nick asked.
"You followed Abidi to the compound of a man named Al-Bayati," Elizabeth said. "The connection with Abidi makes him our only lead at the moment. I decided to take a closer look at him. Steph, run the shots."
The first picture on the monitor was of Al-Bayati.
"Meet one of the thorns in Langley's side," Elizabeth said.
The picture was in black and white, taken from a distance. It was clear enough to show the brutality in Al-Bayati's features. His head was large, with jutting brows and a sloped forehead. His hair was black and thick. His arms seemed unusually long and powerful, almost simian.
"Primitive looking dude," Diego said. "Reminds me of a guy I knew a long time ago, back in Colorado."
"You're from Colorado?" Ronnie asked.
"Born and raised. I come from outside of Fort Collins, north of Denver. My grandfather emigrated there from Mexico back in the 40s. He grew beets. Now the water's been ripped off and the land's dried up. It would break his heart if he could see it."
Elizabeth tapped her pen.
"Let's stay focused. Al-Bayati sells classified information to the wrong people. Hezbolla protects him and leaves him alone because Tehran tells them to. As you heard from Lucas, he sells black-market arms and stolen technology. There are disturbing rumors about him but no one has ever been able to substantiate them."
"What kind of rumors?" Ronnie asked.
"That children go into his villa in Lebanon and never come out again."
"Sounds like a charming fellow," Selena said
"He seldom leaves his villa. Show us the house, Steph."
The picture changed to show Bayati's sprawling mansion, set on a steep cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. The villa had the classic look of whitewashed walls and red tiled roof. It had been built in the shape of a U around a tiled courtyard. The open part of the U featured a broad fountain surrounded by shade trees and manicured shrubbery. On the Mediterranean side, a wide patio behind the main part of the house ended at a large pool. Beyond the pool a triple row of gleaming razor wire lined the edge of the cliff. Hundreds of feet below, the dark waves of the Mediterranean Sea crashed and foamed against jagged rocks rising up from the water.
The cliff and the water formed a security barrier for one side of the compound. The other three sides were protected by a high, whitewashed stone wall topped with loops of razor wire and shards of broken glass. There was one entrance in, through a massive iron gate. A guardhouse inside the compound sat next to the gate. Several cars were parked on the left side of the compound.
Nick said, "He has a Quad .50 sitting there in the shade. See it? By the wing where all the cars are?"
"I'll be damned," Ronnie said. "I thought those were all in museums."
The Quad .50 consisted of four Browning .50 caliber machine guns controlled by a motorized turret mounted on a truck or platform. Once those guns opened up, anything in front of them was chopped into mincemeat. Low-flying planes, vehicles, buildings and people stood no chance against it.
"Think it's operational?"
"Bet on it," Nick said. "If we end up going in there we'd better make sure nobody gets a chance to use it."
"That wall must be sixteen feet high if it's an inch," Ronnie said. "That razor wire looks tough."
"The cliff might be the best way in," Diego said. "Looks like about an hour climb, maybe more, depending on the rock. He's got wire there, too, on the edge of the pool."
"You've done a lot of climbing?" Nick asked.
"Free and roped," Diego said. "I like the challenge."
Selena listen to the interchange and thought Diego was fitting right in. He'd proved himself in Beirut. Still it was odd without Lamont here. She wondered if Ramirez had any dive training. With Lamont gone, she was the only one on the team with any serious experience. No one else was qualified for the deep work.
Elizabeth interrupted her thoughts.
> "This is early days and we need more Intel. Just the same, I want to begin thinking about what it would take to get into that compound and interview Bayati."
"You make it sound like something for the evening news," Ronnie said.
"You know exactly what I mean," Elizabeth said. "Nick, I want you and Selena to leave for London tonight and check out that scroll in the British Museum. You'll fly commercial on your own passports."
"What about weapons? Every time we check our weapons and get to England there's a hassle about claiming them."
"Leave them. You're just going to the museum. I'll arrange something with the embassy just in case. If you start shooting people over there the Brits won't be the only ones that are unhappy. I'll be unhappy. I don't think you want that."
"Diego and Ronnie?" Nick said.
"I want Ronnie here working with Sergeant Ramirez. Ronnie, bring him up to speed on how we do everything around here. There are lots of things he needs to know. Diego, you and Ronnie start working out how you would take that villa if it becomes necessary. When Nick and Selena get back, we'll go over it."
"Copy that, Director."
"Any questions?"
There weren't any.
"Have a good flight, Nick."
CHAPTER 15
Nazar Al-Bayati sat on the patio of his fortified compound and looked out over the Mediterranean at the blazing ball of the sun dropping toward the horizon. He never got tired of the Mediterranean sunsets, especially when the fiery colors were partly obscured by black clouds, as if the world burned. It reminded him of pleasant times spent in the presence of heat and darkness, fire and the sweet smoke of incense.
The scroll was never far from his mind. Solomon had been one of the great ancient magicians, in the tradition of Bayati's ancestors. It was said that objects of power had been buried with him. There was one in particular Bayati sought. If it was in the tomb and if he could find it, the world would be his. Bayati believed in magic. He had seen too many strange phenomenon in his life to think that magic wasn't real. Of course it required great skill and preparation to hold and use it. He knew what was required.
Rituals and sacrifices, rites that were older than the pyramids.
Today began a new lunar cycle. Nazar absentmindedly fingered his crotch in anticipation of the ceremony that would take place later. Before then there was business to attend to.
He rose, went into the house and beckoned a servant.
"Find Rhoades and send him to my study."
"At once, Abu."
The man scurried away. Al-Bayati went to a sideboard of rosewood inlaid with gold that stood by the near wall, a piece that had once graced the Emperor Napoleon's private study. He pressed a carved rosette on the corner and a panel slid down on the end, revealing a hidden compartment. A dozen foil wrapped balls the size of marbles rested on a tray inside. Beside them were six glass vials containing tablets of an odd brown color. The last item inside the cabinet was an ancient green bottle.
Al-Bayati took one of the balls and placed it on top of the sideboard on a silver tray. He opened a vial, shook two pills onto his hand and set the vial down. He took two more pills and set them down next to the ball. He took the cork out of the green bottle and washed down the pills with a swallow of the liquid it contained. The liquor burned on its way down. Al-Bayati put the cork back in the bottle, the bottle and the vial back into the cabinet, and touched the rosette again. The panel sprang upward and locked with a sharp click. Al-Bayati sat down in a broad leather chair.
Addison Rhoades came into the room. Al-Bayati felt the first rush of the drugs ripple through him in a wave. The main effect was still an hour away. By then everything would be ready.
"You sent for me?"
"You know about Yusuf?"
Rhoades nodded.
"What happened?"
Rhoades shrugged. "Perhaps he made a deal with the wrong people or gave them the wrong goods."
"I want you to find out who killed him."
"It shouldn't be too hard," Rhoades said. "He was approached by a woman in the club. There are cameras. Nothing in the alley where he died. Plenty of tape from inside."
"Get the tapes. I don't think it was an unhappy client."
"Who else would it be?"
"Who knows? The Israelis, perhaps? However I think they would be more subtle. It may have been someone with an interest in my affairs."
"It's possible," Rhoades said. "I'll look into it."
"Something else. There is another scroll," Al-Bayati said. "I want you to obtain it. It may help us find the tomb."
"Another? Where is it?"
"In the British Museum. Locate it and bring it to me."
Rhoades looked nervous. "It's too late to go today..."
Al-Bayati laughed. "Don't worry, you don't have to go until tomorrow. You know I need you to assist me. Is everything prepared?"
"Yes. The new moon will rise in about forty minutes."
"The boy?"
"In his room. He has already received the drug."
"Good. Go over to the sideboard. You'll find what you need there."
Rhoades walked over to the sideboard and picked up the foil wrapped ball. He popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
"Get the boy ready and bring him to my bedroom."
Rhoades left the room and Al-Bayati leaned back in the comfortable chair and closed his eyes, feeling the power of the ancient drugs begin to lift him into a different realm.
The formulas Al-Bayati used to create his heightened awareness dated back thousands of years, to a time when Carthage had been as great as her rival Rome. Nazar believed he was descended from a high priest of Carthage. It was as his father had taught him, as his father had been taught as well, going back in an unbroken line through the millennia
Carthage had long since turned to dust but the true religion had been kept alive in secret throughout the centuries. There had always been worshipers and priests to serve the god. Now, most of the followers were gone. Nazar was the last of his line, the last who knew the true mysteries. He'd been unable to sire a male heir. If there was one thing in his life he regretted, it was that. Not long ago he had come to the realization that time was running out for him. The women he had coupled with in the past had failed to produce a male child, always it was a girl. The women disappeared. He'd found another use for the girls who were born.
No one had ever bothered to ask what happened to the women. They wouldn't have dared. People didn't ask Nazar Al-Bayati about things like that. He had his eye on a new candidate. If she didn't produce, Al-Bayati had come to the conclusion he would have to choose a successor not of his blood. It was a difficult realization, one he did not want to accept. Tonight's sacrifice would be special, meant to draw the god's favor to him. Surely, his prayer would be answered.
He stood and swayed for a moment as his body adjusted to the drugs. Everything in the room glowed with light and color. The soft touch of his silk robe was like a caress. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins and heat in his groin. The god was not jealous. The boy's virginity was not a requirement.
The power of his youthful blood was what counted.
CHAPTER 16
Selena's reputation as a renowned lecturer in ancient Middle Eastern and Oriental languages opened doors at the British Museum kept closed to the public. The museum housed one of the greatest collections in existence of Middle Eastern artifacts. There had been a time when British expeditions bent on exploration and discovery had covered the globe. Crumbling ruins no one cared about turned out to be treasure houses of statuary, treasure, carvings and cultural items from lost civilizations.
The world had changed since the days of empire. Many of the acquisitions had become controversial. As far as Nick knew, the scroll they were interested in wasn't one of them.
Nick and Selena were met by a man in his fifties wearing a conservative worsted suit. He wore glasses with designer frames that had probably cost close to
a thousand dollars. He had a thin, aristocratic face with an expression as though there had been too much lemon in his tea and sported a thin, sandy mustache that reminded Nick of pictures he'd seen of British officers during World War I. He introduced himself as Sir Peter Wainwright. Wainwright was the man in charge of the Department of the Middle East.
"I must say, it's a genuine pleasure to meet you, Doctor Connor. I haven't seen much in the journals from you lately. Your treatise a few years ago on classical Greek was quite intriguing."
"Thank you, Sir Peter. I've been looking forward to meeting you. This is my personal secretary, Nicholas Carter."
Nick and Selena had agreed before going in that he would play the role of gofer and assistant. She'd laughed at his look and promised not to send him out for coffee.
"How do you do?" Wainwright shook hands with Nick.
"Pleasure," Nick said.
Wainwright's handshake was limp and slightly damp. Wainwright turned back to Selena, dismissing him. Nick resisted the urge to dry his hand on his pants.
"I understand you're interested in our scroll by Ephram."
"That's correct."
"May I ask why that scroll in particular? We have many fine examples of Aramaic scrolls."
"I was curious about the reference to the Queen of Sheba," Selena said. "The museum catalog mentions its presence. There's no further information except to date it to the first century CE."
Wainwright pursed his lips. "Space in the catalog is at something of a premium. It was felt that it merited only a listing."
"And the content?" Selena probed.
"It's a rather uninspired travel diary. Perhaps it's better if you look at it yourself. I confess that I have never read it."
"Then how do you know what's in it?" Nick said.
Selena gave him a warning look.
Wainwright sniffed.
"There are good people under me upon whom I rely," he said. "My specialty is cunieform."
"Of course," Nick said. "A foolish question."