by Alex Lukeman
The stove was an old model, with white porcelain handles to control the burners. It had been installed in the early twentieth century, when the area had been popular with newly arrived immigrants. Most of the new arrivals from Iran and the Middle East now chose Long Island or Brooklyn as their destination, but Kazemi was happy that the apartment was located in the hive-like anonymity of Manhattan. It was easy to disappear into the crowd in Manhattan. The last thing Amin and his brother Hamid wanted was to be noticed.
The two brothers had entered the United States through Canada, using passports that identified them as citizens of the UK. The passports were real enough, although the names and addresses on them were not. Those identities were gone. New ones had taken their place.
The apartment had been waiting for them when they arrived in New York. It was adequate, if not especially clean. It was small and sparsely furnished, with a kitchen table and two chairs, a secondhand couch and chair in the living room, and mattresses laid on the floor in the bedroom. Amin left the light on at night, to discourage the cockroaches that resisted all his attempts to exterminate them. He thought of them the way he thought about Jews: vermin, befouling whatever they touched.
The tea was ready. He put the pot and two cups on a metal tray and carried it into the living room, where Hamid sat in the chair reading the Pars Times, the biggest Persian newspaper in America.
Amin sat down and put the tray on a scarred coffee table in front of the couch. He poured a cup and handed it to Hamid.
"Mam'noon," Hamid said.
"Why are you reading that garbage?"
"It is good to know the enemy. Besides, I like the pictures."
Amin sipped his tea. "It would've been better if you had not killed the guard," he said.
"Let's not go through this again. I had no choice. The police were coming, the guard had a gun. What was I supposed to do?"
"I'm not blaming you. I would probably have done the same thing. I'm only saying it would've been better."
"It was just bad luck. Bad luck for him."
"I wonder why Dayoud wanted the document?"
"Better not to ask," Hamid said. "He was pleased, that is all that matters."
The two men sat for a moment, drinking tea.
"I grow tired of waiting," Amin said.
Hamid set his cup down. "It will be a great day, a day the Great Satan will never forget."
"God willing."
"It will take time for their new President to gather all the strings of control together. Now is when they are most vulnerable. He will need to appoint new members to his cabinet. There will be vacuums in leadership. It's a perfect time for this operation."
Amin said, "I long to see my family again. My daughter's second birthday is coming."
"Perhaps we will be home by then."
"Perhaps martyrdom will not be necessary."
"As God wills," Hamid said.
CHAPTER 12
Alan Friedman and his assistant stood with Selena on the tarmac outside the private terminal at Kennedy Airport, admiring the Gulfstream 550 that would take them to Israel.
"Where did you get this plane?"
"I'll explain when we're on board," Selena said. "There are some things you need to know."
"Selena, you haven't been formally introduced to my assistant, Miriam Golding."
"Hi, Miriam. It will be nice to have another woman along."
Miriam smiled at her. "Yes, it will. It's nice to meet you."
They shook hands.
"Who else is coming?" Miriam asked.
"Three others, all good friends of mine. They are already on the plane. Let's board and I'll introduce you."
They climbed the steps into the plane.
The Gulfstream 550 was a luxury plane designed for the long distance business traveler who could afford the ultimate in comfort and speed. The interior of the cabin was fitted with burnished rosewood and soft, tan leather. The plane could sleep eight people and cruise at 51,000 feet, all at six hundred miles an hour. It's range was a little over sixty-seven hundred nautical miles, long enough to cross the Atlantic and reach Israel without stopping.
The plane had been fitted with a long counter/bar on one side of the main cabin. A couch and large, comfortable seats had been placed across from the bar. Video displays were strategically situated throughout the cabins.
It was the sort of plane only the rich could afford. The Gulfstream had once belonged to a powerful drug lord. It was now the property of the U.S. government and was on semi-permanent assignment to the Project.
Nick, Ronnie and Lamont were seated across from the bar. Nick had a whiskey in his hand. Ronnie was drinking orange juice. Lamont was reading a magazine. They all stood when Selena and the others entered the cabin.
Selena made the introductions.
"Alan, Miriam, this is my husband, Nick Carter. These two are Ronnie Peete and Lamont Cameron, both old friends. The four of us have spent a lot of time together, some of it in pretty rough country. With these three along, no one is going to bother us. Guys, this is Alan Friedman and his assistant, Miriam Golding."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Friedman," Nick said. "Ms. Golding."
If Friedman was surprised by the hard appearance of Selena's friends, he didn't show it.
"Please call me Alan," he said.
The pilot came out of the cockpit. "Folks, we're ready to go. If you'll get ready for takeoff, we'll be on our way."
Twenty minutes later they were in the air. Selena and Friedman sat next to each other, across from Nick and Ronnie. Lamont had already gone back to the sleeping area for a nap on one of the comfortable beds. Miriam was on the couch, reading a magazine.
"So, explain," Friedman said. "What are these things I need to know?"
Selena took a secrecy agreement from the shoulder bag she carried and gave it to him.
"Before I tell you, I need you to take a look at this and sign it."
Friedman adjusted his glasses and began reading. Part way through he stopped.
"A secrecy agreement?"
"I work for a government agency," Selena said. "This says that you will not talk about what happens on this mission without express permission. Miriam will need to sign one as well."
"Mission? What agency?" Friedman was annoyed. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"It wasn't necessary, before."
"What does your organization do?"
"We do a lot of things, Alan. Our main function is counterintelligence and counterterrorism."
"You're a spy?"
"Not at all. Mostly, I'm a consultant."
Selena mentally crossed her fingers as she spoke.
"So the government provided this plane?"
"Yes."
"You should have told me," Friedman said. "Whenever the government gets involved with academic freedom, the results are usually not good."
"You don't need to worry about that," Selena said. "Whatever we find, or even if we don't, there isn't any reason why you can't write about it from an archaeological and professional standpoint. What you can't write about is the fact that my unit is involved."
"And your husband, the others, they are all part of your...unit?"
"They are. You couldn't ask for better protection, if we should need it."
"You make this sound like something out of an Indiana Jones movie," Friedman said.
"I don't want to upset you," Selena said, "but I also don't want you to think this is just another expedition. The stakes are too high. If it weren't for the fact that the guard was killed and the scroll stolen, I wouldn't have needed to tell you all this. His murder means that some very bad people will be looking for the same thing we are."
"What kind of bad people?"
"Take your pick. Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, any one of a number of organizations that hate Israel. Once we knew the scroll was written by King Solomon and referred to part of the treasure used to build the First Temple, my organization had to become involved
. I'm sure I don't need to explain to you how anything to do with the Temple is an explosive subject in the Middle East. There are a lot of people who would not want Israel to find this tomb. It has the potential to trigger major conflict. There's a real possibility we'll run into trouble. If we do, you're going to be glad Nick and the others are here."
"You actually think someone might want to harm us," Friedman said. His tone was incredulous.
"You can still change your mind if you like. When we get to Israel, you can take the plane back to New York and that will be the end of it."
"But you would continue to look for the tomb?"
"Yes."
"You've given me a lot to think about."
Selena sat back in her seat and waited.
"What about the Israeli authorities? Do they know about you?"
"They do. We've worked with them in the past. We'll be met in Tel Aviv by someone. It's already been arranged. We'll have official access to the Negev and anywhere else we need to look. I expect they'll want someone to go with us, but that shouldn't be a problem."
"This is all a bit much," Friedman said.
"Think about it, Alan. It's the chance of a lifetime. We'll have the blessing of the Israeli government and unlimited funds. If we do find the tomb, it will be protected and the contents returned to the people of Israel. You'll get all the credit for the discovery. Imagine, if we do find it. What would it be like?"
"It would be the fulfillment of a lifetime's work," Friedman said.
He took out a pen and signed the agreement.
A little less than twelve hours after leaving New York, they landed in Tel Aviv.
CHAPTER 13
At Ben-Gurion Airport, the Gulfstream taxied to the private terminal reserved for diplomatic arrivals and special guests of the Israeli government. They'd left New York at three in the afternoon. The twelve hour flight and a seven hour time difference meant that it was ten in the morning in Tel Aviv.
It was a clear morning. A few scattered clouds drifted across a china blue sky. The temperature was cool, somewhere in the fifties. The pilot opened the cabin door and lowered the steps, letting in a fresh breeze that brought in a pleasant hint of the Mediterranean, not far away.
A man and a woman waited for them at the foot of the steps. The man was about fifty years old. He wore a dark blue suit that needed pressing, a white shirt and no tie. He had black shoes. His hair was curly and going gray, although it had once been black. He had the look of a career cop, a face scored with lines of stress.
The woman standing next to him had a pistol holstered on her hip. She wore sunglasses, a light sweater, and a dark green skirt that came down to her knees. She was about the same height as her companion. Her dark hair hung in thick waves to her shoulders. She had broad hips and breasts that pushed against the fastenings of a pale-blue blouse.
Nick was the first off the plane. His face broke into a smile when he saw the two standing there.
"Ari, what a surprise."
"Shalom, Nick. Welcome back."
They shook hands. Nick turned to the woman. His voice softened.
"Hello, Rivka. You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."
The last time he'd seen her was in Haddasah hospital, recovering from a bullet meant for him.
"Shalom, Nick. Welcome to Israel."
They exchanged quick kisses in the European style, one to each cheek and back again.
Selena and the others came down the steps. Friedman and his assistant were the last out of the plane. Nick made the introductions.
"You are married now, Nick?" Rivka said. "Congratulations."
"Rivka saved my life," Nick said to Selena. "She took a bullet for me."
"Then I'm glad to meet you," Selena said.
"Ari and Rivka are with Shin Bet," Nick said.
"Ah, the Invisible Shield," Friedman said. "I'm honored."
"Doctor Friedman," Ari said, "I'm familiar with your work in the United States. You are at home, here. Come, we have cars waiting. Once you are settled in your quarters, we will discuss how to proceed."
"I would like to pray in Jerusalem before we leave for the desert," Friedman said.
"That will not be a problem, Doctor. Come."
Herzog led the way to three black Suburbans waiting on the tarmac. Nick wondered why the Suburban seemed to be an almost universal choice for government convoys, and why they were almost always black. Herzog and Rivka got into the lead vehicle. Nick and the others took the middle. The third vehicle had four men in it, backup in the event of trouble. Herzog was taking no chances.
Their quarters were in a private compound situated on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean. A high fence surrounded the property. They passed through a checkpoint with a guardhouse and a gate and pulled up a few minutes later in front of a sand-colored building.
Nick got out of the car and stood looking at the view. The Mediterranean Sea stretched away toward the horizon. The wave tops sparkled and danced under the morning sun. Ari came up and stood beside him.
"Nice view," Nick said.
"It is."
"Here we are again, Ari. Must be karma."
Herzog laughed. "It's curious, how a Gentile like you has become involved in the heart of our nation's heritage. If I believed in karma, I'd say you must've been a Jew in a past life."
"If it wasn't for the fact that people try to kill me every time I come here, I'd feel right at home," Nick said.
"Let's hope that doesn't happen this time around," Ari said.
"Rivka is looking well."
"Yes. She is happy to see you again. As am I."
"What's the plan, Ari?"
"You'll be escorted by Rivka and one of our agents. Your first stop is the Well of Abraham, as the scroll instructs. From there, it's up to you, but our people will be with you all the way."
"Good. Any incidents lately? Jihadis from Egypt or Jordan?"
"Nothing unusual. There was a stabbing in Beersheba. Those sorts of attacks are becoming more frequent. Aside from that, it's been quiet."
"I don't envy you, Ari. Do you ever get a chance to relax?"
"Not often. One day there will be peace. Until then, relaxation is a luxury. What do you think of your Director Friedman?"
"I don't think he understands how quickly things can change here, when it comes to personal safety. Selena told me he was surprised when she suggested that he needed protection over here. He strikes me as naïve. An intellectual man who doesn't quite get the real world."
"Not a good thing in our country," Ari said. "Does he know what you do?"
"No."
"Probably another good thing. Anyway, he'll be safe enough. What with you and your team and my men, I can't see any problem arising you couldn't handle. The Negev has been quiet. It's heavily patrolled, so it should stay that way."
"Works for me," Nick said.
"I'm going back to Tel Aviv. I'll see you when you get back."
"Thanks for your help, Ari."
"Mind your step out there," Ari said. "You never know what you're going to find in the desert. But if you find Solomon's Gold, you will be forever remembered here."
"Forever is a long time," Nick said.
CHAPTER 14
Two days after they arrived in Israel, they were ready to leave for Beersheba. Herzog had provided three AIL Mark II Storm utility vehicles. The AIL was based on the Jeep Wrangler, but had been modified to meet Israeli security needs. The Mark II had dual passenger doors on both sides, an improvement over the Mark I. It was designed to handle rough terrain.
Friedman and his assistant would ride with Rivka in the lead vehicle. Nick, Selena, Lamont, and Ronnie would follow in the second.
The third car was packed with camping gear and supplies. There were scattered Bedouin villages in the Negev and an increasing number of Israeli developments, but the Wilderness of Zin was mostly empty. If you wanted to be sure of a glass of water or a bed, it was a good idea to bring them with you.
Everyone was armed except Friedman and his assistant. The Project team had brought their MP7s and their pistols. The assault weapons were stashed in the back of the vehicles. Rivka and Dichter carried Jericho nine millimeter pistols and Uzis.
Friedman wasn't happy when he saw the arsenal.
"Is this really necessary, Nick? We're in Israel, not Syria. I'm not comfortable around guns. Neither is Miriam."
"It's only a precaution, Doctor Friedman," Nick had said. "Where we're going, we're on our own. The Wilderness of Zin is as empty as the Sahara, once we leave the tourist areas. There's no law out there except what we bring with us. I believe in being prepared."
"Well, don't expect me to carry one," Friedman said.
"Don't worry, we won't ask you to. That's our job. Yours is to help locate Solomon's treasure."
"Are there really terrorists where we're going?" Miriam asked.
She had a pleasant voice with an accent that pegged her as a New Yorker. She'd dressed in tan cargo pants and a matching shirt and jacket. Everything was new. She looked as though she'd stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch store window.
Safari chic, he thought. Then, you're being unfair.
"Probably not," Nick said. "Like I told Doctor Friedman, it's best to be prepared."
They set out for Beersheba and the Well of Abraham, some fifty miles to the south. An hour later they reached the city. Nick wasn't sure what he'd expected, but a modern city of over two hundred thousand people wasn't what he'd had in mind.
"I thought the Well of Abraham was in a village," he said to Selena. They were following Rivka in the car ahead.
"It is, or was. Now there's a visitor center. It's at the edge of the modern city."