The Third Caliph

by Alex Archer

  Hendricks relaxed a little.

  “Creed remains our hole card, Brawley.” Sophie’s voice was smooth and unemotional. “If she’s still on that jet, if she’s still alive and as long as Habib ibn Thabit has need of her, then we have a chance at finding your quarry. Just as you had known from the start of this.”

  “I’d hoped we’d get her cleared of this situation before she stepped into the lion’s den.”

  “Thabit would have taken Creed, anyway. We just made that particular enterprise more risky and forced him to reveal himself. Otherwise, he could have ordered her killed at any time. As it stands now, we’re probably the only chance that woman has of getting out of her present predicament alive. When we do, she should thank us.”

  Fes el Bali

  Kingdom of Morocco

  GARIN SAT DRINKING KRUG champagne in the back of the luxury vehicle parked beside the tarmac at the airport. Although the police and military still covered the area, no one bothered him. All bribes were in the proper hands.

  Qurtubi sat at Garin’s side, quiet and resolute in a business suit that fit him well. He looked like an up-and-coming young executive. He had agreed to stay on with Garin to see the current mission through till its end. Garin had other troops standing by.

  On Garin’s knee, the sat phone rang. He touched the speaker phone function. “Inga.”

  “Mr. Braden, I have your party on the line.” His young assistant’s voice was cultured and feminine. “Please hold on while I connect you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course, sir. Have a good day.”

  A moment later, the connection buzzed, and a rough, querulous voice came on the line, speaking French. “Too busy to call me yourself, Garin? Don’t expect me to be impressed when you trot out the underlings.”

  “Hello, Roux. No insult was intended. I had other things that needed arranging. My attention was diverted and I knew it would take time to chase you down through the contact numbers I have for you.”

  Garin truly didn’t know where his relationship with Roux fell most days. Somewhere between friend and enemy, he supposed, and both of them were at fault for that. On good days, they tolerated each other because no one else on the planet shared the experiences they’d had. On days like this, when Annja Creed’s life might hang in the balance, they worked together.

  Usually.

  “What is this about?”

  “Annja is in danger.” Garin paused, knowing the old man had feelings for Annja that he’d never really felt for Garin. Roux had demonstrated paternal care for her.

  What Garin felt for the young woman would in no way be confused with brotherly, but there was an odd, discomforting kinship. Joan’s sword bound the three of them in so many ways. Or, perhaps, it trapped them. Even after all the years he’d spent alive, it was hard to say.

  Roux became instantly more attentive and less defensive. “What’s going on?”

  Garin laid out the events that had brought him to Morocco, and what had happened afterward.

  “You lost her?” Roux’s accusation was sharp.

  “I kept her from being killed. Earlier, there was a chance for her to escape. Annja chose to remain with her captors.”

  “Why?”

  Garin smiled. “Seriously? I don’t think you and I have much room to question her thinking. I remember plenty of times when you led us into the eye of the storm while searching for one artifact or another. Safety wasn’t exactly your primary concern.” He watched the police and military milling around the tarmac as crews put everything back in place. “I think Annja is more like you in that regard than you believe.”

  Roux ignored that. “Do you know what she’s looking for?”

  “No, but whatever it is, Thabit is looking for it, as well. And for him to have this much interest, it’s something he knew about before Annja and the British archaeological group found that scroll out in the Atlas Mountains.”

  “Agreed.” Roux was silent for a moment. “You say the CIA is tracking Thabit’s people?”

  “They were. So was MI-6.”

  “They’re not looking for the same thing Annja is.”

  “No. They’re looking for Thabit.”

  “And they think Annja is leverage to get them Thabit.”

  “Or whatever she’s looking for.”

  “We need to find her.”

  “I’m open to suggestion. That’s one of the reasons I called you.”

  Roux cursed. “How much do you know about Thabit? Can you find him?”

  “The American and British intelligence agencies don’t know where he is. I don’t have their resources.”

  “No, but you do work with some of the same criminal agencies Thabit undoubtedly works with. Can you get access through those people?”

  “If I could have, I already would have. Hamez, the man Thabit sent here, was the only lead I had.”

  “All right. Then if we can’t track Thabit, we track Annja.”

  “How?”

  “She uses internet sites to research different projects. If she’s doing more of the same for Thabit—and I see no other reason for the man to want her working for him—doubtless she’ll use some of those same sites.”

  Garin growled. “It will only work if she accesses those sites.”

  “If she brings her computer online, many of those sites come on in the background. They’re automatic.”

  “I thought you didn’t pay attention to technology.”

  “I don’t, but I’ve heard her talk about it enough when I’ve been with her. She depends on those sites. Once she accesses them, I will find her.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Then she’s lost to us,” Roux said without hesitation. “She’ll be on her own.”

  Qurtubi touched Garin’s shoulder and pointed to the other end of the field, then held up the binoculars he’d been using.

  “Hold on, Roux.” Garin took the proffered binoculars and trained them on the figures at the other end of the tarmac. He recognized the black man as one of the men who had been following Annja. His intelligence people had identified him as MacKenzie.

  MacKenzie stood near the private runway, obviously awaiting transportation just as Garin was. The CIA agent was still in the game.

  Garin handed the binoculars back to Qurtubi, then opened the backseat to reach into the rear compartment for the equipment bag the young man had arranged for. He took out a GPS transponder and handed it to Qurtubi.

  “Think you can arrange to put this with MacKenzie’s people?”

  Qurtubi smiled. “Of course.” He opened the car door and got out, striding swiftly across the tarmac and disappearing into the crowd of workers and onlookers.

  Garin returned his attention to the phone. “You follow Annja. I’m going to track one of the men following her.”

  “What if he has lost her?”

  “If we’re headed in the same direction, we know that isn’t true. I’ll be in touch.” Garin punched the phone off and forced himself to relax. If he could have, he’d have taken MacKenzie down here, but with all the police and military around that wasn’t possible.

  But soon Garin would find the man and hold him accountable. And if Annja was hurt, MacKenzie would die even more painfully.

  Dawnchaser

  Mediterranean Sea

  THABIT LOOKED OUT OVER the sea as the yacht sailed through the rolling water. His body shifted unconsciously with the rise and fall of the waves. His anger rose as he listened to the man at the other end of the phone connection.

  “Habib, I am your friend. You know that I am your friend.” Rasool Bahanor sounded almost desperate. He’d been with Thabit the longest, spending years working with him so that Thabit could rise to the top of their organization. They had attended school t
ogether, and they had made their first kills at the same time. “I have been your friend nearly all of our lives.”

  “Then be my friend now.”

  “I am trying.”

  “You make this sound like a hard thing to do.”

  “Many of the others we work with are upset by your recent actions. You manage monies they depend on. They feel that when you risk yourself, you also risk their investments.”

  “What recent actions?” Thabit resented that so many people were focused on him now. It wasn’t just the intelligence people around the world. Many of them were also fellow believers that no longer believed in him as they had. He would not tolerate their interference or their lack of faith.

  “Ambushing the CIA in Algeria.”

  “We live and breathe so that we might strike our enemies, Rasool.”

  “I have not forgotten. Neither have they. But I also know that we must be clever about everything we do. Especially you.”

  “Dying in battle against the Americans is a good thing. A blessed opportunity that should not be missed.”

  “I understand this, but you are not a man who should fall into enemy hands.”

  “You think I would willingly go into the hands of my enemies?” Thabit’s voice shook with rage. “When I die, trust that I will take my enemies with me.”

  “No. No. That is not what I said. Not what I meant.” Bahanor sighed so uncomfortably that Thabit almost felt sorry for the man.

  “That is what you said.”

  “I misspoke.”

  “Then what did you mean to say?”

  “Only that the Americans and the British are actively looking for you now, my friend. This is the time you should be wary. You know so many of our secrets and our plans. If we have a weakness, it is you.”

  “I am our strength!” Thabit roared over the ocean as a wave smacked against the bow. “Without me, many in our organization would be working in pitiful independent efforts, only awaiting an executioner’s bullet. I have saved many from dying wastefully. I have made our battles count and increased our successes. And we are poised to make war against the West even more magnificently. I am the reason for that.”

  “I understand that, but many of the others do not. They have seen how you are chasing the American archaeologist, and they want to know your interest in her.”

  “That is my business.” Thabit forced himself to speak calmly. “And I am no longer chasing her. I have her now.”

  “That is good. Very good.” Bahanor sounded excited. “Then, whatever business it is that you have with her, get it over with quickly and kill her. Your continued safety is all they are concerned about.”

  “Let them know that the matter will soon be finished.” Thabit broke the connection and looked into the sky. Somewhere out there, Annja Creed flew in a private jet that he owned. It would be easier to have Hamez kill her and throw her out of the aircraft.

  He couldn’t do that. The secrets that had been put into that scroll all those years ago were closer to spilling out than ever before.

  They had to disappear.

  Forever.

  Chapter 35

  28,000 feet

  Over the Mediterranean Sea

  Annja leafed through the books they had taken from Iskandar ibn Salihdar, upset that she couldn’t read the Kufic script that covered many of the pages. She was missing a lot.

  But a story was beginning to take shape. Philip Gardiner’s notes were mixed in with work from the original authors. Whichever ancestor of Iskandar’s had compiled the materials had been meticulous, and a historian.

  Annja wrote notes in her journal in longhand, jotting down anchoring points that would only make sense to her. Several times, she looked up and found Hamez peering over her shoulder. She hadn’t gotten over her paranoid tendency of looking for a knife in his hand each time.

  “Have you found something?” Hamez stood behind her again.

  Annja answered without looking at the man. She tracked his shadow on the floor and on the wall. If he moved, she would see it and take action. “It would help if I knew what I was looking for.”

  “I was told you would know it when you saw it.”

  “There’s a lot here to find. You’re talking about thirteen-hundred-plus years of history, and a lot of moving parts.”

  “Tell me what you think you know.”

  Annja looked at Hamez then. “Do you even have any background on this? Do you know who Abdelilah Karam was?”

  “Pretend that I do not.”

  Grimacing, Annja knew that wasn’t something that needed pretending. Habib ibn Thabit had not told him about Karam. She gave Hamez a small smile. “Could be dangerous for you to know. Just Karam’s name could be more than your boss wants you to know.”

  “This is your life we are concerned with. Tell me about Abdelilah Karam and the scroll that was found.” Hamez acted as if he didn’t care.

  So far, the jet hadn’t changed course and had maintained a heading out to the Mediterranean Sea. Annja figured that was a bad sign. She also knew that the jet couldn’t keep on the heading forever. It had to land sometime. She was grimly aware that the flight didn’t have to land with her aboard. She wasn’t going without a fight.

  “Abdelilah Karam was a historian that had first been appointed to that position as a boy by Muhammad.”

  That interested Hamez immediately. “The prophet chose this man?”

  “From everything I’ve been able to find out.”

  “To do what?”

  Annja frowned. “Karam recorded events. Primarily the history of the first four caliphs before the Umayyads took over the succession.”

  “After they killed Ali. The succession rightly belonged to Ali and those of the blood of Muhammad.”

  She sidestepped. “Karam remained in the courts, recording history until after Ali was assassinated.”

  “By Kharijite dogs.”

  “Some time after that, Karam fled Damascus, where Muawiya moved the caliphate after being appointed as leader of the faithful.”

  “Muawiya robbed Ali’s son Hasan of the right to lead our people. Undoubtedly Karam was a true supporter of Ali and Muhammad’s family. He feared for his life because they knew where his heart lay.”

  “According to these documents, Karam ended up in Mosul, where he continued his work.”

  “Recording the histories of the caliphs?” Hamez sat up straighter in his seat and didn’t pay as much attention to the pistol in his hand.

  “If we believe these notes, then yes.”

  Hamez glanced at the papers. “Who wrote these notes?”

  Annja spread her hands across them. “Several people. Other historians who were around at that time believed Karam left a great body of work in Mosul.”

  The idea was exciting and intriguing to Annja. The Muslim faith had been splintered for centuries, constantly at war within itself.

  Hamez’s eyes glittered. “Then these works, if they are found, could potentially unite the Muslim faith with the truth of what Muhammad wanted for his people.”

  Annja didn’t bother to point out that another document relating what took place during those turbulent times wouldn’t much affect the Muslim belief. They had centuries of infighting behind them. Any new document would be more fuel to the fire.

  She was more eager to find a new firsthand account of the events during the formation of the early caliphate. That would keep historians busy for years.

  “Do you know where Karam left his work?”

  “No. What kind of papers or artifacts does your employer have?”

  Hamez’s eyes darkened with suspicion. “I know of no papers or artifacts.”

  “Then what focused Thabit’s attention on this scroll?”

  Hamez dre
w back and idly lifted the pistol. “Be careful, woman.”

  Annja met Hamez’s gaze full measure. “Thabit—and you—stepped into my world. I didn’t step into yours.”

  For a quiet moment, Hamez regarded her with cold fury. “You presume too much. You are not worth as much as you believe.”

  “I’m here. On this jet. I’ve come this far with searching out whatever your master wants. If he thinks he could do any better than I have, he’d have already told you to get rid of me. I mean, there’s a big sea out there. You could have already done it.”

  Hamez tensed and his nostrils flared. Her hand behind her back, Annja reached for the sword and felt the leather-wrapped hilt under her fingers.

  She raised her voice. “Thabit needs me right now. It doesn’t matter how much you don’t like it. He needs me, and I need to see what he’s holding. MacKenzie is probably tracking this flight. We’re running out of time.”

  Not bothering to reply, Hamez got up and returned to his own seat. He picked up the sat phone, spoke briefly in his native tongue, then hung up and called someone on the intercom.

  A few minutes later, the pilot made a course correction, veering sharply and climbing to a higher altitude.

  When did you get so brave? She had no answer. She knew having the sword hadn’t given her the stubbornness she had. The nuns hadn’t been able to break her of it in the orphanage. But having the sword certainly put an edge on her need to use it.

  31,500 feet

  Over the Mediterranean Sea

  MACKENZIE TURNED THE heavy brass key in his fingers as Sophie spoke into his ear over the satlink. He sat in the back of the cargo plane the woman had arranged as transport out of Fes. The cargo plane wasn’t capable of the same speed as the jet carrying Annja Creed, but their destinations—for the moment—were different places. MacKenzie was still working that out for himself, wondering if the woman and his target were slipping through his fingers.

  “We’ve had the writing on the key analyzed. It’s not Arabic, as you believed.”