The Lost Codex (OPSIG Team Black Series Book 3)

by Alan Jacobson

  “I think it’s three football fields long.”

  “This is the holiest place on earth to Jews,” Zemro said. “People from all over the world come here to pray, just like they came thousands of years ago to make pilgrimages to the Temple and sacrifices to God.”

  As they approached, Vail could see different strata to the masonry—large blocks at the bottom and middle, with smaller bricks toward the top. “What are those plants growing out from between the rocks?”

  “There are different kinds,” Zemro said. “Most common is Shikaron. It’s poisonous, some kind of hallucinogenic. The ancient Jews used it as an anesthetic. The Egyptians and Greeks used it for pain relief. The Germans used it in the Middle Ages to make beer. It’s still used nowadays in some medications.”

  They stopped at a low wall that stood a few dozen feet in front of the Kotel. A man standing by a tall bin on a ramp that led down to the Kotel handed Uzi and Zemro a couple of white beanies.

  “Kippot,” Zemro said to Vail. “Yarmulkas. We wear them on our heads as a sign of respect for God, to remind us that He’s always above us.”

  Vail looked out at the Kotel, which dwarfed a number of men in black coats and hats standing with prayer books inches from its surface.

  “We can talk here,” Zemro said, moving a few feet to his right, in front of a three-foot wall.

  “Hey.” They turned and saw DeSantos approaching. The man at the Kippot bin handed him a yarmulke, and he placed it atop his head. “When in Rome, right?”

  Uzi squinted. “Bad analogy.”

  “Good point. So was the CI helpful?”

  “In more ways than one,” Vail said.

  DeSantos tilted his head as he studied Uzi’s face. “Something’s fucked up, isn’t it? I can tell.”

  Vail told him about the Amer Madari discovery.

  “I knew it!” DeSantos balled a fist and started pacing. “Goddamn it.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Uzi said. “Something’s not adding up. We’ve got some gaps. Mo was meeting with a guy who was seen with Sahmoud. I mean, yeah, it doesn’t look good. But we need to know more.”

  “Bullshit. Give me one good explanation.”

  “I don’t have one. I just think, for now we … monitor it. And watch our backs.”

  “We still have our mission,” Vail said.

  “And we might have a mole on our team,” DeSantos said, “working against us. Until I know what the hell’s going on I won’t be trusting him with anything even remotely significant.”

  “I asked Hoshi to look into Madari. And Richard Prati at DEA in case they’ve got something on him in the narcoterrorism database.” He leaned on the railing that faced the Kotel. “Raph?”

  “Until you hear otherwise, you have to treat him as a hostile. You know the saying. Better safe than sorry. Or my interpretation: better alive than dead.”

  Uzi pulled out his satphone and started dialing.

  “Who are you calling?” Vail asked.

  “Gideon.” He pressed SEND. “Raph, call Shin Bet. Talk to someone there you trust. See if they’ve got anything on Madari. I already sent you the photo.” As Zemro walked off, Uzi waited for his call to connect. When Aksel answered, he glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, then put it on speaker. “Gideon, it’s Uzi. I need whatever you’ve got on Amer Madari.”

  “Am I supposed to know who Amer Madari is?”

  “Short answer is yes. I’ll send you a photo. We have him talking with Kadir Abu Sahmoud. And I have Mahmoud El-Fahad meeting with Amer Madari in New York City last week.”

  “Hmm.” Aksel was quiet a moment. “Let me talk with some people. Is this a good number for you?”

  “I’m actually in Jerusalem.”

  There was silence. Then: “Are you doing something I need to know about?”

  Uzi’s eyes flicked over to DeSantos, who shook his head no.

  “I think it’s best if I don’t answer that.”

  “That in and of itself is an answer. Is your colleague Hector DeSantos with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all I need to know. And I have to tell you that I’m not happy that—”

  “Gideon, if you were anyone else, this conversation would never be happening. I will give you what I have. We’re on the same side here.”

  “Are we?”

  Vail nudged Uzi’s elbow. She whispered in his ear, “Your father.”

  “I guess it’s my turn to ask you: is there something I need to know?”

  “This is a game I do not want to play with you,” Aksel said.

  “Fine. I know you’ve been looking for the missing codex pages. And the Jesus Scroll.”

  There was silence before Aksel spoke. “Unfortunately, they’ve become chess pieces in a very dangerous game. And your government is on the wrong end of this one.”

  “How so?”

  “A conversation for another time. One that can only happen in person.”

  “Fine. I’ll accept that. But I need an address for Kadir Abu Sahmoud.”

  Aksel laughed.

  Uzi pictured his firm but ample belly shuttering. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Do you have a location?”

  “Take me off speaker.” Uzi did, then listened intently for a moment. “Yeah, I got it … No, I’m not happy. We intend to apprehend or kill him … No, I get it … Be right there.” He hung up, then huddled with DeSantos and Vail. “He said they’re monitoring Sahmoud, tracking his movements. Watching to see who he’s meeting with. He feels this is more valuable at the moment. And he’s worried that if we were to kill him it’d only aggravate an already shitty situation. Everyone will think Israel was behind it and there’d be no way for him to prove otherwise. Unless we take credit, which is possible but not likely because officially this mission was scrubbed. President Nunn will state he hasn’t sanctioned any such operation and deny the United States had anything to do with it. And he’d be telling the truth.”

  Zemro joined their cabal. “Aksel tell you anything?”

  “Just that he couldn’t tell me anything. You?”

  “I’ve got a couple friends looking into it. They knew of Madari but don’t have a file on him. I asked them to look into Fahad too. Just in case.”

  “They’ll have stuff.” He told Zemro what Aksel had related to him back when Fahad was added to their OPSIG team.

  “Maybe it’s like an iceberg. We see the tip but there’s more beneath the surface.”

  “No doubt.” Uzi rubbed his face with a hand. “Aksel’s on his way over from the Antiquities Authority. We’re meeting him at the Ramban Synagogue. A few minutes away, back the way we came.”

  “A synagogue?”

  “It’s safe. We can talk freely.”

  Uzi led the way, telling Vail and DeSantos that the congregation was founded in the 1200s after Jerusalem was destroyed by the Crusades. “It’s now one of the oldest active synagogues in the Old City.”

  They arrived on Ha-Yehudim Street in the Jewish Quarter, a pedestrian square paved with cobblestones and planted with mature shade trees. The stone building they were looking for had a central dome and a plaque on the wall describing its history.

  Inside, its columns and vaulted ceilings reminded Vail of the larger barrel rooms that she had seen in the Napa Valley—specifically the one in the castle winery where Vail had pursued the Crush Killer.

  Worn wood pews filled the small sanctuary. Tablets with Hebrew writing sat at the front, above one of the columns. To Vail it looked like a representation of the Ten Commandments.

  The door swung open and Gideon Aksel entered. Vail had never met the man, but Uzi’s reaction gave away his identity. They exchanged nods—no hand shaking and no small talk. It was clear that Zemro and Aksel knew each other.

  “Raph,” Uzi sai
d, “would you watch the front door, make sure no one approaches who shouldn’t?”

  Zemro nodded, then walked off.

  Aksel unbuttoned his suit coat. “You sure you want to talk with … your friends here? I’m not sure this is a conversation for other ears.”

  “I trust them all with my life.”

  Aksel pursed his lips and gave a tight nod. “As it should be.”

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  Aksel sighed. “We have conflicting missions, Uzi. This is a problem.”

  Uzi folded his arms across his chest. “We already discussed Sahmoud and—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. The security services are working to secure the codex pages and the scroll to prevent them from being used against us.”

  “Against—what are you talking about?”

  “I suspect you already know the documents are in the hands of al Humat. Or its agents.”

  Uzi nodded.

  “If you are successful in retrieving them, it’ll be no different from the terrorists having them.”

  Uzi dropped his hands to his sides. “How can you say that?”

  “It’s no secret President Nunn and the prime minister don’t like each other. There’s been tension since Nunn was elected. He’s made his feelings very clear.”

  “Not true,” DeSantos said. “The two of them may not like each other, but the administration has done things behind the scenes that’ve supported Israel’s interests. Like helping to fund the last stages of Iron Dome’s development.”

  The left corner of Aksel’s mouth lifted. “And you think that was for our benefit? Come on, Mr. DeSantos. You’re a smart guy. Why do you think the US loaned Israel the last two hundred million dollars to finish development?”

  DeSantos thought a second then titled his chin back. “Because we get to share the technology.”

  “Remember your Star Wars missile defense system? It never worked as promised. The Patriot system? Marginal at best. But the technology behind Iron Dome showed promise even in its earlier, flawed developmental state. It’s a smart system that tracks a missile’s trajectory and determines if it’s worth shooting down—and then calculates the exact spot in its trajectory it should intercept it so the missile doesn’t go down in a populated area. And it does it all in the blink of an eye. After Iron Dome proved its worth by shooting down over a thousand rockets Hamas shot at us from Gaza, the US had a potent antimissile system as a defensive measure—and deterrent—to thug countries like Russia and North Korea.”

  “So what does this have to do with the documents?” Vail asked.

  “We’ve heard that there are factions in your government working to secure them so they can be used as leverage in negotiations. Your president wants a peace deal. He wants to do what no other US president has been able to do: broker a comprehensive, final two-state solution.”

  Uzi shook his head. “I don’t know, Gideon.”

  “Indeed, my friend. There are a lot of things you don’t know. Your secretary of state has worked against us in several key negotiating sessions the past few weeks. This is not how an ally behaves. But it is the way you leverage an enemy to do things they don’t want to do. You twist their arm using whatever means you have at your disposal, no matter what the fallout.”

  DeSantos squinted. “Do you really believe your government would agree to impossible concessions just to secure the Aleppo Codex and Jesus Scroll?”

  Aksel looked away. “This is not a cold calculus, Mr. DeSantos. It’s not A plus B equals C. This is an emotional question, a religious issue, one that involves faith. And truths. The reality is that the government is a coalition of diverse agendas, needs, constituents. Add religion to the mix and it’s an unwieldy group.”

  “And a significant part of that group,” Uzi said, “is ultra-Orthodox.”

  “Meaning what?” Vail asked. “I don’t know a thing about Israeli politics.”

  “It’s a democracy, you know that much. But instead of two parties, we have thirty-eight, thirteen who currently hold seats in the coalition. You know how hard it is to get Democrats and Republicans to work together? Try adding eleven more. Point is, the ultra-Orthodox are an important voting bloc for the prime minister. Without them his government crumbles. And the ultra-Orthodox desperately want those ancient documents—especially the codex. In fact, these documents may be the only thing that could make them give up their claims to Judea and Samaria. Don’t underestimate their importance.”

  “Judea and Samaria?” Vail asked.

  “The part of Israel now called the West Bank,” Uzi said. “It was known as Judea and Samaria for thousands of years. Jordan coined the phrase ‘West Bank’ sixty-five years ago.”

  Aksel buttoned his coat. “Remember this, Mr. DeSantos, Agent Vail. This conflict is not about giving the Palestinians land for their own country. They want all the land, all of Israel. This two-state solution is a political invention, an attempt to compromise, to appease the Palestinians. Because that’s what politicians and negotiators and mediators do. But the Palestinians can’t be appeased. Even if they’re given the West Bank, they will not stop until they have it all. Make no mistake. This is about Israel’s survival.” He pointed at Uzi. “You know I’m right. And that’s why any negotiations—however they’re resolved—have to be done without a gun to our head. We are going to find those documents.”

  There was a knock on the door to the sanctuary.

  “Coming!” Aksel said, then turned to leave. “I will let you know if I find anything about Amer Madari. In the meantime, please don’t cause any trouble in my country. Better yet, go home and get out of our way. Catch the next flight out. I believe that’s this evening at 6:00 PM.”

  63

  Uzi waited until the door clicked shut before pulling out his satphone and moving closer to the window. “You don’t mind if I disregard Gideon’s recommended travel arrangements, do you?”

  “Who are you calling?” DeSantos asked.

  “An old friend who owes me. Big. Tell Raph—no one comes in.”

  As DeSantos walked off, Uzi brought the handset to his face. “Reuben, it’s Uzi. I need an address.” He listened a few seconds, then said, “Aksel can’t know. … I’m serious … Yes, I’m on a satphone. It’s fairly secure. … Kadir Abu Sahmoud.” Uzi held the phone away from his ear, waited a second for Reuben to stop yelling, then said, “I need this. And now you know why Aksel can’t know. … Make it look like it wasn’t you, like it came from the outside … Fine, leave an identifier pointing back to me. I’ll take the heat … Yeah. It’s that important.”

  Uzi hung up, then faced Vail and DeSantos, who had returned. “Reuben was knifed by an al Humat operative in the West Bank. His phone had been destroyed but I figured out a way of tracking him through his vehicle. Everyone else had given up but I found him, dumped in a field, left for dead.” Uzi took a deep breath. “Like I said, he owes me. He’s going to give us Sahmoud’s address. But they’ve got an ongoing op and he doesn’t want to ruin it. Same thing Gideon told me.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re going to do just that?”

  “I work for the United States government and Sahmoud is the architect of the terror attacks in DC and New York. Our job is to get those ancient documents and bring Sahmoud in—dead or alive.”

  Vail shook her head. “This is not going to end well. You heard what the director general just told you about tensions between the two countries. You may even be persona non grata in Israel.”

  Uzi tightened his jaw and turned toward the window. “Can’t think about that. We have our orders. That’s all that matters right now.”

  “Orders that were sent to us in code?”

  DeSantos rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with that, Karen. I know what Knox was saying. This is what we’re supposed to do. Let’s go do it.”

&nbs
p; 64

  They had gotten back to Zemro’s car outside the Old City when Uzi’s phone rang. It was Richard Prati. Zemro went to the rear hatch of the SUV while the rest of them climbed into the vehicle.

  Uzi took the front passenger seat and answered the call as his buttocks hit the fabric. “Talk to me, Richard.”

  “It was coming up zeroes until your colleague, Agent Rodman, broadened the algorithm and included Interpol. Then we got a hit—a big one. This Amer Madari joker is Nazir al Dosari.”

  It took a second for Uzi to find his voice. “What?”

  “Nazir al Dosari. He’s rumored to be a rising star in al Humat, but everything we’ve got on him is several years old—”

  “Are you sure? I mean, really sure?”

  Vail and DeSantos leaned forward in their seats.

  “Hundred percent, Uzi. He had facial reconstruction in Germany, at that ex-Stasi facial surgery clinic. We didn’t know what he looked like but one of my guys got hold of a photo from a file the CIA bought three weeks ago. There was a meeting between Carlos Cortez and Dosari in Beirut. Money and weapons exchanged hands. The Agency had someone with a long lens snapping photos. I’ll send you what we’ve got. There’s something in the file that’s classified and encrypted, but I’ll give you what I have and let you run with it.”

  “Copy Hoshi Koh in my office. And thanks for digging into this, Richard. Sorry you missed your meeting.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “You’re right, I’m not. Talk soon.”

  He hung up as Zemro got into the SUV, his arms filled with tactical vests. “I have a feeling we’re going to be needing these.” He handed two back to Vail and DeSantos and the other to Uzi.

  Uzi dialed Hoshi and secured the Kevlar with the Velcro straps while the call connected.

  “Uzi. Where the heck have you been? Shepard’s been on my c—”

  “Listen to me—Richard Prati at DEA is sending you a file. The person of interest has a classified file at Interpol. I need to know what’s in it.”