The man ignored the question. Instead he asked another, “What did Lipman say about it when you told him?”
“I didn’t tell him about it.”
The questioner looked at Chad a long moment. Chad felt he was making a decision. Chad understood the dilemma. How could it be a coincidence that the scrolls mention a man and three suns, this archeologist saw that on a rock, and this same archeologist met the only man outside the military to have seen the scrolls.
However, if they didn’t believe him, maybe they would want him to find the tablets. Obviously in three years they hadn’t.
The interrogator waved his hand at the mirror. A masked man interrupted them. He passed something to the questioner.
The questioner tossed two items onto the table.
“Here is your passport and your ticket. It says that you leave tomorrow at one. I recommend you go to the airport three hours early, Dr. Archer.”
“Okay. I will.”
“We’ll ensure that you do. Stand, put your hood on, and place your hands behind your back.”
-------
Twenty minutes later, Chad was helped from the van. His ties were removed. The ticket document and passport were pushed into his hands.
“Count to ten before you remove the mask.”
He did as he was told. When he looked up he was standing at the rear entrance to the hotel.
Chapter 57
Archer never felt such relief as he did walking into his hotel room. Home. Though it had only been for two nights, it was familiar. He sat wearily on the bed, still holding his passport and airline ticket.
One thought dominated his ride back. They, whoever they were, now knew that the clues from the scrolls about a man and three suns led to the excavation at the King David Palace. They would want to see it, maybe take the stone. Was Gaige in danger? When would they go after it? Tomorrow? Tonight?
Should I call him?
Then he remembered. They went through his things.
Chad looked in his notebook. The pages with the numbers were gone. His camera. The pictures he took of the rock. The memory card was gone. He took some with his phone, too. Chad looked. Erased. He booted his computer knowing what he would find. Or. Not find. No notes. No numbers.
If they wanted him to find the locator stone and the tablets, they would have left him something.
He looked around the room. His clothes had been moved. The room phone was moved. All of Doc’s journals and notebooks were moved and stacked on each other. The message was clear. We know what you know. We are listening.
Chad looked at his cell phone and turned it off. He disconnected from the Internet. He had to go get the numbers again. Would there be someone in the lobby? Or waiting down the street?
Quickly he pulled on his jogging pants, a tee-shirt, a lightweight jacket, and socks and running shoes. He took his driver’s license, the map, a penlight, paper, pen, a reflective vest, and the hotel room card. If mugged, jumped, arrested or lost, someone would know who he is.
Chad stopped at the front desk to drop off his key card and let them know he was going out. He took the opportunity to look around the lobby. No one there.
He stepped outside and stretched. A man stood thirty feet away with his back to Chad. Would there be someone at the back door as well?
Chad slipped on his reflective striped vest. He started to jog. He glanced back to see a car slowly following. Two blocks later he cut between two buildings, leaving the car behind. In the dark he took off the reflective vest and doubled back.
Three miles and twenty minutes later he was running alongside a ten-foot chain link fence with three feet of angled barbed wire. The excavation site was on the other side.
One of the several mobile trailers that they used on site for offices, labs, and break rooms, housed a security detail. A detail of one, Gaige had said, along with a three centrally mounted cameras. The gates were locked at night and the guard made rounds on the perimeter.
Chad located the old stone wall he remembered seeing the day before. He hoped it was as close the to the fence as he remembered. He found enough cracks in the fifteen-foot wall to climb to the top. Three feet away and two feet down the barbed wire glistened in the night lights. On the other side of the fence was a double-wide trailer building. Separated from the fence by another three-foot gap. The windows were dark. Not so for the trailer a hundred feet away.
Hoping the cameras were not on him, Chad measured his jump. Six feet across. He took a deep breath and leapt. He landed noisily on the trailer. He raised himself and watched the guard trailer. A head poked out for a minute and looked around. When the guard disappeared into the trailer, Chad dropped to the ground and ran for the tunnels.
He waited until he was well inside to turn on his light. Quickly he reached the art room. The stone was where they left it. He wrote down the numbers and symbols again.
Leaving it on the table, Chad left the room and hurried to the end of the tunnel. He turned off the penlight. Now, how to get out. He didn’t think he could make the jump back to the wall. The gate was locked. Cameras were still a problem. He made it as far as the trailer next to the wall. He looked at the fence. At the wire. At the trailer. At the wall. No choice he was thinking.
A barrel was next to the trailer. Using it, Chad pulled himself to the roof. He lay flat and looked toward the guard shack. All was quiet.
Chad stood at the edge of the trailer roof. Three feet away was the top rail-pole of the fence. One long step would reach it. Beyond the top pole, angling at forty-five degrees, three strands of barbed wire almost reached the wall - three more feet away. The top of the wall was five feet above the fence and only a few feet above the wire. Chad planned his moves. One long step with his left foot. Shift his weight and bring the right foot to the top pole. But only for a second then slowly bend the knees. Leap up and out, grabbing the top of the wall while raising his knees and clearing the wires. If he did all of that, he had a chance. If he didn’t. If his foot caught, he would fall into the wire. If his hands failed to hold the wall, he would fall ten feet to the ground. Neither was a good ending.
Get rid of negative thoughts, he told himself. Think positive. He went through the sequence once more.
He took the first step out with his left foot. Now he straddled the open area between the trailer and the fence. A precarious balance.
Suddenly, two vehicles with lights flashing arrived at the gate. Chad froze. The guard hurried out. There was an exchange of words. The guard unlocked the gate. Chad stayed still. Two army jeeps entered the site. One stopped and two soldiers exited the jeep. The guard pointed to the tunnels four hundred yards away. One jeep stayed. The other followed the guard toward the tunnels. They would come close to Chad’s trailer.
He made a decision. The noise of the jeep should cover any noise he made. Chad pushed off from the trailer. For a second he stood teetering on the top rail. The second jeep stopped. Chad did not know why, his back was to them. It was deadly quiet. He could not hold his balance. Chad let his knees bend, gaining some control of balance. He jumped. The chain link fence rattled loudly in the night. His hands closed onto the top of the wall. Pebbles were dislodged and fell noisily.
His fingers slipped as his feet cleared the wires. His right hand caught hold of crack in the top of the wall. His left hand came away from the wall. Chad frantically scrambled with his feet to get a toehold, hanging by one arm.
Below him the soldiers and the guard heard the noise. Two soldiers from the lead jeep and the guard approached the trailer. One soldier ran to the far side. The other drew a pistol and looked around the trailer.
Seeing nothing, he looked up.
Chad hung on the opposite side of the wall trying to quiet his breathing. When the jeep started up, he worked his way down the old wall dropping the last few feet.
Chapter 58
Archer left a nine o’clock wake up call, then used the room alarm. He set it for four, stuck it under his pillow, and slept uneasi
ly until it rang. He didn’t make a sound in the room. He left by the back door hoping there was no stakeout. He was lucky. They were relying on the room monitors to alert them to any activity.
He walked a block to another hotel, caught a cab and was at the airport in plenty of time for the earlier flight. As promised, an Interpol agent moved him through the red tape.
Archer found three hours sleep on the five and a half hour flight. It was a fitful three hours. The image of the rabbi. The image of Lipman. The image of the masked colonel.
Chad checked Doc’s visits in London. The first three days there, Doc made an entry in the appointment book for visits to research and reference libraries, but no clues as to what he was seeking. On the fourth day, Doc recorded a two-hour visit to the British Maritime Museum in London. Two days later he went to Mexico City.
Archer cleared customs just after one o’clock, picking up two hours. Interpol made the arrival in England as smooth as the exit from Israel. He was told to take a taxi to New Scotland Yard.
He rolled his bag behind him to the security desk. A few minutes later, a fit man, as young as himself, same height, with dark hair, a trim mustache, and uncommonly long sideburns introduced himself.
“Dr. Archer? I am Inspector Alan Evers. Welcome to London. Welcome to the MET, welcome to New Scotland Yard and finally, welcome to NCA, National Crimes Agency.”
“Call me Chad, please, Inspector. If I were not already confused, I am now.”
“My intention, I assure you,” he smiled. “Come along. By the end of the week, you’ll have it all sorted out.”
Evers led Archer through a maze of halls to the back of the building. There they took an elevator to the fourth floor. They crossed through metal frames that would soon be filled with solid walls. Wires hung across cavernous unfinished ceilings.
“I like what you have done with the place, Alan.”
“What? Oh. I don’t even notice it anymore. This building was added on to the original to accommodate growth. The NCA was just created a few years ago. It replaced the Serious Organized Crime Agency. We have expanded our scope to include parts of what the Metropolitan Police Fraud Division handled – what you in America call Major Crimes. The MET used to lend a hand in crimes across regions and territories, but we didn’t have jurisdiction. Now, we have a mandate to take control. We also are the first contact for international law enforcement agencies. You could say we are finding our way. It’s a changing world in British law enforcement.”
“So that is why you get the high rise view?”
“You read between the lines well. There are some powerful hierarchies that could not stop the transfer of responsibilities, but they still control the office space allotment.”
“Must make life difficult,” Chad commented.
“Not so much. We have attracted a voluntary team of educated, tireless coppers, all willing to travel and spend time away from their families. We may lack experience, but we draw help from the territories where there is not the politics of power, and sometimes even a few of the more seasoned inspectors in the MET.”
Eventually they reached an area that had a semblance of offices, desks, and conference rooms. Despite the sparse accommodations, the rest of the floor was equipped with the latest electronics.
“Here we go,” Evers said walking into a conference room.
Gentlemen, this is Dr. Archer. He goes by Chad. This is Gary Smythe, Detective Inspector from Cambridge. He is not part of NCA, but came to us with the lead that brought you all here today. This is Adrien Tellier from Interpol. I believe you two spoke. You know Sergeant MacDonald. There is one more from NCA, who is … at the moment … late.”
Evers looked at his watch. As if on cue they heard a voice from the hallway, “Sorry, I am late.” The voice continued, entering the room. “I couldn’t get into the parking garage. My key did not work. Had to park a mile away.”
Inspector Alan Evers spoke up. “Dr. Archer, this is…”
Chad recognized the voice and finished the sentence. “Detective Sergeant Saundra Moffat.”
Chapter 59
“Chad,” Sandy exclaimed. “I mean, Dr. Archer.”
Evers couldn’t hide his surprise. “You know DI Moffat?”
“I do. Well, I don’t know an Inspector Moffat. I knew a Detective Sergeant Moffat. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Sandy said, still looking at Chad.
Evers introduced her to the other three. “Now that we all know each other, let’s get down to business. Smythe, Tellier, Moffat, and myself are here for an auto theft investigation. MacDonald has an interest in Biskell for a homicide in Boston. Archer is here for his skills in deductive fact finding. He has helped Interpol before and is working with MacDonald on the murder case. Tellier and myself will give you the background. Then, Smythe can fill us in on our lead.”
Chad focused, driving yesterday’s events from his mind.
Adrien Tellier led off.
“Our investigation goes back several years. Since 2004 there are fewer cars stolen, mostly because of advances in anti-theft devices. To give you an idea of numbers, in 2004 there were over two hundred thousand cars stolen in the UK. Advances in anti-theft technology dropped the overall number to only seventy thousand in 2014. A sixty-five percent drop. However, the number of higher-end vehicles, particularly Mercedes and BMW did not decrease as much, showing the market for those remained strong. It only dropped from fifty to thirty-five thousand, only a thirty percent drop. The really, really, high-end performance cars, the ones worth two to five hundred thousand American dollars are just a handful of the thefts to begin with. They did not drop at all.”
“Why was that?” Mac asked.
“Probably because for that much money thieves could invest in high-end technology to defeat high-end protection,” Tellier answered.
Evers took over.
“As Adrien said the theft of high end autos did not decrease by much. A few years ago we stumbled across a new technique, one we think Biskell originated. Thieves would steal a car and change the VIN. They would use a VIN that belonged to the same make and model of the car they stole. Any check of a VIN against a list of stolen VINs would come up empty.”
“Smart,” Mac commented. “However, what if you checked with the owner of record of that VIN? You would find it was sitting in someone’s driveway.”
“He was even smarter,” Alan went on. “He started to plan a year ahead. Cars were stolen. VINs changed. Then a dummy bill of sale would be created to show a sale from the true VIN owner. Then a second dummy resale would be created. So, if we decided to check an export bill of sale with the last owner, we would be talking to a dummy owner, one of the theft ring.”
“How did you link this to Biskell?” Chad asked.
“Good question. There was a stolen car that ended up in the USA and one that ended up in Brazil that were traced back to Biskell as the importer. He and his lawyers claimed ignorance and said he was the victim. However, we did some intense digging and found that when those two cars originally disappeared, so did many others. It looked like someone amassed a load of stolen cars and shipped them out among a legitimate export. We also found Biskell was in the country of the export at the time. I brought him in for questioning twice. Once here in the UK and once I sat in with the Italian Carabinieri. He was slippery, contentious, and smug. He claimed that he of course was in those countries at the time because it was his export shipment. How do you guys assess Biskell, Mac?”
“I may be biased. Perhaps, Chad can offer a more objective view.”
“I’m at a loss. The Brian Biskell that you described does not seem like the same warm, sharing, and honest man that we met.”
Mac guffawed and the others laughed as well.
Chad went on, “I felt that Biskell is doing something illegal. Specifically, car theft. He wants us to know that he is doing it. He has thrown down a gauntlet and challenged authorities. He is extremely competitive. There is no second place. He eith
er wins or loses. The things we saw at his home, his reactions when you questioned him, and his presence in the countries at the time of the thefts are all facts that fit a forensic history. We feel he is involved in a blackmail gone bad resulting in two missing persons. I find the VIN manipulation intriguing. It sounds like something he would make complex and tough to crack. Maybe our missing woman and her friend discovered his system. One question, though. What if he was not smuggling cars, but perhaps something else in the cars, like drugs?”
Tellier answered. “It is almost routine now that drug-sniffing dogs are used on export shipments. We made sure those Biskell shipments were checked. There was nothing.”
Evers waited for more questions and then nodded to the detective from Cambridge. “And now, Gary, tell them about the latest break,” Alan prompted.
“Right. Well. We nicked a young man in Cambridge last week. We have him for a third time on breaking and entering. Facing a long time in jail, he offered to trade information about two car thefts about to take place. One was in Cambridge. One was in Oxford. They take place tomorrow. An Aston Martin and a Mercedes Roadster. Both are over two hundred thousand pounds. That’s nearly three hundred thousand American dollars. They are connected. They both are to come here to London. He gave us the name of one of the drivers. I contacted Evers.”
Evers interrupted. “Coincidentally, I received word of Biskell’s trip to London from the FBI. We think that since he likes to be close to his operations, this might tie to him. We decided to let the theft take place. We want the people behind this ring.”
Smythe continued, “We knew the driver the snitch gave us. We also knew a female acquaintance of the driver. She’s a mess, with considerable form. That’s a rap sheet across the pond.” He nodded to Mac and Chad. We found a parole violation, which is easy to do. She was faced with a return to prison, and she now has a child to worry about. She gave up the location of one of the targeted cars and where it was to be taken. It’s a warehouse in the west end of London.”
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