Living Stones

by Lloyd Johnson

  “MCAT?”

  “Medical College Admissions Test. It’s what you have to take to get into medical school. I plan now to take it at the end of summer so I can apply this fall.”

  “So you’re not taking any classes this summer?”

  “No, and no lab assistant duties either, just like you. But I do need to work on my thesis as well. What does your schedule look like now?”

  “I am taking a class this summer and working on my thesis too,” Najid replied. “But I have a flexible schedule for the most part.”

  “So getting back to my problem, I think I can get my housemates to help. Two of them are also grad students and can be with me going to and from the library. Maybe some other trips too, like shopping and church.”

  “Here’s a bench, Ashley. Let’s sit down.” They had reached the park in an open area just off 15th Avenue. Najid grasped her hand. “You probably won’t understand this, and I don’t know how to tell you in the American way, but you have experienced my family and will realize that human beings are pretty much the same in Israel or here. We have the same feelings and desires, whether we have been treated badly or well.”

  Ashley silently searched Najid’s face.

  “You have been so welcoming to me, a stranger. You have been kind. And now we have been through so much together. You have met my family, and they think highly of you. They didn’t want you to leave.”

  Tears welled up in Ashley’s eyes, and she wiped away a couple of them running down her cheeks.

  “Oh, I’m sorry that I made you cry!”

  “No, Najid! You just touched …” She placed her hand over her heart.

  “Ashley, I would do anything I can to keep you safe. I’m not sure what that would look like. See, I know that phrase, ‘What that would look like.’ ”

  She laughed as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re getting pretty smart! Too American.”

  “So let me help you. I have the time and I’m flexible with my schedule. Here is my suggestion: We get in touch every morning by phone. You tell me what your schedule is for the day and whether one of your friends at the house is going to the campus or somewhere else with you. If you want to go out, and you need someone to go with you, I will come and we can go together. I don’t want you out alone. If you need to work at the library or go shopping for food, I need to do those things too, and we can go together. OK? Isn’t that what you say all the time, ‘OK’?” He smiled. “You protected me from the bomb. Now let me protect you.”

  “You may be putting yourself in danger, you know. It happened before. I must be bad news for you.”

  “I can handle bad news once in a while.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Najid, you amaze me. I’ve never met a guy like you who can handle trouble so calmly.”

  “Well, you’d never met a Palestinian before.”

  “OK.” Ashley laughed, and leaning toward him, she grabbed him around the neck pulling him close, and kissed his cheek.

  Chapter 57

  Gordon Appleby had worried about Ashley most of the night after meeting her at the airport. So his early morning tennis match would take his mind off this frustrating case. His smartphone rang just as he started to serve the first game of his second set at the Seattle Tennis Club. He groaned as he peeked at his Caller ID. His phone read “FBI Washington.”

  “Sorry,” he called to his partner as he jogged off the court. He ducked into the dressing room and sat down on a bench next to a row of lockers.

  “Appleby here.”

  “Gordon, we have more information on the Ashley Wells situation.”

  “Give me a few minutes to get to the office and the secure phone.” He ducked outside, shrugged to his partner and dressed quickly.

  With no one in his office, Gordon left the door open. He picked up the phone. “What’s up?”

  “Mossad has amazing ways to get guys to sing, and Walid warbled all the right notes. They found the big man there, got into his computer, and think they discovered the contact in Seattle.”

  “Did they follow the money?”

  “They tried to trace the money, but ran into a roadblock. The funds wired to the big man’s account in Jerusalem came from a Seattle bank but under a name and account number that’s apparently an alias. Seems the guy in your town had several names and false passport numbers. But we know that because we have his real identity from the guy’s hard drive, which Mossad hacked into in Jerusalem.”

  “So, don’t keep me in suspense. Who is it here in Seattle?”

  “Name’s Jabril. Goes by Imam Jabril.”

  “Oh, we know him well! He’s shifted over the past year to become radicalized and has been preaching jihad to some young guys. He operates from an old house that we have bugged. They call it the ‘Islamic Center.’ We haven’t been able to pin anything on him or any of his followers yet.”

  “You do now. That’s why I’m calling. He’s an accomplice. He may have heard from his friend in Jerusalem and could be planning to skip town. We need his computer and any information he can provide. We could be getting close to the real jihadist. Though I doubt it’s the imam himself.”

  “So what are my instructions?”

  “Get a search warrant and local police to bring the guy in from the Islamic Center. And do it quickly before he gets away.”

  Armed with compelling “probable cause” for the search, Gordon easily convinced the judge to issue a search warrant. He and several police officers raced to the Islamic Center. They inched toward the building carefully, stationing officers on each of the four corners of the old house. Gordon approached the front door and knocked, pistol in hand. No answer. He shouted at the door, “FBI, open up!” Still no answer. He glanced in the windows. The front room looked empty. Hearing no sound, he kicked the door in and, with another officer, searched the big room, kitchen, and the bedrooms both upstairs and down. Nothing suspicious. A desk in a small bedroom downstairs would be the most reasonable place for a computer, but no luck. With the police they turned over every piece of furniture, and they looked under each bed. They searched every drawer and cupboard including in the basement. Finally Gordon checked the garage near the alley and found the door open. He assumed it must have been a fast getaway.

  Gordon quickly phoned his boss from his insecure cell phone. They’d have to choose their words carefully as usual on the public airways. “Looks like the bird got the word and flew away. We have looked everywhere in the place, and found nothing. Apparently took his laptop with him. We couldn’t even find any paper files of interest. We’ve come up with nothing, nada, zip.”

  “Did you find anyone to talk to?”

  “No. Quiet as a tomb. It’s Saturday. All the activity was yesterday. Too bad we didn’t have the overseas information then.”

  “Yeah. We’ll put out an allpoints bulletin for the guy, with his picture. I hope you have one.”

  “We do, in the office. I’ll e-mail it to you.”

  “Did you have any information about his car?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “So until we find him, it looks like the investigation here has hit another dead-end for now. We’ve put in a computer search on the ‘Watch List’ database with what we know about the case so far and come up with nothing. We’ve checked again with the mining company in Montana, who insist they know of no material missing. They admit that the tracer found at the site came from batches they received from the manufacturer. But they keep careful records and everything seems accounted for.”

  “So where does that leave us, boss? We can’t let this slip by us.”

  “It’ll take more time, Gordon. We’ll have to wait until we get our hands on the preacher.”

  Chapter 58

  As summer progressed Robert couldn’t decide which he hated more, boredom or fear. He constantly wondered what the FBI and police would be doing to find him. The goons in Israel had failed in their hunt for Ashley Wells. He had failed through them. And now t
he tables were turned. The hunter had become the hunted. He still wanted to be the hunter. But how? It would be too dangerous. He detested the isolation and inactivity. Holed up in his room. A world-famous but anonymous jihadist. No one knew who he was … except her.

  He did like to cook and eat. So he’d go the supermarket nearby on Broadway, but not until late in the afternoon when lots of shoppers stopped there coming home from work. He fit in easily with his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, looking like any other student from the community college. He’d found out where Jenny shopped, and it wasn’t that market. He went into the kitchen to check the cupboards and refrigerator. They seemed depleted of his provisions, so he scribbled out a shopping list which grew long. Robert checked his watch. His one outing of the day wouldn’t start for several hours. He lay down on the couch and tried to sleep. His mind wouldn’t let him.

  The last week of July provided Ashley the best weather Seattle had to offer: sunny and warm, in the eighties during the daytime. She loved the prolonged twilight that lasted until almost ten-thirty at night. And the colorful gardens. She put aside her data and the first draft of her nearly completed thesis. Looking down the long table in Suzzalo library, she gazed at Najid as he concentrated on his smartphone. Ashley smiled.

  She had never felt so safe with a guy. He seemed to handle everything with equilibrium. She’d never seen him angry. But he must be restless too. He wasn’t reading his journals right now or writing. Maybe he was surfing the Internet. Others studied nearby, and she didn’t want to disturb them. She walked over to Najid and tapped him on the shoulder, motioning him to follow her out into the hall.

  “It’s so nice outside, Najid. I’m having a hard time writing anymore. It’s early afternoon and only Monday, so we have all week to work. Are you still in the middle of something?”

  “No, my mind is wandering. I’ve had enough also. Let’s get out of here. Do you have something in mind to do?”

  “Yup. I’ve heard of Volunteer Park on Capitol Hill. It has an Asian art museum and a conservatory with tropical plants—as well as a great view of downtown Seattle and the waterfront. Besides, I’ve read of a nearby supermarket there that has international foods. We could take a bus from the Ave and start with the art museum and conservatory.”

  “I can understand art museum but conservatory, what’s that?”

  “A conservatory is a house made of glass so the light can come in to make plants grow. They can keep it warm so tropical ones grow even in the winter time. The same word can be used for a music school, just to confuse you more.” Ashley’s eyes twinkled as she smiled up at him.

  Najid gazed at the huge old trees of Volunteer Park as he strolled hand in hand with Ashley toward the conservatory. They dwarfed the olive trees in Galilee. Najid shook his head. “These trees are no good. No olives or any fruit!” He watched her chuckle as they continued walking.

  The unusual tropical plants fascinated Ashley. Najid recognized a couple of them. Then it was off to the Asian Art Museum. Najid had never been in such a place. Ashley shared what little she knew of Asian art as they admired the delicacy of the paintings and objects.

  Walking down the steps, they spied the waters of Elliott Bay far below, with the Olympic Mountains behind them, still sprinkled with a dash of snow on the very tops left from the winter storms. And then the city itself came into view as they stopped. Ashley pointed out the waterfront with its ships and the Space Needle off to the north. The bay sparkled with thousands of reflected lights from the sun, still high in the Western sky.

  They stood together in silence as they gazed out at the late afternoon scene in Seattle. He pulled her close with a sudden hug. His heart raced.

  Finally he spoke. “Should we go to the market?”

  Ashley sighed and nodded. “Yeah, let’s do. We can walk down to it. We can get something to eat there also.“

  They strolled hand in hand though the Capitol Hill neighborhood, first by the mansions of old Seattle near the park on the top of the hill and then smaller houses and apartment buildings as they approached the market on Broadway. Ashley had taken the bus before and knew the area a bit, that the main street through the many shops and stores led south to the Seattle Central Community College.

  “This is the business community of Capitol Hill on Broadway,” she explained to Najid, “and south of that” she pointed, “another hill, hospitals, sometimes called Pill Hill.” Her eyes lit up as Najid frowned.

  “Pill Hill? What is that? I don’t know pill.”

  Ashley laughed. “Those are the little white medicines that you take when you’re sick. Didn’t you ever take aspirin?”

  “I guess I have. I don’t remember. My mother used to give me some awful liquid stuff in a spoon. She tried to pronounce the English name. It sounded like ‘castor oil.’ ”

  Chapter 59

  People and shopping carts filled every aisle in the supermarket. It was surprisingly busy, Ashley thought, especially for this time of the day. After grabbing a bite to eat at the market café, she began a search for some items on the special sale list she brought. Najid followed as she pushed the cart.

  “I think I’ll keep you as my guard, Najid,” she said with a wink. “Yes, guard or guardian can be used. Sometimes we say ‘guardian angel,’ meaning someone sent by God to keep us safe. So I thank God for my guardian angel.”

  Ashley rounded a corner to walk down another aisle and almost crashed into the grocery cart of a young man coming up the other way. “Excuse me,” she said instinctively as she stopped. He looked startled and stared wide-eyed at her for a moment. Ashley stood still, frozen in time, and stared wildly at him. That face, enclosed by a hood … those dark eyes, and the distinctive red birthmark above the left brow.

  In an instant a memory revived, recalling one that seemingly had been erased: first the scene in the back of the church where she saw him and sensed an unknown recognition, and then another memory card with a picture of a street, and across it a hooded man with his face partially hidden, but bearing a distinctive red mark. Time stood still. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

  Robert Bentley’s face turned white, his dark eyes wide, as he silently stared at Ashley. He stood motionless for an instant before a muffled “Oh shit!” escaped from his mouth. He suddenly wheeled around with his cart, and she saw him walk slowly back down the aisle, deliberately examining items on either side.

  Ashley turned back around the corner to find Najid looking the other way at some juices. She struggled to control her trembling hands and her shaky voice. She whispered, “I saw him. I saw him.”

  “Who are you talking about, Ashley?”

  “The bomber! I know it’s him! I know it’s the guy! I recognized him. Same eyes. Same red mark. Dark-blue baseball cap this time. He knows who I am. Oh Najid! What should we do? He may come after me!” Ashley shook, her face felt cold.

  “Go back to where we ate, to a place where there are many people. I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t leave me, Najid!”

  “Go, Ashley! He hasn’t seen me, at least my face.”

  “But he may have a gun. What are you going to do?”

  Najid raced around the cart and disappeared down the aisle after the guy in the dark-blue cap. He saw him turn to the right and speed up with his cart. It contained several food items. Najid followed him at a distance, keeping back and almost out of sight.

  The bomber glanced back quickly and kept going. He picked up his pace, almost running as he approached the checkout stands. Then he suddenly turned into another aisle, and halfway up that one abandoned his cart. He looked around again. Najid realized that the bomber could not see him tucked behind the corner of the tall shelves. Where did he go? Najid whispered to himself in Arabic. His heart pounded. Oh no! Ashley!

  He ran toward the café section and saw her at a distance, approaching a table with several women. She’s OK, but where’s the bomber?

  Najid hurried to the front at the checkout sta
nds, looking wildly for his man. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw him in the parking lot. Najid scurried around the carts neatly stacked into each other and out the door. He saw the man scurry fast past a line of parked cars. Najid followed from another lane, keeping his eye on the bomber, but hidden from his sight. Najid soon blended into others walking on the sidewalk. Cars crowded the street. He saw the bomber turn left into a quieter lane lined by apartment buildings. His man again looked back, but Najid ducked behind other walkers. The bomber turned again, this time to his right. Each time he turned to another street, he looked around. Najid kept his distance, hiding when his fugitive turned a corner.

  The man began to run, at first a jog and then faster. Najid wondered whether the bomber might have seen him. He dropped off the pace putting more distance between them, walking rapidly. Turning a corner he came to a short block, and the guy had disappeared. Did he have a gun, and was he hiding, intending to use it? Najid looked around, reasoning that he would not turn back toward Broadway and the supermarket. So he walked carefully to the next intersection surveying all the apartment building entrances.

  He knew Ashley would be wondering what had happened, but he had no time to call now. His heart raced. He had lost his man, the guy the FBI has been searching for. He had to find him. As he crossed the intersection, a jogger came by running up the hill. Najid swung in behind him, and soon noticed his prey heading the same direction a block ahead, running. Staying behind the jogger, Najid had no trouble keeping up, and used him for cover. The bomber finally slowed to a walk, taking several more turns down side streets. Najid kept back, determined not to lose him again. This continued for what seemed to Najid at least half an hour. Finally the man stopped. Najid watched from behind a large laurel bush. His prey scanned the street in both directions. He shoved his cap back and waited. Najid studied his face. A car drove by. The fugitive walked across the street and up to a front porch.