by Glenn Meade
The surgeon gave a slight shake of his head—it doesn’t—then he stubbed out his cigarette and returned briskly through the ER’s swinging doors.
A rush of footsteps sounded in the corridor and Ryan looked round. A tall, unshaven priest rushed up, clutching at least three cell phones and looking harried. The Vatican press officer, Father Joe Rinaldi, asked anxiously, “Any more news, Sean?”
“I was told to expect the worst. He’s in a coma. Clinging to life by a thread.”
Rinaldi dabbed his face. “I better prepare the press releases. It’s sheer madness outside. I had to switch off my cell phones for a few minutes, just for a break. Every TV and news editor in the world is jamming the lines looking for an update. What have the surgeons said?”
“He’s got at least nine deep stab wounds. Two to his hands as he tried to fend off Cassini’s blows, others to his side, head, and chest. They’ve pierced organs, severed veins, and he’s lost blood by the liter. They’ve got him hooked up to life support but I’ve been warned that it might not be for long. It’s bleak, Joe. I believe we’ve lost him and we just have to accept that.”
Rinaldi’s pallid face was a mask of confusion, his eyes suddenly moist. “Whoever would have thought? The best thing to happen to the church and now we’re losing him. What are we to make of it all, Sean?”
Ryan clutched the press officer’s arm. “I wish I knew. Do you believe in miracles, Joe?”
“Working in this business, I’ve got to.”
“Then start praying for one, because that’s the only hope we’ve got.”
130
BUDDY SAVAGE PUSHED his baseball cap back off his head and wiped the gritty 4 A.M. tiredness out of his eyes. He tried to focus on the Land Cruiser’s twin headlights as they flooded the dark desert road beyond Qumran.
Despite his tiredness, Savage felt alert, scared, and excited.
The tangerine dawn hadn’t yet tinted the horizon and when he reached the rise in the road the Land Cruiser’s beams swept over the gravestone. Savage halted, keeping the powerful beams directed at the grave, and snapped on the handbrake. He left the engine running and jumped out of the cabin.
The desolate landscape was bitterly cold. It would be another hour before dawn struggled behind the mountains of Edom. Buddy Savage shivered and felt an odd feeling of exhilaration rip through his veins.
A goat bleated in some far distant Bedouin camp. Savage ignored it as he knelt in front of the grave, using the wash of the headlights as he scrabbled madly at the gravel. Rummaging and digging below the pebble, he finally grasped the package under loose earth. It was wrapped neatly in a black garbage bag.
The scroll.
His heart raced as he opened the loose knot that tied the garbage bag. Inside he found the parchment, protected in a clear plastic bag. He carefully examined his find and noticed that some parts of the parchment were already crumbling. But it was still intact, which was all that mattered.
He crumpled the black garbage bag and tossed it away. His anxiety rose as he carried the precious parchment back to the Land Cruiser.
Carefully holding the scroll with one hand, he picked up a worn leather briefcase from the passenger seat and flicked it open. He gently laid the scroll inside the briefcase, holding it in place with two pieces of white foam, then he sweated as he picked up his cell phone and punched in the redial key.
The anonymous male caller answered. “Well?”
“I have the scroll. It’s where you said it was.”
“Good. You know what to do next, Savage. Any mistakes, any involvement by the Israelis, police or military, or anyone else, and Jack Cane is a corpse. Is that very clear?”
Savage’s voice was flecked with a mix of fear and anger. “I’m pleading with you not to harm Jack.”
“Do exactly as you’ve been told and he won’t be. But disobey my instructions, and I swear he’ll die. I’ve told you the rules. You come alone, Savage.”
“I heard you the first time you called.”
“And you had better not be armed.”
“Do you think I’m crazy? I told you, I’ll do whatever you say.”
“We meet in an hour, the place where I said. I’ll call you then.”
“What about cell phone reception in the area? It can’t be that great.”
“Don’t worry, Savage. There’s enough signal coverage.” The line clicked dead.
Savage’s face twisted and he spat the words. “You better be sure about that, pal.”
He punched in another number on the cell phone’s keypad.
When a voice answered, he spoke for at least five minutes before he terminated the call and tossed the phone on the passenger seat.
Then he swung the Land Cruiser east, toward the Jordanian border.
131
THE DESERT AIRFIELD was fifteen miles inside Jordan’s border, near the Dead Sea. It had long ago been abandoned. Weeds grew on the cracked concrete, a perfect home to lizards, snakes, and scorpions, and camel thorn bush blew across it when the desert wind shrieked. But that early morning the wind was calm and the landing conditions near perfect, despite the darkness.
The runway had last seen service over twenty years ago by the Jordanian air force. Now the control tower was a derelict mess. Every window was broken, the doors and plumbing scavenged.
Two hours earlier a convoy of pickup trucks had drawn up.
At least two dozen Bedu men jumped down. A pair of the pickups kept their lights dimmed as they drove along the runway, the men working in front as they swept away gravel and rocks and removed any foreign objects from the concrete until the runway was clear of all debris.
A young man wearing spectacles and a Bedu headdress checked the wind direction. The air was still as a rock. Then he climbed into one of the pickup trucks and drove to the far end of the runway, reversing the truck a few yards out into the desert before he halted and jumped out.
An object in the back of the truck was covered with a rainproof tarpaulin and he ripped it away. Underneath was a radio transmitter dish hooked up to a portable power supply and a laptop.
As the young man switched on the laptop, his comrades in two of the other pickups drove along each side of the runway, stopping every sixty feet and placing plastic, battery-operated electric lanterns on the runway’s edge, then adjourned to the runway’s edge to brew tea on a battered portable Primus stove.
The young man watched the laptop’s bright blue screen fill with data as the portable Instrument Landing System computer worked through its loading sequence. A motor whirred and adjusted the radio dish to transmit the glide slope at a perfect three-degree angle. Minutes later, the computer finished its setup.
Satisfied, the young man grinned to himself, jumped down off the truck, and then went to join his comrades making tea.
132
JACK FELT A sinking sensation again as the Lear nosed down.
Yasmin peered out the oval starboard window. A few weak streaks of dawn’s burnt orange light tinted the cabin. “We’ll be landing soon.”
They were alone. Hassan and the Serb had moved into the rear cabin. Yasmin sat back in her seat and looked over at him. “No doubt you want to know why I tricked you.”
“I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind. What’s your real name?”
“Fawzi.”
“I think I preferred Yasmin. In fact, let’s keep it simple and I call you Yasmin.”
She shrugged, her face even more beautiful in the cabin’s soft light. “Can I say something, Jack? We both know what pain is. You lost your parents. I lost mine. Do you know how my mother died?”
“No.”
Her eyes misted with pain. “I was five. The day my father died she went to Jerusalem on the pretence of being consoled by her sister. Instead, my mother hung herself. All because she couldn’t stand the indignity of raising a family without her husband. My world fell apart that day.”
“I never knew.”
“Had it not been for
Hassan, Nidal and I probably would have starved to death in some gutter. But Hassan was always such a good brother to us. He begged, he stole, his own belly went hungry so he could feed us. He did whatever he had to do to keep us together. Many evenings I saw the calluses on his hands and the exhaustion in his eyes from hard work. He was still not much more than a child himself.”
“So you helped him out of a sense of duty.”
“You make it sound so flippant, Jack.”
“I didn’t mean to. I’m just stating a fact.”
She stared back. “Of course I helped him. He did so much for me. Washed me, clothed me, replaced the love I lost from my parents. And when he had crawled out of the gutter, he gave me the best education money could buy. Hassan isn’t a beast, Jack. He’s a good man. A good man with a lot of harm done to him—to his head, to his heart and soul, just like you. But no matter how hurt he was himself, he would always assure me that everything would be all right.” Her eyes became wet. “And now with Nidal gone, Hassan’s all the family I have left.”
“How did Professor Green get to play a part in your little game?”
“Green was a ladies’ man, easy to manipulate. Hassan wanted someone he could trust on site when the scroll was discovered. Someone to keep him informed. Who better than his own family? He had Josuf’s help, of course, but he wasn’t family, and Hassan didn’t fully trust him, and rightly so.”
“What do you mean?”
“He worked for Hassan. That’s why he took us to Maloula, on Hassan’s orders, to meet the black-market thieves his brother dealt with and to try to find out where the scroll had disappeared. Unfortunately, Josuf was also an Israeli informer when they paid him enough. But now he is no more.”
“You mean he’s dead?”
“It’s the Bedu way, Jack. Deceit carries a heavy price. Josuf’s family will be taken care of financially by Hassan. But Josuf betrayed his tribe.”
“How did you manipulate Green?”
“I made it my business to bump into him in a hotel bar in Jerusalem. The rest, as they say, was easy.”
“Sex in return for a ringside seat to keep watch on your brother’s big plan?”
Yasmin shook her head. “There was no sex, I made sure of that, only the promise of it. Green was entranced by me, wanted us to spend time together. I told him I was fascinated by archaeology. With a little coaxing he came up with my cover story. As his niece, I’d have a tent nearby and he could see all of me he wanted to, without raising suspicion.”
“Clever. Kisses and hugs for Professor Green when no one was looking, and his hopeful prospect of sex down the line.”
“That about sums it up.”
“I’m not surprised Green fell for it. I did too. You’re good, I’ll give you that. And here was me thinking you might have liked me. But there’s something I don’t understand. After we left the Vatican and sat in the café you alerted me to Nidal and his buddy. Why?”
“Hassan’s plan was to abduct you, along with me. That’s why I followed you out of the café, ultimately to make it easier. I had phoned Hassan, told him you’d confided in me and you’d hidden the scroll. Nidal was to take us to Hassan’s villa to interrogate you and get the information from you. By me alerting you to the danger, it would help protect my cover.”
“Then Hassan could use the ploy of threatening to harm you to make me reveal where I’d hidden the scroll.”
“Yes.”
“But then the Israelis appeared and ruined it all?”
She nodded. “Nidal thought it wiser if I disappeared with him into the tunnels. He didn’t like the idea of leaving me with Israelis.”
“I guess I really fell for it, didn’t I?”
“I’m sorry that you’ve been used and hurt, Jack. But there was no other way.”
The Lear jet lurched as the air brakes deployed, slowing the aircraft, lifting it slightly. Yasmin peered out. “Another few minutes and we’ll be on the ground.”
“And then?”
“Hassan has Bedu friends who’ll take us close to the border but not over it—we don’t want the Israelis interfering in what happens next.”
“And what’s that exactly?”
“An exchange. We get the scroll and you get your freedom.”
“Somehow I doubt the latter. Who’s doing the exchanging?”
“Hassan called Buddy Savage and told him where the scroll was buried. He gave him instructions to bring it to us, otherwise you’d die. But I promise you no harm will come to you, Jack, just so long as Buddy doesn’t try any double-cross.” Her eyes moistened. “I’ve lost Nidal. There’s been enough killing. I don’t want any more of it.”
“So the bottom line is, Hassan wants the scroll back.”
“It rightfully belongs to the Bedu. Just like all the other scrolls found at Qumran. Hassan now intends to release them to the public, along with dozens of other scrolls he’s collected over the years. They will expose the Israelis and the Vatican for what they are, liars and thieves.”
“Why didn’t he do that long ago?”
“He had evidence but not enough. This scroll was the solid proof that he’d always hoped to find. It was the jewel in the crown.” She came over and took hold of his face. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the lips and looked into his eyes. “And just for the record, I did like you, Jack. I still do. If things were different, who knows what might have become of us?”
“That’s a polished brush-off, I’ll give you that.”
She reached out and gently grazed his cheek with her hand. “A word of advice, Jack. Please don’t meddle with Hassan. If you try anything that would jeopardize the exchange, I promise you, my brother will kill you.”
“He’ll kill me anyway, I’ll guarantee you that.”
A moment later the plane lurched and a cabin light chimed on. The cabin door opened and Hassan appeared, slid into the seat, and buckled his belt. “You made it clear to Cane what will happen if his friend Savage messes this up?”
“Yes, Hassan.”
“Good.” Hassan glared at Jack. “Remember the warning, Cane.”
The Lear banked sharply and dipped again, the landing gear whirring into place. Jack peered past the window. A faint orange glow streaked the horizon. He thought he recognized the distant shape of the mountains of Edom.
Minutes later the knot of fear he felt in his stomach turned to steel as the Lear finally touched down with a wild squeal of rubber.
133
THREE HUNDRED MILES away, another Lear jet was fifteen minutes from commencing its final approach into Tel Aviv’s Ben-Gurion Airport.
Julius Weiss handed a satellite phone back to his aide, who immediately exited the cabin. Weiss sighed, made a steeple of his fingers, and turned to address Ari and Lela, seated opposite.
“It seems our intelligence was right. Air traffic control registered that the helicopter from Bracciano landed at a private airfield outside Rome. Fifteen minutes later the Lear jet owned by Hassan Malik departed the same airfield, with a flight plan bound for Beirut. However, they altered the flight plan midflight.”
“For where?” Ari asked.
“Amman, Jordan. Except Amman air traffic control hasn’t heard from them yet. Hassan Malik may well have used the Beirut and Amman destinations as a ploy. Which means he could be headed anywhere.” Weiss’s mouth tightened in a look of frustration. “What the devil is he up to? We logged another flight Hassan made yesterday to Amman.”
Lela frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“He flew to Amman in his private jet, with his brother’s body on board. Where he went after that we couldn’t determine. But less than three hours later he flew back to Rome, minus the body. It seems he may have buried his brother. And one of our operatives too.”
“Who?”
Weiss addressed Lela. “The Bedu foreman on the Qumran site, Josuf. He was an occasional source who fed us tidbits of information when it suited him. It was he who told us Cane was headed for Maloula. Josuf
was due to contact Mossad yesterday but hasn’t been heard of. I have a terrible feeling that Hassan may have discovered his treachery and dealt with him.”
Weiss fixed Lela with an icy stare. “Well, Inspector, any suggestions as to where we might find Hassan? Seeing as you helped to get us into this mess?”
“My gut instinct tells me he’s headed to wherever Jack hid the scroll, which is probably somewhere near Qumran. There must be dozens of abandoned military airfields out in the desert where his aircraft could land.”
“You have a point.”
Ari said to Lela, “Maybe he’s already killed Cane.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep him alive until the scroll’s retrieved?”
Weiss considered, then ran a hand tiredly over his face and sighed again. “Maybe, but Hassan’s a wily fox who has the advantage. And our big problem is that Cane really could have hidden the scroll anywhere, not just near Qumran.”
Lela said, “What if Hassan finds it?”
“Then all hell will break loose. I do hope you have a good pension plan, Inspector.” Weiss suddenly looked tired. “In fact, I’m going to need one myself. To be honest, I intend to hand in my resignation to the prime minister as of tomorrow. I’m getting too old for this game, and I’m not sure I like it anymore. Maybe it’s time to do something less stressful, like opening a topless bar in Gaza.”
Weiss’s aide came though the cabin again, still holding the satellite telephone. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but it’s urgent. Another call has come through and I have a feeling we may need to overfly Tel Aviv. Detour to one of our military air bases near the Jordanian border.”
“What the devil are you talking about? A call from whom?” Weiss demanded.
“Sergeant Mosberg from the Jerusalem police. He wants to speak with Inspector Raul.”