by Ronie Kendig
Ram retrieved it, giving Cole a hard look as he passed it back to him. “It is imperative we go to Israel.”
“Why?” Levi and Robbie asked at the same time.
Ram and Cole went into that silent visual dialogue again for several long seconds until finally, Ram drew in a breath and heaved it out. “That arrow belongs to the Arrow & Flame Order, an organization whose pockets are deep and their connections deeper,” he said. “Think of the Freemasons, but with more influence and more power.”
“I’m not sure any of us want to imagine that,” Kasey said.
Robbie lifted her hands. “But again—why Israel?”
Annoyingly, Ram and Cole did the unspoken alliance thing with their eyes again. An almost imperceptible nod by Ram pushed her attention to Cole.
He glanced at the table, then to the others. “In his journal, Bhavin made a note that had nothing to do with the other things he recorded. Everything else could be connected—the censer at the site, the Frenchmen who’d hired him.”
“And the odd notation?” Kasey asked.
Cole’s eyes glinted. “The Codex.”
Ram pressed three fingers to the laminate surface. “I believe it’s a reference to perhaps the most important surviving bound manuscript of the Hebrew Bible. It is the Crown of Aleppo, the Aleppo Codex, the Crown of Jerusalem, the Keter Aram Tzova, to list a few of its names.”
“And how do we know he meant this codex?” Robbie asked.
“Because of the other notations—the Frenchman, the flaming arrow,” Ram said.
Tzivia folded her arms. “And because I found a leaf from the Codex in Jebel al-Lawz.”
Robbie scowled at Cole and Ram. “Why did you not tell us immediately that you retrieved the journal? Why are you withholding information?”
“I’m sorting information,” Cole growled. “Are you going to tell me SAARC had no clue about this organization with the arrow?”
Her supervisor had never seemed so ruffled. “No. No. I haven’t heard of it.”
That’s not true. The realization rattled Kasey.
Cole must’ve seen it, too. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “My team has been attacked and exposed to a plague. I have every reason to be cautious with information, just as you do.” He shifted, his gaze bouncing back to Ram, but not quite. It was as if he was trying to . . . to what? What was going on?
“You’re not telling us something,” Kasey whispered to herself. Only it escaped a little louder.
Cole seared her with a glare. Huffed before adding, “Someone at the temple told me to go to Israel. I hadn’t even looked at the journal yet, but he told me to find the Crown—and as Ram just indicated, that’s a pseudonym for the Codex.”
“He?”
“It’s not import—”
“The Stranger,” Tzivia said with a hollow laugh.
“No.”
“How do you know?” she snapped. “You didn’t see the Stranger. I did. He appeared like a ghoul. Spoke things no human could know. Did things no man should do.”
“Point taken.” Cole wiped a hand down the back of his neck. “But this guy—I don’t know who he is.”
“If it’s the Stranger—”
“It’s not.”
“—you need to listen. Last time I didn’t go when he told me, that toxin was let loose in Kafr al-Ayn, and look what happened.” Tzivia nodded urgently. “You need to go, Tox. If you don’t”—she pushed her bangs off her face in a moment of panic—“this plague could explode.”
“I think it already might have.”
Kasey spun toward Vander, who stood just outside the group with a page hanging limp in his fingers. “What?”
“The virus Bhavin came in with, the New Black Death?” He huffed. “The hospital’s reporting at least a dozen more cases.”
25
— Day 11 —
New Delhi
Repacking his gear, Tox marveled at how things had changed in the last seventy-two hours. And in the last week, for that matter. Less than two weeks ago, he’d sat on the cliffs overlooking the plains as cheetahs hunted down antelope. Now he was the hunter chasing down one mystery after another. It was a never-ending loop, feeding back on itself each time they blinked or adjusted their grip.
Now—Israel?
The clack-clack of kali sticks drew his gaze to Chiji. His friend gave him an inviting look, but Tox shook his head. No time. Tox rolled a shirt and stuffed it into his ruck, then grabbed the next one, cramming them tightly together so he had room for everything. Shirts, boxers, tactical pants, socks, vest, holsters. It felt good to be back in action, but he’d have never picked this. Never would’ve pitted his team against a hostile biological threat again. Galen and Attaway had one-upped him this time, sending them after an assassin without informing him what they’d get tangled up in.
But Tox couldn’t lay the whole blame at his brother’s feet, though he wanted to. Tox had known there was more to this mission than he’d been told. And curse his ego, or pride, or whatever it was that possessed him to enter the fray, risking life and limb for . . . what?
What is wrong with you?
He’d always had a thirst for the dangerous side of life. But the inevitable, the part he never anticipated, always happened. Someone always got hurt.
A voice drifted into his frustration.
He glanced up as he rolled a pair of pants tight. Packed them. But saw no one. He focused on his clothes. But the voice poked the air again.
Tox looked around, searching out what sounded like agitated—but repressed—conversation. A shadow slid along a wall of lockers in the northwest corner. A feminine one.
He checked over his shoulder. Almstedt and Tzivia were hanging over a map or something, talking. That meant . . . Haven.
Tox followed the voice around a stack of crates that served as a divider. She sat at a makeshift desk, a notebook splayed open on the small table, with one hand cradling her forehead and the other pressing a phone against her ear. “No! You can’t—” She snapped her mouth shut, drawing up sharp. “I am not responsible for that.”
Since her supervisor and handler were on the floor behind them, there could only be one of two people talking to her right now: Attaway or Galen.
“Yes, I know—you allowed—” She sighed and hung her head, rubbing the back of her neck as she did. She jerked to her feet. “How dare you? I have never compromised my integr—” Then she ducked and shook her head, fingers to her forehead. She sniffled.
Something in him awakened. Shifted. Got lodged in his chest. It might have been more than ten years since he’d seen her, but Tox knew one thing about Haven—unlike him, she wasn’t easily upset. For someone to set her off . . .
He strode toward her. Had to be Attaway. Galen was manipulative, but he wasn’t acerbic. Well, not to everyone else. With Tox, he’d never minced words.
Haven turned and her eyes bulged. “Co—”
He took the phone from her. When she reached for his arm, he placed a hand over hers and held her in place as he rotated his back to her. He lifted the phone to his ear. Heard the voice. “Attaway.” With the way he’d turned, Haven was tangled against him, her arm wrapped around his chest. The warmth of her other hand rested on his back.
“Cole,” she whispered.
“Tox, is that you?” Attaway sounded strained.
“Is my brother there?”
“He’s not.”
“Get him on the phone.”
“He can’t be disturbed right now. He’s in a meeting with—”
“Tell you what,” Tox said, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“Cole, please,” Haven whispered, drawing his gaze to hers, where he found still-glossy eyes. Like a sea. One he found himself lost and adrift in. Pulling him in. She shook her head.
Two options presented themselves. One, light into Attaway for cutting through Haven’s thick padding of sweetness and niceness. But that might not reflect well on her. Two, he could redirect this, co
mpletely ignoring the poor treatment of her. “We’re heading to Israel. I need Haven with me.”
“She is with you. SAARC—”
“No. Attach her to my team.”
“I . . . I don’t think—”
“No, you don’t. That’s why I’m telling you—attach her to my team. I need her.” Something strange and frightening shot through him at those words. And the surprise in her green eyes only agitated the heat coursing through his chest. Especially when she moved her other hand from his back to his bicep. All in an effort to stop him, but it just made him press Attaway harder. “She has skills we need.” That felt better.
“She’s not combat trained.”
“But I am.” Stupidest mistake of your life. She’ll end up dead like Brooke. “Make it happen. Tell Galen to authorize it or I’m done.”
“You understand your brother has a country to run, right?”
“If I can’t stop this assassin, we may not have a president.” Haven shifted. Tox needed her to be still. To stop distracting him. “Or a country.”
She drew up straight, her lips parting in surprise.
“Listen to me,” Attaway said, his tone taking on a deathly chill. “Are you forgetting about al-Homsi? About the fallout? The unintended consequences?”
Ghosts of his past sailed through the shadowy passage of crates and steel wall, reaching for Tox. Anger pulsed, but he shoved back the memories. “I never forget.” Especially al-Homsi. Biggest mistake—
“Then remember that the next time you start handing me orders.” The words, the reminders were a threat.
Mashing the END button, Tox bit down on his frustration. He lowered the phone and stepped back, releasing Haven. Releasing this mess. When he handed the phone over, she had so much concern in her eyes he couldn’t stand it. At the same instant he saw that look, the same one he’d noticed years ago when he was dating her sister: Attraction. Embarrassment wrapped up in a schoolgirl crush. Back then, he’d brushed it off. She was a kid. Now . . .
She hugged a notebook.
“What is that?” he asked.
Haven looked down as if she’d forgotten it, then tossed it on a crate. “My field notebook.” It fell open. The left-hand page was marked OBSERVED and the right, QUESTIONED.
He traced a finger down it, reading. “From Chatresh’s interview?”
“Yes.”
He remembered something she’d said. “You said he might have stopped lying with his mouth . . .”
“Yes. Our bodies often betray us and our lies.”
“‘What are the worthless and wicked people like? They are constant liars . . . ’”
She tilted her head. “What?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Just something my mom used to say about my dad’s friends.” Though he snorted, he had to admit that was how he felt about his dad’s circle—constant liars. He fought the urge to look at her again. “It was in the Bible.”
“That almost sounds like biblical deception.” She laughed, but she had her phone out, thumbing a browser. She tapped quickly on the screen.
“You mentioned that earlier. The Bible teaches how to deceive?”
She smiled, not quite lifting her gaze to him. “Not exactly.” She swiped a screen. Then slid the bar up. “Here.” She scanned. With a quiet gasp, she lifted a pen. Turned a page in her journal and started writing. “I was right.”
Cole felt exposed. Had he just betrayed himself somehow? He leaned over her shoulder as she wrote. “What?”
“So . . .” she said, still writing and distracted by the forming list, “there must always be three forms of deception for it to indicate the person is deceiving you. Right here—it’s Proverbs 6:12, by the way—listen: What are worthless and wicked people like? They are constant liars, signaling their deceit with a wink of the eye, a nudge of the foot, or the wiggle of fingers.”
“And that means they’re lying?”
“Wink of the eye—that’s classic breaking eye contact. People do that when they aren’t telling the truth. It can even be rubbing the eye—anything that removes the gaze.” She pointed to the second one, then turned the page back to Chatresh’s notes. “Here—he was shuffling his feet as he broke eye contact with you. It was one of the ways I knew he wasn’t being totally honest. Proverbs speaks to the nudging of the foot.”
“And the wiggle of fingers?”
“Classic nervous tension release.” Her grin was wide, her eyes vibrant. “The most fascinating thing is that I’ve always been taught that signs of deception are culturally based but the cultures of biblical times are vastly different from today’s—yet these truths are still there. The three-rule test is still there.”
Cole wasn’t sure what to say. It was strange seeing her so animated over a lie detection method found in the Bible.
“Sorry,” she said, her embarrassment plaguing her face, “I get a little excited. It’s thrilling to find another instance of biblical deception.”
“Is that an official specialty?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, just a hobby. But fascinatingly, it almost always lines up with what I see in the field.”
He nodded. “Chiji would really like you.” Something in her gaze felt like a life preserver thrown to save him from being adrift. Calling to him. Asking him to come in from the storm.
Reality check: She was the storm. He was toxic. “I need to pack up.” The surprise and disappointment in her face pushed him around and toward his ruck.
“Cole.”
Don’t stop. But his body disobeyed the direct order. He clenched his teeth and hesitated. Turned back.
The muscle beneath her left eye twitched, showing confusion seconds before her eyes narrowed. “Why did you tell Attaway you wanted me attached to your team?”
“Attaway needed to be put in his place.”
She smiled and gave a breathy laugh. “It was nice to see someone do that—Galen is far too lenient with him . . .” Confusion didn’t become her, but she’d worn it often since they’d been reintroduced. “What . . . happened?”
Dread shot through him, remembering the way Barry had brought up al-Homsi and Brooke. Had she heard that? “What do you mean?”
She never took her eyes from him. “He said something to you, something that made you angry.”
No, he couldn’t go there. “Him being alive makes me angry.”
She smiled but started to shake her head.
“Leave it, Haven. Please. Focus on the mission.”
26
— Day 11 —
Jerusalem, Israel
On the fifth floor of a hotel in Jerusalem, Tox let himself into a suite with that renovated-but-old stench, one of mingling mustiness and carpets heavily sanitized to rid the fibers of cigarette smoke. He closed the door and quietly dropped his duffel, his gaze sweeping the room. Five paces delivered him into the small kitchenette with vinyl flooring and an anemic-looking stove and sink. He crossed the space, lifted the paper towels from their holder, and tested the weight of the holder in his hand. Satisfied it’d work, he stalked out of the kitchen and hesitated, glancing left and right, where the hall jutted off into two rooms. In the middle, a sitting area occupied the majority of the space.
Tox slipped into the first room. Paisley polyester bedspreads draped two full-sized beds, separated by a pathetic-looking table. He slid up alongside the closet door, hoisted his makeshift weapon high, and flipped open the door.
Clear.
He repeated the same in the second room. Back in the living area, he eyed the balcony that afforded a view of the Old City. A small wrought-iron table and two chairs consumed the space. He returned the holder to the kitchen, retrieved his duffel, and tossed it on a bed in the room with the north-facing wall.
Fifteen minutes later, Levi showed up, followed closely by Ram and Chiji.
“She’s an FBI agent, Tox. Not a soldier,” Levi said. “Why did you send her with the others?”
It only took one glare to silence the agent. Tox stoo
d by the door as Ram drew out a small box, hooked it up to a tether, then walked the rooms, searching for listening devices. The crackle of the box proved comforting—no bugs.
“Clear.” Ram headed for the bedrooms to ditch his ruck.
Tox turned to Levi. “Next time, make sure the room’s clear before you start giving out info on us and our game plan.”
Ram returned, tugging his beanie a little tighter around his face.
“Have you made contact yet?” Tox asked him.
“No, but we’ll head to the synagogue. He’s always there.”
“Is that normal?” Levi asked, his voice strained. “Not to hear from your contact? Is there a reason I’m not being filled in?”
“Yes, and yes.” Ram nodded to the door the same moment Tox heard people coming down the hall. He stepped aside, listening.
Laughter, quiet but noticeable—Haven’s. How he knew, he couldn’t say. He just did. At the noise of their key cards sliding into the reader, he moved out of the way.
Click.
The door opened. Cell entered, his keen gaze taking in the room before shifting to let the women and Maangi, who watched the hall, enter. Tox appreciated their careful insertion into the unknown.
“Tzi, you and Cortes to the right,” Ram said, taking their bags and setting them inside the bedroom. “Rest of you, duke it out for the rollaway, sofas, and floor.”
“What about the beds?” Cell asked.
“Tox and I took them,” Ram said.
“What is this, finders keepers?”
“Yes,” Tox and Ram answered at the same time.
Grabbing a bottled water from the counter, not minding that it wasn’t ice cold, Tox glanced around. Took a swig as the others dropped their gear. He took another gulp and motioned them into the living area. “Gather up. We need to get things in play.” Once they were together, he turned the convo over to Ram.
“Tonight, order in. Stay low,” Ram said. “Tox and I are heading to a synagogue.” He nodded. “We should be back in a couple of hours, but we’ll keep you posted.”