The Nostradamus File

by Alex Lukeman

  The Toyota veered left and plowed through a fruit stall and rammed into a house. The front end crumpled. A tongue of flame shot out from underneath. Then the gas tank exploded in a sudden orange cloud of flame. Bits of melon and wood and glass and metal rained down on the square.

  Time sped up again. Selena slapped in a new magazine. Bursts of automatic fire came from the white Volkswagen, stopped fifty feet away. The taxi rocked from the impact, echoed with sharp, metallic sounds. Two tires blew out. The car dropped hard to the right. The van from behind bore down on them. Nick reached for a fresh magazine. They were out of time, with no place to hide.

  Someone leaned out of the van and sent a long burst into the Volkswagen. The windows exploded. A red mist covered the inside of the windshield. The van braked next to them and a side door flew open. A man called Nick by name.

  "Carter. Get in. Now." Another man inside the van fired past him at the Volkswagen.

  "What...?"

  "We're friends. Get in!"

  Another truck with shouting gunmen entered the square. Nick jumped into the van, Selena right behind him. The driver pulled into a tight U turn and headed out of the square the way they'd come in.

  The man who'd spoken said something in a foreign language to the driver. Then he turned to Nick. "They're coming after us. Stay down, we'll handle it."

  The second man lifted an assault rifle with a grenade launcher under the barrel. Nick pulled Selena down on the floor. The rear doors banged open against the side of the van. The grenade shot out the back and straight at the front of the oncoming truck. Nick saw the driver's face go wide with fear as he saw it come straight at him. Then it exploded and the truck was in flames. The sound echoed along the narrow street.

  They drove away, a column of black smoke rising behind them. One of the men leaned out and pulled the doors shut. Nick sat up against the side of the van.

  "Jesus," he said.

  "Maybe not," Selena said. "They're Israeli. That was Hebrew he spoke."

  "You are correct, Doctor Connor." It was the man who had shouted at Nick. He wore a yellow shirt.

  "You were at Mount Nebo," Nick said.

  "Yes. Someone would like to talk with you."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The van pulled into an abandoned factory on the southern edge of the city. Holes in the floor marked where machinery had been bolted down. Rusted barrels were stacked high in one corner. Light shone on scattered debris through gaping holes in the roof.

  The man with the yellow shirt said, "This way."

  "Who are you?" Nick said.

  "Please, this way."

  They followed him up a flight of metal steps into what had been the manager's office. Their footsteps echoed across the empty space. Broken windows looked out over the deserted factory floor. Inside the office was a battered metal desk with a man sitting behind it.

  "Ari!" Nick said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Ari Herzog was a senior operative in Shin Bet. Shin Bet was Israel's invisible shield, like the FBI and NSA combined, responsible for internal security and counter-terrorism. Nick knew him from Jerusalem, two years before.

  Herzog stood. "Waiting for you, Nick. As usual, things are interesting around you." He reached out and clasped Nick's shoulder and shook his hand. "You look the same. It is good to see you, my friend."

  "And you." He turned to Selena. "Selena, this is Ari Herzog. A friend from Israel."

  "Nick told me about you."

  "A pleasure, Doctor Connor. Please, sit," Herzog said.

  Herzog wore a white shirt that looked comfortably worn. He wasn't wearing a tie. A dark blue jacket with wide lapels hung loose enough to reveal a shoulder holster and the butt of a Jericho 9mm pistol. He wore black pants and plain black shoes. Herzog's eyes were dark, intense and tired looking, his face lined by stress and years of responsibility.

  "It's good to see you too, Ari. Thanks for bailing us out back there. But why have you been following us? I spotted your man." He gestured at Yellow Shirt.

  Herzog ignored the question. "That's Lev," he said. Lev had the grace to look embarrassed. "This is Aaron and Gabriel." He gestured at the other two. Gabriel had fired the grenade. They nodded. Both men had the look.

  "You haven't answered my question, Ari. Why were you following us?"

  "Because you are searching for the Ark." The words hung in the air between them. "We know about the death of the French bookseller and the manuscript."

  Something clicked in Nick's mind. "You thought we might lead you to it."

  Herzog nodded. "I was picked to contact you because we worked together before. I did not expect trouble so soon, but trouble seems to follow you." He smiled to show he was only half serious.

  "Who came after us in the square?"

  "Thugs hired to eliminate you. We suspected something might happen. Others are also looking for the Ark."

  Nick's head felt as though someone had begun to tighten a band around it.

  "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me who sent them?"

  "We don't know for sure. The desk clerk tipped the gunmen off that you were leaving."

  Nick felt his blood pressure rising. A headache started. He's not telling me something. What the hell is going on?

  "You were letting us do the work for you and take the risks. Did you plan to let us in on this, Ari?"

  Herzog looked down at his fingernails. When he looked up again, Nick saw he was now talking to Shin Bet and the Government of Israel. Ari might be a friend but his country came before friendship.

  "What have you learned, Nick?"

  "I think we'll call Director Harker," Selena said, "before we tell you anything."

  Nick had been so focused on Herzog that he'd almost forgotten she was there. He looked at her.

  "You didn't see fit to warn us that someone might come after us," she said to Herzog, "warn your friend." Herzog winced at the way she said it.

  She turned to Nick. "We shouldn't tell him anything without talking to Elizabeth. Call her. Assuming we're not prisoners here."

  Ari sighed. "You are not prisoners, Doctor Connor. Go ahead, Nick, call."

  Nick's headache exploded behind his eyes. He rubbed his forehead.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine." He took out his phone and entered the code. Harker picked up after one ring.

  "Yes, Nick."

  "Director, we have a situation." He ran it down for her. When he finished, there was silence at the other end.

  "Director?"

  "I'm here." Nick heard her pen tapping in the background. "Tell Herzog that the file led you to Mount Nebo. Don't mention Mount Sinai or what we talked about earlier. I'm going to have to go to the President. You can't say anything else until I consult with the White House. There are international complications now that Israel is involved."

  "You intend to follow up with him?" Nick asked.

  "Pending the President's okay, yes."

  "What if he wants the file?"

  "Stall him. I don't want the Israelis to get it just yet. Tell him I will forward a copy to him. Now get home." She ended the call.

  Nick looked at Ari.

  "Director Harker is concerned about the political implications. She wants to consult with our President. I can tell you what we've got but the truth is we don't know where the Ark is hidden. She says she'll send you a copy of the manuscript and keep you in the loop."

  "The Ark is not on Mount Nebo, everyone knows that. Why come here?"

  Nick told him about the Nostradamus quatrain that had led to Mount Nebo. He didn't mention his idea about Moses and the Ten Commandments.

  "What is the American expression?" Herzog said. "You might be on a wild duck chase?"

  "Goose chase. Goose, not duck. If it's a wild goose chase, why are people trying to kill us?"

  Herzog evaded the question. He looked at his watch. "You can still make your flight. Lev will drive you to the airport."

  He got up. Nick and Selen
a stood.

  "We need to go to our embassy first."

  "I have your word you will keep me informed? If you catch a goose?"

  "You do."

  "That's good enough. Shalom, Nick."

  Herzog watched Lev drive away with Nick and Selena.

  "Why didn't you tell him about the Americans?" Gabriel said.

  "Because we're not certain. His unit is good. If something is there, he'll find it."

  "Why would he tell us if he did? He's not one of us."

  "No," Ari said. "But he's a friend."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Harker had been to the White House many times in the last 5 years. She was used to the protocols but she'd never gotten used to the aura of power that enveloped the building. Secret Service agents met her at a side entrance, put her weapon in a locked cabinet and gave her a visitor's pass to hang around her neck. An agent escorted her to the Oval Office. She'd put on one of her good suits for the visit, the Prada.

  The Rose Garden was in full bloom. President Rice stood looking out at the explosion of color. He turned when she entered. James Rice was in the first year of his second term. He still had a lot of political clout, but lame duck status was creeping up on him. There were days like today when he wished he had never seen the inside of the White House, much less the Oval Office.

  Rice had served in Vietnam as a Marine Lieutenant. He was about six feet tall, not a particularly handsome man, but he radiated authority. He had charisma, that indefinable something that you knew when you saw it. Elizabeth thought he was probably the best President since Jefferson or Lincoln.

  Rice watched Harker enter the Oval Office and suspected she was about to give him another problem about the Middle East. Everything about the Middle East was a nightmare. Iraq was slipping into civil war. He'd known it would all along, in spite of the feel good propaganda about democracy. The Saudis and OPEC were playing games with the oil supplies and speculators were driving prices up at the pump in pursuit of quick profits. Egypt was a powder keg. The Russians were making trouble about Syria. The last thing he needed were more problems in the region.

  He said none of this to her.

  "Elizabeth, how are you? I can give you ten minutes."

  "Fine, Mister President, thank you."

  They both sat down on a couch.

  "Sir, there is a potential situation developing that involves Israel. Possibly Saudi Arabia as well."

  "There is always a situation with those two. What is it this time?"

  One of the reasons Elizabeth liked Rice was his no-nonsense approach to the job. He didn't avoid the issues. It was why he'd hired her to create and run the Project. To make sure he knew about issues before they blew up in his face.

  "It involves the Ark of the Covenant."

  "Religion."

  "Yes, sir."

  "It's always religion at the middle of everything over there. What about the Ark?"

  Elizabeth briefed him about the Nostradamus file and the Ark. She told him about Herzog.

  "What do you propose, Director?"

  "Sir, I think we need to pursue this, in cooperation with the Israelis. The Ark and the Covenant with God are at the core of Jewish history. The Ark itself isn't important to Jews--it's just an object. But it held the Torah, the law. It's important as a political symbol. The extremists would do anything to prevent Israel from getting it. We need to continue to search for it."

  "What kind of cooperation with the Israelis?"

  "Information only. I don't think they should be involved in any other way. We don't need them interfering or overreacting and doing something that gets everyone in trouble. The best way to do that is feed them intelligence as seems suitable."

  Rice stood. Elizabeth rose with him. "I don't need to know details. If you mount an operation, don't get caught."

  That's clear enough, she thought. You're on your own.

  "Yes, Mister President. Thank you, sir."

  "Better save the thanks for later," he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "I need a couple of days to go to California," Nick said. Elizabeth waited. "My mother is ill and she's probably not going to make it. There are things I have to take care of. Family stuff."

  Nick's family consisted of his mother and his sister Shelley. Nick didn't get along with his sister and he never would, as best he could tell. They never had, not as kids, not now. He didn't want to make this trip, but he had to go.

  "Get back as soon as you can. I need you here." Harker picked up her pen and set it down. "I'm sorry, Nick."

  Nick nodded. "It's not unexpected. I'll go today."

  When he'd left, Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and looked out at the flowers in the garden behind the house. No one would dream that millions of dollars worth of high end computers and hi-tech weaponry lay underneath.

  She didn't miss the old building. Her old office didn't have windows or natural light. Here there was the garden to distract her when her mind got clogged with the endless, devious details of her job. Her father would have understood. The Judge had loved flowers. He'd spent hours cultivating his garden in the Colorado summer evenings. He'd loved to talk about the garden.

  Flowers are a lot simpler to please than people. A little food, the right amount of water, good earth to grow in, a place in the sun and they're happy. Seems like humans ought to be able to learn something from that.

  She smiled at the memory.

  Her thoughts turned to the Ark. The whole thing was probably a dangerous waste of time. Her team would be going into harm's way looking for something that might not exist. And what if it did exist? What if they managed against all odds to find it? What then?

  The Israelis would never tolerate possession of the Ark by anyone except themselves. Nor would the Muslims, either Sunni or Shia. All three groups would kill each other to obtain it and her team could get caught in the crossfire.

  Finding the Ark would just be the beginning. It was a good thing it wasn't up to her to decide what would be done with it if they succeeded. That would fall on the President's shoulders. Elizabeth didn't envy him the responsibility.

  She had enough of her own.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The hospice in Palo Alto was pleasant enough. Pleasant was better than not, when it came time to die. Nick had seen enough death in places that were anything but pleasant.

  His mother had a private room. She lay in the bed, partly raised up. An oxygen tube fed whispers of life into her nostrils. Machines beeped and recorded the irregular beating of her heart. A hanging plastic bag fed clear liquid into her veins.

  Something twisted inside as he looked at her.

  The left side of her face was paralyzed and slack. Saliva drooled from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were filmy and unfocused. Each labored breath was a shudder. Nick looked at the husk of what had once been a vibrant human being and thought about how life had betrayed her.

  There hadn't been much joy in his mother's life. Not after she'd married his father, anyway. Nick's father had been a drunk, a womanizer and a bully. Sometimes Nick thought there should be a list for people like his father, labeled terrorist, domestic. But people like his father fell into a part of society that could get away with a form of terrorism because he was married. Being married put you in a different category. The culture of acceptance surrounding domestic violence was changing, Nick knew, but too late for him and his mother.

  Nick had watched the light fade from his mother's eyes as he grew up, watched her endure beatings and humiliation. His father had done the same to him, until he was finally big enough and strong enough to fight back. That had happened when he was sixteen.

  He remembered.

  The punch sent his mother sprawling across the kitchen floor.

  "Leave her alone!"

  "Shut up, you little punk." His father started toward him. Nick's vision turned red, the first time the mist descended over his eyes. The next thing he remembered was his sister screaming and pulli
ng on his arm with all her strength.

  "Nick, stop! Stop! You're killing him! Please, stop!"

  His arm was raised in the air, his fist clenched white. He was kneeling on his father's chest. His father was crying and pleading, trying to protect his head, his face covered with blood, his shirt bloody. Blood on the floor. Blood on Nick. He could feel drops of his father's blood on his face.

  "Nick. Enough." His mother's voice, frightened, cutting through the red mist.

  He looked down at his father and knew what hatred felt like. He lowered his fist.

  His father had never touched his mother again.

  "Mister Carter? Are you all right?"

  The voice of the nurse shocked him back into the present. His fists were clenched tight, like they'd been that day.

  "Yes, fine."

  "Visiting hours are over."

  "All right." He looked again at his mother. He reached out and touched her arm.

  "Gotta go, Mom. I'll see you tomorrow."

  There was no response. He hadn't expected any.

  The next morning she was dead. Nick could feel that she was gone the moment he walked into the building. His sister Shelley and her husband were at the front desk talking with the head nurse.

  "You're too late, Nick," she said. There was something in her voice, a quiet satisfaction, that set his anger coiling. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

  "Now Shel," her husband said.

  She turned on him. "Shut up, George," she said. "He's never been around when it mattered. Only when he was beating up on the man who put a roof over his head."

  Nick stared at this person who was supposed to be part of his family. His head suddenly felt like someone had put it in a vise and cranked it shut. He wanted to choke her. With an effort, he controlled the urge.