The Showstone

by Glenn Cooper

  They hopped in the first taxi they could find but Eve looked at Cal strangely when he told the driver to take them to the airport.

  ‘Our things are at the hotel!’

  ‘There’s no time. Who knows how long until the cops release him? We’ve got to leave now. I’ll call the hotel and have them pack up our stuff and send it along. Was there anything you can’t live without for a week or two?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I can survive without my red blouse. Just kidding. But my plane ticket is there.’

  ‘We’ve got to re-book anyway.’

  She checked to make sure she still had her passport. ‘Thank God we’ve got them,’ she said waving hers.

  ‘Or thank Cal,’ he said.

  There weren’t many people at work at the FBI offices at lower Manhattan this early. One of them was Julia D’Auria, who was wakened by the ding of a 6 a.m. email. Her wife moaned at her when she lit the bedroom with her glowing screen. She climbed out of bed when she saw the email was from the Metropolitan Police.

  The message was from Detective Inspector Proctor and read: ‘Special Agent D’Auria, Based on the CCTV photos of your suspect in the murders committed in Boston and New York, and our photos of the suspect in the murder of Omar Rasouly in London, we searched CCTV files from UK Border Control at Heathrow and Gatwick Airports. To narrow down the scope of the search we concentrated on the two possible travel days you highlighted for the three hours prior to the departure of all flights to Egypt. The good news is that we believe we have a credible match from three days ago for a man who boarded a Virgin Airlines flight to Cairo. Attached are the photos of our suspect. We have gone back to staff members at the Institute of Archeology with these new photos which are clearer than the street CCTV images and they believe it is the same man seen there on the day of the Rasouly murder. Further, attached is the scan of the suspect’s passport. As you can see he is an American citizen named Tariq Barzani, a resident of New York City. We are in the process of notifying the Egyptian authorities. Our records indicate that Barzani has not re-entered the UK. More later, DI, Proctor, Metropolitan Police.’

  D’Auria called Richard Nesserian, her partner on the case, on his cell. He was in bed in a Boston suburb and sounded groggy.

  ‘Hello, Dick?’

  ‘I’m still home, Julia. I haven’t had coffee yet. What the fuck?’

  ‘We’ve got him. Our guy.’

  ‘In custody?’

  ‘No, but we know who he is.’

  ‘And who is he?’

  ‘Tariq Barzani. Fifty-one. American citizen, born in Iraq. Immigrated in 1994.’

  ‘And where is he?’

  ‘Probably Cairo, just like Cal Donovan said.’

  ‘Then Donovan’s in a world of shit.’

  ‘I’m going to call him now,’ she said.

  ‘We should put out arrest warrants – U.S., Interpol Red Notice, the works.’

  ‘If I send you Barzani’s particulars, can you work on those? I’m going to pay a visit to his employer to see what I can find out about him.’

  ‘Who’s his employer?’

  ‘It’s a real-estate company in Manhattan called Hamid Property Holdings.’

  Cal and Eve were in a long queue for Immigration Control at Cairo International Airport when his phone rang from a New York number.

  ‘Cal, it’s Julia D’Auria. Where are you?’

  ‘At the airport. He saw us in the cafeteria at the Cairo Museum and he chased us. We got away but we’re not taking any chances. We’re heading back to Boston. We should land late tonight.’

  ‘You sure he doesn’t know where you are?’

  ‘I think we’re good.’

  ‘We know who he is,’ she said.

  The name meant nothing to him, but he grimaced when he heard Tariq Barzani was from Iraq.

  ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘we’ll be casting a wide net for Barzani. I’m going to be dogging it here in New York today, but I’ll fly up to Boston in the morning. Send me your flight details and text me when you land.’

  The police drove Barzani to the nearest station and parked.

  ‘Why won’t you tell me what you think I did wrong?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just a misunderstanding, I am sure,’ the driver said.

  ‘What? We’re just going to sit here?’

  ‘There is no rush. We get coffee now. Want one?’

  They left him sputtering and fuming in the hot car, hands handcuffed behind his back. Half an hour later, they returned with a bottle of water.

  ‘Should I take the cuffs off?’ one asked the other.

  ‘He is a very big fellow. Better to let him drink like a baby.’

  When the bottle was put to his lips Barzani told the officer where he could shove it.

  ‘You want not to drink, okay with us.’

  ‘What did she say to you? The American woman.’

  ‘She says you very bad man who put hands up her.’

  The other policeman laughed.

  ‘How much to let me go?’ Barzani asked.

  The driver was quick to reply. ‘One thousand American dollars.’

  ‘You’re out of your mind.’

  ‘That’s what she pay.’

  The sweat fell from Barzani’s face like rain. ‘I’ll give you a hundred.’

  ‘Then you sit here for another hour.’

  ‘Two hundred, not a dollar more.’

  ‘Three hundred,’ the officer said.

  Barzani nodded. ‘Three hundred if you drive me to the Four Seasons Hotel. And turn on the air-conditioning.’

  Barzani ran into the lobby of the hotel and went straight to the front desk.

  ‘A friend of mine, Calvin Donovan, called me to come to his hotel. He told me he had a problem and needed my help. Can you give me his room number?’

  The clerk checked the computer.

  ‘I am very sorry, sir, but Mr Donovan checked out.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About an hour ago.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘He said he had an emergency and had to fly home to Boston. He has given us instructions to send his belongings to the United States via express mail.’

  Barzani had his back turned on the clerk before he finished his sentence and was shouting at the doorman to get him a taxi.

  ‘Mr Hamid will see you now.’

  The executive assistant showed D’Auria into Hamid’s office. The agent had to work hard to keep her cool about the amazing views stretching south to the Freedom Tower, the harbor, and the Statue of Liberty.

  Hamid stood behind his large desk and showed his gleaming teeth.

  ‘I am George Hamid. I am so pleased to welcome an agent of the FBI to my humble office.’

  D’Auria introduced herself and gave him her card.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me at short notice, Mr Hamid.’

  ‘I am told you have a query about one of my employees. The human resources director tells me it concerns Mr Barzani.’

  ‘I’m sorry to go straight to the top of your company,’ she said, settling into a comfortable chair, ‘but seeing as Tariq Barzani reports directly to you—’

  ‘Of course, of course. What is the problem, please? Has Tariq done something wrong?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss an active investigation. What I wanted to know is when he was last at the office?’

  ‘Let’s see. I believe it was last Friday. He is on vacation. We give three weeks of vacation per year. Employees are very happy here.’

  ‘Do you know where he said he was going for his vacation?’

  ‘Tariq is the head of my security detail. Billionaires need security – the world we live in. He knows a lot about me but alas I know little about his personal life.’

  ‘I understand he was born in Iraq,’ D’Auria said. ‘Are you Iraqi too?’

  ‘I am. I emigrated in 1994. Your country welcomed me with open arms and now I have a huge company. America is the greatest coun
try in the world.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Mr Barzani came to America the same year. Is that a coincidence?’

  ‘Hardly. We came together with my wife and daughter. We are Christians who were terribly persecuted by Saddam. Tariq was like a son. That is why I am so distressed to hear the FBI is looking for him. Please, can you not tell me why you wish to see him?’

  ‘I’m sorry, no. Is he married?’

  ‘To a woman, no. To his job, yes.’

  ‘He lives alone?’

  ‘To the best of my knowledge, yes.’

  She asked a few more questions then thanked him for his time. He got up to walk her to the door.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘one last thing. Do you know a man named Calvin Donovan? He’s a professor at Harvard.’

  ‘Donovan, Donovan,’ Hamid said. ‘No, Agent D’Auria. I don’t believe I have ever heard this name. Is he at the business school? I understand they are considering a case study on the success of my company.’

  ‘Divinity School,’ she said. ‘He teaches religion.’

  Hamid laughed. ‘Maybe I should meet him. I often pray I will be able to raise my rents.’

  Barzani scanned the departure board at the airport and got lost in the sea of destinations. He waited impatiently at a ticketing counter, and only then did he think to check for his passport. Had he left it at his hotel? He was mightily relieved to feel it in his back pocket. When his turn came he asked when the next flight was to Boston. He was told there were no direct flights but many routes via a number of European hubs on different airlines.

  ‘I want to be on the same flight as a friend. Can you look him up if I give you the name?’

  The woman replied that this was not possible.

  ‘Okay, when is the next flight with a good connection?’

  She checked her computer. ‘There is a Virgin flight to London with an excellent connection to Boston leaving in ninety minutes.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s the one. He traveled through London to come here. Please give me a ticket. One way. Coach.’

  She checked and told him it was sold out.

  Given his streak of frugality it pained him to ask, but he inquired about business class.

  ‘I’m afraid that is also full and there are several passengers on stand-by. There’s an Air France flight via Paris that leaves in three hours, if you like.’

  He needed to know for sure that Donovan was on the flight, but he would need a ticket, any ticket to get to the departure gate.

  ‘Look, just get me to London on the next possible flight. Any airline.’

  Barzani got through security and made a bee-line to the Virgin departure gate. He slowed as he got closer and removed his fedora as not to be instantly recognizable. Then, through a glass partition, he saw them, sitting together, leaning toward each other in conversation. Cal’s messenger bag was at his feet. That was the target. Barzani figured the chances were high the papyrus was inside. He worked out a plan involving getting close and causing a diversion, that had, at best, a fifty-percent chance of working, but it was worth the risk. George Hamid was everything to him. He would not let him down.

  He crept closer to the entrance to the departure gate and what he saw dashed his hopes. There was a secondary security screen with a security officer checking all boarding passes and passports and subjecting carry-on bags to another level of search. He walked away, grinding his back teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache.

  He stood outside an Armani shop and called his boss on his cellphone number but Hamid didn’t give him a chance to say anything.

  ‘I was just about to call you, Tariq. The FBI were here. They’ve identified you.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah, shit for sure. Where are you?’

  ‘At the Cairo airport. Donovan and the woman left in a hurry. They even left their bags behind in the hotel. I think they have the papyrus.’

  ‘Can you get it?’

  ‘It’s not possible. I can’t get to their gate. Their flight to London that connects to Boston was sold out. I can take another flight that will get me to Boston four or five hours after them.’

  Hamid told Barzani he needed to think. After a few moments, he said, ‘I’m going to have my travel people arrange a charter for you. Direct to Boston. You’ll get there before them.’

  ‘That’ll cost a fortune.’

  ‘Christ almighty, Tariq! Have some perspective. Do you know how high the stakes are and you’re worrying about pennies? Look, I’ll fly up to Boston tonight. I’ll be at the Mandarin Oriental. Follow Donovan from the airport to wherever he goes and call me on a disposable phone. And turn your phone off now and take out the SIM card. The FBI may try to trace you.’

  ‘What are we going to do about them? The FBI.’

  ‘We’ll figure it out, Tariq. Don’t worry. I’ll always protect you. Let’s concentrate on getting the papyrus and the showstone. Once we have them, everything will be good.’

  Cal and Eve settled into adjoining seats in the Upper Deck cabin. Cal guzzled the champagne on offer then asked the stewardess for another. He didn’t have to beg. She immediately took a liking to him and poured another, whispering that she’d keep a bottle chilled just for him.

  ‘You seem to have an effect on women,’ Eve said.

  He touched her hand. ‘Do I? I hadn’t noticed.’

  She suddenly turned sad. He noticed and asked her why.

  ‘I’m going to miss this.’

  ‘Miss what? Getting chased by a killer?’

  ‘You know. It’s been an adventure, like a dream. These places, the things we did. You.’

  He didn’t want to make fake promises. He’d be going back to Jessica and his life. She’d be going back to Arizona and her life. He had faith the FBI would catch the killer and put an end to the danger.

  ‘Hey, it’s not over yet. We’ve got sixteen hours till we arrive in Boston. Before we take off, I’m just going to fire off an email to Dr Nawal, apologizing for stealing his papyrus – I’ll come up with some lame excuse – then we’ll start working on the pieces again. Okay?’

  She whisked away a tear with the back of her hand. ‘Sure. I’m starting to like jigsaw puzzles.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It was late and they were tired. Cal switched on some lights and put his bag down.

  ‘So, this is home,’ Eve said.

  ‘Be it ever so humble.’

  But it wasn’t humble at all and she started admiring the books, the antiques, the serious art on the walls.

  While she wandered, he checked out the keypad lock-box on the porch, where he found what he was expecting. A FedEx with the Glock. Back inside, he re-armed his security system and unpacked his new toy. He loaded it with the ammo he had bought before he left.

  ‘Do you have any tea?’ she asked.

  ‘In the kitchen. Cabinet above the kettle. I’ll have some too if you’re making it. Milk and sugar, like the Brits.’

  Across the street, a distance from the closest street light, Barzani sat in a rental car staring at the house. There was a security placard on the lawn that hadn’t been there the last time he graced it with a visit. He yawned and placed a call to Hamid on his burner phone.

  As soon as they had landed, Cal’s phone was flooded with the texts Jessica had sent while they were over the Atlantic. They were all along the lines of, where are you? Call me.

  He knew she was probably still awake, but he used the lateness of time as an excuse to text back:

  Too late to call. Just got back

  Thirty seconds later she replied.

  I’m coming over

  Couldn’t be a worse idea, he thought.

  Wiped out, Jess. Tomorrow ok?

  Don’t be silly. Be there in half an hr

  His back was against the wall. Sometimes the only play was telling the truth.

  Eve Riley is going back to Arizona in the am. She’s in the guest room

  The ping-ponging slammed to a halt. Cal waited for a phon
e-melter. It came a minute late.

  You’re a fucking asshole fuck you

  Not poetry, but it got the job done. Getting caught sucked but he needed to get one more ball over the net, and the shot needed a lot of spin.

  Not what you think. We ran into some trouble but safe now. Let’s talk tomorrow over dinner. Love you.

  He read it over and hit the delete key, evaporating the last two words.

  When Eve came in with tea he was still looking at his screen.

  ‘These mugs all right?’ she said, sitting down and sipping.

  ‘Yeah, fine. I’m just going to get a bottle of vodka from the freezer. Want some?’

  ‘Tea for me.’

  He returned with the bottle. He had already downed a double-shot in the kitchen.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ he asked.

  ‘Getting a second wind even before the caffeine.’

  ‘Want to try and finish it?’

  On the longer London to Boston leg, things had really started to click. The edge-to-edge matches accelerated and now, when Cal took the work in progress from his bag, about three-quarters of the papyrus fragments were in their correct positions pressed between the glass leaves.

  They set up at his dining-room table and decided to make the job semi-permanent by tacking the pieces onto backing paper with tiny spots of glue, the technique the conservators in Cairo had employed. When that was done, they started to find homes for the last twenty-eight fragments.

  At a little past 3 a.m., they tacked down the last piece, filling a hole in the middle. The assembled papyrus was slightly smaller than a sheet of copier paper. They pushed their chairs back and stood to hug each other. She was punch-drunk; he was half-drunk for real. It wasn’t clear who was propping up whom.

  ‘Bed,’ he croaked.

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘I want to spend a few minutes with it before I come up.’

  He had been dreaming of taking a long, hot shower since boarding in Cairo, but he only managed to get his clothes off before collapsing on the bed.

  Eve was ready to drop too, but the 49th Call wasn’t letting her go quietly. Ominous words and phrases that had come to light during its assembly were rolling around in her head and she couldn’t rest until she had digested it in full.