The Complete Donavan Adventure Series

by Tom Haase

  What indeed? Jonathan thought he might have an answer, a very logical answer: money.

  “Excuse me,” he said in Spanish to the hotel desk clerk, “could you tell me if a Mr. and Mrs. Donavan are staying here?” He remembered the desk clerk in Warsaw telling him that they were registered as husband and wife.

  “One moment, sir.” The desk clerk checked his computer. Looking back at Jonathan he said, “I’m sorry. The couple checked out earlier this morning.”

  “By chance, do you know where they’re going?”

  “Sorry, sir,” he said, looking at the next person waiting to talk to him.

  Jonathan turned and walked to the front of the Hotel Mora. Nothing ever goes as planned. Just like in the army. Always maintain a back up plan.

  He watched a doorman returning from getting someone a taxi. Holding out a hand containing a generous tip, Jonathan said, “Excuse me. Do you remember a young American couple getting a taxi earlier? I seem to have just missed my friends because of my late arrival.” Jonathan showed the doorman an image of the Donavans he’d captured on his cell phone.

  The doorman smiled. “Yes, sir. Left very early. I got them a taxi. I heard them tell the driver to take them to the airport.”

  He jumped into the next available taxi. “Aeropuerto de Madrid-Barajas, per favor.”

  21

  Madrid Airport - 8:25 a.m.

  Jonathan now dressed in a short sleeve blue shirt and tan pants, and wearing sunglasses, looked like any other tourist. He walked around the airport for a few minutes searching for his quarry. He decided to go to the Iberian counter thinking that if the Donavans came to Spain then they might be going somewhere else within the same country. He didn’t have anything else to go on. When he arrived at the check-in counter, he found the two young Americans waiting in line for a Granada destination. As Jonathan lurked behind the lines of passengers, he observed the Donavans buy tickets.

  When they left the counter, Jonathan swiveled his back to them, protecting his face from their view. He knew he was too far away from them but he still turned away. Then he went to the first class check-in line and bought what he understood from the agent to be the last ticket on that flight to Granada.

  Jonathan paid for first class and the seating suited him. As soon as he received the ticket, he left the counter for the gate. He got on the plane last. He observed when they boarded and he held his carry on in front of his face for the few steps into the plane before he reached his seat in the second row.

  He now realized that these two Americans possessed talents, some deadly ones from his observations in Warsaw, and he did not want to take any chances. Jonathan again tried to determine why Scott or Bridget had not gone to the newspapers, or gone public with their information. If they did that, he would have heard on television or seen it in the headlines of a newspaper.

  Jonathan surmised the Donavans were not interested in revealing the new gospel of St. Peter. So what were they doing? They must have a plan as they went traipsing over Europe. They were chasing something, something besides the Latin text he planned to recover, if they had it. No, something else drove them. He needed to discover what they were after.

  This pair intrigued him as they pursued their goal. For what? To where? He would find out in the end. He never failed on a mission. The disaster in the Iraqi desert hadn’t been his fault and he had succeeded in carrying out his mission. He nurtured no intention of failing now. Too much was at stake.

  In Granada, he deplaned long before they were able to exit from the coach section of the plane. They would never catch sight of him. He would follow and confront them to find out what they knew and what they intended to do.

  * * *

  Hashim Madhi picked out the two Americans when he walked into the airport. One of their network members had hacked the hotel networks and located the hotel where they were registered. The network had sent a team since their surveillance man had failed reported back. When they arrived, they found the man, his head bashed in and no sign of the Americans.

  Jabril Rashanjani stood twenty meters away from Hashim in the airport. Hashim convinced him after they heard the news from the local Imam that the two would undoubtedly flee Madrid as they did in Warsaw. Hashim rushed over to Jabril.

  “I just followed them. They went to the Iberia ticket counter,” Hashim said.

  “Allah be praised. He’s smiling on us today.”

  Hashim led him to the Iberia Airline counter. Their prey wasn’t there. He waited behind a sandy-haired man to get to the counter. After the passenger in front of him moved away from the counter with a slight limp, Hashim approached the ticket agent.

  “Excuse me. We were supposed to meet two young American friends here an hour ago, but we were delayed. Could you tell me if you remember them?”

  “Yes,” the ticket agent said without looking up. “Your friends just left for the gate to Granada. If you hurry you can catch them before they get to security.” He raised his head to look at them.

  “We need to catch up with them. Can we get two tickets to Granada?”

  “The plane departs at 11:45, Iberia flight 274.” The agent looked down at the computer on the counter. “I regret to say, but there are no seats available.”

  “I’ll pay double,” Jabril said, thinking the prospect of a bribe would work here as it would in Iran.

  The agent sucked air into the corner of his mouth, and breathed out, “May I suggest you take the new express train to Cordoba, which is close to Granada and rent a car. You would be there in about two hours, maybe three at most. You should get there about the same time as the plane.”

  Jabril nodded and they hurried to the train station. Along the way, Hashim said, “We need to be more cautious. That agent might think we are terrorists pushing like you did to get a ticket. Wouldn’t it be better to wait?”

  “No. We would be at least another hour behind them. My mission is to recover the text they have. I can’t wait.” He put his hand on Hashim’s back and pushed him forward.

  “But we aren’t certain they carry the Holy Koran.” Hashim said in a low voice to prevent anyone from eavesdropping.

  “Don’t be silly. They are running from us,” Jabril stated.

  “For what reason?” Hashim stopped and shook his head. “This makes no sense. They’re not running.” He held up a second finger, as he counted off to show that he had more to come. “They’re not trying to cover their trail. They’re not watching out to see if anyone is following them. But most important, they’re not carrying anything heavy, not a suitcase with documents, not even a large knapsack. What makes you think they have anything?”

  “They killed Akram. You heard the curator tell the priest he had the original of the Holy Koran. Now they have it. We’ll take it and kill them for what they did. Now shut up. We go to Granada.”

  22

  Iberia Air Flight 274 - 11:55 a.m.

  “Why are we going to Granada?” demanded Bridget. “You haven’t explained anything. I’m tired of just being told to go because you say so.” She kept her voice low even though the sound of the jet engines almost drowned her out.

  “All right, but I want a full explanation of what is going through that brain of yours,” Scott replied.

  “Agreed,” Bridget said. She couldn’t imagine what her brother now contemplated. She guessed something had triggered in his mind and he knew what to do. So far he had not shared it. Now was the time to get the secret out of him. No more following him blind. “We need to get a board and place the chess pieces where the code says.”

  “Why?” Scott asked.

  “When you told me what the curator discovered in the sealed room, you described the corpse with a chessboard nearby.” She shifted in her seat to get closer to his ear. “I have an idea. I separated the translation from the code you gave me when we were in the coffee shop. The man trapped in the room, I believe, somehow solved the code and maybe the location of the treasure, but he left no written record. Or di
d he? Is there anything more you can tell me?”

  “No, nothing,” Scott said.

  The flight attendant arrived and asked what they wanted to drink. They declined. “My deduction, however, doesn’t solve where the treasure is. It only provides a chessboard with the pieces in certain positions,” Bridget concluded.

  “That’s where I had to figure out the exact location of the city on the map. I think I have.”

  “Is that why we are going to Granada?” Bridget asked.

  Scott explained to her that the city of Granada was the last bastion of Muslim power on the European continent. The Islamic army left from the city, retreating to Africa. They estimated they would return in a short time to retake Spain and would be able to recover the gold, the coins, and the documents they were forced to leave behind. “The list I found details the items at that specific location. I believe it is Granada. We only have to find the exact place.”

  “I suppose you have an idea of where that is?” Bridget asked.

  “Not entirely, but I would guess that they left Granada in a hurry, escaping the city around the time of the surrender. They wouldn’t be able to carry a lot on the retreat so it is possible they hid their valuables. We have to figure out the connection between the map and the chess pieces. I believe the map represents Granada in the fifteenth century. That would be the time they retreated from Spain.”

  “Really.” She scrunched up her cheeks. “Now to get a chess set and test your theory.”

  “Don’t be glib.”

  “You drag me all over the place and I’m glib? You better get out of your shell and tell me exactly what we’re going to do. I can still go back to my career, that’s what I’m getting paid for— not this.”

  “The list states a large amount of gold is with the documents. Besides, you made me promise to go after these things till the end. You must, too.”

  “Do you realize there may be people out hunting for us?” Bridget asked. She now believed it possible the man at the museum, who threatened them, might have the capability to somehow find them. He had done so in Madrid as far as she was concerned. She and Scott needed to take that into account in their moves to locate the documents.

  “And if we’re able to find the Gospel of St. Peter,” Scott said, “his words might revolutionize Christianity as we understand it, but then again it might just be the rehashing of the current gospels.”

  Scott ignored her comment. She leaned close to him and said, “I killed a man in Warsaw, and you got the disc. I bashed out an attacker’s brains in Madrid. Now tell me you know where to find this treasure.”

  “If we find it, we can both obtain money and position within academia for such a find. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Scott, get real.” She moved closer to him and looked into his eyes. “We’re in danger and must start taking precautions against people who might be after the same thing. We need to be more careful from now on. People might see that we’re looking for something and that always gains curiosity seekers, even notoriety. Always be aware that the bad guys could then find us again.”

  “I know.” Scott held his eyes shut for a few seconds and then glanced at Bridget. “That’s why I wanted us to move fast to leave Madrid just in case someone trailed us. They can’t find out we’re going to Granada. Hell, I had no idea till this morning.”

  “So you don’t know where to find the treasure?”

  “Not precisely, but we will as soon as we decipher the code and how the chess game fits.”

  “Oh.” She grinned. “That simple, huh?”

  * * *

  Jonathan had heard the men behind him in the ticket line talking, but didn’t want to turn to see them just in case his senses were correct. Then again you couldn’t assume every dark-skinned person is a terrorist. Besides, he didn’t believe the men from Warsaw could be on the trail of the Donavans this soon. Better check it out to be sure.

  When the two approached the ticket agent he moved to their blind spot behind them after he moved away from the counter. There he listened to the confrontation at the counter and walked behind the men engaged in the heated debate. One with the green jacket held the jacket at his side. He must be under orders to follow the Donavans. It might be nice to know where he is all the time. Jonathan’s hand went into his pocket to retrieve a small transmitter the size of the top of a straight pin. As he walked behind them, he bent, clipped it on the underside of green jacket’s collar, and moved on to his gate.

  Jonathan stretched his legs in first class and enjoyed a beer. This flight provided a refreshing pause after the last two days of intensive activity. This afforded him the time to think over the events: the trip with Bridget to Warsaw, the two Middle Eastern men, the bodies in the curator’s office, the flight by the pair from Madrid so soon after their arrival. How did all of this add up? He had no concrete idea of what Bridget planned to do, but she and her brother were going after something. Of that, he became more certain by the hour.

  Meanwhile, he planned to stay back and conduct surveillance. On landing in Granada, he would call the Cardinal and report on his situation. What to say? The purpose of his mission, to find any traces of the existence of the documents now residing in Vatican City, remained open and so far he had nothing. The Iranians didn’t have the documents but could be a problem. He needed to decide whether to mention that to the cardinal.

  At present, there existed no solid evidence the American pair possessed any documents, but their actions, and his conjectures, suggested otherwise. He didn’t know for a fact if they possessed a copy of the hard drive from the curator’s office, but to think otherwise would be counterintuitive. He wasn’t certain the hard drive they smashed had a bearing on the documents the Cardinal wanted seized. Bloody hell!

  The Agnus Dei society’s history required that Jonathan carry out the Cardinal’s command to the letter. If termination of the subjects became necessary to protect the secret of the gospel, he would be expected to carry out the order without hesitation. The future and Almighty God would determine his course when the moment arrived.

  The Iranian men remained an unsolved mystery. They somehow learned about the new edition of the Koran. Someone must have told someone and they came after it. But who, how, when? His mind drew a blank. Those people, whoever they were, might become a problem if they somehow found the American pair. They would play for keeps and eliminate their targets. He couldn’t let anything happen until after he discovered what the young couple knew or what they were after. Hell, he had no answers. So he put his beer down and tried to get a few minutes sleep before the hunt began again in Granada.

  * * *

  In their rented car, Hashim and Jabril arrived at the Granada’s airport minutes after the Donavan’s flight landed. Jabril went into the building while Hashim waited in the car. A few minutes later Jabril returned, running from the airport exit toward the car.

  Excited, he hopped into the passenger side. Then he pointed. “They are coming out behind me.”

  When the Donavan’s emerged, Jabril shouted, “There they are. Across from the taxi rack. We can follow.”

  Hashim nodded and moved the rental car to get into position.

  His mind raced. What would he do? Jabril now acted strange. Hatred emanated from his eyes, hatred that would only be satisfied with the death of those Americans.

  This man will kill them for what they did to his friend. Hashim knew it.

  He understood the reasoning. But now he questioned whether he should have told the Imam about what he overheard at the reception. He had to admit the information served its purpose by helping him gain access to the inner workings of the Islamic terrorist leadership in Poland. And he was meeting contacts in Spain. Hashim was building a new and a different version of himself for the Islamic leadership.

  But killing the Americans couldn’t be in his plans. The fact that Jabril would try to kill them inserted a complication Hashim could do without.

  23

  Granada, Sp
ain

  Jonathan McGregor walked away from the terminal building at Armilla airport and searched for the taxi rack. He intended to observe the Donavans in order to follow them at a distance.

  “Father McGregor?” The sound of his name startled him. Perhaps the man calling looked for someone else, but “father” removed that possibility. He sighted a heavyset individual in a Roman collar staring at him and then checking a picture he held. No mistake. The man knew who he was.

  Keeping an eye on the entrance, he said, “Yes.”

  “Agnus Dei,” the short priest said.

  “Dona nobis pacem,” Jonathan mouthed realizing the Cardinal arranged this meeting. The Vatican travel office must have provided the cardinal with his travel times to Granada and then he ensured someone local would offer assistance.

  “I’m here to provide transportation. My instructions are to leave you alone unless you request any support. My name is Father Juan Castile.” The priest handed him a slip of paper. “Here is my cell phone number if you need anything while you are here.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.

  “Thank you for meeting me. Is your car nearby?”

  “Just over there.” He pointed to a black Mercedes fifty feet away that a policeman seemed to be guarding.

  “Good. Let’s get in and I’ll tell you what we need to do.”

  The large bellied priest led the way. Jonathan scanned for the pair. As he crossed the street, he could feel the heat of the Andalusia sun on his head. He already started to perspire in just a few minutes under its powerful strength. Searching the terminal exit for arriving passengers, he sighted the Donavans heading for the taxi stand.