by Tom Haase
“Are you the captain that destroyed Tefik and his gang?” came the query over the phone.
“Yes,” Matt answered.
“Is it true that you stopped the nuclear explosion and killed every member of that cell of terrorists?”
“In reality, it was my team that did it all,” Matt said in a soft voice. He wanted to end this call. “Please tell the general I would like to see him when I arrive.”
“What flight will you be on?”
Matt told him and then hung up. He needed to get to the airport. He took the Metro to Reagan International Airport. He placed a phone call to his partner as he rode from Metro Center on the Blue Line to the airport. He gazed around as he waited for the phone to be answered. His partner doubted that the evidence against Donavan appeared rock hard but he could see nothing to dissuade him from concluding that the Donavan boy committed the act of terrorism. Funny thing that name. His suspect carried the same name as his sergeant during the event the curious person at the general's office had mentioned.
The tape from the Metro station proved to his mind that the man who came off the Metro train was a terrorist. What else could one conclude when the man ran out with the bomb and it exploded a short time afterward? Assuredly, there remained a little problem with the way he acted in getting the people to run from the area, but the guy might be a new type of terrorist. Maybe they now encountered a new group of nuts that wanted terrorism without the killing. Possible, he thought. But not likely.
The call went to Liz's voice mail.
“Hello, just want to let you know I will be in Jerusalem in the morning and will call you then.”
His eyes stopped on something he hadn’t noticed before. It might be able to settle the dispute over the intention of the bomber for good.
“Listen, I know it might not be possible but I think the Metro police impounded the rail car the bomber used. The one I am on riding to the airport has a video camera. I don't think they all do, but it might be worth checking out. Just an idea. Will call tomorrow.”
When he left the Metro car, he realized that he would have to run to catch the shuttle to New York.
28
Jerusalem
The basement room door where Cornelius Jake hid flung open. He froze in his hiding place under the overturned sofas. The door handle smashed against the wall and a resounding thud filled the room. Cornelius took a deep breath and held it. The pumping of his heart sounded loud in his ears. He didn't want to exhale for fear of being heard. Don't move, don't breathe, don't swallow, he prompted himself.
Footsteps passed by his location under the overturned couch, and he heard the policeman rattle the window he had just secured. He heard the cop shout something that sounded Hebrew. He hoped it translated into nothing here or it's okay or something like that.
When he’d covered the Arab-Israeli war in which he won his Pulitzer, he learned a few words of Hebrew and a few Arabic words as well. The police searching for him hiding under a couch made him feel the same as when he needed to find a safe hiding place during that war. He remembered one incident quite vividly.
He got lost outside of Gaza, and the Egyptian army advanced before the Israelis launched their counter attack. He heard the incoming artillery and saw a door open to a house a few meters away. Getting into that house would get him out of the open. He raced there and in the pitch darkness of the interior ran into a person standing just inside the doorway. They tumbled to the ground, and he heard a woman's voice scream.
She asked something he did not understand. Then she said, “Who are you?” the voice asked in English.
“I'm a reporter covering this blasted war. Who are you?”
“I'm an Israeli caught out here when my Red Cross vehicle was destroyed by artillery fire. You are American. I moved here five years ago to work on a kibbutz.” She started moving toward the rear of the building as the first artillery rounds impacted nearby.
He followed right behind her. “What's your name?”
“Ruth, and yours?”
He told her. They settled into a corner on the floor. A round exploded a few meters from the door, and she grabbed him and hugged with all her might. He could feel her trembling body and at the same time her fullness.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty- four. Why?”
“Just trying to make talk. Since this may be our last night on earth if that artillery gets worse. The fighting seems to be escalating,” he said as he put his arms around her. She moved closer.
“I'm scared shitless,” she said. “We can cower here all night waiting to die, because we can't go out there where we could be killed by either side.”
“Yes, but we could get killed by artillery in here,” he said.
“Either way we could die, and I don't want to spend all night fearing that. So I want you to fuck me.”
“What are you doing?” Cornelius managed to ask as the woman kissed him.
“I'm taking our minds off dying. I have always wanted to make love to a man I would never see again when the sun comes up. You’re that man.” She placed his hand on her breast and moved it around.
They made love there on the floor. Sometime in the night the artillery firing stopped. She dressed and left when the sun came up. The Israeli army units were entering the area. He never saw her again. He never even got a good look at her face, but he would always remember the things she had done to him that night, with her mouth, her hands, and her body ….
“Shit,” he heard the loud curse just a foot or two from his hiding position.
His lungs were bursting. Too much smoking and not enough exercise to hold his breath any longer. He started to release air as carefully and as slowly as he could. Halfway through the exhale, he heard the cop move, and the couch above him jarred and then collapsed onto him.
The footsteps moved toward the door. The cop must have rammed the couch with his knee or hit it with his arm. The piece of furniture shifted and pinned Cornelius under its weight. All of his air exited his chest. He gasped for air as the door to the room slammed shut, covering the sound of his forceful inhalation.
After filling his lungs, he pushed up to get the weight of the couch off and grabbed the top of it to prevent it from falling to the floor. That would be the end if it fell and made the unmistakable noise signaling someone in the room. Slowly, he regained an upright position and went over to the window. He could see no one outside but decided not to open the window.
Best to wait for some time to ensure the cops left. If he tried to get away now there was a distinct possibility the cops would be outside for a period of time either just watching the house or talking to their superiors on what they found. He looked at his watch and decided on waiting for a half hour. He moved over to the righted couch and sat down. He clinched the heavy tome in both hands and thought of his next course of action.
Now he could become rich. He had the book and he knew the method he would use to secure his future. Time to make a phone call and then get out of Dodge as fast as possible.
That would be the tough part, getting out of Israel with such a large book that would certainly be seen as an artifact. Security at the airport would detect such a thing. He could not risk placing it in his suitcase as checked baggage because he heard that the security people at Ben Gurion airport looked into every bag.
The one person who sent his daughter to oversee the Donavans exhibited a monetary interest in acquiring the Bible of Constantine. He would certainly be willing to pay for the book and pay handsomely for it. As soon as he could get out of this house, he would return to the hotel and make the phone call. Then he would leave at once and catch the only transportation he felt certain would not involve custom inspectors.
The half hour passed, and he opened the window he’d used to gain access to the house and peered outside. He waited to hear any noise or movement. He saw and heard nothing as he exited through the window and went to the front edge of the house. Carefully moving his h
ead around the corner, he observed the empty street. No one in sight and no police cars parked there. He moved as fast as his weak legs would allow, the hotel his next destination. A car's headlights appeared somewhere behind him but he turned the corner.
His plan centered on obtaining the commitment for money from Mr. Schultz and to have a part deposited into his account. Then he would make his way by the safest route he could think of to Cairo. No one checked anything going out of Cairo, at least not like they did in Tel Aviv or Beirut.
29
Jerusalem
Outside the hotel, Cornelius Jake gave a deep sign of relief. He had pulled it off. In a few minutes he would be getting out of here. Thank God he had the porter bring down his suitcase and hold it at the concierge desk until he would take a taxi to the bus station. He researched the bus schedules and knew an hour remained before the last bus departed.
He made the cell phone call outside the hotel and it went through.
“Mr. Shultz, my name is Cornelius Jake. I believe I have something you are looking for. In my possession is the only extant copy of a Bible that the Emperor Constantine commissioned in 326 A.D. I’m prepared to offer it to you.” He stopped and waited.
“How do I know that you even have it? How did you know I even am looking for it?” Schultz demanded.
“First of all, if I called you, then you must assume I know you're looking for it. But to satisfy your curiosity, your daughter told me.”
“Not likely,” Schultz said into the phone.
“Mr. Schultz, your daughter believes that I assist her in keeping an eye on the Donavan's. She told me about the object of your search, and I agreed to spy on them by getting close to them as a reporter to validate any find they might make. She did this just to get someone close to them in case they tried to give her the slip. That is how I know you are after this book. Now I want to discuss a financial arrangement.”
“I don't give a damn what you want to discuss. You will give the book to my daughter and you’ll be paid.” Schultz used a commanding voice to impart this.
Cornelius didn’t bat an eye at the bravado.
Many years ago in Washington, he followed a fellow reporter to a cheap hotel. The man was married to the richest woman in the city. He burst in on him with the naked lady under his protruding member and snapped a Polaroid picture. The man charged him but Schultz closed the door before the naked man could get close. He waited in the lobby. When the man appeared he told him he would give him the one picture he had in exchange for the major story the man had been working on. Schultz managed to get all the credit and the man would never say anything. If he would not agree the wife would get the picture.
The man agreed and Schultz got the story. He returned the blackmail instrument to the man. Afterward, the man took his wife back to her hometown of San Francisco and took a position in that paper. Schultz never heard from him again. He knew that blackmail could work if the price or the prize was worth it to the intended victim.
Schultz could be had.
“Don't think so,” he responded to Schultz. “You are just one person of many who may want to possess such a valuable piece of an ancient Christian artifact. I'm willing to give you first crack at it, but it will be in my possession until I get to the States where I can auction it off.”
“No matter what you get, I'll outbid it. Bring it to me and let me see it is real, and I'll pay you double any offer you get. Maybe you have the book I'm seeking, maybe not. I don't suppose you know how to read the Greek that is written on the second and third pages?”
“Haven’t the foggiest idea,” Jake said.
“If you'll turn over the documents to my daughter, I'll pay you one million.”
“No way am I going to do that here in Israel. First of all, I don't trust your daughter any more than I trust you. If we're to conduct a business transaction, it'll be in person, and you can deliver me a cashier's check for five million.”
He guessed Benjamin Schultz could hear the finality of the demand in his voice. Negotiation was not something on the table. Jake now forced the man to make a quick decision.
“I tell you what. You tell me where Bridget Donavan is as a show of good faith. I want to know where she is right now.”
“She is in the hotel café, and she and her brother are leaving it right now.” He saw her through the window, sitting there, and then they got up to leave.
“All right, I agree to your demands, if you can deliver the book to me here in New York. Phone me with your arrival plans. I will have a limousine meet you at the airport. How you get here is your concern, and I do not need to know how. When can I expect you?”
Cornelius smiled. Just as he hoped. He would be rich.
“Let my daughter accompany you to ensure its safety.”
“Don't think that’s a good idea. I don't want you knowing where I am until I decide to meet with you. You have too many arms that could reach out and ensnare me. I'll contact you at this time tomorrow night with my instructions for a meeting.”
“Wait. Are the first three pages of the Bible intact?” In his research he learned that the Emperor wrote something by hand on every one of the fifty Bibles he distributed to select religious and political leaders. If the man could answer that a hand written note was scrolled across the second page, then he probably possessed of the tome.
Cornelius looked and saw some scribbling in a handwriting that looked like Greek on the second and third pages. The first page contained a great Crucifix with Latin annotations. The copied text started on page four. “I am opening the book now, and after the first page, which has a drawing of a crucified Christ, there appears to be handwritten notes on the second, and—let me turn the page—yes, on the third page, too. Does that help?” He finished and held his breath.
“I do believe you have the book.”
“You bet I do. You better be prepared to pay. Until tomorrow.” Jake hung up. He didn't want to take a chance on meeting the daughter or the Donavans with suitcases in his hands. For safety reasons, he had sent his luggage down earlier and kept the Bible in his large briefcase. That proved to be a smart decision.
A bus would leave in twenty minutes for Gaza and start him on his travels to Cairo and then an airplane ride to New York. Mr. Schultz would meet him and make the exchange for money. He didn't plan on offering it to others, too dangerous. He held his fish on the line and would reel him in and secure his future.
Life was good, he stood on top of his game, and he possessed the Bible. He went inside and headed to the hotel bar for one last drink before going to the bus terminal.
* * *
New York
Benjamin Schultz answered his private phone. When he picked it up he thought it must be his daughter. She hadn't called since her arrival in Israel. No need to worry since it was only her first day there. He didn't suppose much could happen in one day, since the secret Bible had remained completely cloistered for centuries. In his mind, he calculated the time as late evening in Jerusalem.
The voice he heard emanate from his phone sounded unfamiliar and completely unexpected.
After Jake hung up, Benjamin Schultz clenched the phone until his hand started to hurt. His daughter should never have revealed the purpose of their business. Now, somehow this man got hold of the object of the quest.
The man appeared to have the document. Schultz no longer retained any need for Bridget Donavan. I can now extract my cold and too long postponed revenge.
He would text his daughter in a few minutes to inform her to come home, as he would soon have the Bible from a man named Jake—and tell her to stay away from Bridget Donavan. He’d text her so she could read it in private in case she was with the Donavans. Now, however, he needed to act fast before the opportunity passed. He knew Kesi waited on his instruction in Jerusalem.
Benjamin sent a text message. In it he gave the exact location of Bridget Donavan. The last two words he inserted into the text were the most important, “execute immediatel
y.”
* * *
Kesi had no problem finding the hotel and the baksheesh he paid provided the room number for Ms. Bridget Donavan. Dressed in the business suit he purchased with Schultz's money, he looked the part a foreign salesman visiting Israel. He carried his briefcase to the elevator and went to her floor.
It wasn't his business on what changed the man's mind from the original orders to wait before carrying out the hit. The text specified - execute immediately.
Getting into the room proved no obstacle to a man who previously snuck into all kinds of secure locations to extract the vengeance demanded by his superiors. Once inside, he checked everywhere for any weapon she may have hidden and looked through all her personal effects. He flicked off the lights and sat down to wait. He received his orders in the last hour. He needed to make sure that Schultz's daughter didn’t get involved in the Donavans’ removal. Most important to him remained his revenge for what she did to him.
Patience was a virtue he possessed in great abundance. At the end of his waiting, a substantial reward would always appear. This case would be no different. The man promised to double his fee for killing the bitch. He would have carved her up for free if the man had given him her address or location. He felt honor bound to extract retribution for what she had done to him.
The guerilla war ended, and he and a white buddy were open to any type of contract for any job. They handled a few people they were paid to eliminate and their reputation spread. They preformed the jobs with efficiency and speed. Consequently, the fees they charged increased.
One day a phone call requested them to go to Ethiopia and take out a woman working on an archaeological dig. The information was specific and detailed. The woman would have three local helpers, as the rest of the team on the dig had returned to the United States. Whatever they wanted to do to the woman did not concern the requestor. He wanted the woman dead and wanted her to suffer before dying.