Then, at last, she rolls on top of me again, straddling me, just as I imagined her doing in my wild fantasies. Wordlessly, we become one as we gaze at each other, so full of love, hardly able to believe that this is finally happening. After so many years. And so naturally …
If time were to stop at that moment and he died right there and then … Well, he could think of worse ways to go.
Peter heaved a deep sigh.
Judith had fallen asleep.
I’m driving myself crazy, lying here next to her, Peter thought.
He hoped that the restless rising and falling of his chest wasn’t disturbing her, but soon, he began to calm down and his breathing returned to normal.
Peter thought about Fay.
And Mark.
Now I’m starting to have secrets too … But nothing actually happened, did it, he asked himself, trying to push away the rising feeling of guilt.
But it’s still wrong …
Peter knew that, of course.
If Fay or Mark were to walk in now …
He carefully slid his arm from under Judith’s head. Her eyelids fluttered briefly, and then she turned over onto her other side and slept on.
He felt guilty, not so much about Fay or Mark, but about Judith. He had allowed himself to be carried away by his fantasies while she had invited him into her bed out of pure friendship.
But her saying, ‘Or maybe, just once, we could have …’ had naturally set him off. In all these years, it had never occurred to him that she might have the same feelings or desires for him that he’d had for her.
But that ship has sailed …
Peter lay awake, listening to Judith’s breathing. In his head, images from his fantasy fought for attention with images of his tussle with Tony earlier that day.
Eventually, the image of himself and Judith proved to be the most powerful, and he fell asleep too.
When he woke up again, it was already light. The other side of the bed was empty. He saw Judith’s crumpled nightshirt lying on the floor.
The sound of percolating coffee drifted down the hall from the kitchen.
Peter leaned over to check the time on the clock radio: 7 a.m. Either he had slept through the alarm, or Judith had cancelled it before it had gone off.
His taxi wasn’t due to arrive until 8.30, so there was plenty of time to get ready. His suitcase was almost packed. All that was left to do was pack yesterday’s dirty clothes, some books and his toiletries.
‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ Judith said. Despite the early hour, she looked radiant.
‘Hey,’ he said, getting out of bed and following her.
He gave her a quick hug. She returned it warmly, but she let go before he did.
‘I’m just going to pack up the rest of my things,’ he said.
‘All right. The coffee is nearly ready. And then we’ll have breakfast together one last time, okay?’
‘Okay,’ he replied. ‘Let me just get my phone. I forgot to take it with me yesterday.’
‘I forgot to take mine with me yesterday too,’ Judith said. ‘When I got back from the library, I just grabbed something to eat and went straight back out to the meeting.’
Peter unplugged his phone from the charger.
His screen was filled with notifications. There were texts from various people, including Fay of course, whose tone had grown increasingly impatient the longer she had waited for an answer.
And there was a message from Inspector Rijsbergen:
Willem Rijsbergen
Many thanks for your message about the murders in Jerusalem. We eventually made the connection ourselves too. We had initially confined our investigation to Leiden, but we’re now looking into the Jerusalem case. We will also be closely monitoring developments regarding the two missing men in Boston.
16:56
The message had been sent at around five o’clock in the afternoon.
It would have been around eleven in the morning here … Tony and I were still at Plimoth Plantation.
Peter looked at the clock. 7.16 a.m. in Boston, which would make it 1.16 p.m. in the Netherlands.
He sent a reply.
That’s good to know. I hope that it proves to be a useful lead. My flight leaves at 11 am. Once I’m back in Leiden, I’ll come to the station as soon as I can to find out more.
Kind regards, Peter de Haan
7:16
I’ll tell him the whole story when I get home, Peter thought.
‘Do you want to pack first?’ Judith asked. ‘Or have breakfast first?’
‘I just want to send Tony a quick message,’ Peter blurted out, almost without thinking. ‘To thank him for yesterday. He left so suddenly.’
That’s not a bad idea, actually …
Peter opened the email from Tony that had his bus ticket attached to it and pressed ‘reply’.
‘Dear Tony …’ he typed.
What do you say to a dead man?
Dear Tony,
I just wanted to thank you for such an interesting and educational day in Plimoth Plantation and Plymouth yesterday. It was a shame we had to say goodbye to each other so suddenly, but I hope you were able to successfully take care of the business you said you had to attend to. The bus journey back to Boston went smoothly. Thanks for the ticket!
When do you plan to come back to Leiden? It would be great to see you again. Fay and I would love to have you over for dinner.
Best wishes,
Peter de Haan
‘Actually,’ Peter said, ‘I think I’ll pack first. It won’t take long.’
It took less than ten minutes. His suitcase was heavier than it had been when he had arrived. He was leaving behind the gifts he had brought with him for Judith, but he had bought quite a few books during his visit.
He put The Bible Unearthed in his backpack.
They drank coffee in the kitchen together, their now-familiar ritual.
‘Glad you came?’
‘Yes, very. It’s been so good to be able to spend so much time with you. I’ve really enjoyed it. It’s deepened our friendship, I think.’
‘Yes, that’s true. It’s been lovely having you here.’
She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Right then,’ she said, ‘I have to be at the library for eight. I’ve got an appointment with that professor from Chicago I was telling you about.’
‘Oh, yes,’ lied Peter, who had completely forgotten about it. He felt a sudden pang of jealousy. ‘You did tell me. It’s great that you’re meeting so many interesting people out here.’
‘You can manage on your own, can’t you? You know where the taxi stand is. Your taxi should be there at half eight.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
Judith disappeared into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Peter cleared the breakfast table and put everything neatly back where it belonged.
When she had put on her coat, Judith came in and wrapped her arms around him. She gave him three kisses, alternating cheeks in a way that suddenly felt very formal to Peter, like she was no more than a colleague or an acquaintance.
‘I’m really glad I came, Judith.’
She turned around, picked up her bag from the table in the hallway and gave him a final wave.
‘Have a safe trip home!’
‘I will!’
But Peter was not entirely convinced that he would.
I’ll be so glad if I can just make it onto that plane, he thought.
Peter pulled his jacket on. With Judith already gone, there was no reason to stay. With a bit of luck, the taxi would be there already, and he could leave sooner.
He sent a text to Fay.
Hey, darling, just said goodbye to Judith. About to get a taxi to the airport. And then I’ll be on my way home, flying 1,000 kilometres an hour right back to you. ♥ ♥ ♥
8:02
Fay and Mark have placed so much trust in us. Neither of them made the tiniest bit of fuss about me staying with Judith for so long. And neither of us have broken tha
t trust. How could we have done?
Peter left Judith’s house keys on the kitchen table. He took one more look around the apartment he’d called home for the last few weeks.
Then he went outside and closed the outer door behind him for the final time.
As he walked across the campus to the taxi stand, the words from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel of Matthew came into his head:
Everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away …
The taxi was indeed already waiting for him. The driver put Peter’s bags in the boot while Peter got into the back of the car.
The driver pulled away without another word. The airport was less than twenty minutes away in good traffic, so he would be well on time.
‘Flight to Europe, sir?’ the man said a few minutes later.
‘Yes, to the Netherlands,’ Peter said.
‘That’s Terminal A,’ the man said.
To pass the time, Peter took The Bible Unearthed out of his bag. He turned to the bibliography to see which books the authors had consulted. It was only then that he realised that there were appendices at the back of the book with biblical maps of Egypt, Sinai, Palestine and Israel.
The map of Sinai showed the route that the Israelites had taken on their journey out of Egypt – based on what was written about it in the Book of Exodus. They had gone in the direction of Mount Sinai, also known as Mount Horeb, in South Sinai, where Saint Catherine’s Monastery had stood since the beginning of the fourth century.
Peter looked at the map, poring over it like an art historian scrutinising a canvas.
Is that what I think it is?
A feeling of excitement flooded through his body, not so very different from the excitement he had felt the night before.
Yes, that is what I think it is.
The puzzle pieces in his head were no longer whirling but starting to float down and slot into place.
Peter closed his eyes.
The driver looked at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Tired, sir?’
‘No,’ Peter said. He opened his eyes. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’ He tried to speak calmly, but he was finding it difficult to hide his excitement.
I know what it is.
‘Excuse me, sir?’
‘I’m going to take a different flight. Take me to the terminal that the flights to North Africa leave from. I’m going to Egypt.’
If the man was surprised, he managed not to let it show. ‘As you wish, sir.’
Peter rested his mobile phone on his lap and stared out at the landscape that flew past his window.
Of course …
He almost felt stupid for not having realised it earlier.
It was hidden in plain sight.
The driver dropped him off outside the terminal.
Inside, Peter followed the signs to the EgyptAir desk.
‘Good morning,’ he said to the woman behind the counter.
‘Good morning to you too, sir,’ she replied. She was a stunningly attractive woman with tawny skin and striking brown eyes. Her mascara made them look even bigger than they already were.
‘How can I help you?’
‘When is the next flight to Sharm el-Sheikh?’
‘Well now, let’s take a look,’ said the woman, whose name was Faarouz according to the badge on her lapel. A moment later, she had found the answer to his question. ‘There’s a flight leaving in two hours, sir,’ she said. ‘You’ll have two transfers: one in New York, and another in Cairo. That’s quite a long journey. Altogether, it’s going to take you twenty-four hours. The flights themselves are just over sixteen hours.’
Her perfectly manicured nails flew over the keyboard. She clicked the mouse a few times, then said, ‘There are some seats left. You still need to go through passport and security, so you’ll need to hurry. But it’s not very busy today. May I see your passport?’
Peter gave her his passport and took out his credit card.
She entered his details, holding his passport with the long slim fingers of her left hand and typing with her right hand.
A deep furrow appeared on her brow.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘I just need to check something,’ Faarouz said.
Peter felt like an invisible hand was gripping his throat.
Keep breathing, keep breathing … he thought, and he tried to smile as casually as he could. Look like you completely understand, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Just a routine check … This gentleman has nothing to hide.
She picked up the telephone and pressed two or three buttons before saying simply: ‘Could you come here, please?’
That does not sound good.
Peter fought the urge to grab the passport out of her hand and walk away.
His hands trembled. He clasped them together so that it would be less noticeable.
‘Come with us please, sir,’ a stern voice behind him said.
He felt like a second invisible hand was wrapping its fingers around his neck. He slowly turned around and found himself staring at the impassive faces of two State Police troopers. Their right hands rested on the holsters of their guns.
He gulped, but then quickly regained his composure. ‘Of course. No problem. What’s the matter?’
‘Come with us please, sir,’ the man said again.
Faarouz handed Peter his passport. She avoided looking at him, but she made eye contact with the troopers. Peter could see the enormous relief and gratitude in her eyes.
‘Standard procedure, sir.’
Peter walked between then, pulling his wheeled suitcase behind him.
They took him to a small room with large windows. The blinds were closed.
Peter sat down. He put his backpack on his lap and rested his hands on top of it, still firmly gripping his passport. ‘What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?’ he asked. Take the initiative, he thought. Don’t take the offensive, but don’t be defensive either.
The officers were young, perhaps in their mid-twenties, Peter estimated.
One of them had taken up position next to the door while the other sat at a table with a computer on it.
‘Your passport, please.’
‘Could you please first tell me …’
This must be about Tony. What else could it possibly be?
‘If you give me your passport, I can explain it to you,’ the officer said. He didn’t even sound weary or irritated. ‘I don’t know what the problem is either, sir. We’re going to find out …’
Peter handed over his passport, and the man typed in his name and passport number before swiping it through a machine.
A second later, Peter’s passport photo appeared on the screen.
‘You’re on a watchlist, sir.’
‘A watchlist? But …’
The trooper held up his hand to signal to Peter that he should stop talking.
Another image appeared on the screen. It looked like a document made up of various sections, with each box containing a few lines of text.
The trooper took the time to read it carefully.
‘Okay,’ he said, finally. He looked at the screen expressionlessly.
Here it comes.
An extraordinary feeling of calm came over Peter as if a protective cloak of impunity had been draped around him.
‘Do you know a Tony Vanderhoop?’
‘Yes, I know him,’ Peter said.
Keep looking at him. Don’t do what liars do and get caught up in the details. Don’t widen your eyes. Sit still. Don’t lean back in the chair …
‘I went to Plimoth Plantation with him yesterday. Why?’
‘What is your relationship to him?’
Peter told him that they had met in Leiden, and when he’d come to visit his friend at Harvard for three weeks, he had contacted Mr Vanderhoop. They had visited Plimoth Plantation together and then taken the b
us to Plymouth to see Plymouth Rock and the Plymouth Hall Museum. And that was where they had said goodbye to each other because Tony had said he had some business to take care of. Tony had arranged for an Uber to take Peter to the bus terminus, and he’d caught a bus back to Boston from there.
The trooper nodded.
Peter’s story seemed to match the one he had been expecting.
‘Did Mr Vanderhoop say what that business was?’
Stick to the story, stick to the story …
‘No, he didn’t tell me.’
Now smile …
‘I don’t think he’d been expecting it,’ Peter said. ‘We’d originally planned to travel back together. But may I ask what this is about? And why my name came up?’
‘Well,’ the officer said, flicking up his eyes to look at his colleague as if he was asking for permission to reveal this information.
‘The police, particularly the police in Leiden, are very keen to speak to him. Let’s just leave it at that. I’m sure you’ll understand that I can’t go into the details.’
The Pilgrim Conspiracy Page 38
