by H. B. Moore
Mia’s jaw tightened, but Omar saw that she was thinking. “The ring was sent to me from the patriarch,” she said.
“What patriarch?”
“The Coptic pope—the one Rabbel tried to assassinate. The patriarch’s also the one who sent those people we met by Shisur—the Frenchman and American woman.”
Omar’s mind reeled. “I thought you were sent here by Levy, like me.”
“Levy’s working with the patriarch. This was the most direct way of proving that al-Qadi is guilty of embezzling stolen artifacts.”
“So you bring him a fake and talk him into buying it.”
“I’ve spent months trying to infiltrate AWP. Because of that, al-Qadi believes that I’m a trusted source, so I can talk him into placing an order for whatever comes out of the tomb.”
Omar shook his head. “So the stuff about the tomb in Shisur was also fake?”
Mia smiled. “That just happened to be a nice coincidence. The American woman we met fell into a tomb while we were in San’ā. It hasn’t hit the media yet, but al-Qadi knew about it—which just proves his connection to AWP.”
“Buying a few artifacts off the black market will only get his hand slapped,” Omar said.
“You’re right, but someone paid for the assassination attempt,” Mia said just above the hum of the engine. “And someone set off the bomb in Jerusalem.”
“You think it was al-Qadi?”
“Yes. And I think he used Yemeni government money. He came to Oman to set up a secret alliance with AWP—away from his government colleagues. Keeping the information found in the tomb a secret is AWP’s priority. The two men in the world who could interpret the map without so much effort are the best of friends. One is dead, the other in lockdown.”
“Dr. Lyon?”
“How did you know?” she asked.
“I have some things I need to tell you too. But first, explain to me how Levy knew where to find the ring, and why is he keeping it a secret?”
“He didn’t share that information.” Mia stared ahead, a strange look in her eyes.
“So you couldn’t have asked him?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Enlighten me.”
She met his gaze. “Levy takes his name very seriously. He thinks he’s descended from the David, father to King Solomon. It’s given the man quite an ego, I’d say.” She maneuvered along the main street. “He’d protect the Bible with his life.”
“A lot of people would, so why wouldn’t he want the ring shown to the world?”
“It’s all part of the plan. He’s using the ring as bait. Let’s just say he wants me to find the highest bidder,” she said.
Omar thumped the dashboard. “Ah, I knew he was crooked.”
“Not for himself. He’ll dangle it in front of a few notables and see who takes the first leap.”
“It sounds like a great way to build a retirement fund.”
“Omar . . .”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s unbelievable. You have evidence of the queen of Sheba’s very existence in Jerusalem, evidence that King David and King Solomon reigned . . . but you’re putting your trust in Levy, risking your life, and pretending to find a buyer?”
“This artifact might draw out the illicit collectors, but it’s not going to prove that David or Solomon were true kings.” She paused. “How much do you know about what was found in the Jerusalem tomb?”
Now it was Omar’s turn to come clean. “I was in the tomb.”
Her eyes widened.
“On my last assignment, I was on a digging crew, and we broke into the tomb.”
“So you know about the lineage of kings outlined on the walls.”
Nodding, Omar said, “I don’t have an answer for who Tambariah or the others were yet.” He pulled the PDF papers from his bag. “What I want to know is, who is Dr. Lyon, and how is he connected?”
“As I said, he and the patriarch were . . . close friends,” she said. “They were old colleagues and brilliant scholars, each in their own right. In the archaeological world, they were known as the experts on the queen of Sheba. So when the attempted assassination of the patriarch happened, Dr. Lyon demanded that the tomb be sealed off from the public. Rumors flew that he had some pretty potent information about the queen’s tomb. Putting the information together—”
“It’s quite plain why Dr. Lyon was murdered,” Omar finished, leafing through the pages and ignoring Mia’s incredulous stare. “I did a little research on my own.” He knew he was taking a risk by telling her this, but she had to understand the ramifications of the game that was being played. He told her about the study written by Lyon that he found in the museum. Then he removed the sketch of the seven palms, the one with the seven labeled names, and handed it over to her.
She took it, and at the next traffic light, she looked at the names. “What do they say?”
“Translated from Aramaic, these names appear to be those with whom the queen was closely associated.” Omar pointed to the center of the sketch, where the symbol of the snake intertwined with the flower. “This flower-and-snake symbol is somehow associated with all these palm trees.”
“A genealogical chart?” Mia asked.
“Possibly, or there might be other meanings. Just like in the Song of Solomon, there are multilayered meanings in one symbol, or in this case, in a sketch.”
“Like a story or clues to a treasure?”
“I think that’s closer to what it really is.”
Mia didn’t look too surprised.
“What if it’s a map, and the queen is in the center of the garden?” Omar said.
“You think Shisur is this garden?”
“Shisur is the center of the fabled Ubar,” Omar said. “So, I’m very interested to know more about this tomb in Shisur. Did Levy fill you in yet?”
“No. The patriarch told me.”
“You have a Coptic pope calling you?”
Mia smiled. “Sounds strange when you put it that way.”
“What do you know about the Shisur tomb?”
“Practically nothing—just that the American woman stumbled into it and excavation has already started.”
Omar turned over the ring, looking at the symbol. “What does it mean?”
“The flower is a canna lily—an elegant flower with exotic-colored blossoms. The petals are known for their reflection,” she said. “And you can probably guess what the snake is.”
“Satan in the garden?”
“No.” Mia smirked. “Anciently, snake goddesses were believed to have psychic powers, like a female oracle. The female oracle is also fearless and can handle snakes with confidence. Some legends that surround the queen of Sheba say she had snake blood in her, making her a seer. A snake goddess is the symbol of female justice and equality, and through the ceremony of controlling a snake, the social power of women is recognized.”
“All the things that the queen represented,” Omar mused.
“Exactly.” Mia turned onto the main road that led to the hospital. “With the rise of male-dominated religions around the world, women lost their social and economic power. In this century, they’re finally starting to gain it back.”
“Do you think the queen charmed snakes as well as you do?”
Mia shrugged, pursing her lips.
“Is that why you tattooed the symbol on your ankle?”
She shook her head. Omar lightly touched her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
A faint smile reached her face as she pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Let’s leave it at that.”
“Let’s not.”
She turned off the truck and let her hands fall to her lap.
Omar leaned close to her, breathing in her fragrance.
He trailed his fingers up her neck then to the back of her head. She stiffened, and he pulled away. “What?”
“I just . . . I don’t want you to think that I enjoyed how I acted around al-Qadi.” She looked at him, her eyes imploring.
“I understand. Part of the job.”
She grabbed his hand. “No, really. Listen to me.”
Omar straightened. “I’m all about listening. Shoot.”
“Being a woman in this line of work basically sucks. Half the time, I’m not taken seriously; the other half, I’m just plain used.” She released his hand and folded her arms. “If having a tattoo that reminds me of who I really am helps me, then it’s nobody’s business. You know, sometimes a woman just wants a friend she can trust. She doesn’t want to worry about the whole relationship thing. Will he hold my hand? Will he kiss me? Will he call me? Will he leave me?”
He watched her, his stomach in knots.
She rubbed her arms, staring out the window.
“Am I your friend?”
She didn’t respond for a long moment, then said, “I hope so.”
Omar put his arm around her, and she laid her head against his shoulder. “No matter what, I’m your friend.” He pretended to check his watch. “It’s been at least ten minutes since we’ve argued. I call that a good start.”
Mia laughed, and Omar’s heart thumped at the sound. He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s see if we can double it.” Reluctantly, he let her go, telling himself to take it slow. This was too precious to mess up now. He eyed the hospital. “Better get in there.”
“I’ll wait.”
CHAPTER
40
Salalah, Oman
Omar climbed out of the truck and strode to the hospital doors. He wanted to hurry back before Mia changed her mind about him. He’d check on Alem; then he and Mia could leave for Shisur. He entered the hospital just as a message came onto his phone. The string of instructions from Levy told Omar that the man wasn’t going to make his arrival easy.
“Omar!” someone said.
He whirled around, expecting to see a stern-faced doctor. It was Alem—stitches, gauze strips, and all. “What are you doing down here?” Omar asked.
Next to Alem stood a tall young woman, her sandy hair pulled into a loose bun, wisps of blonde framing her pretty face—the American.
Hadn’t Mia just told him this woman found a tomb in Shisur? So why was she in Salalah?
She took a step forward and offered a hand. “Jade Holmes.”
“Yes . . . uh . . . Shouldn’t you still be in bed?” He looked from one to the other.
“We need a ride to Shisur.” Alem’s face twisted into a smile, contorting the ugly welts on his cheeks. If Alem had said the moon, Omar couldn’t have been more surprised. Was the American woman a mad shrink, trying to get Alem to face his demons?
Omar eyed Jade. “And why are you here?”
“I became dehydrated at Shisur and was brought here. I met Alem in the process,” Jade said.
“Look, the police haven’t caught the men who did this to you,” Omar said to Alem. “I think you should leave the country until the men are safely put away. I’ll be happy to take you to the airport if the hospital has released you.”
The look in Alem’s eyes told Omar that this argument wasn’t going to be easy. But how could Omar tell these people that his orders came from Israeli intelligence or that Alem was part of an international crime?
Alem shook his head. “It’s very important that we leave for Shisur as soon as possible.”
This must have something to do with the tomb. He thought about Mia in the truck. She’d be furious. Two extra people meant more danger for everyone when Rabbel’s crew showed up at the site. But if Jade and the Frenchman had been commissioned by the patriarch to excavate Shisur, she had just as much right as anyone to be there.
It was Alem who was the problem.
Omar looked from one to the other, debating. He doubted Alem would stay behind, and it would directly defy Levy’s orders. “All right.”
Jade stepped forward and embraced Omar. “Thank you so much.”
“I was just about to trade in my truck for a more comfortable SUV,” he said.
Jade smiled, her eyes bright with excitement. “Thank you for this.”
He’d never known a woman who was excited about traveling into a decimated land of nothing. Except for Mia, maybe, but she was a nut. “Do you need to check out?”
“Already done.” Alem took Jade’s arm and started toward the doors.
“Here we go,” Omar muttered to himself, following the chirpy pair outside. He saw Mia’s head snap to attention. She climbed out of the truck and walked to Alem.
“They’re coming to Shisur with us,” Omar announced. Mia threw him a pointed look, but she didn’t argue.
Jade loaded her bag into the bed of the truck.
“I’ll sit in the bed, you guys up front,” Omar said.
First stop—car rental agency in town. As Mia pulled next to the rental lot, Omar saw that the pickings were slim. There was one Toyota Land Cruiser and a couple of smaller trucks like the one they already had, and the rest were sedans.
Omar hopped out of the bed. He had to work some magic. He removed a fresh ID and a military-style cap from his bag.
Inside, he waited in line at the rental counter, and when it was his turn, he slid his ID onto the counter. “I need the Land Cruiser for official business.”
The woman looked at his military ID, then excused herself. Moments later, she returned with a short, nervous-looking man sporting round spectacles on his nose.
“Are you my driver?” Omar asked.
The man’s face reddened. “No, I’m the manager. The Land Cruiser already has a reservation attached to it—”
Omar leaned forward, tapping his ID card. “I understand, but it’s of upmost importance. Let’s just say”—he paused, then whispered—“the Sultan will hear of your cooperation.”
The manager’s face paled as he blurted, “We’re happy to help.” He grabbed the keys from the back wall and handed them over.
“Thank you for your service. It will be well noted,” Omar said.
The man nodded, then gave an awkward bow. Omar hurried out of the office and motioned for the others to follow him to the Land Cruiser. Everyone climbed in, and just as he started the engine, the manager came flying out of his office, shouting.
“Sorry, sir, can’t hear you.” Omar punched the accelerator and sped out of the parking lot.
“Hang on,” Omar shouted over the roar of the engine.
“I thought I said not to do anything stupid,” Mia said.
“Guess I misunderstood.” Omar careened through traffic. Then he made a hard right, catapulting them through an alley.
“Don’t tell me you stole this.” Mia’s voice was furious. “That’s all we need.”
“Not exactly. The Omani military will get the bill.”
“You could have used my credit card,” Jade said.
“I didn’t have time to go through the formalities.” He grimaced as he swerved around a car trying to change lanes in front of him. “We’re probably only a few hours ahead of AWP.”
“Ancient World Piracy?” Jade said.
Omar nodded, glancing at Alem. “Rabbel is scheduled to go to Shisur.”
Alem stiffened but said, “I’m still going.”
“That’s what I thought.” Omar looked at Jade. “What else do you know about AWP?”
“Lucas said they were competition for us, and I don’t think he liked it.”
“Competition?” Omar paused as he rounded a corner at a high speed. “Sorry,” he muttered, slowing down. “ ‘Competition’ is an odd word to describe a corrupt agency that is undoubtedly bribing government officials to get away with murder and stealing
.”
“Murder?” Jade’s voice sounded very small.
“Ever heard of Dr. Richard Lyon out of—”
“He was my professor,” Jade said. “Lucas thought Lyon was murdered.”
“This Lucas character has his fingers in everyone’s dish,” Omar said.
He noticed that Mia was starting to drift to sleep. He brought the SUV to a stop and rotated to look at Jade. “Feel up to driving?”
“Sure.”
Omar and Mia traded places with Alem and Jade. “Just stay on this road,” he said. “If you have any questions, wake Mia up.”
Mia threw a glare at Omar before settling into her seat and closing her eyes. Next to Jade, Alem’s head bobbed as he drifted in and out of sleep. The wounds on his face had begun to heal, but they still had a long way to go.
Omar was exhausted but wanted to talk to Jade without the others overhearing. When he was sure Mia was asleep, he leaned over the seat and said in a quiet voice, “I hear you found a tomb.”
Jade looked surprised that he knew. “Lucas told me it was just an empty cave.”
“Interesting,” Omar said. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. I wonder if you’ve read the professor’s work.”
“Well, his textbook and syllabi, of course. I’ve seen a few of his articles too. Lucas . . .”
Another Lucas story, Omar thought.
“ . . . the study Dr. Lyon wrote is missing, and the head editor of Saudi Aramco World said he can’t find it now. Lucas thinks Dr. Lyon was killed because of the information in it.”
“I’ve seen it,” Omar said.
“Where?”
“Well, I actually have a copy of it with me.”
Jade’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as she brought the SUV to a slow stop. She turned, her eyes fiery with interest. “Can I read it?”
Alem stirred and opened his eyes as Omar dug into his bag. Mia remained asleep. Omar handed over Lyon’s drafted notes and watched Jade read it silently. When she finished, she handed it over to Alem.
