The Isaac Question: Templars and the Secret of the Old Testament (Templars in America Series Book 5)

by David S. Brody

  “Amon,” she said, smiling, her eyes closed. “I didn’t fly all this way for the food. Now please shut up and make love to me.”

  A half hour later she rolled off him, kissed him on the nose, threw on his tee-shirt, and strolled to the bathroom. From behind the door she shouted out to him. “Did you hear back from your father?”

  He checked his phone. “Not since the camel response.” It was unlike his father to be so … cryptic. He was nothing if not direct and literal, though he did love his Egyptian proverbs. Amon had replied, asking the name of the barking dog that did not disturb the man on the camel.

  “Do you think maybe he doesn’t remember?”

  “No. He remembers everything.”

  Rachel returned, Amon’s eyes involuntarily drifting toward her naked thighs. She sat next to him on the bed and ran her hand through his hair. “Maybe he’s embarrassed by the name.”

  Amon shrugged, Rachel’s warm breath on his neck sweeping away any interest he had in the dog. “My father does not get embarrassed.”

  She reached between his legs. “I bet he’d be embarrassed if he saw what I’m about to do to you next.”

  Tamara had gathered her things and was walking across the abandoned, late-afternoon Brandeis campus to her car when her cell rang. The campus looked beautiful this time of year, full of colors and birds and deep green lawns. But without the students it didn’t feel right. There was something about having a few thousand curious intellects around that kept her young.

  She took a moment to appreciate her surroundings before answering the call. “Yes.”

  “We have a situation up at Salisbury Beach.”

  They had decided not to abduct Thorne’s fiancée and daughter for the time being, choosing instead to watch them. “Tell me.”

  “For some reason they bolted. They’re driving up to Maine. Looks like they left in a hurry.”

  “Are you with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any idea why they left?”

  “A theory, nothing more.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Looks like someone else is following them. Maybe Thorne spotted them and decided to make a run for it.”

  “Any idea who it is?”

  “No. But I can give you a plate number. Maybe you can track it down.”

  Tamara sighed. So much for getting home for dinner. She reversed course. “Give it to me. I’ll call you when I have something.”

  Cam drove north into New Hampshire and exited the highway when they reached Portsmouth, turning west on Route 16 into the setting sun.

  “Where are you going?” Amanda asked.

  She had refused to tell him what was going on, and was definitely giving off an angry vibe. He let it go for now—the important thing was to find safety. “This will take us up to the Lakes Region. We used to vacation up there when I was a kid. I know the back roads; if anyone is following us, I can lose them.”

  She turned to study his face. “One could argue that on back roads the danger is greater.”

  He nodded. “One could argue that. But I think the first thing we need to do is figure out if anyone is following us, and if they are, lose them. I don’t know how else to do that.”

  She tapped at her phone for a few seconds. “I do. Get back on the highway, going north.”

  “To where?”

  “Portland,” came the one-word answer.

  Cam had no idea what he had done to deserve the attitude. That is, other than putting their family in danger with his research.

  Amanda turned and faced Astarte in the back seat. “I have a job for you, okay?” The sedan had a split backseat, allowing part of it to fold down and create an opening to the trunk for things like skis to be transported. Per Amanda’s instructions, Astarte folded down part of the seat. “Now I want you to reach back and start to pull things out of the trunk.”

  Over the next half hour Astarte grabbed the items from the trunk that they had thrown there in their rush to leave Salisbury Beach. Amanda either took them from the girl and stashed them at her feet, or instructed Astarte to throw them on the floor of the back seat. When they had finished, Amanda stuffed the front seat items in an overnight bag she had emptied. “Now give me the suitcases, one at a time.” From them Amanda pulled passports, a few toiletries, Cam’s diabetes medication, a few milk bones for Venus, phone chargers, and one change of clothes for each of them and stuffed the items into the overnight bag. “Okay, this is the stuff we need. Everything else we can live without.”

  Cam still had no idea what was going on. Amanda rarely got in a bossy mood, but he knew enough to give her space when she did.

  Ten minutes later she pointed at a highway sign on the Maine Turnpike. “That’s your exit. Follow the signs to the ferry.”

  Cam turned. “Ferry?”

  “Trust me, Cameron.”

  Amanda checked her watch. “Ferry for Nova Scotia leaves at eight o’clock. Final boarding is in five minutes.”

  “Should I rush?”

  “No. It’s off-season. They’ll not turn us away.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  She answered his question with a question. “Let’s suppose you were assigned to follow us. We pull into a ferry station, buy a ticket, and drive our car onto the ferry. Do you follow, or do you just call it in and expect someone to meet the ferry at the destination point?”

  Cam thought about it. “Probably both. My job is to follow you, so I’d buy a ticket and get on the ferry. But I’d also call ahead so someone was waiting at the far side in case I get stuck on the ferry or something.”

  “Good. I see it the same way.”

  Cam pulled into the ferry lot. “Be right back,” Amanda said, carrying the overnight bag with her. “You might want to walk Venus while I’m gone.”

  She returned five minutes later without her bag. Cam spent the time trying to identify any possible tails, but had no luck. Other than someone traveling with young children, anyone could be the tail. “Okay,” she said, “drive onto the ferry.”

  Cam did so, pulling the Camry onto the boat and parking it among the other vehicles. A half dozen cars remained lined up behind them—one of them could be the tail.

  “Okay,” Amanda declared. “Everyone grab a sweatshirt. Cam, you and I should carry our laptops. Astarte, you have Venus. The luggage stays here. Make sure you have your phones.”

  It must have been high tide, because the pedestrian gangway rose at a steep angle up to the ship’s main portal on the second deck. Once they had boarded, Amanda led them on a lap around the ship. “Stay close to me,” she said, lingering near the pedestrian gangway at the stern. “When you see the crew begin to pull the gangway in, we run for it, okay?”

  Cam smiled. It was a good plan. “I’ll go last.”

  Ten minutes later the ship’s horn sounded and a pair of crewmembers moved into place to wheel the metal pedestrian walkway away from the ferry. Amanda bolted. “Now.”

  Cam held back as Amanda, Astarte, and Venus scurried down the angled gangway and past the startled dock workers, their shoes echoing off the metal surface. Just as Cam moved to join them, a tall man in a long leather jacket slipped through a portal only a few feet away, near the entrance to the gangway. He moved to block Cam’s path, his eyes narrow and his jaw tense. “Don’t make a scene,” he commanded, reaching for Cam’s arm.

  Cam exhaled. If there was one guy, there was likely to be another, probably on his way. The odds would never be better than now.

  Cam ripped his arm free, spun, and sprinted away from the gangway. He assumed the man, tasked with following him, would do just that and run after him. If nothing else, it would give Amanda and Astarte time to escape. And if Cam’s plan worked, he might still be able to join them.

  Racing along the side of the ship, Cam charged up a set of stairs to the third deck. Cutting left, he entered a large lounge area that looked out the back of the ship through a wall of windows. He crossed to the far side of the boat and
leapt into a stairwell opposite the one he had just ascended—he had essentially run up, across and now was headed back down, making a full circuit. Behind him a heavy set of feet pounded after him, like a rhythmic war drum. Halfway down Cam jumped, landing on the second deck and racing back toward the wheeled gangway.

  He approached the portal. The crew had begun to roll the gangway away from the stern. Not hesitating, Cam leapt, past a startled crewmember assigned to monitor the area, his hands reaching for the retreating metal platform. Halfway into his jump, with the concrete pier twenty feet below him, he realized he would not make it. The gangway was too far and his leap too short. Shit. For some reason he remembered himself as a four-year-old, jumping off the front porch in his Superman cape. He had crashed to the ground then, and he would do the same now. He braced for impact,

  “Cam!” Amanda shouted. Somehow anticipating his jump, she had raced back and shouldered the gangway back toward him. It was just enough. Stretching and contorting his body, he managed to claw at the metal structure, his hip barely finding the edge of the platform atop the ramp. Rolling, he banged against a metal rail post and skidded down the incline a few feet before he finally came to a rest.

  He looked up to see his pursuer readying himself for a similar leap.

  “Pull it away!” he yelled to Amanda.

  She had already begun yanking the gangway away from the ferry, the sloped pier and the momentum created by Cam’s landing assisting her. Cam met his pursuer’s eyes. “You’ll never make it.”

  The man nodded, stepping back from the edge. “No.” His dark eyes held Cam’s. “But what makes you so sure we’re the bad guys?”

  Cam jogged down the gangway, his hip throbbing, wondering at the man’s words. Had he made a wrong move? A few crewmembers stared at him, curious at the sudden disembarkation. One asked if he was okay, but none moved to follow in the few seconds it took him to reach Amanda and Astarte.

  Amanda didn’t give him time to think further. She turned. “Come on. They’re probably calling in backups right now.”

  Jogging ahead, she reentered the ticket office and grabbed their overnight bag from a locker. “I already called a cab,” she said. “It’s waiting out front.” Without a smile, she led them away. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  Amanda sat in the back of the taxi, her head turned, staring at the departing ferry. The ferry steamed slowly into the twilight, their pursuers hopefully with it.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked.

  She had dropped nearly four hundred bucks on the ferry ticket, not to mention the loss of their car and most of their supplies. They would need to be careful with their money. “The bus terminal, please.”

  Cam leaned in. “Where are we going?”

  “Assuming we’re still being followed,” she whispered, “at some point they’ll question the cabbie. So we need to throw them off our path. Once we get to the bus terminal, we’ll need another feint.” Amanda pulled up the bus schedule on her phone. “There’s one more bus leaving tonight at 9:15, for Augusta. I’ll buy tickets for us. But we’re not getting on.”

  “So what are we doing?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” But she could help the cabbie deceive their followers. She raised her voice. “By chance do you know of any interesting things to do in Augusta? We plan to spend a few days there.”

  “No, sorry,” he replied.

  The taxi dropped them off a few minutes later at the Portland Transportation Center. “Any late trains?” Cam asked.

  “No. Last thing out tonight is that bus to Augusta.”

  Cam pointed his chin at a plane landing at the airport across the river. “Maybe a flight?”

  “Too much paperwork. I’m afraid whoever is following us will pick up our trail.”

  Astarte tugged at Amanda’s arm. “Why don’t we camp out? It’s warm enough.”

  Amanda weighed the idea. “You know, I saw a Wal-Mart up the road.” She tapped at her phone. “And there’s a campground not far away. We could catch another cab from the Wal-Mart. We still have money on our gift cards—let’s buy a tent and some sleeping bags.”

  “And some s’mores,” Astarte said.

  Rachel woke up in a dark room, her head on Amon’s chest. She had no idea what time Monday night it was, but her throat was dry and scratchy. Careful not to wake him, she grabbed her phone and tiptoed out of room. The display told her it was only nine o’clock and that her Mossad contact, who called herself Leah, had phoned.

  After chugging orange juice from the carton, she retuned Leah’s call.

  “Hello, Rachel. I was wondering about the dog’s name.”

  “You know, it’s weird. Amon can’t reach his father. His father did send an email, but it was … unresponsive.”

  “Okay, please keep trying.”

  “Hold on one second.” Amon had shuffled into the kitchen, his hair askew. “Amon, did you hear back from your father?” Rachel asked, muting the phone.

  “Yes, actually, another email. But I find it quite odd. He said I should name it anything I wanted, since it does not matter anyway because the dog is dead.”

  “Why is that odd?”

  “Because he wrote it twice. First, he wrote it as I just said. Then he wrote it again, this time in capital letters: THE DOG IS DEAD.”

  Four hours after Tamara had thought she was leaving her Brandeis office for the evening, she placed a call to the field agent. “Are you still with them?”

  “Yes. At a campground in Maine. They pulled a neat trick on a ferry and nearly lost us. And I think they did lose their other tail.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. We traced that license plate. It took some digging, but the car belongs to Randall Sid. He’s the Freemason who died ten days ago, the one we think may have been murdered. He was helping Thorne with his research. And the Masons are also trying to broker a deal with ISIS. Anyway, this Randall Sid owned a driving school, and the plate is registered in the school’s name.”

  “So the Freemasons are tracking Thorne also?”

  It made sense; he was an obvious conduit to Zuberi Youssef. “Looks that way,” Tamara replied.

  “How did they find him? We followed him from Brandeis that day, but nobody was with us.”

  “We think through the dog.”

  “The dog?”

  “Turns out another of the high-ranking Masons up in Boston is a vet.” She paused. “Thorne’s vet.” Once they had traced the car back to Sid, Tamara started looking for other Masons with connections to Cam and Amanda. “We’re guessing he planted some kind of GPS device on the dog that allows for tracking.

  Probably tucked it inside the dog’s collar.” Tamara didn’t doubt the technology; the Mossad possessed GPS devices the size of her fingernail.

  “Well,” the agent said, “in that case the Masons can easily pick up the trail again.”

  “Exactly. So keep your head on a swivel.”

  “I might be able to do better than that. I can try to jam the signal.”

  It was still preseason so Cam was able to secure a campsite even at the late hour Monday night. They pitched their tent and toasted some marshmallows, but Astarte and even Venus seemed to sense Amanda’s irritability. Astarte yawned. Cam felt tired also, but he knew a late night lay in front of him.

  Twenty minutes later, as Astarte snored softly in her sleeping bag, Amanda motioned for Cam to join her by the fire, Venus by her side. “You must be wondering what’s going on,” she said in a low voice.

  “You think?” he smiled.

  She remained serious. “I saw the woman with the red hair on the beach this morning.”

  Cam sighed. So that explained it. “The one from the pictures?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “I spent two weeks staring at her face. And when I saw her, she panicked. It was her. She admitted as much when I shoved her head into the sand.”

  He turned. “You did what?”

  “You
heard me. But before I could question her a couple of guys came running over.”

  “And you think she was there … what, to see me?” He smiled wryly. That explained Amanda’s anger. “What an asshole I must be. Not only do I have an affair, but I bring her on vacation with us.”

  Amanda resisted the bait. “I thought that might be a possibility. But based on the guy at the ferry it seems apparent that she’s part of a team following us.”

  “Okay. Makes sense.”

  “So let’s talk that out for a second.” She obviously had been thinking about it. “If the pictures were doctored, then why?”

  They’d gone over this a dozen times. “Maybe to influence my research in some way.”

  “And in what way would that be?”

  Cam shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “So why go through all that trouble then?”

  “Well, Randall Sid is dead. Maybe he was the one behind it. Or maybe even Bartol. Maybe they never had the chance to try to influence the research before they died.”

  Amanda nodded. “That’s logical. But if Randall or Bartol are to blame, why is someone still following us?”

  Cam had no response to that. He stared at the fire for a few seconds. “I don’t know, Amanda. Honestly I don’t.” He took a deep breath. Obviously the sight of the red-haired woman had re-stoked Amanda’s suspicions. And anger. “This month has been a nightmare. And most of what is happening I don’t understand. But like we keep saying, once the book is done, all the dust should settle.” If he thought abandoning the manuscript would keep them safe, he’d happily do it. But it was just as likely that their enemies—people like Zuberi—wanted him to finish. This had all started, after all, with someone leading him to the stone chamber on the Groton property. He stood. “I’m close to finishing. I’m just going to keep writing until it’s done. It may not be very good, but we need to put this behind us.” He squatted down in front of her, his eyes even with hers. “Can you just give me one or two more days?”

  She studied his face, looking for answers he couldn’t provide. After a few seconds she sighed. “Okay then. But this is really hard for me, Cam. Images of that … woman … with you … keep popping into my head. One or two more days. But I can’t promise more than that.”