For a while after that I would make occasional attempts to project my thoughts into another person’s head. If I had sent somebody on an errand, for example, I would concentrate on thinking that they should bring back something I hadn’t requested. Afterward, I would ask if they got the message. Nobody ever did. Obviously my talents lay elsewhere, but I gave it a try. Fear and desperation can make you do that.
Closing my eyes, I gave my full thought to visualizing Jill’s face, then transmitted a silent message with all my concentration: I love you more than ever, babe . . . and I’m going to find you and get you home.
Whatever came of it, it made me feel a little closer to her at the moment. And it made me even more determined to find a way to outmaneuver the Temple Alliance. To me, they were doing the work of the devil. I had to admit that I possessed little maneuvering room, and even that could be snuffed out with the call to Moriah.
Chapter 34
When I opened my eyes, I found we were approaching the shopping and dining strip on Ben-Yehuda Street near Zion Square. After Jake located a parking spot for his Dodge, we moved along the tree-lined pedestrian promenade with its outdoor cafes, traditional shops, and eateries beneath wrought-iron balconies. Despite the threatening weather, it was filled with Jerusalemites out to see and be seen. When we had gone a couple of blocks, we came to a bearded street musician coaxing a solo from a battered cello. He stood outside a jewelry store called the House of Kamal. It was another Arab-run business. Colonel Jarvis met us just inside the door.
“Come on back to the office,” he said. He steered us toward the rear of the shop, past rows of bauble showcases.
We found the door open to a room with a large desk made of olive wood. Comfortable-looking chairs were provided and a tall man sat behind it. He stood and smiled as we entered.
“Meet my friend, Kamal,” said the colonel. “This is Greg McKenzie and Jake Cohen. We appreciate your letting us borrow your office for a few minutes.”
The Arab nodded. “Take your time, my friend.”
Jarvis had told us that Kamal was another Bedouin. These former nomads were consummate Arab hosts. Making friends feel welcome and at ease was important to them. I remembered reading in a guide book that Bedouins were not subject to the Israeli draft but many of them had volunteered to serve as scouts and trackers. Most likely a military connection had steered Jarvis into their path.
After Kamal had closed the door behind him, the colonel suggested I sit behind the desk while he and Jake took the chairs. He handed me a small device hardly larger than a pack of gum, which included an elastic band connected in the center.
“Slip the band around the receiver,” he instructed. “Press the red button, then dial your man.”
When the Temple Alliance receptionist answered, I asked for Department 24. The voice that came on a few moments later was clearly the one I had heard in my room at the Hotel Patriarch.
“I enjoy dealing with you, Colonel McKenzie,” said Moriah. “You are full of little surprises. I trust you had a restful night?”
“Better than if I had stayed at the Patriarch,” I said. “But I would rest a lot better if I could talk to my wife.”
“That will happen in good time, I’m sure. We’re discussing a simple business proposition. You have a piece of merchandise, and we are willing to pay your price. We simply need to get together and consummate the deal.”
He was choosing his words carefully. He clearly intended to say nothing that could be used to incriminate him or the Alliance. I, of course, had other ideas.
“Let’s not bandy words, Mr. Moriah,” I said. “I have the scroll and you have my wife. I want to talk to her and make sure she’s okay before I hand over the scroll.”
“I’m afraid someone has misinformed you, Colonel. My name is Moshe Levin, not Moriah. I know nothing about your wife, except what you suggest, that something untoward has happened. But, as I said, we are prepared to meet your terms. And, as I am sure you will understand, we must see the material first to ascertain its authenticity.”
This man would admit nothing. He was not about to be goaded into saying anything that I might use to spark any interest in a police investigation.
“So what do you suggest?” I asked, deflated.
“I understand your concerns, that you are probably reluctant to meet in private. I’m sure you are familiar with the Church of All Nations?”
“Yes. I visited it a couple of weeks ago.”
“Why don’t we meet there, in the rearmost row of chairs. Say in about an hour. Let’s make it twelve-thirty.”
I remembered the church well. It was a beautiful building with a Byzantine-style mosaic façade and unusual windows, fashioned not of stained glass but of alabaster, a translucent stone. The area at the rear was not well lighted. But, located adjacent the Garden of Gethsemane, at the foot of the Mount of Olives, it was nearly always filled with tourists. If Colonel Jarvis could provide some backup, I might feel reasonably safe there.
“Let’s make it one o’clock,” I said. “That way I’ll be sure to have enough time to go and retrieve the scroll.”
“As you wish. Go inside the church and take a seat. I will find you.” After a brief pause, he said, “I will be alone. You should be also.”
I hung up the phone, switched off the recorder and shook my head. “He’s nobody’s fool. He wasn’t about to say anything incriminating.”
“Where does he want to meet?” Colonel Jarvis asked.
“The Church of All Nations. In an hour and a half.”
“That’s no more than fifteen minutes drive from here,” Jake said.
“Yeah.” The colonel glanced across at the swinging pendulum of a large clock on the wall. “That would give him plenty of time to stir things up.”
“He claimed his name was Moshe Levin,” I said. “Denied any knowledge of my wife but said they were willing to meet my terms, which, of course, means a switch of her for the scroll. He wants to meet and, to use his words, ‘ascertain its authenticity.’”
“Moshe Levin is his real name,” Jarvis said, “not just something he uses at the Temple Alliance. He lived at one time on a kibbutz. Let me do some checking. Do you plan to keep that appointment at the Church of All Nations?”
I nodded.
“Surely not with the scroll?”
“No.”
Jarvis stood behind his chair. “So what do you hope to accomplish?”
I had been pondering that, and I wasn’t completely sure. “Get a close-up look at the guy who’s pulling my strings,” I said. “Feel him out. Hope to get an idea of what he might do. Maybe an inkling of where they could be holding Jill.”
“You realize they might try to snatch you off the street going in or coming out.”
That thought had occurred to me. “Could you arrange some backup? At least a couple of people close enough to step in if needed.”
His look said he was not at all happy with the way things were going. “I’ll see what I can do, but I don’t want to create any international incidents. I would hope they’d be a little circumspect in their actions as well. Let’s meet an hour from now–twelve-thirty–at the Church of St. Peter in Galicantu. I’ll be down on the terrace where the statue stands. One of the fathers there is a good friend.” Jarvis glanced around at Jake. “I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”
There was a knock at the door and Kamal stuck his head in. “There is a call for Colonel McKenzie,” he said in his precise English. “You can take it on the telephone there at my desk.”
Jarvis and I stared at each other. Who the devil knew I was here?
I picked up the phone. “This is Colonel McKenzie.”
“I just wanted to let you know we are on top of things,” said Moshe Levin. “Until one o’clock, take care.”
Chapter 35
Colonel Jarvis left for the consulate while Jake and I headed for his car. Gaily-colored umbrellas at a sidewalk café fluttered over tables as a nippy breeze chilled
the morning. Smells of grilling meats and fish were in the air. I smoked as we walked.
“How do you suppose he knew where we were?” Jake asked.
“Levin was waiting for our call,” I said. “He probably had a source at the phone company ready to trace it. Jarvis chose the phone at Kamal’s because it doesn’t send a signal for caller ID to pick up. But that wouldn’t matter if the Temple Alliance could arrange a trace.” I took a long drag on the cigarette. “The good news is, unless they were lucky enough to have someone in this vicinity, I doubt they’ve had time to get anybody here to follow us.”
I glanced around as though to get my bearings and saw no one suspicious
“Amen to that,” said Jake. “Do you want to go back to my house?”
“Right. Let’s get the scroll and put it in your trunk. Do you have something about the same size I could carry to the Church of All Nations?”
We reached our parking spot. “I have a camera case that should be big enough. You would look like any other tourist going into the church.”
We were quiet during the drive to the south side of Jerusalem, each of us lost in his own thoughts. For my part, I worried about how much further I could let Jake be drawn into this mess. He had already risked his neck much too far. My inclination was to let him deliver me to St. Peter’s on Mount Zion, then tell him to get as far away from me as possible. I’d have to depend on Colonel Warren Jarvis after that.
It was still before noon when we reached Jake’s apartment. After a careful look around, I kneeled beside the flower garden and retrieved the scroll. Before entering the apartment, I checked for the hardly noticeable bit of string I had left in the door as a telltale.
It was missing. Someone had paid a visit.
“Do you think it was the Temple Alliance?” Jake asked.
“Yup.”
We looked around inside but everything appeared normal. Whoever had searched the place was a pro. Fortunately, they had missed my garden burying ground. Jake brought out the camera case, made of gray fabric and large enough to accommodate the canister, at least on a temporary basis. Then he asked if I wanted something to eat before heading back into the city.
“I could sure use it. But it needs to be something quick. I don’t want to be late for that twelve-thirty meeting with the colonel.”
Jake rustled up a couple of sandwiches fashioned from buns and leftover chicken. I gobbled mine down like a starving shepherd. We still had plenty of time but I was anxious to get moving.
When we stepped outside, I saw dark clouds swirling overhead, blocking the sun. The blue and white Israeli flag on a pole snapped like shots in the wind. Jake opened his trunk and I burrowed the camera bag beneath some camping gear. He had told me how he spent his off time exploring out-of-the way sites with a biblical tie-in. As I closed the trunk and looked up, I caught a pair of dark eyes staring at me from the window of a black Peugeot some fifty feet away. It sent a chill down my spine.
I climbed in beside Jake. “I don’t suppose you own a gun?”
He frowned. “Heavens no.”
“See that black Peugeot? It could mean trouble. The guy in the driver’s seat watched me close the trunk. He saw what I put there.”
“Would it be the Temple Alliance again?”
I shrugged. “He wasn’t there when we dug up the scroll. But after tossing the apartment, they would know we had it somewhere else. Let’s head on out and see if he follows.”
Jake backed up, then pulled out into the street. The Peugeot trailed along behind us. There were two men in the front seat.
“What do I do now?” Jake asked.
“Do you know the streets around here? Any chance you can lose them?”
“I know Jerusalem like a cabbie,” he said.
He started up a wide street with only light traffic and quickly increased our speed. But the Peugeot stayed right behind us. Jake made a couple of squealing turns and reversed directions. I had no idea where we were, only that a lot of signs identified the streets as being named for rabbis. Suddenly I realized we were back on the street where we began, racing past his apartment. Unfortunately, it was the wrong move. Just as the street began to narrow, a large brown van swung across to block it, no more than a hundred yards ahead of us.
We had outdistanced the Peugeot, but as Jake hit his brakes to keep from colliding with the van, I saw the black car bearing down on us from the rear.
Two men had climbed out of the van and moved to either end. As Jake’s Dodge screeched to a halt, they stepped forward into the street, brandishing Uzi submachine guns. I looked behind us to find the pair from the Peugeot heading toward us with pistols drawn. One of them yelled something at his colleagues and Jake turned to me, eyes wide.
“Palestinians,” he said.
Chapter 36
Multi-family housing sat at one side of the street behind a wrought-iron fence. A couple of small shops stood on the opposite side, a car parked in front. When the van swung across behind the parked car, it had blocked our path. But there was an empty parking space to our right.
“Does this thing circle short enough to turn in front of that shop?” I asked.
“Yeah, but those guns–”
“Forget the guns, Jake. If they get that scroll, we’re dead.”
He jerked the wheel to the right and gunned it. Caught by surprise, the Arabs began shouting at each other. We barely cleared the building then roared past the Peugeot. I heard the pop-pop of pistol shots. A bullet crashed into a back fender.
Jake screamed.
Thank God they weren’t good enough to blow a tire. And by the time they gave up trying, Jake had outdistanced them. But he didn’t take much comfort in it. He drove the Dodge like a maniac, swinging wildly through side streets as I hung on. Finally he hit a main highway and streaked toward central Jerusalem.
Right at 12:30 we skidded to a stop at a parking place near the church. We walked quickly down the hill toward the entrance plaza. Trees around us rustled noisily. Jake had to tug tightly on his cap to keep the wind from blowing it away. He had been quiet the past few minutes, and I knew he was a frightened man.
Around a corner I spotted the statue depicting Simon Peter seated beside a servant girl and a Roman soldier. Jill and I had stood next to it for a picture.
I spotted Colonel Jarvis. He was talking to a chubby man with tousled hair, dressed all in blue except for a white clerical collar. As we walked up, the colonel nodded.
“Father Coughlin, these are a couple of American friends. Greg McKenzie is from Nashville and Jake Cohen is originally from New York, now from Jerusalem.”
The priest smiled and shook our hands. “You couldn’t have picked a more blustery day to be wandering about the city,” he said with a pronounced Irish accent. Then he stared at Jake. “You look familiar, Mr. Cohen.”
“I’m a tour guide,” Jake said. “I get by here quite often.”
“No doubt that explains it. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you gentlemen, but I must be getting along. Call me next week, Warren.”
He wandered off into the church and Jarvis frowned at the camera bag I had slung over my shoulder. “Is that just for show?” he asked.
“The scroll’s inside, but we’re lucky to be here with it. We were ambushed by Arabs, I guess from the Guardians of Palestine.”
“What makes you think that?” he asked. He looked gaunt from worry. “Where did it happen?”
“Outside Jake’s apartment.” I told him about the chase. “Jake talked last night with a cousin of a guy high in the Guardians’ ranks. He mentioned he was meeting somebody from his last tour group. When the word got around, I’m sure they knew it was me.”
“You’re sure they didn’t follow you here?”
“Yes.” I turned to Jake. “You did a great job. Try not to be too frightened. They don’t want you.”
“Are you sure of that?” Jake asked.
“It might be advisable for you to take a few days off,” Jarvis suggested.
I nodded. “Right. Visit some of those out-of-the way sites, use your camping gear. It might be well to call your friend back, tell him you knew nothing about what I was here for. You were just a chauffeur.”
Colonel Jarvis’ face brightened a little. “I have some interesting news for you. When I checked Moriah’s dossier, I found he had spent several years at Kibbutz Kerem, near Zichron Yaakov. His older brother is still a member there, serves as treasurer.”
“I know Kerem,” Jake said. “They operate a small winery.”
“Isn’t it on our list?” I asked.
“Yes. They’re religiously oriented. Orthodox, but not ultra. As for the brother who’s treasurer, it’s one of the three top jobs on a kibbutz.”
“That explains some things,” Jarvis said. “My Israeli contact dug around at Ben-Gurion and found someone who saw the arrival of that Astra SPX. He said they carried somebody off the plane on a stretcher. The patient was placed in a waiting ambulance, which left with a Mercedes escort. When my man inquired about any markings on the ambulance, he was told it came from Kibbutz Kerem.”
I stared at him, feeling sick. “That’s got to be where they’re holding Jill.”
“Probably.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get moving toward the Mount of Olives. Are you ready for Moriah?”
“Do you have a security detail?”
Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) Page 18
