The Prophet Conspiracy

by Bowen Greenwood

  And so she came to Israel and wound up in… something. It was obviously way beyond a crazed workplace shooter. In this part of the world, terrorism obviously suggested itself. Were they going to hold her hostage and demand the American government free some Al Qaeda captives from Guantanamo? It seemed crazy. She was nobody.

  In the distance, she could hear the city sounds of Jerusalem, mostly honking and sirens, but there was very little other sensation to occupy her mind. The cords on her wrists and ankles hurt. Beads of sweat trickled down her face under the hood. The hood kept the air around her head from circulating or being refreshed.

  No voices. No talking. Nothing nearby.

  She felt the tears starting up again and made a conscious effort not to give in to her earlier panic.

  Whatever had happened to her, she was clearly not under arrest. This was not what arrest looked like. Arrest meant a jail cell, paperwork, a mug shot, and more. Sometimes, the Israeli government came off looking pretty bad in the news but not so bad they would cover someone’s face in a hood and tie her to a chair.

  Obviously, the people who accosted her at the hotel were not really officials of the Israeli government — Shin Bet, or whatever they said.

  The only major events in her life today consisted of the findings at the dig, the murders, and the aftermath. She couldn’t see how making a centuries-old archaeological find resulted in people trying to kill her or kidnap her, but it was the only logical possibility. Other than the dig, nothing else had occurred that might have caused this. She didn’t know what the writing said, what it meant, or even what language it was in, but ever since she saw it, people with guns had been chasing her and had finally caught her.

  Which made the worst part of her current circumstances even worse: they took her cell phone. That phone stored Siobhan’s picture of the ruined stone wall with the inscription. She pulled it out and snapped a photo when Reiter said it was a significant find. She wanted proof. Now, it held the last evidence of everything that had happened to her. The fact they had that phone sent fear pulsing throughout her body.

  There was no way to tell how much time passed, but it felt like an hour since they brought her from the black suburban into this room. Her phone had a pin and a fingerprint code but she had no idea whether her captors knew more sophisticated ways of gaining access to a phone and deleting the picture. Somehow, she didn’t think ordinary measures would keep her picture safe for long.

  Would they delete the file? Or would they keep it and use it for something? Was she crazy and paranoid and none of this had anything to do with the phone?

  The sound of a door easing open interrupted her reverie.

  **********

  Maya Godwin arrived early. It was a habit of hers, anyway, but its importance ratcheted up by triple on a night like tonight. Her career hung on the line. Her hoped-for promotion to Director of the Shin Bet hung on the line. Possibly, her life itself hung on the line.

  Beads of sweat made a few loose strands of her hair adhere to her forehead. Her heart pounded faster and harder than a boxer hitting a speed bag.

  She had changed into black jeans and a black t-shirt for this, the better to be covert. Had she wanted to, she could have requisitioned a night camouflage utility uniform which would have been better for concealment than simple black clothing. However, it would also have raised questions about why she wanted it. Senior management officials didn’t go into the field. They had no need to lurk in the darkness.

  Unless, of course, someone tried to blackmail them.

  Complete blackness enshrouded the parking garage. Poorly illuminated failed to describe it; literally zero light relieved the heavy dark. In the interior corner where she’d been told to wait, it was almost impossible even to see.

  An experienced field operative might have asked why. Why were there no lights? Who removed them?

  But Godwin wasn’t a field operative. She was a manager. She just assumed poor maintenance explained why the lights were out.

  To some extent, she came prepared for this. The tiny wireless cameras she carried were meant to capture infrared imagery, not visual light. Once she learned the meeting was after midnight, she bought the gear specifically for this purpose.

  Thinking of the cameras, her mind wandered back down the path that led her here.

  After receiving the fateful photograph in her apartment, Godwin waited long enough to get her stress under control and re-acquire the ability to act normal. Then she returned to her office and pulled the case files on a few previous attempts to blackmail Shin Bet agents. She had been both successful and unsuccessful. She read the files looking for tips about how to fight back against her unknown tormentor and became more and more nervous with every passing moment. She nervously licked her lips. She reached into her purse for lip balm. Only then had she realized someone slipped a note in there without her knowing.

  The classic method for sending messages covertly when one or both parties might be under surveillance was a brush pass: wait for the operative to be in a situation where there was a large crowd, which made it natural for people to come into physical contact. Hands could meet and a note be exchanged. Or, as in this case, something could be slipped into someone’s purse.

  Godwin discovered a slip of paper with a meeting time and place tucked into the side pocket of her purse. It directed her to this parking garage at four in the morning.

  Her plan hinged on arriving at two in the morning instead of four. She meant to plant some covert surveillance around the meeting area and hopefully capture everything on tape. If she captured the blackmailer’s face and voice print in an electronic file, she could do a lot with it. Perhaps she could turn the tables and blackmail him. Or perhaps it would protect her enough to confess to her own organization. Yes, she had been stupid once in college, and Hamas had photographs of it, but she also had gained valuable intelligence data on an unknown operative.

  Maybe.

  Whatever she might gain from the video and audio surveillance, it would be better than the cards in her hand now. She had nothing.

  She began the delicate process of mounting one of the tiny cameras on the side mirror of a vehicle near the meeting place. A couple zip ties secured it to the mirror. From there, the cameras were all motion and sound activated. They would come on when the meeting began. She had only to mount the device in such a way that it had an unobstructed view of the meeting place.

  The gun barrel held to the back of her head changed everything.

  Godwin froze in place.

  A voice behind her said, “Maya Godwin, Director of the counter terror division at the Shin Bet. Such a pleasure to meet you.”

  All her plans were gone. All her hope of somehow escaping the blackmail situation evaporated like dew under the Middle Eastern sun. Godwin feared she’d cry if she opened her mouth, so she said nothing.

  First, the camera she so carefully mounted was plucked from its place on the car. Then, a hand thoroughly frisked her and plucked the 9mm Jericho 941 pistol out from the waistband of her black jeans.

  “Were you planning to do me harm, Maya? I’m so disappointed.”

  Still, she didn’t speak. She had been caught so easily it seemed like a game. Her grand plan to save her career and reputation had apparently been no sneakier than a child hiding behind the curtains. Godwin gritted her teeth together, determined not to lose whatever dignity remained to her by crying.

  “Nothing to say? Would it help if I gave you some cocaine? It’s quite easy for us to get. It comes directly from Columbia. Very high quality.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She swore violently, and then clamped her jaw shut before a sob could slip out.

  The voice behind her laughed, and she felt the gun barrel hit her in the back of the head.

  “So much anger! Here I am offering to reconnect you with the interests of your youth.”

  Clenching her hands into fists, Maya managed not to reply.

  “Very well, Maya. Enough chatter
. Turn around.”

  She did as instructed — more because she was curious than because she had been ordered to. In the dark, the shadowy face she could almost see meant nothing to her.

  “You don’t recognize me? It’s not a surprise. The Shin Bet has only the one picture Cameron Dorn took with a telephoto lens from such a great distance. And given how things stand between you and Dorn, it would not surprise me if you never looked at it.”

  She couldn’t help herself.

  “Dorn… you’re Toma!”

  “Exactly. And I am completely undeserving of the profanity you’ve directed at me so far tonight.”

  Godwin didn’t respond.

  “Maya, Maya, Maya. From the woman who saved me so much trouble by keeping Dorn out of my affairs, I really expected a friendlier reception. Especially given what I’m offering you.”

  Again, she said nothing.

  Toma shrugged. Maya could barely see the motion.

  “It’s nothing to me. I care very little who the Director of the Shin Bet is, but it seems to matter to you, so I’m here to offer you that. Yes. I can make you Director. And I can do it by helping you prove you were right and Cameron Dorn was wrong. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me? If you don’t, naturally, the pictures go to… well… everyone. I have that email set up on an automatic script, by the way. If I ever fail to check in, the pictures go out. So even if I didn’t take your pistol, you’d be very unwise to use it. Which will it be, Maya? Are we going to work together to deepen Dorn’s disgrace or will all of Israel learn about you and the nose candy?”

  She fought her curiosity. She tried not to respond. However, when Toma turned his back as if to walk away, the words just slipped out.

  “Fine! Fine. What do you want?”

  “Two things, Maya. First, there is a dig near the City of David. I need the Shin Bet to close it off. No archaeologists go in, not even if they work there. No tourists either. No one.”

  “Easy enough,” she replied. “If the Shin Bet knows anything, it’s how to keep people out of classified sites. What’s the other part?”

  “Before you rose to your current rank, Maya, you started your career in the Shin Bet as a demolition expert. I have a project for you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  After being kidnapped, tied to a chair, robbed of her phone, hooded so she couldn’t see, and left alone, Siobhan’s senses tingled on hair triggers, waiting for the tiniest stimulation. She was keenly aware of any change in her environment. A slight creaking as a door opened made her wonder what her captors planned to do with her next.

  Siobhan sucked in her breath. Were they going to torture her? Was she finally going to be shot and killed, as Umar had tried to do at the dig site? Would they ask her to use her thumb to open the phone?

  Hands loosened the cord of her hood, and she felt it drawn up off her head. The sudden exposure to bright light burned her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. Gradually, she tried to adjust to opening them until she could see. When she could, she would have screamed except for the duct tape over her mouth.

  Cameron Dorn stood in front of her.

  Cameron Dorn, the tour guide.

  Cameron Dorn, who she had expected to leave behind forever when her guided tour had come to an end.

  Always before, Siobhan felt herself drawn to his strength and his knowledge. But after being kidnapped and held against her will, he grew twice as attractive. A friendly face in the midst of all that fear was like air conditioning after the desert.

  His dark curly hair was still mostly covered by a camouflage baseball cap. He pressed his forefinger to his lips. In a whisper he asked, “Can you keep absolutely silent if I pull that tape off?”

  She nodded vigorously. She didn’t even take time to think about the question; she wanted the tape off so badly.

  However, when he yanked it off in one swift motion, she almost screamed with the pain, except the flat palm of his hand came down over her lips less than a second later.

  “Quiet,” he whispered again, then took his palm off her mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered back.

  He pulled a frightening knife with a four-inch blade out from inside the waistband of his baggy pants. He spoke as he began cutting her zip ties.

  “When I saw you in the hotel lobby, I knew those people you were with weren’t from the Shin Bet, so I followed you to see what was going on. I saw them bring you in here, handcuffed and hooded, so I figured you were in trouble.”

  “How did you know they weren’t with the government?” Siobhan asked as the last zip tie snapped apart and she stood up from the chair.

  Cam whispered, “Let’s have that conversation somewhere safer,” and turned towards the door.

  That’s when one of the men from the SUV came in. Tall with crew cut hair, his chest and upper body made him look like a solid wall of muscle.

  He swore when he saw Cameron there. His hair bristled as his face drew into a scowl. He moved his bulky right arm down to his waist with surprising speed, reaching for the grip of a pistol protruding from his waistband.

  Siobhan’s mouth dropped open to scream. Her rescuer moved before she could get a sound out.

  Cameron stepped to the man’s right. With his right hand, he grabbed the attacker’s wrist as he brought the gun up. It all happened so fast Siobhan couldn’t really tell what was going on, but it looked like martial arts from the movies. Cam must have done something to the attacker’s arm because he screamed and dropped the gun. Cameron punched him in the jaw, and the man collapsed to the ground.

  Siobhan stared at Cameron as she whispered, “What did you just do?”

  “They heard that scream for sure. Come on!” he replied, extending his hand for her. She grabbed it, and he pulled her out of the room into a hallway.

  Siobhan followed Cameron down the hall towards what she hoped and assumed would be freedom. In the distance, Siobhan could hear footsteps and shouts of alarm. Her captors heard the struggle between Cameron and the man who’d come into her room and they were surely on their way to investigate.

  Cameron quickly passed one door then reached for the handle of another. He threw it open and a blast of fresh air from the night outside hit Siobhan like having water thrown in her face.

  Cam stepped outside, but she pulled back.

  “Come on!” he whispered urgently, pulling on her arm.

  “My cell phone. They’ve got it.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one. Come on.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she whispered back. “There’s a picture on it. A picture of what I uncovered at the dig today. I think that’s why they’re chasing me. I need it if I’m ever going to figure out what’s going on.”

  “No time. They’re coming,” Cameron replied.

  “Please!” Siobhan begged. “I’ve got to know what happened to me today, and that picture is the only clue.”

  Cameron stared at her. He looked desperately out into the night and at their chance for escape. Then he looked back at her.

  “This is crazy,” he said as he came back inside.

  Siobhan was about to shut the door behind him, but he said, “Leave it open. Hopefully, they’ll think we went out the back.”

  He went back to the door they had passed. It was a closet.

  “In here,” Cameron whispered.

  Siobhan went in. He followed and pulled the door shut.

  “Stay behind me. Don’t even breathe; we can’t afford the noise.”

  Soon a clamor of running footsteps reached their ears, and they heard words shouted in a language Siobhan didn’t understand. The footsteps grew terrifyingly loud as they went right past the closet. There was more shouting, and then the sounds disappeared in the direction of the door she and Cam had left open.

  After a second, Cameron opened the door a crack. Then he opened it wider and stepped out into the hallway.

  “We’ve only got a minute or so. That trick won’t fool them for long,” he
whispered.

  With that, he strode purposefully down the hall. Siobhan followed him. She was about to open the first door after the room she’d been held captive in to see if her phone was in there, but Cameron stopped her.

  “The noise of them coming after the scream came from further away. They probably had the phone in the room with them, if it actually is important like you think. Also, when they heard their guy scream, they came right away; they probably didn’t stop to close the door behind them.”

  She followed him past another closed door and when they finally reached a third door — almost to the other side of the building — it was hanging wide open. Cameron went in, and Siobhan followed. Inside was a desk with a chair behind it and two guest chairs in front of it. Some motivational posters with the text in Hebrew but the pictures familiar from their American versions hung on the wall. A laptop computer sat in the center of the desk.

  And Siobhan’s phone sat beside it, plugged into the USB port.

  She darted over to it, yanked it off the cord, and quickly opened it with a thumbprint. She tapped and flicked, and then breathed an audible sigh of relief. She held the screen up for Cameron.

  “My picture,” she whispered.

  He glanced at it briefly. Then both their heads turned towards the door as they heard voices from back down the corridor.

  “This time, we need to go,” he said, and Siobhan did not argue.

  They slipped out the front door instead of the back and onto the streets of Jerusalem. Siobhan was shocked by how normal it seemed after what she had been through these past couple of hours. People were walking down the streets. A car went by. A cat scurried away as they walked near it. They hurried a couple blocks down the street.

  Cameron nodded at an old Honda motorcycle wedged in between two sedans by the side of the street. He fiddled with a couple of things on it, swung his leg over it, pulled it out into the road, and then kicked the starter just once. The engine purred to life.