The Prophet Conspiracy

by Bowen Greenwood

  Cam shrugged. “If the inscription actually does say that, then we’re telling a religion with almost two billion adherents they’re wrong about something central to their faith. It would take both sides making some very harmful choices about how to handle it before it led to war, but we both know both sides in this region have a history of making harmful choices.”

  Cam continued, “Islam is like any other religion. There are good people, like Ibrahim. And there are terrorists. Honestly, my people are the same. I came here because I’m proud of being Jewish, but I’d be foolish if I didn’t admit there are some of us who do bad things too.

  “If the inscription you discovered really says what Ibrahim thought, what we want is the good people on both sides to be in control.”

  ********

  They stood a short distance away from the crime scene. They were far enough away no one would recognize Toma but close enough to hear the shouted orders and general din of efforts to douse a high rise fire. Enough time had passed since he set off the bomb for fire and law enforcement personnel to respond and get to work, but not enough for the fire to be doused yet.

  He stood beside another young fighter from Hamas. Inasmuch as they had rank, his was lower than Toma’s but not by much. The young man spoke, and there was a critical note in his voice.

  “You took on responsibility for preventing this insult to the prophet. Yet, this idiot American remains alive. Do you want responsibility on your head if we have to read a bunch of headline falsehoods about sacred things being lies?”

  Toma didn’t answer right away. He didn’t consider the night a failure, but he could hardly admit that to his colleague. He only cared a little bit about destroying the sacrilegious archeology.

  He loved, on the other hand, murdering the cowardly dog of a so-called “Muslim.” How dare he wear that name while serving the Israelis? Any night when you murdered someone like that was not a total loss in Haaris Toma’s book.

  Moreover, the dead man had been a close friend of Dorn’s. That made this a perfect addition to the “Dorn has become a terrorist” story. Every tie between Dorn and a bombing would lead the Shin Bet further down the road of believing him to have gone rogue.

  But all of those were thoughts he kept to himself. Instead, he said, “I know. I’m angry about it, too. I thought we had them. When I entered the apartment and realized they were not there, I planted more evidence to make it look like a second strike by the wanted ‘terrorists.’”

  It was actually a lie. Toma was not angry. The traitor may have been a soldier once, but he was old, and Toma was not. It hadn’t been a challenging fight, but it had been very satisfying. The look on his face as he tied him up and set the bomb right in front of him had been worth all the trouble.

  He added, “We will find her again. And this time I will not fail.”

  The second terrorist said, “I wish I shared your confidence. They have her phone off now, and they won’t make that mistake again. After you murdered his friend, Dorn probably won’t go to any of his known associates either. How do you plan to reacquire them?”

  Toma said, “Dorn’s old mentor knew a thing or two about history. I think they’re trying to interpret the inscription now. I think their next step will be to find a translator.”

  “Makes sense," the younger man said. "So how broad is the field of people to whom she could go?”

  “There is no way to be sure who she will choose, but there's only one other American in the country right now who can read Middle Persian,” Toma said. “She knows him. When we had her phone, we saw all kinds of browser history entries for the dig we stuck him at, so we know she knows where to find him. And, besides, give most Americans the chance to choose who they go to for help, and they will want to talk to another American if they can."

  The other terrorist groaned.

  "Not him again."

  “I think so,” Toma replied at once. “The fool we threw money at through the so-called ‘Fund for Mideast Harmony.’ I think she will go to Professor Kendrick.”

  His colleague nodded.

  “Very well. Who shall we send?”

  Toma said, “The Prophet must not be dishonored. We can’t afford to fail. I will do it myself.”

  “You said as much last time, Haaris. Do not fail again. I am beginning to question the elders’ decision that the girl should be dealt with before the dig.”

  “You know why they gave the orders they did. The dig cannot speak for itself. The people who have seen the inscription are all dead except for her. She is the only one who can tell people it is there.”

  The other man shrugged. “Yes, yes, I heard it. You can only hide your failures behind their orders for so long, Toma. You lead now, but no one can both keep failing and keep leading. Make sure the American girl dies this time.”

  For the briefest of moments, Toma considered the pistol concealed under his belt. He could kill this man instantly for that little insult.

  But the Shin Bet was too close. They were barely a block away investigating the bomb he had set off some time ago. A gunshot would draw them here too fast.

  “We know exactly where Kendrick is digging,” he replied instead. “After all, we are the ones who sent him to the wrong spot. And my vehicle is capable of great speed. I am confident I can get there before them. And then, she will die.”

  ********

  They were making good progress and were well into the desert as the sun rose. Around the station wagon stretched a vast expanse of reddish brown dirt. Occasional rocks interrupted the landscape. A few plants were hardy enough to cling to existence. Otherwise, nothing interrupted the bleak horizon.

  As the dawn broke, Siobhan caught sight of a few ibex in the distance among the rocks. Their horns curved backward away from their faces. Ever since the first time she had seen them, she was surprised at how small the grayish brown animals were. The adult males were barely larger than big dogs.

  With the dawn came the first radio report. Cam swore violently as a newscaster spoke.

  “The terrorist Cameron Dorn struck a second time yesterday, blowing up the top floor of an apartment building in Tel Aviv. Why he selected this target is not known, but officers with Shin Bet believe they’re gathering better intelligence as to why one of their own has become a terrorist. Dorn’s former employment at Shin Bet was terminated involuntarily when he was denied permission to enter Gaza. At the time, he told his superiors he wanted to move against a leader in the Al Qassam Brigade. A spokesman for Shin Bet said investigators now believe the entire incident was part of Dorn’s plan to go over to the Palestinian side.”

  A list of the known dead included Ibrahim al Aziz.

  The language coming out of Dorn grew more and more profane. Siobhan was at a loss for how to help him. She set her hand on his shoulder and said,

  “I know you didn’t do it. I’ll tell them that if we get caught.”

  He sighed and bit his lower lip to hold back his curses. “Sorry,” was the only word he could safely let out.

  “It’s OK. I’d be mad, too. We’ll find out what the inscription says. That could be enough to get both of us a fair hearing, and we can clear your name. I was with you the whole time; I’m a good witness that you didn’t set off the bomb.”

  “Not really, Siobhan. They think you’re a suspect, too. But clear my name or not, my friend is dead. And it’s not exactly pleasant to have my dirty laundry dragged through the press.”

  “You mean about being involuntarily terminated?”

  “Yeah. My old boss Maya Godwin. She and I really didn’t get along. I made her look bad in front of some politicians, and she’s never forgiven me. I bet she’s just loving this frame up, whoever’s responsible.

  “I don’t really want to think about her right now. First, I had to fight the guy who saved my life a dozen times back when we worked together. Now, Ibrahim’s dead, and that’s straight up my fault. If I hadn’t gone to him, he’d probably still be alive.”

  H
e slammed the heel of his palm against the dashboard with an inarticulate grunt.

  Siobhan didn’t know what she could possibly say. She stared out the window at the blank expanse of superheated dust. Cam’s friend and mentor was very likely dead. Obviously, the man was blaming himself but if anyone was to be blamed it should be her. She was the one who got him into this.

  “Sorry,” Cam said again. He turned and did his best to smile at her. “Let’s focus on what we can change, not what we can’t.

  “We’ve got to do this quickly. The radio may have said they don’t know why that building was destroyed but make no mistake, Shin Bet knows and the terrorists who blew it up obviously know.” He seemed to grow stronger as he talked about tactics. “They wouldn’t have killed him if they didn’t have my entire file. They know Ibrahim was close to me. And by now they’ve already run down little details like his license number. As soon as anyone bothers to look this far south, they’ll be all over this car. Our saving grace is, ‘terrorists’ would normally want to work in populated areas for the larger targets. The Negev desert is not where they’ll expect us to be.

  “They’ll look there eventually, though. We don’t have much time for our meeting with Kendrick. I hope you’re ready.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The fire was out. The sun was over the horizon now. And what little reason there had ever been for Eli Segal to be here was long-since gone.

  This wasn’t his job. He wasn’t a field agent anymore and even if he was, the field agents had no more role here either. The scene of the bombing was entirely in the hands of the evidence collection people.

  He had been lying awake, boiling and stewing over his confrontation with Cameron, and had heard the “all available agents” call go out. He had decided to report to the scene. It wasn’t really strange for him to be there.

  Even finding the Division Director here wasn’t all that strange. The bombing was apparently part of Dorn’s crime spree, and Godwin would naturally take an interest.

  But as he walked away from the blackened high rise, Segal turned things over and over in his mind.

  The property records were public and took barely a few minutes for investigators to run down. The bomb had gone off in a tenth floor apartment belonging to Ibrahim al Aziz. The man had a file of his own — one of those vanishingly-rare Muslims who actually joined the IDF and fought for Israel. Like many Israelis, Segal was proud his country, “the Jewish state,” had built a tolerant-enough place that even Muslims wanted to defend it. But like many intelligence agents worldwide, he was deeply suspicious of everything too good to be true.

  He wasn’t sure whether or not to trust Ibrahim al Aziz, but he knew one thing for sure: Cameron Dorn did trust him.

  Back when they had been partners, he and Dorn had become quite close. Cameron often talked about this older man who was Muslim but whom he had come to trust anyway. Segal envied the relationship a little bit. His own father had died in the first Intifada, and the idea of a mentor sounded nice.

  Right at the moment, Segal was really angry with Cameron. Being disarmed, disabled, and left behind so easily hurt his pride. He had always known Cam was the superior fighter. How could he miss it? However, theirs hadn’t even been a close contest. Cam put him down with no effort at all.

  It hurt, and the memory of it fueled a bright, clean-burning anger.

  But even as angry as he was, Segal had to confront two items of truth.

  One was, Cameron never sought out their confrontation. It had been he who had pushed it, he who had rejected Cam’s explanation, and he who had pulled the gun.

  The other truth was, as hard as it was to accept the idea of Cameron Dorn going over to the terrorists’ side, it was even harder to accept the idea of Cam murdering his old mentor.

  Godwin seemed certain this bomb had been Dorn’s work. She was already releasing the information to the media. But Segal wasn’t sure at all. Dorn as a terrorist was shocking. Dorn murdering Ibrahim? That was beyond surprising.

  It was unbelievable.

  Someone in all this was not telling the truth.

  ********

  When she first saw the Negev, as part of her church tour group, Siobhan had enjoyed Cam’s informed, educated talks about the area. He had stood at the front of their bus and had discussed the geology, ancient figures from Biblical history who had passed through, and more.

  Now, Cam was silent as the desert rolled by outside the window. His friend was dead, and he was dead because they had made a mistake. She could see Cam taking all the blame on himself, but Siobhan wondered if, somewhere inside, he might be angry at her as well. This whole thing was her problem, not his.

  She wanted to comfort him somehow, but words seemed entirely inadequate to the task. She settled for moving her right hand from her back pocket, where she’d been habitually touching the metal case with her old adjudication letter in it, and putting it on Cam’s shoulder and squeezing.

  There was a time just a few hours ago when his firm grip and steady promise that everything would be alright had helped her turn fear into determination. She hoped her touch could return the favor as much as possible.

  Cam glanced away from the road to offer her a faint smile. He turned his eyes back to the front.

  “I loved that man,” he said. “I’ve known him since I came to Israel. He had just left the IDF and started guiding. Together, we were an American who’s brand new to Israel and knows nothing and a Muslim who’s lived here all his life but feels like an outsider. We couldn’t have seemed more different, but we always had things to talk about every time we got together.”

  “It sounds nice,” Siobhan replied. “I’m not sure if I ever had a friend like that. I guess I’ve been starting to feel similarly about my boss back home. He always gives good advice, but it’s not as deep as what you’re talking about.”

  She glanced at the speedometer. Cam was obeying the speed limit – no doubt to avoid police attention. They could have reached Kendrick faster if he drove faster, but avoiding attention was worth the delay.

  He placed his hand over hers. He only left it there for a moment while he asked a question.

  “What’s in your back pocket you’re always touching?”

  Siobhan blushed.

  “You noticed?”

  Cam turned to her briefly and grinned.

  “When you work in this business, here’s a trick you learn: watch where a suspect subconsciously puts his hands. If he’s carrying a gun, that’s where it is. In your case, I can tell it’s not a gun in your back pocket. So what is it?”

  “It’s hard for me to even think about right now,” she replied. “People have been trying to murder or kidnap me for days now. America and the stuff I used to care about seem so far away.”

  “Try,” Dorn replied. “I have a feeling it’s going to have a big impact on our meeting.”

  She said, “Let me tell you about Professor Kendrick.”

  He took his hand away. She took her hand away, too. She wasn’t mad at him. It was just, being friendly was harder when she thought about Kendrick.

  “During the tour, when I brought up the subject of physical evidence of Muhammad in Jerusalem, you called it ‘Professor Kendrick’s theory.’ Ibrahim did the same thing. Everyone does the same thing. But it is not Professor Kendrick’s theory. It’s my theory. I obtained a letter from one of my school’s old archeology professors to another asking whether the night journey in Jerusalem could be proven. I developed a theory based on how Muhammad talks about Jerusalem in the Quran suggesting some places he might have gone. I turned it in to Kendrick as my thesis.

  “And then all of a sudden he was presenting my paper at a conference while I was getting hauled up before the Dean and adjudicated on charges of having perjured my professor’s work. He had a copy with the conference organizer time-stamped for a week before I even finished it. It was evidence enough to ruin my life.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Siobhan shrugg
ed. “I never did figure it out. Maybe I accidentally let him see one of my working drafts before I was done? He’s got a photographic memory, so if I somehow let him see it before I turned it in, he would have remembered what he saw. But I can’t remember ever letting him see it. I just don’t know.”

  “Photographic memory?” Cam asked.

  “Yeah, Kendrick is one of those people who can recall anything they’ve seen.”

  Cam took his eyes off the road for a moment to stare. Finally, he asked, “Are you serious?”

  “All too serious,” she replied.

  “Wow. That is… cold. It’s… I’m sorry, Siobhan. I had no idea.”

  She shrugged.

  “How could you have? It’s an academic scandal from seven thousand miles away. I’m just not over it yet. I don’t know if I ever will be. I always wanted to be an archaeologist. Now I can’t even get a state university to give me a graduate degree, and I’m stuck working as a church secretary for less than twenty thousand a year.”

  Siobhan paused for a moment, and then said, “So my pocket? That’s where I keep the adjudication letter expelling me from the university for plagiarism. And someday, when I prove he lied, and I wrote it, I am going to rub that letter in Kendrick’s face so hard he’ll have toner all over his forehead.”

  Cameron gave a half-smile at her imagery, then replied, “So you signed up for one of the Dig for a Day programs while you were here because it’s what you always wanted to do.”

  “Yeah. And to my complete shock, there was actually a dig going on near one of the places I identified in my paper. I don’t know why, but Kendrick’s busy digging far to the south, in the desert. The place I told you he was — where we’re going now — is the worst possible location. I don’t get why he’s there when there’s a dig right in Jerusalem, almost at the exact spot I predicted.

  “When I signed up for Dig for a Day, I was really hoping I could find something. If I could identify the right place to dig and he couldn’t, it would go a long way to helping me prove I didn’t plagiarize the paper. And more important… honestly, Cam, I like the theory. I wrote my paper because this stuff interests me. I want to know if there really is evidence.”