by Tom Haase
“Those are his orders,” concluded the old priest.
Grossman left the priest and made another call to ensure that the airport facilitators would allow anything through on his Vatican diplomatic flights. He collected a 1911 .45 caliber pistol from the armory that he thought might be of use and included stun guns and two nine millimeter Berettas with two extra clips for each. He returned to his room.
He pulled out his cell and typed a text message to McGregor indicating that he would be at the airport in Cairo at seven in the morning. He relaxed with a beer before going to bed but needed to make one more call.
After that conversation, he felt better. He received approval and breathed easier knowing the head of the Roman Catholic Church sanctioned what he now would undertake.
Chapter 47
Outside Cairo, Egypt
Bridget huffed and gagged for air. She felt like they had walked a hundred miles when they reached Cairo. Her throat felt scratchy and her water gone. After she looked at her watch for the hundredth time, she guessed the sun would be up soon. Glancing back, she saw a glimmer on the horizon. That must be the first sign of the new day, she guessed, but the color of the light morphed to white. She realized after a few seconds that a vehicle approached on the road, the first one in hours. She shouted for Scott and Jonathan, and they all waved at the approaching truck. It stopped less than a hundred feet beyond them.
The truck deposited them on the outskirts of Cairo. Jonathan found a taxi. They rode in moderate comfort to the airport in the battered old vehicle, at least compared to the fragrant back deck of a thankfully empty sheep-hauling truck. The morning sun now reflected off the windows of shops as they sped past. Bridget still felt the sand in her mouth. It would take a lot of water to cleanse it from the all-night march.
“I have a confession to make. Last night I used my special phone. I asked the Vatican to check on the flights out of here and to check on any reservations for Jake. He is on the direct flight to New York leaving in a few minutes,” Jonathan said.
“Damn, why didn’t you tell us you had a phone? We won't catch him now,” Bridget said.
Scott leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. “I'm exhausted. If we can't get him then at least let's get some rest. We have been at it for over thirty-six hours. Anyone got a plan?”
The taxi approached the main entrance to the airport.
“Driver, take us to the general aviation area,” Jonathan said and then faced the Donavans. “There's a fixed base operations facility here where all the private planes operate from and we need to go there”
“What for?” Bridget blurted out. She let her fatigue override her better judgment and relented. “I'm sorry. You must have a reason for that, and I'd appreciate if you would share it with us.”
“We all need some rest. There'll be a plane waiting for us. We can sleep on board.” He smiled at both of them. “We'll get to New York in time to handle Mr. Jake.”
“How in the hell did you manage that?” Scott asked. “Hey, never mind. You can explain it later on. After we have some shut-eye on the plane, we will want to hear it all.”
“I want to hear it now,” Bridget said. “Is the Vatican trying to steal this just like the last time?” She faced Jonathan with glaring eyes and waited for an answer.
“It's merely a way for all of us to stop the disappearance of this Bible and to ensure you get credit for the discovery.” Jonathan turned away and looked out the window. “I do want the Bible, but before we can do anything about who gets what, we have to find it. I'm attempting to expedite our quest.”
The taxi stopped in front of a building with a sign indicating the general aviation terminal. They all got out and followed Jonathan inside.
Bridget realized that to achieve their goal they would have to go along with the plan Jonathan put in motion. She had no other option. Fatigue stopped her from arguing further as she became aware that her head pounded from a lack of sleep which now caught up to her. In no condition to argue, she needed to accept the offer and solve the details later when she would be back on her game.
“There will be someone here to provide assistance and protection,” Jonathan said. “I ask you to trust me, as I have trusted you. We'll get to New York and attempt to rescue the Bible.” He waved at a large man and waited for him to approach.
“Bridget and Scott, this is Captain Grossman. He'll assist us in our journey and in our efforts to secure the Bible. He is the head of the Papal guards, responsible for the personal protection of the Roman Pontiff.”
All shook hands.
“We must leave immediately. The flight you want to beat to New York is already pushing back from the gate. Follow me.” He escorted them out to the tarmac and the waiting Gulfstream aircraft.
While they stood on the tarmac outside the building, Bridget said, “Jonathan, I want to know—”
“Bridget,” Jonathan interrupted, “let's get on the plane, get cleaned up, get some food and rest, and then we can talk. We have a ten-hour flight to work it all out. Right now we need to rest. Please.”
Bridget nodded. “All right. I don’t care right now because I’m tired. But when I get some rest, you will explain what the hell you’re up to.”
They walked across fifty yards of open area to reach the plane.
Chapter 48
Cairo Airport
Matt boarded the same aircraft as had Cornelius Jake. He’d observed Jake from the time he arrived until he passed through the boarding door to the jetway leading to the plane. The Donavans failed to appear. His concentration on apprehending the bomber didn't allow for him to make any phone calls. With his luck, the Donavan boy would appear right at the same time he made his phone call. Not worth the risk of missing him by being diverted. Matt waited until the last person boarded the aircraft. Seeing no passengers and with no other option, he boarded. From what he learned in Jerusalem, the Donavans would appear somewhere, at sometime, close to Mr. Jake. He would be there when they did. He hoped he would capture that devil of a terrorist bomber on foreign soil, but now it looked like it might be back in the United States.
Matt settled into his window seat and took out his phone. Just as he pushed the power button on the iPhone, a flight attendant informed him that the cabin door had been closed and that the use of phones was prohibited. As he had entered the plane last, the door closed soon afterwards. He put it back into his pocket. After they got to altitude he might turn it on just to see if there were any messages. What could it hurt being on for just a minute?
The aircraft started and the normal safety announcements were being made. Having no interest in listening to the safety announcements, he looked out the window as the aircraft taxied toward the runway. Then he saw him.
Matt tried to spring out of his seat, but the restraint of the seatbelt checked him. He stared in disbelief at seeing Scott Donavan walking across the tarmac toward a small jet. He flipped open the buckle on his seatbelt. He had to get to the captain to stop the airplane. A flight attendant yelled at him some idiotic warning and indicated he must take his seat while the plane taxied.
He stood up and rushed toward the exit door.
A large male flight attendant blocked his path. “Return to your seat. Now, sir.”
“I'm an FBI agent, and I need to have this aircraft stopped.” He fumbled to get his credentials out.
“I don't care if you are the President. Sit down now, sir. That is a lawful order from a member of the flight crew. Failure to obey can lead to federal prosecution when we arrive in New York.” The man moved toward Matt with deliberate steps. He meant business.
Matt felt frustrated. The attendant escorted him to his seat. He stared out the window again and memorized the tail number of the aircraft. The big jet turned to go onto the main runway, and he lost sight of his prey. A few minutes later, when the aircraft reached ten thousand feet, the captain turned off the seatbelt sign. Scott got up and moved toward the nearest flight attendant.
“Who is the chief fl
ight attendant?”
The petite blonde flight attendant pointed to a tall man standing beyond the curtain near the steps going into the upper deck on the Boeing 747-400. Matt moved toward him, glad to see it wasn’t the one who had forced him to his seat.
“Excuse me.” He produced his credentials. “I need to speak with the captain.”
“I'm sorry, sir, but that—”
“Listen, I'm an FBI agent, and I just saw a known terrorist on the runway back there getting on an aircraft. I need to get to the captain to find out the destination of that flight. I need to alert law enforcement wherever that plane is headed. Do you understand?” Matt tried to control himself, but his words came out stronger than he intended.
“Follow me, sir.” The flight attendant moved to a galley area and took a phone off of the wall. “Captain, there's an FBI agent on board, and he insists on seeing you on a matter dealing with terrorism.” The chief flight attendant indicated for Matt to follow him. They climbed up the stairs to the upper deck and as soon as he emerged there he saw a uniformed flight officer approaching him.
“I'm Captain Goldberg. Come on back here to the galley where we can talk.”
Matt followed him, and when they reached the galley he produced his credentials. He then proceeded to tell the story of what happened on the Washington Metro bombing and how he followed the perpetrator and just saw him walking toward an aircraft on the tarmac at Cairo International Airport.
“I need for you to find out for me where that aircraft is going. Then I need to contact FBI headquarters, or even better, my partner, so that we can take any action we can to prevent a further terrorist attack on U.S. soil. Can you help me?”
The captain nodded and led him to the flight deck. There he made a radio call back to air traffic control, giving them the tail number of the aircraft, and ascertained the destination of the Gulfstream jet. He looked up at Matt.
“They tell me the aircraft is headed toward England for a refueling stop and then on to New York. His scheduled arrival time is about the same as ours. They make it there a few minutes earlier but not by much. You can use our company radio to hook you up to a number in the States if you would like.”
Matt nodded. He put on a headset that the first officer provided him and gave him the number for Liz's cell phone. He got her voicemail. In short phrases he explained the situation and asked her to meet the aircraft when it arrived in New York. He informed her of the details of his own flight.
“Thank you, Captain, for your help. There's not much else we can do from here, so I guess I'll go back and enjoy the flight.” Matt returned the headset to the first officer and shook the captain's hand. He went back to his seat feeling frustrated and stymied.
After an hour, he decided that when they got over northern Europe he would go back into the restroom and turn on his phone. In that area of the world there should be plenty of cell towers. He wanted to see if there were any voicemails or text messages for him after not being on the phone for so many hours.
He dozed off, thinking of how much he wanted to terminate the terrorist bomber Scott Donavan.
Chapter 49
Onboard the Boeing 747 bound for New York
Cornelius Jake relaxed in comfort in the first class section in the forward area of the airplane under the flight deck that was one story above. The seats provided ample room to stretch out, and the flight attendants served champagne. The idea to upgrade to first class occurred to him when he arrived at the airport. Why not? He was going to be a millionaire soon. Might as well get used to the trappings of wealth.
The seat next to him stayed unoccupied. After takeoff, he decided to stretch his legs and walked back to the bar of the first class area.
“A scotch and water, please,” he requested.
The incipient stages of his plan had been started with his phone agreement with Schultz, but he didn't know how he could pull the whole thing off. He must protect this book until he received the money. Somehow, his luck had changed recently. Maybe it would continue to swing in his favor.
“Hello, I'm Stephanie Palin,” said a twentyish looking female at the bar. She possessed no beauty and straight brown hair cropped just below her ears. Her sartorial deportment, however, exhibited good taste in a beautiful royal blue blouse and leather pants. She did produce a great smile that almost overcame the ungainly thick glasses she wore.
“Hi, any relation to Sara Palin?”
“None,” she said with that pleasing smile reemerging.
Jake thought she must feel safe talking to a man old enough to be her father and then some. But what the heck, it was going to be a long flight and he might as well pass the time talking to this young lady. She might be what his plan might call for.
“I'm Cornelius Jake. Pleased to meet you, Stephanie.” He raised his glass in a salute to her. She responded by clicking his glass with hers. He had not even seen her come to the bar. He needed to be more observant.
“You are a reporter for the Washington paper,” she said, not as a question but as a fact.
“Yes, I am.” He responded slower than usual, taken aback by her recognition.
“I’ve read some of your articles in the paper. I live in D.C.”
“May I ask what you are doing on a flight out of Cairo?” His mind now started to think of a different scenario.
“I'm a student at American University studying hieroglyphics. Just spent two weeks at their national archives working on some documents for my doctorate degree.”
“I'm impressed that students can fly first class. Different from my day.”
“No, I'm not rich, if that's what you think. Quite the opposite. All the travel was on air miles, and I stayed at a youth hostel. At the airport the ticket man became impressed when I could read the ancient writing on the wall. I told him what I did, and he said he would like to treat me to an upgrade. I have never even been in the first class section before. It's something. Beats the hell out of the back of the bus.” She used her head to indicate the rear of the plane.
An hour and a half passed in inconsequential conversation. Jake's mind now formed a new plan. He returned to his seat and decided that he could use this young lady to good advantage. This young student who said she lived on a shoestring while engaged in her academic pursuits could fit into his plan.
The flight attendant woke him for a snack before landing. He went over to the seat where Stephanie ate her light fare and asked if he could join her.
“I have a proposition for you. It's not sexual in any way, young lady. It may well be of financial benefit to you. I need something done that will not inconvenience you and should only take an hour or two of your time since you live in the Washington area. Would you be interested?
“It will pay?”
“Yes, my dear. It will pay rather well. Shall we say five hundred dollars? What do you say?”
She nodded, pushed the thick glasses up on her nose and waited. “It depends. Tell me more.”
Cornelius Jake let out a sigh of relief. He knew he could convince her, and in great detail, he proceeded to explain what she must accomplish.
Chapter 50
Onboard the Boeing 747 bound for New York
Matt waited for an hour. He could see land out the window of the aircraft. He figured they were somewhere over southern Europe. Good enough. Time to attempt his plan. He went to the toilet.
He closed and locked the door and turned on the phone. The iPhone came alive and showed a text message. He hit the button and the message from Liz appeared on the screen.
“Have captured the terrorist from the D.C. Metro bombing. Scott Donavan was not—repeat—not involved in the attack. Call me.”
His head felt like a baseball brained him at ninety miles an hour from a major league pitcher. How could this be? They witnessed him carry the bomb. The tape showed him. He cupped his hands under the tap and splashed some water on his face. Nothing he could do about anything at thirty-five thousand feet. He sent a text messag
e to Liz.
“Meet my plane. Delta 85 at JFK.” He turned the phone off and returned to his seat. Had he made a drastic mistake in going after Donavan and leaving Liz on her own? He felt defeated. After a few minutes, he reoriented his thinking. Yes, he’d been impulsive, even driven, to get the terrorists and wanted to repay them for the death of his wife. He saw that now and swore never to let that interfere with his duty again. He would recover from this and go on to be a superb federal agent. This he promised to himself. He would accomplish this in memory of his wife.
His focus from now on would be on bringing any terrorist to justice. But he would never again allow his personal involvement to override his judgment. No John Wayne heroics, just good solid and well thought out actions to protect his country from any future attack by terrorists, be they homegrown or imported jihadists.
* * * *
Liz Gonzales read the text message five minutes later. She called Delta to get the exact arrival time in case any delay occurred since the text mesage. She planned to be there to meet him. Hours remained to develop her next move before he arrived.
She called Libby at FBI headquarters and asked her to track the Gulfstream by the tail number Matt provided. It remained essential that they talk to Scott Donavan as he might shed light on some aspect of the Metro bombing.
She arrived at JFK airport in plenty of time to meet Matt.
“I have my car just outside,” she said in greeting when he entered the baggage claim area and she spotted him. “A security guard is watching it. Let's go. We have a little while until the Gulfstream lands.”
“How the hell is Donavan not guilty? We had him cold for the bombing,” Matt said, as he hurried to keep up with her.
“Wait till we are in the car, and I'll explain what happened and how I found out about the real bomber.”
On the drive to Teterboro, NJ airport, where private jets could land in the greater New York area, she gave Matt a detailed account of the events that occurred while he chased Scott and how she apprehended the terrorist.
