“That won’t be necessary, Minister.”
Ethan turned to see a tall, gaunt figure stride into the conference room, flanked by MACE operatives Cooper and Flint. The Texan crossed the room to stand at the other end of the table, his icy gaze boring directly into Shiloh’s.
“The explosives were recovered from a cache that we found in the desert. Insurgents often infiltrate Israel through the Sinai to carry out rocket attacks and other atrocities on towns like Be’er Sheva. They bury their weapons throughout the desert. Part of our remit is to use technology to locate these caches and remove them from play before ambushing the insurgents when they return to collect their horrible little packages. It is a ploy that has served us well, until Warner here dug his grubby little hands into a box of them.”
“Who the hell are you?” Ethan asked.
“This,” Shiloh said, “is Byron Stone, the CEO of MACE.”
“There’s more to this than he’s saying,” Ethan snapped. “It doesn’t add up.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Stone agreed, “unless you’re a journalist with a chip on his shoulder looking for someone to blame for losing his fiancée.”
Ethan lurched out of his chair toward Stone, only to find himself restrained by strong hands. The pair of Knesset Guards had locked his arms in theirs to prevent him from moving.
“Is there actually any evidence to support Warner’s claims?” Byron Stone asked Rachel.
She shook her head slowly.
“None.”
Shiloh reached out and squeezed her arm gently.
“It’s not your fault. It’s a tragedy that you were there to witness it at all.”
Byron Stone’s voice filled the room as he spoke.
“A tragedy indeed, brought about by Mr. Warner’s decision to steal equipment and dangerous explosives before fleeing from the MACE site, destroying one of my company’s vehicles and killing one of my men in the process. I now have the unenviable task of informing that man’s wife and children of his demise.” Byron Stone took a deep breath before continuing. “I understand that the desire to locate Ms. Morgan’s daughter may override certain concerns for personal safety, but it does not justify compromising the security of Israel as a whole. In short, Minister, it’s a wonder that Mr. Warner is even here and alive at all.”
“You’re behind this,” Ethan growled, his fists still clenched. “I know it.”
“We’re behind it?” Stone echoed, and turned to the still open door of the room before beckoning someone inside.
Ethan watched as a tired-looking old man trudged into the room, his baggy suit crumpled and dusty.
“This,” Stone drawled, “is Dr. Damon Sheviz. He was abducted at the very same moment as Lucy Morgan.”
Rachel shot bolt upright out of her chair, ignoring Ethan’s expression of disbelief as she dashed past him to grab the old man’s hands.
“Dr. Sheviz, have you seen my daughter? Have you seen Lucy?”
Ethan watched as the old man took Rachel’s hands in his, a kindly but regretful smile warming his features.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said in a weary voice. “It all happened so fast, and we were kept apart from each other by the insurgents in Gaza. All I can tell you is that she was alive when I last saw her, after they found us at the dig site.”
Byron Stone, his arms folded as he towered over the old man, looked at Ethan as he spoke.
“And who abducted you, Doctor?”
Sheviz’s expression hardened somewhat.
“Palestinian insurgents,” he uttered, “terrorists. They were heavily armed and threatened me.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Had Mr. Stone’s men not found me when they did, I hate to think what might have happened.”
Rachel nodded understandingly, and released Sheviz’s hands. Byron Stone gestured for Malik to accompany Sheviz, and the soldier went to guide the old man out of the room with one arm draped protectively over his shoulders but waited for Byron.
“I hope that this brings an end to these baseless accusations,” Byron Stone rumbled.
“This doesn’t mean a damned thing!” Ethan snapped. “Your company has done nothing but obstruct us!”
“And you are nothing but incompetent!” Stone fired back. “You’ve disobeyed warnings, endangered lives, and now you sit here trying to justify it.” The Texan gestured to Cooper and Flint. “These are the two men that you assaulted, are they not? The very men I tasked to protect you. If you want to search for Lucy Morgan, then go ahead, but don’t put the lives of others at risk while you’re at it.”
Ethan glared at him but could find nothing to say in response, his exhausted mind filled with a haze of frustration. Byron Stone looked at Shiloh.
“Sir, I have a great deal to do and I need Mr. Malik to assist me.”
“Of course,” Shiloh agreed, to Ethan’s dismay.
Malik offered Ethan a sly grin from the corner of his mouth before striding confidently out of the room with Stone, Cooper, and Flint.
Shiloh turned to Rachel.
“MACE has offered a permanent escort for you, despite everything that has occurred, and they believe that it still may be possible to locate your daughter.”
Rachel nodded. “What about Ethan?”
Shiloh glanced in Ethan’s direction.
“Mr. Warner will be escorted from the country this morning,” he said.
Ethan stared at the minister in disbelief.
“Do you really think that I’m lying about all of this? One of the men with us in the tunnels was Hassim Khan, a scientist who had worked with Lucy. We thought that insurgents were holding him, but Hassim himself said that they were friends protecting him from the same fate that Lucy is now facing.”
“Where is Hassim Khan now?” Shiloh asked.
“He’s dead,” Rachel said softly. “He was killed by the same man who took Ethan’s video camera.” She looked at Ethan. “Too many people have died here; we can’t handle this alone anymore and we’re running out of time. If Lucy was here, she’d probably be telling me to do this, before the peace process renders her useless to her captors.”
“You don’t know that,” Ethan said. “We can’t just give up and—”
“We’ve achieved nothing!” Rachel insisted. “We’re no further now than we were yesterday, except that I’m exhausted and have spent much of my time being shot at.”
Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand.
“I know, but even if this is the work of politically motivated insurgents, Israel’s in no better position to search for Lucy than we are. We can’t abandon the search.”
“It’s my decision,” Rachel said, “not yours. I’m leaving this in the hands of Israel. Go home, Ethan; there’s nothing more we can do here right now.”
Ethan held her gaze for a moment, surprised by her sudden conviction, and then sighed.
“Fine,” he said, looking at Shiloh. “In that case, can you remove these damned things now?”
Shiloh looked at the handcuffs, and nodded for one of the guards to remove them.
“Come,” Shiloh said to Rachel, taking her arm, “we can discuss our next move over coffee.”
Ethan watched as Rachel was led away by Shiloh, desperately scouring the recesses of his tired mind for some way to deter her. He was about to call after her when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and listened for several seconds as a pulse of excitement whizzed through him.
“I’ll need a little help to get there,” Ethan said. “I’m at the Knesset. Call this number.” He recited a cell-phone number from memory, and then rang off.
“Who was that?” Rachel asked over her shoulder.
Ethan hesitated. “No one.”
Moments later, he was being prodded from the room by the Knesset Guards.
The Knesset Guards pushed Ethan into the back of a government sedan as soon as he’d finished his phone call. As he got into the vehicle the two men took their places in the front seats.
> Ethan glanced at the doors as the sedan rolled out of the Knesset compound. Both were locked and controlled from the front seat by a panel of switches on the center of the dash.
As the vehicle joined the main road away from the Knesset, Ethan saw a white jeep pull in alongside. He refrained from looking directly at it, but could see Safiya Luckov driving, her long black hair billowing out behind her as the jeep passed the sedan and gently eased into place in front of it.
Ethan tensed, waiting to see what would happen next.
Ahead, a set of lights turned red at a junction. He could see Safiya braking gently as she eased up to the lights. The sedan began to slow. Ethan lifted one arm up and braced it against the back of the passenger seat.
In an instant, Safiya’s jeep suddenly braked hard and then flew into reverse, accelerating backward. Ethan’s escort yelped in alarm as the jeep smashed into the sedan with a crunch of shattering plastic and rending metal, and instantly two impact bags billowed out from the dashboard as the windshield imploded with a tinkling avalanche of glass chips.
Ethan lurched forward between the seats, reaching out and hitting the two lowest switches in the panel on the dashboard. He heard the whine of the central-locking system as he pushed his door open and dashed out, running round to Safiya’s jeep and leaping aboard as the two escort drivers floundered behind the safety cushions.
Safiya crunched the jeep into gear and accelerated away from the red light, swerving briefly to avoid a couple of startled motorists before clearing the junction.
“This had better be worth it!” she shouted above the hot wind.
“It’s worth it, trust me,” Ethan said. “MACE has gotten things all neatly packaged up and Rachel’s fallen for it, but the whole thing stinks. Something just doesn’t add up.”
Safiya drove two blocks before turning right, then left, then right again, and pulling up alongside a red pickup parked by the sidewalk. Ethan jumped out of the jeep and climbed into the pickup to see Aaron Luckov grinning at him from behind his thick beard.
“Three years of peace, Safiya and I had, before you came back here. Three whole years.”
Ethan smiled grimly as the pickup pulled away.
“Safiya going to be okay?”
“She’s pretty damned sore with you, Ethan,” Luckov said, “but she’ll come round. It’s not like we’re doing this for fun. Not entirely anyway.”
“Where’s Griffiths?”
“Not far,” Luckov said. “He phoned you?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said. “Whatever he’s got to say, it had better be good, because Israel’s going to be on my ass for this.”
AMERICAN EVANGELICAL ASSOCIATION
NEW COVENANT CHURCH, WASHINGTON DC
Lucas Tyrell had never failed to be impressed by the fabulous scale of the monuments erected by the faithful.
“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” he murmured as he tossed a handful of biscuits into the backseat of the car, Bailey crunching them noisily.
“What?” Lopez asked from beside him.
“The church,” Tyrell gestured. “How’d you suppose it got so wealthy if it really was giving and not receiving?”
The New Covenant Church dominated an entire corner of the block, a broad white building with narrow smoked windows shaped like medieval stained glass. The central portico was a vast triangular affair of steel and more glass, the central panels mirror-finished in the shape of a huge crucifix that reflected the early-morning sun’s rays.
“We shouldn’t be here, Tyrell,” Lopez said.
“Guess this is how much it costs to have God on your side,” Tyrell continued as they walked toward the vast portico. “Lucky He takes dollars.”
“Tyrell,” Lopez muttered sternly.
“It’s your call,” Tyrell said with a hefty sigh. “I’m not quite ready to put this case aside. Are you in or not?”
Before Lopez could reply, her cell phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out, listening intently for a few moments before ringing off.
“What is it?” Tyrell asked.
“We just got the files on Daniel Neville,” Lopez said, switching to her PDA and opening an e-mail. “Claretta Neville came up clean, no criminal record or history of any kind with the police except in connection with Daniel’s gang activities. Turns out that her African heritage is Ethiopian.”
“As would be Daniel’s,” Tyrell said thoughtfully. “Aren’t there tribes in Ethiopia who are said to be the descendants of Israel, lost tribes or something?”
“Maybe, I saw something on TV about that once.” Lopez nodded. “Michael Shaw, the hospital orderly, is also clean, nothing but a couple of parking violations. Casey Jeffs is …”
Lopez broke off for a moment as she read.
“Is what?” Tyrell asked.
“Is of interest. He’s been an employee of the institute for the past sixteen years. However, prior to that he was a patient, long-term psychosis. His name flagged up in relation to a homicide charge from back in 1984.”
“You’re kidding? He killed someone?”
“Went to trial.” Lopez nodded as she read. “A late witness testimony caused the case to collapse amid accusations of fraud and Casey was acquitted. The full file’s at the station.”
Tyrell rubbed his chin with one hand. “What about DNA from Daniel Neville’s room?”
“Dozens of them,” Lopez said. “It’ll take weeks to obtain profiles, and we haven’t got a suspect in custody to match them against. Besides, we know that Casey was nowhere near Daniel when he died.”
Tyrell let out a long sigh. “Powell will piss all over it. What else do we know about him?”
“Orphaned young. Mother was a hooker working San Antonio, died back in 1984 from a heroin overdose …” Tyrell frowned and looked at the pixelated image on Lopez’s PDA. A straggly haired blond woman, her features creased with the passing of the years. “Casey was arrested for killing her; attorneys filed for manslaughter charges and got a prosecution. He got taken in by the institute for treatment after the trial collapsed.”
“Who was the benefactor for his treatment?”
“It doesn’t say,” Lopez replied. “He’s been in and out of private rehabilitation clinics ever since. Doesn’t make any sense though. He’s never held full-time employment except at the institute, so where’d the money come from?”
“The father?” Tyrell guessed as he opened the door to the church foyer.
“Father’s unknown, according to this.”
Tyrell led the way to a broad reception desk overlooked by a brightly painted mural of a crucifix atop a hill, the sun casting beams of light upon it and the sky emblazoned with three inspirational words:
Rehabilitate. Rejuvenate. Rejoice.
Resurrect, Tyrell thought, but didn’t say.
The receptionist in the entrance foyer was a petite, slim, and bespectacled woman in her forties who seemed perturbed by the presence of two police detectives and their need to speak to Kelvin Patterson himself.
“I’m afraid the pastor is preparing for tonight’s presidential rally,” she said politely, “but I can arrange an interview for tomorrow if that’s convenient?”
Tyrell smiled tightly.
“It’s not. We need to speak to Mr. Patterson urgently, regarding the death of a patient.”
The receptionist frowned and turned away without another word, moving across to a phone and dialing a number. Tyrell watched her body language become defensive as she spoke. Finally, she set the phone down.
“If you’ll follow me this way, please.”
She led them through a myriad of corridors, many of them bearing vast canvases on the walls depicting biblical scenes. Tyrell struggled to remember his Sunday schooling as he noted images of the crucifixion, of the Garden of Eden, and what he guessed might have been the destruction of Babylon. Or was it Babel?
“Mr. Patterson is a very busy man, you know,” the receptionist said over her shoulder.
�
��As am I,” Tyrell replied.
“He has an immensely important rally tonight with a presidential candidate.”
Tyrell felt a squirm of irritation. Lopez hurriedly spoke beside him.
“Which candidate?”
“Senator Isaiah Black, Texas.”
Tyrell looked across at Lopez, who raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t Kelvin Patterson the man who said New Orleans was destroyed by God because it hosted a Gay Pride rally?” Tyrell inquired.
The receptionist raised her chin as she walked, not looking back at him. “Who is to say that He didn’t?”
Tyrell chose not to reply.
They reached a large set of ornate double doors at the end of a long corridor that seemed to orbit the church’s main hall to their left. The receptionist knocked briskly on the doors before opening them and calling into the room.
“Pastor? The two police officers are here to see you.”
There was a muffled response, and then the receptionist backed out of the doorway and gestured for Tyrell to enter.
The expansive office, dominated by a huge chrome crucifix on one wall and by towering windows on the other, seemed to make Kelvin Patterson more diminutive than he actually was. He turned and smiled regally as the receptionist closed the door behind Tyrell and Lopez.
“Detectives,” he greeted them.
Patterson was wearing an expensive silk shirt and dark trousers, and a navy blazer hung from a chair nearby.
“I understand you have a big night ahead, Pastor,” Tyrell said.
“It is a big night for America,” Patterson replied. “Much hangs on how the crowd views us tonight.” Us, Tyrell thought quietly as they followed him across to his broad mahogany desk, complete with bronze eagle and the Stars and Stripes. “What can I do for you?”
“The Evangelical Institute,” Tyrell said. “You own it?”
“It is owned by the alliance.”
“And it is used as a rehabilitation site for drug addicts.”
“The hospital provides a place for the poor to gain access to free health care, food, and accommodation,” Patterson said as he picked up his tie. “Only a small part of the hospital is dedicated to long-term patients.”
Covenant Page 28
