Moffat's Secret

by J. C. Williams

  “Feigel was supposed to be here by now but he is late.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chad left quickly and broke into a jog outside the synagogue. He felt conspicuous, but he also felt apprehensive. It was only minutes to the rabbi’s apartment building. The lobby was empty. The security desk empty. Chad looked over the desk. A uniformed man lay on the floor. He was dead or unconscious. Chad went behind the desk and found the access button for the inner doors. He pressed it. He heard a buzz and crossed the lobby in time to get through the doors. He took the stairs. On the third floor he turned toward the corner where he had seen the lights go on.

  He stopped outside the door. It was slightly open. He heard sounds from inside.

  “Rabbi?” he called. He was answered with silence.

  “Avi?” No answer. Chad pushed on the door letting it slowly open.

  Suddenly, a powerful arm hit him in the chest, knocking him down. A sledgehammer fist hit his head. Chad saw it coming and turned just enough to avoid the direct hit. With his head spinning, he clutched wildly at the air as a man rushed past. The face resembled that of the man running from Lipman’s room.

  Chad scrambled to his feet but the man had disappeared through the stairwell door. Shaking the cobwebs from his head, he cautiously entered. The room had been ransacked. Books on the floor. Sofa and chair cushions cut open. Drawers and their contents dumped hurriedly.

  He saw a pair of feet extending from the kitchen. Chad staggered forward. The rabbi lay on his back. One hand was clutched to his side. Blood oozed between his fingers, pooling on the tiled floor. His face bore the cuts and bruises of a beating.

  Kneeling, Chad saw the rabbi’s chest rising and falling. Still alive.

  “Rabbi. Hold on. I will call for help.”

  Chad used his burner to dial 112. It was an emergency number for most countries.

  A voice answered in Hebrew.

  “I need help. A man is dying.”

  The voice switched to English. “What is your location.”

  Chad did not know. The rabbi’s bloody hand pulled his arm down.

  Chad could hear the voice asking questions. He knew they could track it, but that would take time.

  The rabbi spoke in a strained whisper. Each word requiring effort.

  “Too………late.”

  Chad leaned closer. “No it’s not. Hang on. Help will come.”

  “A…………… man.”

  “I saw him. But, he saw me first. He was at the hospital. I think he killed Lipman.”

  “Go…….”

  “No. I’ll stay with you.”

  Somehow the rabbi found strength to squeeze Chad’s hand. He spoke firmly.

  “Go………find………brother………………………radcliff…………………lee…………own.”

  The words came slower and slower. The rabbi stopped talking. He stopped breathing.

  Chad looked at the rabbi for a long minute. Guilt swept over him. If he had not come to Israel. If he had heeded the rabbi’s warning. If he had not been a bully. If…. Two men would not be dead.

  His burner phone was still talking to him. Chad didn’t know if they tracked the location yet. He stood. Should he leave it? It had his prints. The rabbi was dead. He turned off the phone and left, taking it with him. Back in the lobby, he checked the security guard. There was a pulse. He took a Kleenex and wiped the entry button. He had touched the door. So had a hundred others. Using the tissue he picked up the desk phone. He saw a list of numbers above the phone with symbols for police, fire, and ambulance. He pressed 100 for police, using the tissue once more. Laying the handset on the desk, Chad took his tissues and left.

  Chapter 54

  Archer walked all the way to the hotel, twenty-five minutes. He didn’t know whom he should talk to. The police? What can he tell them, a vague description? It would sound fabricated, especially if he was tied to Lipman. Things would be worse if the military became involved. They might already know, or suspect, a link between Lipman and Rabbi Feigel.

  Stepping to the side of a building, Chad opened the burner phone, removed the SIM card and smashed both.

  Chad thought about Gaige. He quickly dismissed the idea. No need to involve him and expose him to risk. He could call Interpol. They would call the police. He was between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t solve it himself. He didn’t know the people, the culture, the politics of law enforcement, or the country. He could leave it all behind tomorrow.

  No. That did not feel right.

  By the time he reached the hotel it was almost dark. He decided he would wait until he reached London and then talk with MacDonald and Sandy to get advice, and then talk with Interpol.

  Chad washed the blood off his arm where the rabbi grabbed him. He was interrupted while drying his arms by a knock on the door. Did they identify him already?

  “Who is it?” he called out as he approached the door.

  “The front desk, Dr. Archer. We wanted to present you your bill and see if there is anything you need for your departure tomorrow. A wakeup call or transportation?”

  Chad loved the little things the staff did at this top class hotel. Personal attention, personal contact. They could have used the phone. Other hotels would have. Other hotels would not even have initiated the service.

  He opened the door and only had time to see two masked men before he heard a thw-t-t-t, felt a pain in the chest, and collapsed on the floor. From head to toe his muscles contracted He had a sense of terrible pain and an empty feeing of helplessness. It seemed like a long time but it was only fifteen seconds. In that time, his mouth was taped, his head hooded and his hands zip-tied behind his back.

  Archer was half-dragged between two strong arms, down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door. He heard the slide of a vehicle’s door. He braced himself but it didn’t matter. He was tumbled onto the hard floor of a van.

  As the van pulled away, Chad pushed back the fear, if only just for a moment. He knew fear. Fear when a cave-in trapped Doc and him. Fear on rock climbs when his footing slipped, when he dangled forty feet above the ground. This was different. Those other times, he could do something about it. This time he felt helpless.

  Maybe not. Think, he told himself. Who are they?

  Kidnappers. For ransom? In Israel? That doesn’t happen. He had a foggy recollection of time after the tasing stopped. They didn’t leave right away. He heard the sound of men looking around his room.

  So what does that make them? Were they the ones or the one that killed Lipman and the rabbi? Why didn’t they kill him?

  Fear rushed back over him as he bounced along. Archer pushed it back once more. Think, he told himself again. They want something. What? Information. What can he do about this? Unarmed, bound, gagged, and hooded. No weapons.

  Information he repeated. That means questioning. He had a weapon. His mind. His intellect. He was smart, better than smart. He could think quickly. He could assemble facts. He could sort facts. He could relate facts. He saw sequences.

  What would they ask about? What did they know? Was it Lipman? Was it the phone call? Was it the meeting in the Garden? He would just have to stick to his story. A book.

  Would they know that he met the rabbi? The evasive tactics taken by the rabbi were amateurish.

  What if they are not the killers? Why the masks? Are they after the tablets as well? Maybe they heard from Lipman, or from the rabbi. He’d have to be careful and only share information in trade for information. He needed to find out what they knew first. That’s if there was going to be conversation. If it turned into a beating or torture, there would be no trading. His fear returned.

  Chapter 55

  Archer sensed that they took him into a large, cavernous building. Like a warehouse. A door clicked as they opened it. They led him through a second room. Many steps. He felt it was a long hall. They turned right and opened another door. His mask was removed. It was a small room. A table took up most of the space. Two mask
ed men were in the room with him.

  One man cut the plastic ties from Chad’s wrists.

  “Sit,” he instructed, pushing Chad toward a chair on one side of the table. Both men turned their backs to him and left. He saw a place on the table where handcuffs could be looped. There was message here. We don’t fear you.

  On the opposite wall was a large mirror. Was this a police station? Was this a tactic to scare him? Did they have the witnesses and video from the hospital? Was this about Lipman’s death? They did not read him his rights. Do they have that law in Israel?

  Time passed. He kept calm. They wanted him nervous. Chad tried to guess their next move. More waiting? He pretended nervousness. He fidgeted. He looked all around.

  “Hey. Who’s out there? Where am I?”

  It worked the door opened. A masked man entered. Slight of build compared to his two captors. There was something familiar about him. Maybe his gray eyes. He sat opposite Archer and remained quiet. His hands folded in his lap. A non-threatening gesture. Trying to gain trust.

  “I’m an American citizen. I want to contact my embassy.”

  The man didn’t move.

  “You can’t do this.”

  Still quiet.

  Okay, thought Chad. A waiting game. Who can stay quiet the longest. Obviously his opponent did not know the long hours Chad had sat or knelt over a dig, painstakingly sifting, brushing, alone. And, quiet.

  Chad gave it five minutes. Then decided he’d break first.

  “What do you want?” Chad asked feigning anger.

  “Are you a guardian, Dr. Archer?”

  “A what? I’m an American. I have rights.”

  “Oh. An American. Can I see your passport?”

  Chad caught a glint of a smile in the gray eyes.

  “You know I don’t have it. You probably do.”

  More quiet. Chad waited.

  “Are you? Are you a guardian?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “You are Dr. Chad Archer?”

  “You know that.”

  “Yes?” his inquisitor asked.

  “Yes.”

  “An American citizen.”

  “Yes.” Chad answered. What is he up to?

  “A terrorist?”

  “No,” Chad shouted. That’s his game. Lie detection. Yes and no questions. Someone was monitoring responses. Facial movements, probably a temperature sensor directed toward his forehead. A camera on his hands. Everything filmed.

  “A guardian?” the man repeated.

  “No,” Chad said evenly.

  “Let me see your hands. Turn them over.”

  Chad’s hands were on the table. He turned them over.

  The man looked at them, calloused and hard. Then, he looked Chad in the eyes.

  “A guard then?” he asked Chad.

  “No, I said. Not a guard or a guardian. I am an archeologist.”

  The man left the room.

  Round one over, Chad thought. Who won? What’s a guardian or guard? Guarding what? He didn’t think he knew any more now than he did before that conversation.

  What’s my weakness? The same as my strength. My intellect. I want to compete. I want to beat him. I have to hold my temper. I have to be careful not to challenge him. Count to three before answering.

  The door opened and the man returned.

  “Dr. Archer, when you spoke to Elsha Lipman today, what did you mean you would contact your source in the military?”

  Count - one, two, three. Be surprised.

  “How do you know? He told you that?”

  The man waited. Acknowledge. Act scared.

  “You were listening? You tapped his phone? Why? Who are you?”

  “What did you mean by your remark?” The man asked again. “Who do you know in the military?”

  “No one. I was bluffing him. I wanted to meet with Lipman. I did not have much time. I leave tomorrow.” All true.

  The man waited. Chad noticed one side of his mask, at the ear, had something under it. He’s getting prompts from behind the mirror.

  “Why did you contact Mr. Lipman?”

  Count - one, two, three. “Two reasons. I may work on an excavation this summer. An archeologist needs a good dater to work with. Lipman is one of the best. Not just organic dating with radioisotopes. He has a broad knowledge. One of the best in his field.”

  “Why ask for him? Others at Weizmann are good as well.”

  “He was recommended.”

  “By whom?”

  “A friend.”

  “Friend’s name?”

  Count - one, two, three. “Doc. Henry Clark. He taught me. I worked with him. He died recently.”

  There was silence from the questioner. Chad recognized the pattern. Checking information in the other room.

  “Lipman is dead,” the man said with emphasis.

  This time Chad didn’t count to three. “What? When? How?”

  Chad felt he carried out the surprise well. He hoped the mirror people agreed. They were testing his reaction. Did they know he was there and wanted to catch him in a lie? Or did they know he was there but didn’t know he returned. There would be more questions. Pretend, he told himself that they were talking about the death of someone else. Pretend it was Detective MacDonald. Think Mac. Be surprised.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “What was the second reason?”

  Mac. Mac. Mac. Think Mac.

  “Dr. Archer? You said there were two reasons.”

  Chad visibly shook his mind back to the question.

  “I’m writing a book about Doc. He was a digger for thirty years. Dating artifacts changed over that time as well. I wanted Lipman to provide some technical history and the evolution of dating artifacts to parallel Doc’s excavations.”

  That was good he told himself. Hopefully, they questioned Lipman and got the same story. It would be natural to ask, so he did.

  “Is that what this is all about? Lipman’s death? You think I had something to do with it? This is heavy-handed police tactics for a democracy. I think I should leave now.”

  Chad started for the door. It opened immediately. One of the escorts hurried in, pulling his mask down over his face.

  His questioner was standing.

  “Sit, Dr. Archer,” he commanded pointing to the chair.

  Chad stopped himself from reacting. And, from staring. The back of the hand pointing him to his chair bore a scar that he recognized. Yes. Now he remembered where he saw those steel gray eyes.

  Chapter 56

  Archer’s mind raced. The competitive side of him wanted to say, hello colonel. The brighter side of him said no. His abductors are the soldiers from the hospital. How did that figure in? Were they there to protect or finish the job? Maybe they wanted to ensure Lipman didn’t say anything under medication? Or, did they realize that killing him while they were there would not look good, so they abandoned his security? Chad didn’t feel he was any closer to answers.

  “You’ll go when I say you can go.”

  That was a slip. They just confirmed they would not harm him. Or, it was a false promise? That they wore masks was a good sign. If they just wanted to know what he knew and whom he told before they killed him, they wouldn’t bother - unless they wanted him to think that. How smart are they?

  “What else did you talk about? What other projects that Lipman worked on?”

  One, two, three. “I don’t know about other projects.”

  “Whom else did you meet with while you were here, Dr. Archer?”

  Moment of truth. If they know about his meetings with the rabbi and he lies … well then. Do they even know Lipman told the rabbi?

  “Gaige Mandl. An archeologist.” Chad started to say more, but he stopped. That would be a give away that he was hiding something.

  “About what?” the colonel asked.

  Stick to the truth he told himself. “About Doc. They worked together. Stories.
Insights.”

  “That all?”

  “No. He showed me his project. He asked me to work there this summer. His offer made me think of finding a person to do the dating. I remembered Dr. Clark mentioned Lipman. Then the idea about adding technology to the book came from that.”

  Were the gray eyes smiling?

  “Is that the creative writer’s process?”

  One. Two. Three. “I don’t know. I never wrote a book. Have you?”

  “Not hardly.”

  The man looked at Chad for several minutes. He cocked his head once or twice.

  “Tell me about the man and three suns.”

  Think. Think. Surprise. Genuine. “What? Oh, you’ve been in my notebook.” Good recovery.

  “Well?”

  Keep it matter-of-fact. “It’s what I called an art stone at the excavation.”

  “What is an art stone?”

  “There is a room at the site that has art painted and etched into the walls. The art is thousands of years old. They call it the art room. It’s a treasure. Dr. Mandl showed it to me. He let me spend time there. That is where he suggested I work this summer. Researching it and cataloguing it thoroughly.”

  “And what about the man with three suns?”

  Chad knew this was critical. What happens next depends on what he says and if they believe it.

  “It’s one of the stones in the art room. It has been removed from the wall. We do not know by whom. We think it was during an excavation in the 1920s. There are interesting etchings on it. Top and back. And then some numbers on the bottom.”

  “What do they mean?” There was a tension in the small amount of air between them.

  “I don’t know. The symbols I believe are numbers written in a manner that Egyptians did three thousand years ago.”

  “It is three thousand years old?”

  “I don’t know. We won’t know. The numbering system looks to be what was used three thousand years ago. We cannot age rock. The fact that the bottom of the stone had modern day numbers, could place its age at a only thousand or fifteen hundred years.” Chad sighed, and then he continued. “It was one of those things that I thought Mr. Lipman might help with. Not now though. How did he die?”