"What do you think happened?"
"It might have been a hijacking – the Mossad's checking passenger manifests. If some group claims responsibility, maybe we'll know what's going on. Meanwhile, the country is locked down and every airport's closed. There won't be flights for a couple of days, maybe longer. The government will have to decide if they're going to convert a military airfield to civilian use, but right now that's the last thing on the PM's list. He's determined to stop all this and I've committed that we'll help."
"The USA is going to get involved?"
"One way or another. Our fleet in the Mediterranean's on full alert. It all depends ..." He paused. "Hold a minute. Something's happening."
As he waited, Brian turned on CNN and watched the carnage just an hour's drive from where he was. The airport was a smoldering ruin and emergency vehicles were everywhere. Those who were lucky enough to survive and could walk were being herded to safety. EMTs were attending to others. The destroyed airplanes looked like the aftermath of an angry kid playing with his toys.
"Al Qaeda in Syria's claiming responsibility," Harry said when he came back on the line. "Do you recall who its leader is?"
Brian said he, Nicole and Don Case had talked about Tariq over drinks the night before Don was killed.
"This creates a new situation as far as the USA's concerned. The AQS statement says two of their people breached the flight deck and martyred themselves for Allah. We must get involved now because this isn't just about Israel anymore. Tariq's hated America – and me personally – ever since we caught him in his cozy deal with President Parkes. We should have taken the bastard out then. As the head of AQS, he's more powerful than ever. His men murdered Don Case four days ago. We'll figure out the best way to help Israel. Until you can get out, I want you to move to the embassy. I'll make a call and they'll contact you. Hopefully they can get you moved tomorrow morning. The David Citadel's a secure hotel but so was the American Colony and look what happened there."
Brian had his heart set on seeing whatever treasure Abdel was going to show him. What Harry was saying was right – simply being in Israel now was dangerous, but he was intent on seeing the treasure. If he turned himself in at the embassy, he was sure he'd end up a virtual prisoner in the compound for his own safety.
"Did you get my message about going to see –"
"I did," Harry interrupted. "I was all for it at first, because it would give you time alone with Abdel to feel him out. But that's all off now. I'm asking – no, I'm ordering you not to do it. It's just too risky. Don't even think about it. Get with the ambassador and get on the next flight out of there. Charter a plane if you have to – anything."
"You're ordering me, Harry? You're beginning to sound like Nicole," he said, trying to be funny while he watched his adventure slipping away.
"This isn’t a joke, Brian. Don't you see how the airport bombing changes everything? Israel was already preparing for war but the PM has declared that any strike now will be retaliatory, not preemptive. Do you understand the implications of that? Israel could strike first and I can't argue with that line of reasoning."
Harry wrestled over whether to tell him more about the man he was meeting. Most of Abdel's file was still highly classified. Surely he could talk Brian into getting out of Israel instead of going with the Arab to God knows where.
Brian, on the other hand, was consumed with this adventure. He used the same hollow words he’d said to himself time and again in these situations. This is just who I am. But he also knew the truth – he was as much an addict as a heroin user.
He trusted Abdel, a man he’d never met until a few days before. He rationalized that they were members of a very small group of men and women whose galleries had handled some of the world's most significant rarities. Malouf had been in business in Jerusalem for years, and Brian convinced himself there was a kinship.
"It's not that far away," he explained, minimizing what Abdel had told him. "We're leaving at sunrise and we'll be back after lunch. They're not going to start a war today, Harry. Of all people, you know politics doesn't work that way."
"In Israel and under the circumstances, it'll work a hell of a lot faster than you think," the president replied sternly. "I'm surprised at you. I'm surprised I'm trying to talk you out of this when, as smart as you are, you should be agreeing with me that the dangers far outweigh whatever relics this guy's trying to show you. Malouf's not who you think he is, Brian. I can't tell you more and I must leave it at that, but I'm strongly advising you not to go with him. We can't offer you protection if no one even knows where you're going."
"I know he's a Syrian. If that's the thing you can't tell me, I already know it. I've known him by reputation ever since I got into this business. I've never heard anything bad about him. He's been an Israeli citizen for decades. I lost a bidding war to him Tuesday. He wrote a check for four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, so he obviously also has financial resources. Harry, if he’s a terrorist then tell me. But if he’s an antiquities dealer like me who just happens to be Syrian, I want to go see this cave.”
"I’ve registered my concern. I can’t force you to do anything. Does Nicole know about all this?"
"Leave her out of it!" Brian shot back more forcefully than he intended. "She knows and she's not thrilled either, but she’s okay with my going. She understands." That was a lie and Brian knew it. She didn't understand and she never would. Sometimes he didn't either. Occasionally in times like this - okay, being totally honest, almost always – he let his enthusiasm outweigh caution and reason. It had always worked out before and as fear and doubt crept into his mind right now, he replaced them with confidence and excitement.
After the call, Brian tracked Nicole's flight. It was scheduled to land in Dallas in ninety minutes. He hoped Harry wouldn't call her – as much as he appreciated his concern, he needed just twenty-four hours to see whatever it was Abdel wanted to show him. He rationalized that he couldn't leave now anyway – Harry had said the country was locked down. But that didn't worry Brian. His biggest concern was if the cave wasn't in Israel. With the borders closed, how would they get to it?
It was already 3:45 a.m. and they were set to leave at six. If the trip were off, he'd have heard from Abdel by now. There was a new adventure brewing. He convinced himself his tinge of fear was nothing but nervous jitters.
Before returning to bed, he left a voicemail for Nicole, explaining that the Tel Aviv Airport bombing had led to a lockdown of the borders. He was going with Abdel in a couple of hours and would be back at the hotel by mid-afternoon. He promised to contact the embassy then and ask them how he might leave Israel. If commercial flights weren't an option soon, he'd try to charter a private jet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brian was in the lobby early, sipping a coffee he'd brewed in his room. When Abdel walked in, he asked if the trip was still on.
Abdel nodded. "The driver checked the route. There are two ways to go north and we are taking the faster one. It runs close to the border, but so far there are no closures. We may encounter checkpoints along the way; you should take your passport."
Brian patted his shirt pocket. They went outside, climbed into an older model Land Rover and pulled away. The first pink streaks of dawn painted the skies over the Temple Mount as the driver headed out of the city.
"This is Mohammed," Abdel said from the front passenger seat. "He drives for me often and he speaks no English."
"You said we're going north. I heard the borders are closed, so I presume we're staying in Israel."
"You are asking questions I cannot answer. You will be safe, as I said earlier. You must cover your eyes for the last of the trip. For now, the exact location must remain a secret."
"That's fine," Brian replied with a shiver of doubt. Once they were out of the city, he clicked his watch to digital compass mode and saw they were going east. By the time the sun was completely up, they had passed through Jericho and were traveling north on Highway 90, a
route Brian had earlier been cautioned to avoid. The guide they used had said that the new Israeli toll road was a safer, more comfortable alternative to the border road they were on today. These days it could be riskier, but it was still the fastest route to the north – if it was open.
They drove for a couple of hours, often within sight of the border. When they were close, they saw lines of Jordanian tanks and trucks and hundreds of soldiers setting up camps. Almost the only other traffic on the two-lane highway was convoys of military vehicles moving into position on the Israeli side. The heightened activity made for a tense ride, and Brian's enthusiasm was tempered – but only a little – by a feeling that this could get dangerous.
Abdel brought up the bombings and expressed his disgust at the assassinations. He told Brian he had moved from Syria twenty years ago and had built both his gallery and his reputation in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. He admitted that while he enjoyed Jerusalem, he had no love for the Jewish people. Regardless, there was no honor in committing terrorism and murder, he said.
Brian asked if things would be different under Prime Minister Shigon. Abdel thought things would change, but not in a good way. The choice of Shigon was a knee-jerk reaction by the Knesset, he added, but Shigon's hawkish, insular stance would only increase tensions between Jews and Palestinians and incite the Arab nations that surrounded Israel.
"Pardon me for saying so," he continued, "but your friend President Harrison's decision to move the embassy to Jerusalem didn't do anything to help the situation. It infuriated the Palestinians even more and achieved absolutely nothing for America. Other presidents have left the issue alone. It was a slap in the face to everyone except America's friends the Jews."
Brian was acutely aware of how inflammatory the subject was. He and Harry had discussed it several times, most recently as they were engaged in a lively debate about one of Harry's favorite subjects, eschatology – the study of the end times as predicted in the Bible. Harry strongly believed that God was on Israel's side in a war that had gone on for two thousand years and that would continue until the day in the valley of Megiddo when Armageddon – the great war between good and evil that would end the world – would take place.
Brian was surprised when Abdel commented about his friendship with Harry. It certainly was no secret, but it wasn't something he or the president talked openly about with others. However, with the Internet and a plethora of cable networks today, there were no real secrets left in the world, he told himself, hoping that was how Abdel knew.
Abdel interrupted Brian's thoughts. "Israel is closer to war at this moment than at any time since 1967," he suggested. "I worry about what will happen to my gallery if the Jews lock down the Old City. I'm afraid looters would take everything. I want to move out some of the more valuable pieces, but I have nowhere secure to store them."
"If there's any way you think I could be of assistance, I'd be happy to do so," Brian offered. It would be simple to create an agreement under which Abdel could ship his relics to one of Brian's galleries until things cooled down. It would be less simple to work out the physical part – how to move fragile, priceless and bulky objects through the narrow, crowded streets of the Old City and then sixty miles to the airport in Tel Aviv once it eventually reopened. Brian's offer was sincere – he knew other dealers who had done similar things for colleagues who had troubles, and he knew others would do it for him if he needed help.
Abdel seemed genuinely touched by the offer and quickly accepted it. "We should talk more about this back in Jerusalem. Perhaps you can come to my shop tomorrow evening to work out the details," he said.
After they'd been driving two hours, Abdel turned, handed Brian a hood made of black cloth and said, "It's time. You won't wear it for long."
It'll be all right, he assured himself from under the hood as he felt goosebumps on his arms. Just stay calm. Abdel’s a friend.
When the SUV rolled to a stop, Brian felt a rush of warm air as the driver lowered his window and spoke to someone in rapid Arabic. Abdel had insinuated they weren't leaving Israel, although he hadn't said so directly. Now he began to worry. This could be a problem.
We're at the border.
“Are we still in Israel?”
“Yes. We are not leaving. Just a few more minutes.”
The Land Rover lurched forward. Now they were off the paved road and driving on what felt like cobblestones. Brian bounced up and down for five minutes and the vehicle stopped again.
"You may take off the hood and get out," Abdel advised, and Brian was ready. It was getting hot as hell under the cloth and he needed fresh air. They had parked on top of a hill. He walked to the edge and his fears disappeared. He looked down a valley where the rays of the morning sun illuminated a sprawling, ruined city. There were stately rows of ancient columns twenty feet tall that were reminiscent of Greece or Rome. He saw temples, baths and a huge amphitheater, all connected by streets paved with flagstones. For more than a mile in every direction, he saw debris from hundreds of stone buildings long ago destroyed by war, neglect or abandonment. Then he noticed a modern feature – a parking lot lay in the distance. There were people walking around here and there; the place appeared to be a tourist destination.
Where the hell am I?
"Okay, what is this incredible city?" he asked, but Abdel only smiled and shook a finger at him.
"Be grateful that I allowed you to see the vista below us. I knew it would intrigue you, even though you don't know what it is. I could have taken you directly to the cave without stopping at this wonderful ancient city, but we are professionals, after all, and you deserve to see it."
"The construction is obviously Roman. Do I see Byzantine too?"
"It's a bit of both, actually. It is one of the oldest cities in this region. It was already ancient when the prophet Isaiah wrote about hidden treasure. Now we must go in the car again and you must don the hood for five minutes. Soon you will see something even more wonderful than the city below us."
When the car stopped and one of the front doors opened, Brian reached for his hood, but Abdel said, "Leave it on for another few moments. I must lead you to the place we are going."
He took Brian's arm and guided him down a slope, gripping him tightly when the soil became slippery. "Be careful," he cautioned. Brian clumsily plodded downhill through trees and scrub. Abdel slowed his pace, then stopped for a moment.
He took Brian's arm again, pulling him into thick, waist-high brush.
"Can I see where I'm going so I don't fall?" Brian asked.
"Allah is with the patient. I am looking for something. We are almost there."
Moments later they stopped and Abdel removed his hood. It was just the two of them; the driver must have remained with the SUV. They were standing on the edge of a steep rock face that overlooked a valley below.
"It is more difficult from here," Abdel said, pulling aside the branches of a tall, sturdy shrub and wrapping his fingers around a rope. "I will go first. It's only twenty feet. Are you afraid of heights?"
Brian wasn't, and he watched Abdel shinny down the knotted rope and then call for him to follow. At the bottom, there was a wide ledge covered in brush. Abdel pushed a thick bramble aside and pointed to a dark hole about four feet in diameter. "In there," he said, handing Brian a headlamp.
Just past the opening, the cave widened to about ten feet high and five in width. Behind them dim sunlight filtered in from the entrance. Just ahead was a corridor heading off into the darkness, its entrance flanked by a pair of extraordinary objects.
"What the hell are these doing here?" Brian asked, astounded to see two life-sized Egyptian statues carved from stone. "It's a pharaoh," he muttered, thinking he could easily be in the Giza plateau instead of somewhere in Israel. "That's Ramesses III, isn't it? How did these get here?"
"Your knowledge of ancient things continues to surprise me, Brian. You are correct. It is the pharaoh Ramesses himself. As you may know, what is now Israel was once pa
rt of the land of Canaan. There were several wars, the last of which ended in victory for the Israelites, who have occupied this land off and on ever since.
"You pointed out Roman and Byzantine construction in the city I showed you. If you were to walk its ancient streets, you would see Egyptian influence there as well. In the city there are statues, a sphinx and other things that confirm the Egyptians coexisted with the Canaanites. You also find them in other cities such as Jaffa and Hazor."
"How long ago was that?"
"Ramesses III ruled in the middle of the twelfth century before the common era, about three thousand two hundred years ago. He was the strongest pharaoh of his time. In the hundred years after his reign, there were several more rulers named Ramesses, each of whom was weak and unable to challenge the Canaanites. So that is the reason you see the influence of Egypt – particularly Ramesses III – here in this ancient city. What are two statues doing here in this cavern? We likely will never know. The place I am about to show you is a storehouse for wonderful things. These statues lead me to conclude that it could also have been a hiding place for sacred Egyptian objects as well and perhaps even a burial site. But I am getting off the subject. We should go now; we only have an hour here."
Abdel led the way down the narrow passageway past the two statues. They walked a hundred feet along a descending corridor and came to a fork. To the left the path continued down a passage as large as the one they'd just traversed. The corridor to the right was simply a crawl space. And that was the way Abdel pointed.
"From here the passage is very tight, but it isn't far and I promise you'll find it worth the effort." He bent over and went into the opening, shuffling along as Brian followed. Being a couple of inches shorter, Abdel maneuvered more easily beneath the five-foot ceiling than his tall American friend.
Brian had been in his share of caves and he wasn't typically claustrophobic, but his heart began to race as the walls narrowed, creating a tight viselike corridor. His arms touched the sides and he was forced not only to keep his back bent but now he had to turn sideways and sidle through, his backside against one wall and his head an inch from the other. It was damp and clammy. It's like a tomb, Brian thought, forcing himself to concentrate on what lay ahead. Abdel seemed to be fine, skittering down the dank passageway with no apparent discomfort.
Temple: The Prophecy of the Hidden Treasure (Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries Book 7) Page 5
