Temple: The Prophecy of the Hidden Treasure (Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries Book 7)

by Bill Thompson

  Brian knew that Harry was right. Angry over Abdel's betrayal, he shot back, "The leader? Is that what he is to you? He'll kill me and you know it, but you handed me over. You're no friend; you're one of them. I trusted you and I offered to help you, and this is what you give me in return. You're a spineless, pathetic wretch with no conscience."

  "You are wrong about what you think," he answered quietly. "Yes, I once was part of al Qaeda, but I was never a terrorist. I was a mole in Israel and I passed along information."

  Brian interrupted him harshly. "And that doesn't make you a terrorist? Seriously? How many people died because of information you passed along?"

  "Please let me finish. As I became a prominent antiquities dealer, I met important people and had access others did not. But I hated what I was doing to the very people who had helped me. No one ever died from what I revealed, I pray to Allah. And years went by without any contact from al Qaeda. I began to think they were finished with me. But I knew better. No one leaves al Qaeda except in a body bag."

  As Brian snorted derisively, Abdel wiped away a tear. "I was a spy in the country that gave me freedom and a real life. I felt sorry for anyone who might have suffered because of my actions. I never killed anyone myself, but my information may have harmed Israel. I will go to my grave regretting what I did."

  Abdel's confession meant one thing to Brian – he was in grave danger. Once again, he'd ignored his wife and her heartfelt attempts to reason with him. In his usual dismissive way, he'd put himself into a precarious situation purely for the thrill of one more adventure. He could have been home with her, but instead he was a prisoner in Jordan. And he'd trusted a man whom he now realized was everything Harry had thought he might be. He was one of Tariq's men.

  "I don't believe all that bullshit about how sorry you are," he snarled. "If you're al Qaeda, you're a terrorist. You're so sorry about how you treated your friends, but supposedly I was your friend, and thanks to you I'm a prisoner. You and Tariq planned this all along and I blindly trusted you!"

  "I'm telling the truth! I didn't plan this; Tariq called me. He told me he was going to destroy the ancient city and steal the treasure. That's why I'm a prisoner here too. I'm locked in this room just as you are."

  "Do you think I'm stupid? You're no prisoner. You know exactly where we are and exactly what's going on. Is that the plan? You pretend to be a captive too and get me to do whatever it is you brought me here for?"

  "No, no! You must believe me! I want to save Beth Shean and the treasure. I am not on their side any more, even though Tariq forced me to help him today. You are in no danger. He promised me that he only wants to talk to you. You should not be afraid. He will let you go soon."

  Brian stared at him in disbelief. "For God's sake, he killed Vice President Case and the Israeli prime minister! He's a madman! Do you think he kidnapped me so we could have a little chat? Are you insane? He's going to kill me, and you won't do anything to stop him."

  Abdel spoke more calmly, hoping Brian wasn't right. "That's not true. He brought you here because he wants a commitment from America to make the Jews be reasonable. Your president should not have moved the embassy to Jerusalem –"

  "I'm a prisoner and you're lecturing me about the embassy? Abdel, this guy's a lunatic. How many people has he personally murdered? Hundreds? Thousands? He's not interested in peace. He's interested in something else. It's the treasure – you said it earlier. And you're going to help him steal it. I get it now."

  As Abdel shook his head, they heard footsteps approaching. A swarthy man in fatigues opened the door and spoke to Abdel, who pushed himself up.

  "Come on," he said. "It's time."

  The guard ushered them down a narrow low-ceilinged hallway and Brian's heart began palpitating wildly at the thought of what might be about to happen. He glanced at his watch. 4:15 p.m. His flight to Istanbul was departing in just two hours. He wondered if he'd ever see home again.

  They entered a dingy ten-by-twelve room. It had been a living room once, but now there were just two wooden desks and a few rickety folding chairs. Tariq sat behind one of the desks. A guard with a Kalashnikov stood beside him and another sat by a door across the room that led outdoors. Brian glanced at Abdel; the man's face was contorted in terror. But was Abdel really a prisoner? It took only a moment to learn the answer.

  "Sit," Tariq ordered. They took chairs facing the desk, but the terrorist said, "Not there, Abdel, you may sit here." He patted an empty chair beside his. "Only the infidel will sit across from me. You will be seated at my right hand, as a loyal follower of al Qaeda should be. You are my brother."

  Abdel looked meekly at Brian, hung his head and sat next to Tariq. Brian thought he could see a slight shake of Abdel's head – perhaps a sign that everything wasn't as it seemed – but the time for putting his trust in the man he'd thought was a friend was over. It was time for praying that he'd make it out of here alive.

  Tariq's eyes glimmered with excitement as he began to speak quietly. His body language displayed the self-assurance, the sheer arrogance of a man accustomed to gaining respect through intimidation and fear.

  "I want to get your president's attention. I have debated the best way to do that. In the movies, the aggressor sends a souvenir from his captive – a finger perhaps, or an ear – but that seems so passé, don't you think? Can you help me decide a better way? Or you, Abdel? Can you offer a suggestion?"

  Dread crept over Brian like an engulfing blanket. He struggled to maintain his composure and dug his fingernails into his palms to stop his hands from trembling while Abdel sat next to Tariq, staring ahead and saying nothing.

  "I asked you a question, Mr. Sadler. It would be impolite for you not to answer me."

  "You don't have to do that," Brian spluttered. "I can get his attention without your doing anything to me."

  "You can indeed, and that is why we are together now. But I want him to know how serious I am. President Harrison is only alive today because that idiot Chambliss Parkes failed me. I made him president of the United States, Mr. Sadler, but all too briefly. Surely you recall all of that."

  Brian nodded.

  "I want to make a statement to your friend. I have been told I have a – how do you say it in English? – a flair for the dramatic, and I want to do something the president will never forget, something that will make him listen. If it's not to be your ear or your finger, what should I do?"

  "I'll tell him whatever you ask. He'll listen – I'll convince him."

  Tariq smiled. "I have an idea. What if I kill your wife? Would that help convince him – and perhaps yourself as well – that I am someone to take seriously?"

  Brian flew out of his chair toward the killer. One of the soldiers rushed across the room, grabbed him by the arms and forced him back into the chair.

  "Leave her out of this! I've told you I'll help, you crazy bastard! This isn't her fight!"

  The terrorist laughed mirthlessly. "Have I struck a nerve? I can see that she is my best course of action. In fact, I have already asked some of my associates in Dallas, Texas, to occupy her for a few days until you and the president can sort things out. Now that I have your attention, I will tell you what I require."

  Tariq handed Brian a pad of paper and a pen; then he enumerated several demands. When he was finished, he barked an order and Brian was pulled from his chair and taken back to the room where they'd been held earlier. Five minutes later the door opened and Abdel walked in, visibly shaken and vainly attempting to pull himself together.

  "Did you and your friend get everything worked out?" Brian snapped. "Are you still going to pretend you don't know what's going on here?"

  Abdel said nothing. He merely glanced up now and then at a camera mounted near the ceiling, its faint red light indicating it was functional.

  "He's kidnapped my wife! Do you care about that, you bastard? You're just like he is – a lying coward who pretends to be something he isn't. Tariq's a lunatic, but you're just as bad. You be
tray your friends. You double-cross people who offer to help you. If my wife ..." He paused, choking up. "If something happens to her, it's your fault. And you'll pay. I'll make you pay."

  The Arab sat on the floor with his head hung low until some men came for them.

  Two hours later Brian and Abdel arrived back at the primitive Sheikh Hussein border crossing. They had made the trip in silence. Furious, Brian wanted to force Abdel to reveal what was really going on, but with Tariq's goons in the front seat, he had to wait. Regardless, his most pressing priority was Nicole. He was terrified – desperate to hear her voice, to learn that Tariq's words had been merely threats and that she was safe. It was all he could do to remain calm until he could get to a phone.

  At the border his captors handed back everything he and Abdel had come with – passports, cellphones, credit cards and cash. Night had fallen and floodlights bathed the ten-foot fence between the countries in an eerie yellow glow. Tariq had given them safe-passage documents to present to the Jordanian guards, and they moved easily through the checkpoint. The Israeli side was a different story. Six soldiers raised their rifles and ordered them to drop to the ground with arms and legs outstretched. They were searched and their passports were seized.

  A few minutes later a captain arrived, handed back their documents and apologized that they had been ordered to the ground. It was because they had walked across, he explained. The customary way to come from Jordan was on a shuttle bus and two men walking had caused alarm.

  Once Brian had missed his deadline for leaving the country, the prime minister's office circulated a flyer via email to police stations and army checkpoints throughout Israel. If Brian was sighted, he should be detained, treated with the courtesy afforded diplomatic personnel, and transferred to the American embassy for deportation.

  "I've already called your embassy," the captain advised. They're sending a car from Tiberias. It should take less than an hour. In the meantime, please relax here in my office. May I offer you some tea and something to eat?"

  "I have to make a call. May I have privacy?" he asked.

  "Of course, but I must inform you that you are being officially detained. You are not under arrest, but you also are not free to leave. Please do not attempt anything foolish." He stepped out of the room, positioning guards outside the door and windows. If Brian had intended to run, it would have been impossible.

  Now it was just him and Abdel in the tiny office. "Get out of here!" he said curtly. "Wait outside until I'm finished." After today, the less the Arab knew about his personal life, the better.

  "I'm sorry," Abdel mumbled as he walked out.

  "Sure you are. Screw you."

  He called Nicole's cellphone, but it went immediately to voicemail. "Call me when you get this," he said, desperate to hear from her. "It's urgent."

  He called the concierge in the lobby of their condominium building. Nicole had left a couple of hours ago with two men, he advised. Fear and anger swept over Brian once again as the concierge explained, "She seemed in good spirits when they drove away. Is everything okay? Is there something I can do to help?"

  "No, it's fine," he said, wishing it was. Calling the police wasn't an option. He had nothing to tell them. There was only one person he could reach out to. Frantically he placed a call to Cynthia Beal at the White House. When she picked up, he literally screamed into the phone.

  "I need Harry! I need to talk to him now!"

  His panic-stricken, gasping words startled her. "The president's in a meeting, but he left specific instructions to interrupt if you called. Are you all right, Brian? Can you hold a moment while I get him on the line?"

  He said he was all right but to hurry. He held everything together until he heard Harry's voice, but when that happened, he lost control.

  "Nicole's been kidnapped!" Brian blurted in a moan of anguish.

  "She's okay. Don't worry."

  "No, she isn't! You don't know what I'm talking about! Tariq kidnapped her! He told me he has her!"

  "Easy, Brian. Everything's okay. He lied to you. He may have wanted to kidnap her, but she's safe – we have her. The ambassador called me three hours ago and told me you didn't show up at the airport. It was clear you were going to miss your deadline and the PM was going to issue an arrest warrant. I didn't know what you were doing, but I knew that you wouldn't simply ignore his order. I asked the FBI to take Nicole to a safe place until I heard from you."

  "Where is she? I want to talk to her!"

  Harry tried to soothe his desperate friend. "I understand, and I'm going to work that out. I don't know exactly where she is because I didn't ask. Her phone is turned off, but I'll call the FBI director when we hang up. I promise she'll call you soon. But what about you? You said Tariq kidnapped you? Where are you now? Are you safe?"

  "He took me to Jordan and gave me a message for you. Then he let me go. I'm at an Israeli checkpoint, waiting for someone from the embassy to pick me up. Abdel's with me, but I'm not going into all this right now. I want to talk to Nicole first. I hope you understand. After I speak with her, I'll tell you everything."

  "No, Brian! This is critical! I need to know what Tariq wanted."

  "I get it, Harry, but it'll have to wait until Nicole calls me. Once I hear her voice, I'll tell you everything. There's nothing that can't wait and she comes first." He hung up, thinking that he'd never spoken to the president so harshly. But Harry would understand.

  He sat in the cramped office and fidgeted for twenty minutes, unable to concentrate on anything but her. At last his phone rang and Nicole sobbed, "Honey, are you all right? FBI agents came to our building. They said you failed to show up for a flight and they made me leave the house on five minutes' notice! I'm in a safe house, but I can't tell anyone where it is. There's an agent here in the room with me right now. I'm scared, Brian. Where are you? Are you under arrest? Why didn't you tell me you were leaving Israel tonight?"

  "I'm fine," he assured her, breathing deeply as relief swept over him. He didn't tell her much of his saga because there was no need to give her more reason to worry. "It's a long story and I'll fill you in later. I'm at a border crossing point in northern Israel and I'm waiting for someone from the embassy to pick me up. I was taken to Jordan and given a message for Harry. I wasn't harmed at all and I'm safe, so everything's good except I missed my flight. I didn't tell you because ..." He paused, trying to put a positive spin on the prime minister's twenty-four-hour eviction notice. "I ... I wanted to surprise you. I was going to Istanbul. I think I would have spent the night there and then flown to the States tomorrow. I hadn't worked it all out."

  She could tell from his hesitation that he was holding something back. "What is it, Brian? Since I've known you, I've never heard you say you hadn't worked out a flight itinerary the minute you knew you were going. What are you not telling me? Do you promise you're safe?"

  "I'm as safe as I can be sitting at the border a hundred feet from Jordan with people on both sides itching to start a war. You’re right, Nicole. You’re right about the danger here. There are tanks and soldiers all over the place, but I'm in Israel so, yes, I think I'm safe for now. And I'll tell you the real reason I was leaving Israel tonight." He told Nicole that he had been caught yesterday afternoon in the Muslim Quarter during a lockdown. He'd called the embassy for help but hadn’t expected the ambassador himself to intervene. Tempers had flared, feathers had been ruffled, and the prime minister gave him twenty-four hours to leave. He missed the deadline because he was "meeting" – he sugarcoated the kidnapping part for now – with a member of al Qaeda who wanted Brian to pass a message to Harry.

  "Have you talked to Harry?"

  "Yes. I called him after I couldn't reach you a few minutes ago. He had them take you away because I went missing for a few hours and Harry was concerned for your safety." Brian didn't mention Tariq’s terrifying claim to have kidnapped her.

  "I'm sorry I've been such a jerk," he said earnestly. "I’m out of here as soon as I can make
it happen."

  They agreed she'd call him again a few hours from now, around 11 p.m. in Jerusalem. By then he should be back at the hotel.

  He opened the door of the captain's office and saw a Mercedes sedan with diplomatic plates swing into the parking lot. Two men ushered Abdel and Brian into the backseat and they began the drive to Jerusalem. The man in the passenger seat made a call, spoke for a moment and handed the phone to Brian.

  "The ambassador would like a word," he advised.

  There was no small talk and no expression of relief that Brian was back on Israeli soil. The diplomat’s words were terse and devoid of emotion. Given that he only missed his deadline because he'd been kidnapped, the prime minister had given Brian a twenty-four-hour reprieve. The same flight – Haifa to Istanbul – was arranged for tomorrow. A car would pick him up at the David Citadel at two.

  "Be in that car," the ambassador warned. "The prime minister is at the end of his rope. He promised you'll find yourself in jail if you miss the deadline again, no matter what excuses you come up with. You're out of time, Mr. Sadler. Is there anything about what I am saying that you don't understand?"

  Brian understood. His mind raced to figure out exactly how he could do what he needed in the short time left.

  "How long a drive is it from Haifa to Beth Shean?" he asked the driver.

  "Maybe an hour," the man replied. "But my instructions are to deliver you to the David Citadel Hotel, sir."

  "Right. I'm just asking."

  Brian texted Cynthia Beal and told her he should be at the hotel in ninety minutes and could talk with Harry then if the president was available.