But the other man was gone.
Brian bounded down the stairs. "Let's get out of here!" he shouted.
After an uneventful ride, they were in Haifa by eleven and Brian dismissed the driver at the airport. He wasn't staying here, but he didn't trust anyone. Once the car pulled away, he told Abdel goodbye, promised they'd meet in Athens tomorrow, and caught a taxi to a nearby hotel, where he would stay until his flight tomorrow. A few hours later Abdel called Brian to report that he had checked in the hotel and he was on his way to a late lunch and to buy some clothes and toiletries.
Brian spent the afternoon in his room, ate dinner in a nearby restaurant, went to bed early and caught his flight out the next morning. The plane arrived on time in Athens and Brian was at Abdel's hotel before eleven. He called the room, but there was no answer. He had the same result when he called his cellphone. Increasingly worried, he convinced the manager to allow a bellman to accompany him upstairs.
A Do Not Disturb sign hung on the door. The employee rapped loudly, announced he was coming in, and inserted the key. The room was empty, the bed had not been slept in, and there were no personal items anywhere. The only signs anyone had been there were a raised toilet lid, a damp washcloth by the sink and a bar of soap that had been opened and used.
Abdel Malouf was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Brian unsuccessfully scoured the room, looking for a clue to Abdel's whereabouts. He spoke to the desk clerk, who remembered Abdel from yesterday. Brian asked if he had recommended a restaurant. He had, and he'd also given him the address of a men's clothing store nearby. Brian took down the information and left the hotel, hoping to trace Abdel's movements.
This time of day, the tiny restaurant was quiet. The maître d' recalled the man Brian described. He had come in around five yesterday evening, eaten a leisurely dinner and stayed over an hour. He had been on his phone some of the time, the headwaiter remembered. No, he did not appear concerned or edgy. He acted as though everything was fine.
The clothing store was a mom-and-pop place, which also helped. A clerk who'd worked yesterday evening didn't specifically recall Abdel, but he agreed to look through the sales receipts to see what they could find. Sure enough, there was a cash purchase for two pairs of pants, two shirts, a sweater, socks and underwear. That had been at 6:48 p.m. Had he gone back to the hotel after that?
Brian tried his cell again and left a message. "Please call me if you can. I want to help you."
_____
"Mr. President, Director Kendrick's on line one."
"Hello, Stan," Harry said. "What do you have for me?"
"Word on the street in Jerusalem is that Tariq has offered a million-euro reward for the capture of Malouf and Mr. Sadler. He wants them brought in alive. I think he's in danger, Mr. President."
"I'll call him right now."
Five minutes later Brian heard the news and advised that he was safely in Athens.
"You're not safe," Harry replied. "Al Qaeda has tentacles throughout Europe, especially there. You need security immediately. I'll ask Cynthia to have the embassy arrange it."
Brian couldn't argue his way out of it this time. He was in Europe, but Harry still was worried. He'd accept the security and the restrictions that came with it until he could get home.
_____
The hardest part of it all was the deception. Brian has been nothing but a friend, and this is how I responded to his generosity. What kind of wretch have I become?
Abdel turned on his phone and listened again to Brian's voicemail. The words saddened him. The choices he had made long ago had trapped him now and he couldn't allow his friend to be caught too. He truly regretted not being able to tell him what it was all about. Part of him wanted to return the call, to explain why he'd left, to confess his secrets and to make amends. But as quickly as those thoughts came, he dismissed them.
Brian had done him a huge favor by getting him this far, and he had made up his mind how he would return the favor, as much as the thought of it saddened him. He was safely out of Israel and – at least for the moment – out of Tariq's clutches. But in truth there was no place to hide. The ruthless leader would stop at nothing to hunt him down and slaughter him like a cheetah after a gazelle. Putting miles between him and Tariq might help for today, but soon he would be a dead man.
He had taken his kidnappers to the treasure trove. Brian had killed one of them and that was good, but the other had disappeared. He had to assume that by now the leader knew everything. And that meant the treasure would be gone soon. The one thing that was positive was the location of the cavern. If it had been in an Arab nation, Tariq would have had the relics already. But it was in Israel. The logistics of recovering and transporting it to Syria would require time and assistance from locals. The Palestinians might help, but would they really put their lives on the line for Tariq? Did the leader have connections with people at the border who would look the other way while truck after truck loaded with priceless relics rolled unimpeded across the Hussein Bridge? Abdel simply didn't know.
If he had spoken with Brian, his primary message would have been the urgency of securing the cave. Never mind that it was inside a national park. It needed iron bars, padlocks and armed sentries around the clock. Perhaps Brian was already working on it. He hoped so.
Before he put his old life behind him, Abdel had one more thing to do. He found an attorney, went to his office and instructed him to prepare a document. He went to the nearest FedEx office and bought a padded envelope. He took something from his backpack – a small object wrapped in cloth that he'd grabbed in his shop yesterday while he was getting his passport. He put the object in the parcel along with a handwritten letter and the legal document. He gave the clerk an address he had found on the Internet and paid to ship the package to Jerusalem. Another loose end was tied up, and this one affected him deeply.
He sat in the smoking area of the immense train station in downtown Athens, puffing away as he waited for the overnight Pullman service to Skopje, Macedonia, fourteen hours to the north. He would go to another country in a day or so, and then he assumed he'd move again before it got too risky. It was sad to think this was his life now, a man on the run, always looking over his shoulder, but he had made his choices and he must live with the consequences.
Since he was already in Greece – a European Union country – it would have been good if he could have gone from here to another EU venue. But he couldn't keep using his real passport. He had decided to travel to Eastern Europe – Macedonia being the closest country – and try to find a way to get new documents. He didn't know how one went about creating a new persona. If he'd still been part of al Qaeda in Syria, he would have known who to ask, but now al Qaeda was the enemy. He'd once seen a movie where a man on the run went to a store, used a password and was granted entry to a back room where a master forger sat plying his trade. Euros had been exchanged for new documents. But that was a film and this was real life. He had no idea where to start.
Shortly after four in the afternoon, his train was announced and he walked to the platform. He had nothing but his backpack containing the clothes he had bought yesterday, a toiletry kit and a thick stack of euros he'd taken from the safe with his passport. He was afraid to use credit cards any more, and money was the least of his worries. He had maintained secret bank accounts in the names of shell corporations in London and Geneva for twenty years, quietly moving funds now and then just in case a day like this arose. Today those accounts held more than two million euros, and nothing could tie them to Abdel Malouf. He could buy a new identity, set up a new business somewhere and start over.
It sounded simple, but he knew it wouldn't be that easy.
He boarded the train and handed his ticket to a porter, acutely aware that this ticket symbolized the start of a journey to a new and different life. He was completely lost in his own thoughts, consumed about what would happen tomorrow, the day after and the day after that. The attendant touched
him lightly on the sleeve, asking him to step aside so others could board, and directing him to his room – a private sleeper compartment down the narrow hallway.
Twenty minutes later the train rumbled out of the station. By nightfall he had eaten a satisfying meal in the dining car, enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine and was ready for bed. It had been an exhausting, gut-wrenching and terrifying twenty-four hours, but he was beginning to feel just a twinge of optimism. Maybe all this would really work. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.
Abdel awoke before 5 a.m., completely rested and refreshed for the first time in as long as he could remember. For over an hour he lay in his berth with the curtain raised, marveling at the majestic snowcapped peaks of southern Macedonia. He shaved, dressed and padded down the hall to use the common toilet. The aroma of coffee wafted in from somewhere nearby, and it smelled wonderful. Back in his compartment, he rang for the porter and ordered some. It was delivered quickly, along with a pastry and some grapes. "We will be arriving in Skopje in less than an hour," the man advised. The train pulled into the station on schedule and he stepped onto the platform.
He went to a little hotel he'd found online. He checked in and handed over his Israeli passport, hoping it would be the last time he had to use it. He didn't know if the Israeli authorities would be looking for him because of the body in his upstairs hall with its skull cracked open, but even if they did, would they follow him all the way to Europe? He decided it was unlikely they'd be on the trail this quickly. Regardless, he had to change identities. If it wasn't the authorities he needed to worry about, it was Tariq's men. Even Brian Sadler might be trying to find him, unaware of the danger he would face if he did.
He showered, put on his set of new clothes, sent the others to the hotel laundry and went out for a walk. Even with its six hundred thousand inhabitants, the streets of Skopje felt quiet compared to the hubbub of Jerusalem. He knew the city had been virtually annihilated in a massive earthquake in 1963, which explained why there were few historic landmarks. Instead he passed street after street of drab, unremarkable modern buildings. As he crossed a major thoroughfare, he saw a side street that was closed to vehicular traffic. Street vendors sat behind tables filled with everything from fresh fruits to woolen mittens, from tourist souvenirs to bootlegged DVDs of American movies.
He walked through the busy lane, dodging shoppers speaking half a dozen languages and pawing through a plethora of things for sale. He bought a few more items – socks, underwear, Polo shirts and fake American-branded jeans. There was no need to exchange his euros since every vendor accepted them. He stuffed his purchases in his backpack and felt a sense of relief that he had more clothes now, another step in his new life. He saw a table to his left and an idea came to him.
Two scruffy young Arabs were selling roach clips, rolling papers and bongs. He selected a pipe and one of the salesmen quietly asked in English, "Do you need anything to go with it?" He took a baggie from his lap, cupped his hand over it and showed it to Abdel.
That was what he was hoping for. "I do," he replied in Arabic, a tongue to which the young man quickly switched.
"Twenty euros for the bag."
Abdel gave him the money and was handed a grocery sack. "I need something else," he said, venturing into a place that made him very nervous indeed. "I need a passport."
The men glanced at each other and one whispered, "Passports cost a lot of money."
"The question is, do you know where I can get one?"
The youth shook his head. "But I know someone who does. That will cost money too."
How much money? Abdel wondered. He didn't want to appear to be the novice he was, so he said, "Tell me how it works."
"You pay me a hundred euros and I will give you a phone number."
"How can I trust you?"
"You can't," his companion sneered. "But you appear to be a man who needs a passport, so you must pay the money."
Abdel peeled off five twenties and handed them over. The vendor grabbed his phone and walked away for a moment. When he returned, he tore a piece from a paper sack and wrote a number on it. He handed it across the table and said, "Nice doing business with you."
Abdel's heart raced. He had never done anything like this in his life. Even his work for al Qaeda had been low-level spying – passing along information about things he saw and heard in Jerusalem. He had taken the first step and he was terrified. But, he rationalized, there was no risk in making the call. He could hang up if he got nervous. He punched in the numbers and waited.
A voice answered in Arabic. Abdel said what he wanted and the man asked him a series of questions, including his name and birth date, both of which he made up on the spot. He was told to bring two passport photos and ten thousand euros to a certain sidewalk café where he would meet a woman dressed in a red sweater. She would join him for coffee, take the photos and his money and meet him exactly twenty-four hours later in the same spot. At that meeting, she would give him a European Union passport issued in Greece that would allow him to travel within the EU.
"Will the passport be real?" he asked, and he was told again that it would work perfectly for travel throughout the EU. Countries with customs officials, such as those in Eastern Europe and the United States, could be riskier.
"So how then do I get into the EU? Won't I be stopped when I leave Macedonia?"
"Not if you go by train," the forger answered. "Your documents would be closely examined at the airport. But if you take the train to Sofia, the only check will be a quick pass-through at the Bulgarian border. You will have no problems."
Abdel was almost free. All he had to do was get into the EU. After that he could move about Europe with a new name and new documents. He considered ten thousand euros a small price to pay, although he told the man he would pay half the money up front and half upon delivery, which was agreed.
He went to the café early, ordered lunch and a glass of wine, and he waved when a pretty girl in her twenties, her red sweater accentuating a nice figure, came through the entryway and walked to his table. She smiled as she sat and whispered, "Talk to me as if we are good friends."
They chatted casually in English about how beautiful the mountains of Macedonia were and what a pleasant day it had turned out to be. He put an envelope on the table next to her and she ignored it. She accepted his offer of a glass of wine, and when it arrived, she moved the envelope to her lap, looked inside and sent a brief text on her phone. They continued the small talk until her wine was finished.
"I'm concerned about the passport," he confessed as she gathered her purse. "Are you certain it will be good enough for safe passage within the EU?"
She smiled at him as if she hadn't heard. "See you tomorrow," she said gaily, giving him a peck on the cheek as she departed. To the other diners, they were simply an older man and a young girl, perhaps a niece, who had met for a quick drink. The routine was repeated the next day. This time the girl handed him a passport. He flipped through it and was pleased to see it wasn't brand new. It had his photo and new name, but it also had several border stamps from countries in Europe. It looked good to him, and he hoped it would be as reliable within the European Union as he'd been promised. He slipped five thousand euros across the table in an envelope. She glanced inside, sent another text, finished her wine and said goodbye with a friendly wave.
As simply as that, Abdel Malouf from Syria, an Israeli citizen, was gone. In his place was a Greek named Constantin Stefos.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"Where is he?" Tariq fumed. Abdel hadn't been the only asset al Qaeda maintained in Israel. He had instructed his lieutenant to call a man at the transportation ministry, a friend who could search the database for the missing gallery owner.
"Our source advises that the Americans arranged an airline ticket for him. Two days ago, he flew from Haifa to Athens."
"Was Brian Sadler with him?"
"Not then, sir. The seat was originally held in that name, but someone in the A
merican government changed the reservation."
"Where is the American now?"
"He also went to Athens but not until the next day. Our people in Greece are attempting to learn more."
Tariq was livid. He cursed himself for not dealing with Abdel sooner. The moment he saw a problem, he should have eliminated him. Tariq had always considered Abdel the weak link in his council, but killing him would have meant losing a valuable agent who had free movement inside Israel. Now his intuition had been proven correct. He should have dealt with Abdel long ago. His men would find the traitor, and he would wish he had never been born.
"Find him, whatever it takes. Allah will reward you greatly and so will I. Put out the word that he who captures Abdel, dead or alive, will be a millionaire."
And so the net was cast.
_____
Abdel – Constantin now – sat in the first-class lounge of the cavernous downtown station, waiting for the train to Sofia. It left in thirty minutes, and if everything went well, he would be inside the European Union by dusk. He had thought of one more thing he needed to do. His cellphone had been turned off since he left Athens, but now – for the last time ever – he clicked it on. He saw a few work-related calls that no longer needed returning. There was also a new message from Brian. He pondered if he should listen. He knew it would do no good, but his pent-up guilt and remorse won out. He played the voicemail.
"Abdel, it's Brian again. I'm really concerned about you. I came to Athens to meet as we agreed, but you were gone. If you get this message, please call me and let me know you're okay. If you don't call, I must tell the authorities about the treasure. I hope you understand – there's too great a risk leaving it unattended. The historic significance alone makes this an unprecedented discovery, not to mention the potential value of the individual objects. If I don't hear from you by six p.m. Athens time, I must call the head of the Antiquities Authority. Be safe, my friend."
Temple: The Prophecy of the Hidden Treasure (Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries Book 7) Page 16
