by Tom Haase
At the airport, he learned that the next flight direct to New York left tomorrow morning. Egypt Air departed at 11:10 and cost 6765 Egyptian Pounds. Over at the Delta desk he found a flight leaving at 7:30 in the morning for 7732 EGP, or about $1414. He bought a one-way ticket to arrive in New York at three thirty in the afternoon the same day. The ticket agent told him the best hotel near the airport, and he went there. He needed a rest and time to relax.
He woke a half hour before the twenty-four hours he told Schultz to expect his call. The call went through from the hotel with no problem.
“I'll get right to the point,” he said after Schultz answered.
“Good. I don't have time to waste.” Schultz seemed ready to do battle. His tone conveyed the unmistakable disdain he must feel from being forced to pay for the book.
“I will arrive in New York tomorrow afternoon on Delta at three thirty.” He slowed his speech for effect and took a deep breath, but Schultz spoke.
“I'll be there to meet you. Come out of the arrival entrance and look for a black Lincoln stretch with a ‘Jake’ sign in the windscreen.”
Jake didn't like this. He was losing control.
“I want the cashier's check handed to me when I give you the book,” Jake said. Taking control of the conversation made him feel more confident.
“After I see the book and authenticate it,” Schultz stated.
Jake felt like Schultz again gained the upper hand. He needed to get it back. “Perhaps I need to put it on the Internet for sale. I could get my price without having to deal with you.” He realized as soon as he said it that it was a stupid idea. A public airing of the Bible would lead the legal authorities directly to him.
“Mr. Jake, you are stalling. You know I have the money, and there will be no complications if the book is real. Simply let me examine it for thirty minutes on the ride in from the airport, and you'll be paid when you get out at whatever address you provide. Is that acceptable? It won't take long, and I'll be assured in my own mind that I have the genuine article,” Schultz concluded.
It seemed like a fair arrangement. He could tell him to drive around and deposit him at JFK to catch the shuttle flight to Washington. He could be home tomorrow evening with five million dollars. Too easy. Somehow, somewhere, something didn't seem to fit. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his distrust of Schultz didn't just ring a tiny bell, it sounded like Big Ben in his ear.
“I tell you what. I'll take a photo of the first and third pages of the book and e-mail them to you. You do your due diligence and hand me the check on my arrival at JFK. You will already know it is the real thing and I don't have to wait before I get my money. How's that?”
“Okay, Mr. Jake. I'll wait for you at the airport. Send the photos and we'll do it your way.”
At last he regained control. Schultz would do it his way. Great. He would outfox the conniving geezer. In less than half an hour, he copied the pages and sent the photos to the e-mail address Schultz provided. They would be adequate for him to verify the book.
He had nothing to worry about. Those two Donavans were in Israel not even knowing what happened. They wouldn't even miss him for another day, if he were lucky. So far he’d been fortunate and now not the time to think negatively. Cornelius Jake remained on a roll. Everything appeared to be going according to his plan.
Tomorrow, on the plane, he would initiate the rest of his plan. He would outfox Schultz and play by his own rules, assuring himself that he would become rich on his own terms.
Screw Schultz.
44
Egypt
Jonathan again drove the truck across the vast desert spaces of northern Egypt. He continued to visualize how he would acquire the Bible once they located it. He adjusted his sunglasses to better protect his eyes from the setting sun. The heat of the day now waned perceptibly, but he continued to perspire. They traveled over eighty miles since the border crossing. They’d passed through small villages from time to time, the last one over fifteen minutes ago.
Clank!
Clank!
He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The truck skidded and then bounced like a hopping rabbit. Jonathan realized the back wheels had locked up when the skid started. By turning the steering wheel as careful as he could, he guided the vehicle off the road during the five-second ordeal. He continued to steer the truck until they came to a bumpy stop a few feet off the pavement of the main road.
“What the hell happened?” Bridget yelled. She pushed herself back from the front dash where her head had almost impacted after being thrown forward by the sudden stop.
“I think the rear axle locked up,” Jonathan said.
“And we're miles from nowhere,” Bridget added. She had on a shoulder strap that prevented her forward movement. “Now we'll never catch the bastard by tonight.”
“Let's get out and see what the situation is,” Jonathan said. “I checked flights out of Cairo on my phone. I don't think he could have reached there in time to catch a flight out today for the States. The next flight is tomorrow morning.”
Jonathan walked around to the back of the vehicle. Scott and Bridget joined him after exiting the passenger side. They all bent to look under the truck.
“Looks like there's a trail of oil where we came off the road,” Scott observed.
Jonathan wanted to examine the rear differential. He went down on both knees and crawled under the truck, hoping to find a solution to the problem. He saw what he expected and backed out.
He stood and displayed a grim face. “I'm afraid that one of those bullets that came after us back at the crossing point opened a small hole in the crankcase. It's been leaking out and now the mechanisms inside have seized tight without oil to lubricate. We're not going anywhere in this vehicle.”
“What are we going to do now?” Bridget asked when she returned to the truck cab on the passenger side. Scott climbed in beside her.
Jonathan knew they would have to move quickly if they were ever going to catch up with Cornelius Jake. The man maintained a tremendous lead already, and if they lost this hot pursuit to find him, they would lose not only the man, but also the Bible of Constantine. The book would disappear, or perhaps be published by someone, but in either case it would not be in Rome.
He couldn't blame the border guards for delaying him. They had just been doing their job and trying to impress their boss. He felt sure they never saw a Vatican diplomat before. Now, however, he and the Donavans were stuck in the middle of the Egyptian desert miles from Cairo. He had to do something.
“I guess we better get our gear and start walking,” Bridget suggested.
“If we can make it to the next village, maybe we can get a ride from there,” Scott added.
“Sounds like the best thing we can do,” Jonathan said. “Let's get moving.”
He grabbed his gear and waited for them to have their backpacks on and started toward the setting sun. After a few minutes of walking, he fell back and took out his satellite phone. Scott and Bridget continued to talk as they walked and didn't seem to notice his movements. He did not want to talk on the phone because they would hear. It would be better to surprise them later. Their target could possibly be out of Cairo by the time they got there. He knew the Vatican office that could tell him where any plane with Mr. Jake would go and when he would get there. They also could acquire access to the vehicle he required.
Jonathan put in the text message while watching every few seconds to make sure neither one of them turned to see what he did. If they suspected that he communicated with the Vatican, they would soon try to separate themselves from him. Their mistrust, understandable from the last time the Vatican dealt with the Donavans, would hinder any attempt on his part to aid them. The memory of that last adventure would make them shut him out. He recognized the danger of what he did but saw no other way to accomplish his mission. The Vatican possessed the assets he required. He would send the text to the one man he knew he could trust to get it done.<
br />
He read over the text message and sent it.
45
Washington, D.C.
Special Agent Liz Garcia guzzled coffee in her apartment. She needed to talk to Matt. She absolutely had to speak to him before he did something horribly wrong. After finding out about his past and realizing his hatred for terrorists, she now believed he would eliminate the wrongly suspected Scott on foreign soil. That way, the protection afforded by the laws inside the country might be nullified.
She picked up the phone and dialed his number. She knew he had an iPhone and it should work anywhere in the world. At least, anywhere service existed. The phone rang. Great, she thought, I can tell him that we have the real bomber here. The image from the train provided the necessary information to allow her to lead an FBI team to the man and they had him in custody.
Matt's voice mail kicked in. Damn. Where could he be that she couldn't get in touch? He’d chased Scott Donavan to Israel, and she knew the Schultz girl remained with Scott. Maybe Matt decided to stay with her to get more information.
She called the hospital in Jerusalem and learned that Gertrude Schultz left to fly back to the States. A call to the office and a short conversation with Libby Thompson revealed Ms. Schultz’s flight and arrival time in New York. Something had happened to Matt and perhaps the Schultz lady could put some light on it. After all, she worked with the Donavans and Scott Donavan still remained the target for Special Agent Matt Higgins.
She booked herself on the next flight to New York.
* * *
Cairo Egypt
Matt attempted to rest on the airplane but couldn't get comfortable in coach. He travelled on his own dime and went cattle car class instead of business on these shorter flights. He left his phone turned off on the flight out of Israel and due to the short stopover in Larnaca, Cyprus he never turned it on. When he arrived in Cairo on the evening of the shooting at the Israeli–Egyptian border, he’d turned it on to find out the battery light indicated no charge. He hadn't noticed it before, but then again he’d had it on for over twenty-four hours, except for the flights today, and had used it a few times with Liz.
“Excuse me,” he said to a ticket agent in the Cairo airport, “could you tell me when the next flight leaves for the States?”
“Tomorrow morning is the earliest direct flight,” responded the man in perfect English. “May I book you on the flight?”
Matt needed to think. Based on what the Schultz woman revealed to him, the most likely scenario would be for Scott Donavan to track the man with the Bible.
“I have been travelling all day and my phone is dead. I planned to meet Cornelius Jake here this afternoon but my flight was delayed. Would it be possible to check and see if he is on that flight so I can book it for myself?”
The agent looked at him about to speak but Matt said, “I'm a police officer and need that information. Could you please just look and nod. That way you didn't tell me a thing.” He smiled as best he could and showed his credentials to the agent. The agent stared at them for a moment and then turned to his computer screen. A few seconds later he returned his gaze and gave an affirmative indication.
“Thank you. Please book me on that flight.”
If Scott pursued Jake, then he would be with Jake. That would be easier than chasing a man who could be anywhere in Egypt. He would follow the bait and wait for his target to appear.
The ticket agent gave him directions to where he could get a room for the night. Matt found the place and one of his first actions involved plugging in his phone. No use in turning it on without a charge. He took a shower and called Liz on her cell using the hotel landline. He left her a message.
“I'll be on a flight to New York in the morning. Scott Donavan is chasing Cornelius Jake and I'll tail Jake until Donavan appears. If possible, meet me in New York, and we'll get this bastard.” He gave her the flight number.
Matt sat back against the bed's headboard and started to turn on the TV with the remote that reported a plane crash in Egypt. He waited a few minutes and the memories came. He didn't want to go there. Maybe he would get a drink. No, that would be counterproductive. The image came again.
Matt and his wife, Susan, had traveled to Washington on vacation. The first real vacation they took in two years. Alone and with no one to interrupt them, they intended to spend the week in the Nation’s capitol seeing the sights. Matt took Susan to the Pentagon to visit his old Professor of Military Science, Colonel John Forsman. After a short office visit, the colonel, tall and erect with almost snow-white hair, had suggested that he take Matt to see some of the classified areas that concerned army matters. He recommended to the petite, blonde-haired Susan that she might like to view the artwork in the outer ring of the Pentagon instead of going with them and being bored with army speak. They would find her in about fifteen minutes on the E-ring. Matt gave Susan a hug and a light kiss before she left.
Susan left him to stroll the halls of the outer ring and view the military artwork that depicted various scenes from the far-flung battlefields the American soldier fought and died on. She’d told him she was on the east part of the ring he’d called her cell.
“Hi, hon, sorry we ran over on time. The colonel showed me some interesting things. Could you meet me at the east exit, say at 9:45? We’ll be there in a few minutes and then we can go over to the Smithsonian.”
“Don’t worry, it’s okay. I’ll meander on over to the exit now. I’ll be there by the time you are,” Susan told him. It was 9:42 in the morning.
At that moment, American Airlines flight 77, a Boeing 757, smashed into the Pentagon less than twenty feet from where she’d walked. The authorities told Matt Susan died instantly in the catastrophic explosion that engulfed the corridor on the outer ring of the building on September 11, 2001.
Matt accompanied Colonel Forsman as they made their way through the long corridors toward the east exit. They were two corridors away when the explosion shook the building. Matt broke into a run toward the exit where Susan planned to meet him. Forgetting the colonel, his only thought focused on Susan, out there by herself. He sensed that the dreadful explosion reverberating through this section of the building came from the exit area. Reaching the end of the corridor, he turned to his right into the outer ring of the Pentagon. The horrific scene filled his vision. Taking in all the devastation, smoke, debris, and smell of jet fuel in addition to the roar of the inferno of the flames and the blistering heat, his senses numbed.
For a seemingly interminable time, but in reality only a few seconds, Matt was dazed, unable to think or move. He had to find Susan. Finally getting hold of himself, he ran forward looking for her, calling her name, stumbling as far into the devastation as he could. There was no sign of her. He continued his desperate search, but the needs of others were overwhelming, many requiring immediate help. He led some burn victims to the EMS station. The Pentagon medical unit set it up in record time. Then he returned to the area to guide other injured men and women, both civilian and military, to the aid station. Colonel Forsman also carried victims to the aid station.
He searched for Susan while continuing to help others. After two hours, he was exhausted, but some sort of compulsion forced him to continue his efforts to find her and to help as many as he could. After some time, near collapse from the overpowering smell of aviation fuel, burnt flesh and smoke, he retreated. A man next to him led him back down the hall and told him to go home after asking Matt for his name, and then tapped Colonel Forsman on his shoulder and told him to go back to his office. Whoever this man was, Matt thought, he looked familiar. The man’s face was covered in ash and dust, and Matt became unable to properly focus his thoughts. Later, Matt saw him on TV, the Secretary of Defense.
It was dark by the time Matt returned to his hotel room where he and Susan had spent the previous night. The realization that he would never see her again overwhelmed him as he opened the door of their room. He sat on the bed trying to control his misery and his anger. H
e was wound up tight. His head dropped and he lay face down. Despite the soft elevator music floating through the room from a preprogrammed station, all Matt heard was his memory of the explosive, horrific crash of the 757 as it thundered into the Pentagon. A sound which ricocheted endlessly through his entire being, decimating all feeling. If only I had not delayed, if I had met her a few minutes earlier. How would he tell their daughter, Laura? She had stayed with her aunt so they could take a vacation alone. No answer came. The full impact of his loss finally hit him as he released some of the built up tension and started sobbing uncontrollably.
Back in the present, a phone rang for his wake up call. But it seemed to him that he hadn’t been asleep. On his way out of the hotel, he used their computer to search the Washington Post website to learn more about the person who provided the bait. He made his way to the airport and took his time to ensure he had Mr. Cornelius Jake in sight.
After a few minutes, he confirmed he had his target in sight and now his trap was set.
46
Vatican City
Captain Alfred Grossman, head of the pope's personal protection detachment, heard the chirp of an incoming message on his phone. He put down the nine-millimeter berretta handgun he was cleaning and picked up the cell. The text originated from Monsignor Jonathan McGregor.
After reading the instructions from Jonathan, he took a few seconds to plan a course of action, and then he picked up the phone on his desk. He knew how to handle this for his friend.
“This is Captain Grossman. I need an aircraft to go to Cairo Egypt and then to take the people it will pick up direct to New York. I want the plane ready to depart at 0400 tomorrow morning with all the appropriate clearances.” He waited for a second to receive an acknowledgment.
