King Solomon's Tomb

by Preston W Child

  The trembling cop did as he was told. Diggs's eyes never left the policemen with their guns trained at him.

  The Militar boss was outside now. Behind him, a crowd of locals was gathering. Curious chattering had begun. A few of the street boys chanted, in low tones, "Em declive policia! Em declive policia!"

  Diggs pushed the cop inside the car. He brought the two Glocks over the car and aimed at the Militar boss.

  "I'm not gonna kill him, okay?"

  "But we are going to kill you when we find you, you can be sure of that!" he fumed.

  Diggs jumped behind the wheel. For a wild moment, he was sure he wouldn't find the keys. They weren't in the ignition, though; Diggs whispered a curse. He pulled down the visor, and the keys fell into his lap. "Bingo," he breathed.

  The other cops were getting in two other cars as Diggs drove off towards downtown. The Militar head was also speaking rapidly into his radio.

  Yells of jubilation from the young locals followed Diggs as he sped off.

  Two cop cars chased after him.

  Diggs turned into a narrow street; from here, he entered another with a sign saying Farme de Amoedo. It was a one-way road, and before him, little traffic was building. Diggs checked the buildings, mostly homes. He saw a clothes store ahead on the left.

  There was a red Porsche with the top down in front of him, then a truck billowed smoke ahead of the sports car. Police sirens gained on him behind.

  Diggs glanced at his police hostage and said, "This is going to hurt, hombre."

  The hapless cop looked at him dumbly. He started yelling as Diggs brought the butt of the Glock down on the back of his head. Diggs pulled the guy over on his thigh and wriggled over the limp body. He positioned the cop in the driver's seat and put his hands on the steering wheel. Diggs stepped out of the car, keeping low just as the first cop car reached the waiting traffic.

  Four policemen advanced on the car. The traffic started moving. Diggs was already walking on the sidewalk, barely noticed by curious passersby. They gawked at the policemen as they stalked towards the cop car in the traffic.

  Diggs walked nonchalantly into the clothes store he'd noticed on the left side of the road.

  Five minutes later, when he emerged from there, he was unrecognizable.

  —

  When Interpol detective Arnold Hirsh arrived at the Militar department when they held Lawrence Diggs, he was parked in his car across the street. He saw it when they brought the American in.

  But the American wasn't his priority. At least not yet. He knew this guy, and the woman had only been at the right place, at the wrong time.

  He waited and watched because the Americans were going to lead him to the Hacker.

  His job required patience. He was a patient dog; Hacker was the fat bone.

  He ate biscuits and drank Pepsi and stared at fine, half-dressed women.

  —

  Talbot drove a black SUV into the intersection. The light had just stopped traffic on the Rua Sousa junction. It was summertime, and the population in this part of the city swarmed with tourists, mostly Europeans. They streamed across the road. Olivia watched from behind her dark shades. Half her anxiety had gone down the drain with a third of her hair.

  There was a performer across the road. He ate flames and threw the burning sticks in the air. A small crowd gathered around, cheering every time the stick came out of his mouth without scorching him. Diggs was standing at the edge of the group. He wore a white blazer, pants, and fedora. The hair under the hat was black, bushy, curly. He wore transparent glasses that pushed up his big nose every time.

  He was staring at the SUV, and at the traffic behind it.

  Diggs walked across the road. He turned left when he saw the SUV’s traffic light indicate that it was going left, towards Vieira Souto, and the Barraca da Claudia beach. He started walking along the road. He screened himself from the traffic by strolling with a group of tourists.

  When his phone started ringing, he stopped walking and stood on the sidewalk.

  He raised his hand as though he was hailing a passing taxi.

  Olivia frowned at the man in the white blazer and pants, and the fedora perched on black hair.

  "That's him," she said. "Stop, that's Diggs."

  Talbot stepped on the brakes.

  Diggs leaned in the window and asked, "Going my way?"

  "Yeah, get in, Mr. Lawrence."

  He tapped Olivia's hand and joined Andrew Gilmore in the back.

  Talbot turned around, pursed his lips at Diggs. "Welcome to the Paul Talbot Express. Please put on your seatbelts; we're off to Jerusalem. Hallelujah!"

  Diggs raised his fist; his middle finger popped up.

  —

  "We are pinched for time. If we are going to do this, we have to move fast," Talbot was saying.

  "How long do we have?" asked Olivia.

  "They are assembling some of the world's best thieves as we speak."

  "We are not thieves," Andrew put in.

  Talbot looked at him. He shook his head. "No, you are not; you are something even better. You could walk into a place, take what you want, and leave without a trace."

  He glanced at Lawrence Diggs, who was still in his disguise and Olivia with her short hair. Then he smiled. "Have you ever considered joining a band, maybe a rock band?"

  Olivia missed the joke but said nothing. She went to gaze out through the window.

  They were in Talbot's room, in an Ipanema hotel. It was a cozy place with a living room and a bedroom; there was only one sofa in the living room and a TV set. A small table and chairs were also set against the white wall. On the table, there was a telephone and a brown travel bag next to it.

  Room service brought alcohol and food and didn't accept credit-card payment. The hotel was in a narrow street called Barao da Torre.

  "We need logistics," she said, turning back to Talbot. "Surveillance cameras, a map of the area, blueprints of the building. Everything."

  Talbot went to the brown bag on the table. He came back with a large print map and another smaller one that was a building's blueprint. He spread it on the bed.

  "This is Jerusalem. The city of God. The Jews owned it for centuries. Now some say the Muhammadans own it more than the Christians. But that's by the way. Come this weekend, some of the most powerful men in Christendom will be meeting in this church—" Talbot put his finger on a spot in the middle of the map.

  "The Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Five bishops, five keys hanging around their necks from a gold chain. They will be meeting on the evening of the 23rd to talk about whatnot, church stuff, none of our business. We'll be here before that day." He pointed at something way off to the east, a hotel.

  "What's that place?" asked Olivia.

  "It's a monastery." Talbot looked at Andrew. "That's Andrew's thing. He'd feel very comfortable there, maybe hear some confessions while ensconced there, right?"

  Andrew showed no emotion. Diggs went to the window to see what's happening in the street.

  "The monastery is called the Lazarists Monastery. You will be monks. I think that's a good disguise," Talbot said to Olivia.

  "You leave that part to us. Where is the gold at?" Olivia asked.

  "Now that is the hard part. No one knows. Not even the men at the Table."

  Olivia grimaced. "You are kidding, right?"

  "No, I kid you not. The only man who knew, unfortunately, is dead—"

  "Rodriguez."

  "Uhuh, they killed him."

  "Were you supposed to meet him on that day?"

  "Yeah, but they got him before I did. Fortunately, they don't know it was me talking with the old man. I invited him here, wanted to see if it was something I could handle with just only his knowledge, you know, I didn't want to bother you. He just wouldn't tell me where the gold is in the church or outside of it. One thing for sure, he wanted you to come. I told him I'd decide if you guys come or not."

  Olivia got the red book out of his bag. She show
ed it to Talbot.

  "Rodriguez sent this book to me. That page you showed us earlier, let me see it."

  Talbot gave her a sideways glance. He produced the folded paper from his pocket; it had gotten more rumpled since. He opened it, and they checked the page number.

  Olivia flipped through the book. As expected, the page that was missing in the 606-page book was number 65 of the chapter King Solomon's Treasure in the 21st Century.

  "You were in Peru to see Roddy?" Olivia asked curiously.

  "Nope. I couldn't do that without been followed. He sent it to me. It was a coincidence."

  The small group pored over the layout some more. Talbot later ordered room service for one as he said, in order not to call attention to the room or himself. Since they don't know who was watching. It was at this point that Olivia noted that Diggs had a yellow plaster on his wrist too.

  "I figured someone's been tracking us with the tracker," he said, looking at Talbot.

  Paul raised his hand. "That's not me."

  "How do we know we can trust you, Talbot?" Olivia advanced on him.

  "You can't. But you underestimate the people we are dealing with. They have resources that even the CIA doesn't. State-of-the-art military stuff that's not on the market yet."

  Olivia relaxed.

  "Trust me, you could be walking on the road and just drop dead: that stranger who passed by you, who's hand brushed against your coat, he'd just given you a shot of ricin on the back of your neck."

  He paused for effect.

  "You'd be dead in minutes." He snapped his finger. "Just like that."

  There was a knock on the door. Diggs, Olivia, and Andrew snapped to attention. Two guns appeared in Diggs and Olivia's hands. Talbot raised his hand. He went to the door, peered with one eye in the hole in the door.

  He turned and whispered, "Room service."

  Olivia and the other men shared a look. They lowered their guns, held them behind their backs.

  The attendant was a young lad with shy, jaunty eyes. He wore a white kitchen cap, apron, and dark trousers. He spoke Portuguese and was quick to switch after asking, "You are Americans?"

  Talbot said, "Uh-huh."

  He pushed a cart of two silverware bowls, a bottle of white wine, and a jug of coffee. He produced a small camera from the folds of his apron and requested a photo with the Americans. Talbot tipped, then shooed him out of the room.

  As they ate, Olivia figured the situation: five bishops, five keys, one booty.

  She said to Talbot, "I need everything we can get on the bishops. I want to know everything about them; names, aliases, nicknames, friends, what they like to eat, where they live, and their families. The works."

  "I will have the information you need to deliver to you this evening."

  "We are gonna need a private airplane too."

  "What, why?" Talbot asked, a little surprised by the request.

  "I need to fly Tami and Reno into Jerusalem," said Olivia. "I believe we are gonna need them."

  "Okay, done."

  Olivia rose and walked towards the bathroom. "I need to shower. I stink."

  —

  The next day, a Learjet 23 landed in a field that was a part of a private property owned by a Brazilian farmer who owed Talbot in some undisclosed manner.

  The tract of farmland was on the edge of the ocean; the Lucio Costa road separated it from the deep blue. The jet came in from the ocean and raised clouds of dust as it skidded to a stop.

  Tami Capaldi looked better than the last time Olivia saw her. She looked even more stunningly beautiful. Her hair was darker, and her color more transparent. She wore a denim shirt two sizes bigger than her small frame; the sleeves were folded up to her elbows. She wore blue denim and white sneakers. Reno wore a blue suit and trouser, white shirt with its collar lose. He looked fit for date night.

  Olivia embraced Tami.

  "I now dress like you," Tami complemented.

  "I'm glad I'm an influence."

  "A good one."

  They both smiled at each other.

  The airplane turned around immediately and was off to the skies again. Reno threw secret glances at Olivia. If he was whiter, his skin would have glowed red with diffident embarrassment.

  Reno shook hands with the men. He gave Olivia an appreciative look, the sort that an old friend might give to someone they once admired the hell out of. Olivia let out a gentle sigh of relief. It seemed the boyish burn of passion had fizzled in the past months. Yet, Olivia remembered the young man's clinging passion. It warmed her heart even at that moment that she was desired that way. But it was a secret acceptance that she wanted to keep that way, hidden.

  As the group headed back into the waiting SUV, Reno whispered, "You are beautiful, ma'am."

  Olivia chuckled. Wow.

  —

  That night as the group was turning in for the night, Lawrence Diggs sat in the corner of the room, watching Olivia write on her mobile phone. She had said something about doing a preliminary article on Solomon's tomb. She had sent off an email with a description of the tale, with as little facts as she could expose. It was academic. These days, Rob Cohen preferred educational stuff; that way, the subjects sounded verifiable, though half the readers ever verified what they read in the papers. Olivia imagined the article would have the status of an obituary on the lower end of the first paper, or not.

  She rubbed her eyes and turned around to see that Diggs was staring.

  Lawrence Diggs could be that way, sit for long periods, and just stare into space. When Olivia asked what the pose was about, he'd look lost, as though he had been busy. She had only seen that look on a group of soldiers who had returned from a tour in Iraq. She had referred to it as the Lost Souls Syndrome.

  "I'm gonna get some sleep," she said to him after a moment.

  Diggs's face turned slowly to her.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "Yeah."

  He nodded. He put his palms together and rubbed them together, like the motions of grinding stones. Olivia had just seen a photo of quern on the internet, depicted in a picture of the supposed daily living of the Palestinians of Jerusalem, well, the Middle-Eastern people.

  Talbot had paid for another room down the hall. Reno had gone with him. Andrew lay on the bed in the room. Olivia could see his toes wriggle from where she sat. There was a TV there. On the news, they talked about the American who escaped from custody. Diggs's face was on the screen.

  "The motel guy," Diggs spoke quietly, "I shouldn't have killed him. I regret it."

  "He was going to rat us out. You knew that. You did what you had to."

  He looked at her. Olivia stared back. It was like looking out an open window at a grey and cloudy day. There was a storm brewing out there, you'd tell yourself. Every man had both a storm and a calm sea in them. Diggs had only hurricanes, thought Olivia.

  "You should get some sleep…"

  Diggs said he would.

  Andrew jumped out of bed and put the TV off so that Olivia could get some rest.

  As she fell asleep, Olivia listened to her brother and Diggs talk. It was mostly men-talk. She counted sheep for some time before dozing into a fitful slumber.

  —

  "So, what's the plan?" asked Talbot.

  Andrew Gilmore held a cup of coffee. He gestured with the steaming cup at Olivia.

  Olivia was on the phone with Frank Miller. She was talking in low tones; Talbot was back early. He looked scrubbed, his face was red, and he smelled of aftershave, even though there were stubs of hair around his face.

  Olivia finished on the phone and said to Talbot, "The plan is in Jerusalem. Is our transport ready?"

  "Ready when you are."

  "Good, then let's move out."

  An hour later, the Learjet 23 took them into the friendly skies towards Jerusalem.

  —

  Interpol was a robust network of law enforcement professionals. Brazil was a red flag from the moment Rodriguez's body
was found. The preliminary investigation showed that he was killed by the notorious assassin, the Hacker.

  Arnold Hirsh sat in his car at the end of the airstrip of the Jacarepaguá airport. His vehicle was littered with bottles of Pepsi and the yellow and red wrappers of Rico's Crackers.

  His glasses were up his forehead. He was reading a page from a file he had printed from his email earlier. It was the autopsy report of the old man who had been found dead in the hotel.

  As he had suggested to the policemen, they found signs of suffocation, strangling around his neck. He was choked to death, and then someone brought him to the hotel and cut his throat. The body was planted to frame the woman, Olivia Newton, possibly.

  But why?

  His phone rang. It was the headquarters.

  "Hello."

  "Yeah, hit me."

  "They just lifted off Brazil. There's a buzz on the radar, a Learjet 23."

  Arnold frowned, craned his neck forward to see the airstrip in front of him, two lanes of blacktop, empty. A block of the two-story control tower to the left, occupied. He could see the grey shadows of people walking about up in that tower. There was a large hangar beside that, and two keys that he'd seen earlier are parked in there.

  "Where did it lift off?" he asked.

  There was a pause. "Erm…checking…"

  Arnold bent his head again so he could see the sky. It was filled with white clouds alright, and beyond the clouds was the good old blue sky. He squinted at the sky again, hoping to see a jet going out. But it had been a clear sky all morning.

  "Are you there?" came the voice again.

  "Yeah."

  "La Costa, that's just by the water. You know it?"

  "Fuck it, I know it. When did it lift?"

  "An hour ago."

  "Shit…alright. I need you to book a flight for me for wherever that jet is landing, the second it lands."

  "Roger that, Detective."

  5

  Jerusalem, Israel

  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was one of the most frequented tourist places in the old city of Jerusalem. It was magnificent yet refreshing to behold. It's yellow and brown bricks, numerous arches, and black-robed priests that shuffled around like lost apparitions, all gave the aura of such biblical mien.