African Ice (37 page)

“Excellent.” Shaw's voice was cool, complacent. “I'm sure there's a redeye every Monday night directly to Tel-Aviv. I should be in Rafah in about sixteen hours. Let's hope the trail hasn't gone cold.”

“I have faith in your abilities,” Kerrigan said. “Let me know the minute you find them.”

Garret Shaw hung up and then redialed. He talked to the ticket agent at United Airlines and purchased a business-class ticket from JFK to Tel-Aviv, departing in three hours. He packed a suitcase and left his home in Sleepy Hollow for the Big Apple. Traffic was average and he made good time, checking in at the ticket counter almost an hour early. Good for him; he usually arrived ten minutes before the flight departed. He boarded the plane and settled in. He was unarmed, but that didn't bother him. He had to get through Israeli customs, and bringing a gun through that level of security was foolish. He could always find a gun when he needed one, especially in Israel. There was no problem when the whole area was a powder keg and everyone was armed. Pick a victim, kill him and take his weapon. Simple.

A seasoned traveler, he slept for most of the flight, waking up an hour out of Tel-Aviv. He thanked the flight attendant as she offered coffee, then watched the daily news on the TV monitor. He declined the light breakfast and reset his watch to local time. It was almost six o'clock Tuesday evening Tel Aviv time; the seven-hour time difference plus the nine-hour flight duration had cost him almost an entire day. He cleared Israeli customs without a hitch and found a car-rental booth. Twenty minutes later he left Tel-Aviv behind and headed south into the semi-arid hills that bordered the Mediterranean. Eighty miles in Israel was not quickly driven, and it was closing in on midnight when he finally arrived in Rafah. He found an inn with a vacancy and registered under a false name. The plane flight had refreshed him and he wasn't yet tired. Shaw dumped his suitcase in the room and returned to his car.

The town was quiet this late at night and it didn't take him long to find the jeweler's house. The street was narrow with inlaid cobblestones that bounced the rental car no matter what speed he drove. Shaw's vehicle crept down the darkened lane at a crawl. He checked the name Kerrigan had given him as he pulled up in front of the shop—Moshe Kandel. The windows in the off-white single-story building were dark and shuttered. He eased off the brake and glided down the road to the end of the block. He turned the corner and cut the ignition and lights. A lane separated Kandel's house from the row of similar homes backing up to it. He slipped into the shadows of the alley and moved quietly, counting the houses until he reached the sixth one. A solitary light flickered behind thick curtains. Shaw hugged the dark recesses and reached the back door. He donned a thin pair of leather gloves, slid a thin metal instrument into the lock and worked the tumblers. They clicked into position and he silently opened the door.

The house was small but nicely furnished. He was in the kitchen, a room that stood as a testament to what remodeling can do. Sub-zero appliances sat on Italian tiles and the cabinets were lacquered maple. He could vaguely see some of the living and dining rooms, which were equally upgraded. The jewelry business must be booming. The room with the light was to his right and he stole down the hall. A sliver of light appeared beneath its door. He slipped a small mirror from his shirt pocket and slid it beneath the door. The lone occupant of the room sat on a bed, reading from a heavy text. Shaw gripped the door handle, took one breath in and twisted the handle. Before the man could swivel his head to see what was happening, Shaw was on the bed and had a hand clasped over the man's mouth. Shaw stared into terrified eyes.

“Are you alone?” Shaw asked quietly. The man nodded slightly. “Are you Moshe Kandel?” Again, the man nodded. “I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. If you make any noise other than to answer my questions, I'll break your neck. Do you understand?” A terrified nod.

He relaxed the pressure on Kandel's face and sat back. He eyed the man intently for a full minute, taking in his features. An ultra-orthodox Jew, Kandel wore the usual beard and mustache. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones pronounced over the deep hollows of his cheeks. His eyes, filled with abject fear, flickered as he stared back. This man would not be a problem.

“I'm going to ask you a few questions, not many. If I think you've answered them correctly, I'll leave. I will not hurt you. However, if you lie, I will kill you.”

Kandel's lips and mouth were dry, but he said, “I understand.”

“You bought a diamond a few days ago. A large diamond. What did the people who sold it to you look like?” Kandel accurately described McNeil and Carlson. “What did you pay them for it?”

“Fifty thousand American dollars.”

“Cash?”

“Yes, cash.”

“Did either of them say where they were going?”

“No.”

“How were they dressed?”

“The man wore light-colored khaki pants and a loose white shirt. The woman wore jeans and a bright red shirt. Both had sandals on.”

“Any luggage?”

“Not that I saw. It may have been in the taxi.”

“Anything else you want to tell me?” The man shook his head and Garret backed up to the bedroom door. “I know where you live, Moshe Kandel. I can find out where your family lives anytime I want. And if you tell anyone I was here tonight, I will return and I will kill you and every one of your family members I can find. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes, very clear. I will tell no one.” He nodded emphatically.

Shaw eased the door shut and left the house. His mind was racing as he returned to the car and started back to the hotel. Fifty thousand dollars, cash. They were wearing sandals, not shoes, and the woman had on a bright shirt. Two things were perfectly clear to him. They were not staying in either Egypt or Israel. Carlson would have chosen more subdued tones in her clothing to meld in with the whites, grays and blacks the orthodox community favored. But they were going somewhere hot, and not on foot. Sandals were not built for walking long distances. And they had cash. What could they do with fifty thousand dollars in cash?

He grinned as he drove. Charter an airplane is what they could do, and what they would do. A private flight would allow them to leave the country without their passports being scanned at the airport. He stopped at a deserted corner and slipped out his map of Rafah. A tiny airstrip serviced the settlement, and he reversed direction, heading for it. There was no control tower, and only one tin and adobe building offering gas and limited mechanical services. Nine privately owned airplanes lined the runway and nowhere was there mention of charter services. Garret left the airstrip and returned to his hotel. He was finished in Rafah. The nearest major center was Tel-Aviv, and after a few hours of sleep, he would drive back to the city of over a million people. One of the charter services would identify McNeil and Carlson and he would be on their tail. He felt sure of it.

Although he was well rested from the overseas flight, he still managed four hours of sleep. The night manager was just ending his shift as Shaw paid his bill in cash and left in the rental. He made good time on the early-morning roads, reaching Tel-Aviv just after eight o'clock. He stopped at a convenient restaurant and had breakfast as he got his bearings. Ben Gurion International Airport was twelve miles southeast of the city on the highway to Jerusalem. A private airstrip bordered Ben Gurion and shared the international airport's restricted airspace. Twenty minutes, tops, would have him at the airport.

Wednesday mornings were business as usual across the board at all the charter companies flying small aircraft out of Tel-Aviv. The first company he approached was small, and the counter man was also the pilot. He guaranteed Shaw that he had not seen or flown a couple matching their description in the past week. The man did provide Shaw with the names of three charter companies that would be most likely to charter an aircraft on short notice for cash. Shaw zeroed in on the three companies and hit pay dirt at the second counter.

“Yes, I remember them well,” the charter rep said. “Very polite and they paid cash. I asked for a premium rate for the short notice and he didn't even balk. Just paid it.”

“Where did they charter to?”

“Cyprus. Nicosia.”

“Could you arrange a plane to take me to Nicosia? It's imperative I reach them quickly. A relative has died and they must be present at the reading of the will.” He smiled at the rep. “A very wealthy relative.”

“I understand. I'm sure one of our pilots could get you there this afternoon.”

“I would prefer the same pilot, just in case he overheard something that would help me find them quicker. The name of a hotel, anything . . .” He added an additional five hundred dollars to the rate the man had quoted him.

“The pilot's on his day off, but I'm sure we could arrange something.”

At almost precisely noon, Garret Shaw and Ari Cohen, the pilot who had flown McNeil and Samantha to Cyprus, were cleared for takeoff. The Beechcraft King Air 200 could accommodate four passengers, leaving Shaw with ample space in the rear of the aircraft. He waited until they were about halfway through the flight before moving up front to engage Ari Cohen in conversation. The twin engines were muffled but the noise level in the cockpit was high. Shaw realized that even if his pilot had tried to listen in on what McNeil and Carlson were saying as they relaxed in the passenger cabin, it would have been impossible. Even so, the man may know something.

It turned out that he did. After yelling over the engine noise for a half hour, he finally jogged the man's memory. The pilot remembered the woman saying she had always wanted to see the Acropolis. That term was used in one country and one only—Greece. Shaw settled back, wishing the flight were over and he could get on with locating the charter that flew them into Greece. He checked his watch. They would be in Nicosia before the charter companies closed for the day. He should be able to ferret out which one had flown them to Greece quite easily. Nicosia was not a major center. Shaw worked his timetable through in his head. It was Wednesday afternoon. On Thursday morning, he would have Ari fly him to Greece. Which island, he didn't know, but that would come. If they were in Athens, it would take some time to find them. But if they had opted for a quieter spot, that would make things easier.

So much easier.

Second to perfect weather, room service at the Lindos Mare was the most predictable thing on the island of Rhodes. Every day at precisely eleven o'clock, the maids showed up to clean the room, change the linen and restock the mini-bar. Travis and Samantha left the room and sat by the pool, soaking up the midday sun and sipping on the dark roast coffee the resort brewed for its guests. Travis offered to rub some suntan lotion on Samantha, despite the fact that she was already glistening brown and didn't need it. She humored him and lay on her stomach in the chaise lounge as he slowly massaged the oil onto her back.

“How's Basil doing with the box?” he asked, knowing Samantha had talked to their London connection earlier in the day.

“Excellent. He found a standard box at a lapidary shop that he can modify. He's already replaced the foam padding with the material to mold around the diamonds. Drilling the holes through the box was tougher than he expected—it's made with high-quality steel. He's having trouble trying to figure out how the box can hold the liquid zircon.”

Travis squeezed a few more drops of lotion on her back. “Does he think he can have it ready in time?”

“Today is Thursday and we need the box by Sunday at the latest. He needs one day to get the zircon and the catalyst from a chemist in London. Then another day or two to perfect storing the liquid zircon and catalyst in separate chambers and injecting them into the molds.” She counted on her fingers. “That takes us to Saturday or Sunday. It's going to be tight.”

“He'll get it done; he always does.” Travis undid her bikini top and let the ties drop onto the chaise lounge.

“Don't get any ideas. This is a public area.”

“The oil's not going on evenly with the strap in the way,” he protested, a grin on his face. “Did you call Adel Hadr?”

“Yeah. He was glad to hear his car was still in one piece. He's driving down to Rafah tomorrow with a friend to pick it up. He told me to tell you that nothing's to happen to me. He seems to think I need you for protection.”

“I don't think so. You can take care of yourself.”

Samantha turned a bit to face him. “I would have been dead so many times I can't even count them if it weren't for you, Mr. McNeil. I owe you more than I've ever owed anyone.”

“Is that any part of the reason you're sleeping with me?”

“Zero.” She laughed at his hurt look. “You just happen to be this Crocodile Dundee meets Rambo kind of guy. That's a bonus.”

“Okay, then we're even. I was, and I emphasize
was
, getting paid to keep you alive. You now get that service for free.”

“Another bonus,” she said, relaxing onto the pool chair. “What time is our flight to Athens?”

“Two o'clock,” he answered, working his way down to her buttocks with the oil. “I reserved on an inter-island airline that flies sixteen-seaters. We have an hour from the time we arrive in Athens until our flight to Rome leaves.”

“How long in Rome?” she asked.

“Two hours. We have to switch airlines, but two hours should be enough.”

He had found a way around using a credit card to book the flights to Rome and London. After spinning a story about having their wallets stolen off the beach while snorkeling, he'd offered another hotel guest cash to put their flights on his credit card. The man had agreed, okay with a chance to help such a nice young couple. They had paid cash for the inter-island flight. That left their passports as the only possible way for someone watching the area electronically to pick up on their movements. And that was a distinct possibility. It bothered him, but there was no other way of crossing international borders and getting to London in time to pick up the box from Basil. He glanced at his watch. It was closing in on eleven-thirty, and the cleaning staff should be finished. Since they were checking out, the maids would probably only refill the bar fridge. He tied a bow in Samantha's bikini top and they returned to their suite.