Grains of Truth (41 page)

“If,” he added softly as he squeezed her hand, “you want to go.” 

His new plan was simple. Her passport had germinated the idea. Instead of the risky business of attempting to smuggle the chemical weapons on the freighter to Aqaba, they would pack the containers in trunks. Julia, with her American passport, would take them openly on the catamaran as her “trousseau.” Together, with Ahmed’s forged British passport, it was highly unlikely her luggage would get more than a cursory search, if that. She would think all she was doing was making an effort to reform him. It was a gamble, but all he had to do was convince her of his sincerity, and of his infatuation. And as soon as they safely reached their destination in Jordan, the lovely Julia Grant would act out her final scene.

“But…the authorities will be looking for me. We’d never make it through Customs.” She struggled against her fear. The constant strain of duplicity in weighing her every word—knowing she must keep from letting him know that she knew of his real purpose—caused her voice to waver.

He misinterpreted the cause of her emotion and allowed a look of infinite sadness to cross his finely-cut features, incredibly handsome in the filtered light. “No, Julia, I am afraid not. The Egyptian police have not been notified of your, ah, shall we say, ‘disappearance’?” This unexpected fact was confirmed again only a short time ago. He did not understand it but planned to make the most of it.

Events of the past few days collided across Julia’s bewildered mind’s-eye. Reason momentarily failed her. Then anger supplanted confusion and disbelief to suffuse her face with a fiery red glow.

What the hell was going on?

Why hadn’t anyone reported her disappearance to the police? Frown lines creased her brow as she looked down at the plate in front of her, into the glassy eye of a shrimp.

Ahmed watched closely, easily reading these emotions across her face, and pressed her hand once more before releasing it. “Your friend Mohamed has returned to Cairo. He is now back at home with his family—with his wife. Perhaps he thought you left because you have wisely chosen to end the unfortunate relationship.”

Julia raised her head to meet his earnest, empathetic, lying eyes.

Chapter 48

Faoud came out of the house and passed through the gate. Swaggering away, he thought—not for the first time—that they should kill the woman and be done with her.

Women always made trouble. He didn’t like the way Ahmed looked at her. They should have both used her and slit her pale throat. Not that Faoud was not a devout Muslim. He had simply become very adept over the years at interpreting the Koran to suit his own needs—and condone his acts of brutality. The noon call to prayer came as he approached the big mosque. He turned inside to offer his convoluted prayers.

~

After almost four long, wearisome hours spent in conversation with the locals, the Israelis had learned nothing. When the noon call to prayer blasted from loudspeakers mounted on poles throughout the town, Benjamin motioned for Joshoa to follow. Observing the Islamic rituals presented no problem. They both knew the prayers, and the possibility of making a significant contact far outweighed any aversion they might have to reciting them. They fell in with the steady stream of the pious pouring into the main mosque.

~

Brad located Linda easily from her precise directions. Loitering outside a café, she waved away the barefoot boy chattering up at her in broken English. They sat at a table outside on the corner of the street that led up to the compound.

“Scarface left the house on foot. The others are still inside. They have to pass this way. We’ll be able to see anyone who comes or goes,” Linda assured her boss. “Jesus, that ‘Sharif’ is incredible—a real first-class hunk.”

Brad snorted and sipped coffee as she picked at an unappetizing sandwich. Without further discussion, he paid the bill. Arm in arm, they strolled up a side street that led to the dirt road that led to the enclosed compound. 

The good news was that it stood apart from any other dwellings, making it easy for surveillance. The bad news was that the isolation made it virtually impossible to approach without being seen from inside.

Brad checked the time. “Okay, Boyd. You go back to the motel. Leave me the phone and call as soon as Bryant makes contact with his customer.” 

Linda grinned as she handed him the phone. “Okay, Caldwell. Try to keep a low profile.”

He looked down at himself as she sauntered away. Under the circumstances, that might not be so easy. His over six-foot frame clad in neatly pressed shirt and slacks set him distinctly apart from the crowd in this neighborhood. Several blocks from the waterfront area, he doubted if many tourists ventured back this way.

Brad made a sweep of the area, carefully noting each dusty alley as he looked up at the dilapidated buildings, as if they held some architectural interest. Back at the café, he ordered another coffee and pulled a guidebook from his pocket. The “tourist” studied it while the special agent kept an eye on the street leading up to the house on the low hill.

~

Benjamin and Joshoa, after simulating the prescribed rituals, rose from the final prostration and joined a group of mostly young men loitering outside the entrance of the mosque. They separated and spoke with several of them before crossing the square to take seats outside yet another coffee shop. 

“Something is definitely in the air,” murmured Joshoa as he sipped the dark, sweet brew. “Nothing concrete, but one comment alluded to ‘an event that will be most pleasing to Allah, and will make him smile.’”

Benjamin did not smile. He shuddered inwardly and his stomach roiled violently, not from the endless cups of coffee, but at the thought of these fanatics committing mass murder thinking such an act would “make Allah smile.”

~

Faoud left the mosque and went directly to the coffee shop across the square. Upon entering the dim interior, he strode straight to the back to a minuscule and indescribably filthy restroom to relieve himself.

The proprietor saw him emerge and greeted him warily. His reputation for violence made Faoud not so much respected as feared. He leaned against the counter, drinking tea flavored with sprigs of mint, and asking questions about anything of interest that might have occurred in the vicinity in the past few days. The proprietor, normally a gregarious fellow, doled out answers with caution.

Faoud noisily slurped his tea down to the dregs, tossed out a few bills and left without a parting word. As he exited through the low doorway, he paused and squinted in the sun’s glare to scan the crowd milling in the square. 

Benjamin saw Joshoa stiffen and his nostrils flare, like a dog on the hunt. He knew better than to turn around. Instead, he glued his eyes to the young man’s face and waited.

“Arabiyat,” Joshoa breathed, lips barely moving.

They sat, immobile, until Faoud moved from the doorway out into the square. Words unnecessary, they came nonchalantly to their feet. Benjamin left first, keeping far enough back to avoid detection. Joshoa followed at a discreet distance.

Their quarry stopped at a shop to select a few pieces of fruit from the sidewalk display then went inside. In a few minutes he reemerged, carrying a brown paper sack, and continued up the street. At the end of the block he turned down a narrow lane leading west, away from the main thoroughfare.

~

The sight of “scarface” coming around the corner rocketed Brad’s pulse into high gear. Although he’d seen him for only a few seconds in the setting sun in those rugged mountains, there was no mistaking that ruined face. He reached into his pocket, laid a few bills on the table and was about to step out onto the pavement when another man came around the corner and started up the same street.

Interesting. Definitely Middle Eastern, in western dress. Brad fell in cautiously, ten yards behind.

When Arabiyat turned onto an open dirt road, Benjamin stopped, some twenty yards back, and bent down to feign tying his shoe. His eyes never left the Jordanian as he climbed a slight rise to a high wall secured by a heavy iron gate, enclosing a two-story mudbrick house. As he approached, Arabiyat called out. Another man appeared from inside the courtyard, opened the gate, and the two men disappeared behind the wall.

Brad held back behind the corner of a building, peering around its edge. His professional assessment came swiftly and surely: This man was definitely covertly following the terrorist.

That was Brad Caldwell’s last conscious thought before he felt a sharp pain on the side of his neck.

~

Benjamin crouched beside the still form lying in the scratchy shade of a tree in a low, dry ditch. After Joshoa took him down, he whistled to signal his commander. Together, they quickly lifted the slack body between them, arms spread over their shoulders, and carried it to the relative privacy of the ditch.

“American.” Benjamin scowled, flipping through Brad’s passport. “Are you positive he came after me?”

“Yes, sir. I observed him at the café on the corner, and he followed you from there.”

Brad emitted a low moan. His eyes blinked open to find a gun pointed squarely between them—his gun. They’d searched him thoroughly in the short time he was out cold. Clearly these were professionals. But on whose side? They spoke in Arabic but why were they tailing the terrorist? Brad hadn’t heard a sound behind him, and his attacker knew the precise spot to induce instant unconsciousness.

Benjamin wasted no time with small talk. “Who are you and why did you follow me?” The brusque question came in English, with a trace of an accent. Brad instinctively knew not to prevaricate with these two.

“I wasn’t following you. I was following the same man you were.”

The Israeli scrutinized the man on the ground.

“You are an American agent.” It was a statement, not a question. “You were trailing Faoud Arabiyat. Why?”

Something clicked in Brad’s head. Not only did his assailants know the terrorist’s name, the one in charge didn’t hesitate in stating it. He took a calculated risk.

“Possibly for the same reason as you.” His distinct physical disadvantage prompted him to add, “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d prefer to discuss the matter in a more comfortable position—and without being held at gunpoint.”

Benjamin grunted and nodded his head at Joshoa, who lowered the gun he was holding unwaveringly with both hands. Brad sat up slowly and brushed dirt from his shirt.

~

The rescue team, all except Brad, crowded into the room. Alex had just begun to fill them in on the latest information of the weapons transaction when a rap came at the door. Henry, being closest, asked who was there. A stunned silence followed as the stranger behind Brad closed the door. Tension fueled by alarm reverberated amongst them, packed into the small space like sardines, as their comrade cleared his throat.

“You’re not going to believe this.”

But they did. During Brad’s pithy summary and introduction of the Israeli, Benjamin looked appraisingly around the room at the improbable and apprehensive group, clearly taking their measure.

Alexander, standing to his full height with a distinct air of command, dominated the scene. Henry returned to sit next to his wife on the edge of one of the narrow beds. Mohamed sat in the only chair, arms across his chest, censure clear on his stony face. Linda, Mariette and Sarah sat on the other bed, like birds on a wire.

All eyes riveted on the Israeli Intelligence officer as he told his story. It would be easy enough to verify. No one doubted he spoke the truth. 

Commander Bryant nodded at Brad with a sign of approval for having brought Benjamin straight to the group. “How much have you told him?”

“Only the basics on how we arrived at this point. Nothing on the game plan for going forward.”

The two men exchanged a steady look. Alex thought it unlikely Brad mentioned the subject of the weapons deal. He hoped not. There was no telling how the Israeli might react to the news that they planned to use the delivery as a diversion for rescuing Julia.

“We left his man to keep an eye on the house.”

“Excellent. Perhaps we should all introduce ourselves,” Henrietta said in a brisk but kindly way, and proceeded to do so. Alex jumped in next, to ensure that everyone understood that his failure to mention the weapons delivery was intentional—and a warning for them to follow suit.

Benjamin felt like he’d fallen down the rabbit hole as each member of the group gave their name and a brief explanation of their involvement in the operation. What an extraordinarily ludicrous situation—especially with all that lay at stake.

When it came back around to Brad he said, “You’re probably thinking what an unlikely task force we are. But let us assure you that, so far, we’ve performed damned effectively.”

Henrietta lanced the newcomer with a direct look. “We do realize the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Richter. You must, however, understand that any overt action now could prove fatal—not only for Julia, but for a great many people.”

An unreal stillness filled the air. Her straightforward composure gave powerful emphasis to the conviction of her next words.

“Let us also assure you that we are equally committed to preventing the attack on Jerusalem as we are to the rescue of our friend.”