Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) (16 page)

I answered with a curt, “Hello.”

“Listen carefully,” said the now-familiar voice. “Promptly at
twelve o’clock
, you will be in the parking area at the southern end of the Cool Springs mall, beyond the rear end of the Sears store, on the side toward I-65.”

That caught me by surprise. Cool Springs was the area’s largest conventional mall, but it was in the next county to the south, Williamson, and well outside the jurisdiction of the Metro Nashville Police. I didn’t have any friends in the Williamson County Sheriff's Department, either. I tried to soften the impact with my own demand.

“First things first,” I said. “Put my wife on the phone.”

I could hear muffled voices in the background. He was evidently holding his hand over the mouthpiece. After a long moment during which my nerves began to shred, I heard the click of an extension being lifted, then the sound of Jill’s voice.

“Greg?”

The relief was indescribable, like being reborn. “Thank God it’s you, Jill. Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Her voice sounded hesitant. “I haven’t been roughed up, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good. Just hang in there, babe.”

“Do you have the scroll?”

“I’ll pick it up as soon as we finalize the arrangements. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of there if it’s the last thing we do. Remember
Pearl Harbor
?”

I knew her captors were listening, and that remark would strike them as strange. But I hoped it would reassure Jill, let her know I wasn’t in this alone. I emphasized “we” and counted on her remembering Ted Kennerly’s last visit. We had talked about an undercover investigation he and I had been involved in at Hickam Air Force Base in
Honolulu
. We laughed at how Ted showed up with a bunch of well-armed sailors, rescuing me just as I was about to get waylaid by smugglers aboard a launch at
Pearl Harbor
.

“Enough talk.” It was Kamal Nazari, or Kermit Nagy, breaking in. “Be at Cool Springs at twelve with the scroll or your wife will die. And come alone.”

Closing my eyes, I saw Jill as I had left her yesterday morning, her face wreathed in a broad smile. I hated this man for what he was doing to her. If I had a chance to kill him, he’d take all my rounds in the gut. “What will you be driving?” I asked.

“Just be in your Jeep Cherokee. We will find you.”

The location he had specified was at the far end of the mall, the most remote section of the parking area, likely to contain the fewest number of vehicles around the complex. I would have preferred the opposite end, which was always full of cars.

“I’m not real familiar with Cool Springs,” I said. “I know the parking lot outside of Hechts, though. Why don’t we meet there?”

“No changes.”

He hung up.

It was
10:05
. I had an hour and fifty-five minutes to come up with a workable plan. I reached for my smokes. Old habits die hard and come back easy.

Chapter
20

After spearing the number pad on my cell phone, I caught David Wolfson at his office. He sounded breathless and harried.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. “You were to come back and pick up that damned scroll. What if somebody–”

“Take it easy, David,” I said. “Nobody is after you. We found the guy’s house but he had left. Apparently the
Temple
Alliance
people were onto him.”

“Well, I don’t like it. J. Q. is dead, your wife is missing. How do I know they–”

“I called to see about taking the scroll off your hands,” I said.

“Oh. It isn’t here. I left it at home.”

“Did you enter the wording in your computer?”

“In my laptop. But I haven’t had time to do anything with it here. We have a major project three days overdue and the client is calling every hour on the hour. And I need to get by the funeral home where they have J Q. God, what a tragedy.”

“How can I get the scroll?” I asked.

“I have a key hidden just outside the apartment door.”

Welcome, burglars, I thought. Turned out he used one of those fake rocks stuck among a few stones in a garden plot.

As I switched off the phone, I glanced up and saw that the bright sun, which had looked so promising an hour ago, was now hidden by a growing mass of clouds. I hadn’t taken time to watch or listen to any news and had no idea what the weather was supposed to do. I thought of Jill, how she checked the weather conditions and forecasts painstakingly before every takeoff. I thought about how much I missed her and felt my eyes burning as I drove toward the motel.

I was just pulling into a parking slot when Ted called.

“Find any trace of our man?” I asked, holding out little hope.

“I found where he wasn’t. He was nowhere around Star Express.”

“Well, I have some good news,” I said. “I talked to Jill.”

“Thank God! Is she okay?”

“Seems to be. They’re supposed to bring her to Cool Springs at
noon
.”

I played the tape of our conversation and plans for the rendezvous.

“I have no clue where he was calling from,” I said when I switched off the recorder. “Did they give you any idea at Star Express where he might have gone?”

“Claimed he was taking a few days off after a Vegas run. I used the old insurance investigator routine, said I had a few questions about him. The lady gave me a look and said I was the second bunch inquiring into Mr. Nagy this morning.”

“The second bunch?”

“Yeah. Two guys who sounded remarkably like your friends from the
Temple
Alliance
.”

“I wonder if they’ve had any better luck finding the Palestinians?”

“Probably not. I was handed over to the boss, Mr. Intermaggio.”

“Great. He’s the prototype arrogant Yankee from
New Jersey
. I’ve often wondered if he had Mafia connections.”

Ted gave a short, dry laugh. “He’s a consummate liar, anyway. From the picture he painted of Kermit Nagy, the man will soon be up for sainthood. Intermaggio claimed the guy was Lebanese.”

“He’s about as Lebanese as I am.”

“Supposedly, he’s highly thought of by his countrymen. Intermaggio said they worked together closely. You turn up anything on
Sheridan
?”

“One lead,” I said. I told him about Mrs. Baker’s description of the post-trip visitors.

“You thinking drug dealers?”

“Sure has the sound of it. Junkets all around the country. Tractor-trailers that could haul lots of things besides sound equipment and scenery. He brings it home and the dealers drop by.”

“And bring their dough.”

“Precisely. And look how Intermaggio can launder through Star Express. Do you have a DEA contact in
Nashville
?”

“Sure. Carlos Sanchez. I’ll call him and see if they have anything on these two.”

“I have to go by David Wolfson’s apartment to pick up the scroll,” I said. “I’d like you to get on out to Cool Springs and take a look at the place. I imagine they’ll be there early. Try to pick out the players. I’ll give you a shout on the radio when I arrive.”

On my way to Wolfson’s apartment, I stopped at a Wal-Mart to pick up a plastic canister about the size of the one the
Jaffa
scroll guy had sold me for four bucks. I wanted a decoy in hand until I was sure about Mr. Nazari/Nagy’s intentions. It was a cynicism from years of dealing with lowlifes.

By the time I headed out I-65 past
Brentwood
, the sky had become a mass of dark clouds. It had turned into a bleak winter day. But the real chill came from getting ready to go up against Jill’s captors. I would get her back or it was a fake out.

Noontime traffic roared steadily in both directions as I approached the
Moores Lane
exit. This would lead into the big bi-level mall known as Cool Springs Galleria, the
Nashville
area’s largest until Opry Mills came along. I switched on the radio and called Ted. The clock on the dash showed
11:50
.

“I’ve got a parking spot behind Sears,” he advised. “I’ve seen two cars cruise the area in the last thirty minutes. One, an old model gray Ford, circled onto the perimeter road and parked at the edge of the lower level lot. I checked it with my binocs and saw a man sitting behind the wheel.”

“He’s probably looking for me,” I said. “Our man won’t show until I’m there. Did you reach your DEA contact?”

“He was out. I left my number.”

“Well, maybe we won’t need any more help,” I said, as I pulled onto the exit ramp. “Maybe Nazari will take the scroll, hand over Jill, and we’ll all go our merry way.”

“Maybe so,” Ted said, but there was doubt in his voice.

“I’m coming from the west side of the mall,” I said, as I began to cruise around the access road that circled the massive shopping center. The lunchtime crowd was on hand and diehard shoppers filled the parking slots around the entrances, but it was still a long way from the Christmas rush. Several merchants were touting “pre-Thanksgiving” sales, but the mass movement was a week away.

My hand checked the Beretta as I drove.

I spoke into the mini-mike. “You got plenty of parking spaces in the area toward I-65?”

“Yup,” Ted said.

“I’ll park in the open, but not too far from the last line of cars. As soon as they show, I’ll get out and move slowly toward them. Let me know what you see from your vantage point. We’ll stay in contact.”

“Roger that.”

There was no way the opposition would know we were in communication. The cordless earpiece was skin-tone colored and so small they would have to be looking straight into my ear to detect it, and I had the clip-on mike well camouflaged.

I drove the length of the large mall, past Parisian, then turned around the end beyond Sears. Cars were fewer in this area. As soon as I passed the docks where a forklift was unloading large boxes from a big red trailer, I spotted Ted’s Mercury wedged between two smaller cars beyond the
Sears
Auto
Center
entrance. He had opted for the last occupied row of the parking area.

I spoke into the microphone. “I see you.”

“Ditto.”

I parked a couple of rows beyond where Ted sat and waited. It didn’t take long. We both spotted the panel truck at the same time.

“Here comes company,” Ted said.

I watched as the unmarked truck moved slowly across the apron of asphalt from the south. It stopped about forty feet away, its side facing me. A dark-skinned man dressed in a brown hunting jacket and matching cap walked around from the driver’s side. The door to the rear compartment also opened and I saw Jill kneeling there, her hands behind her. There was a cloth gag tied across her mouth. She wore black slacks and a red and brown jacket, the same outfit she had on when I left her and headed for Sam Gannon’s the day before. Someone was behind her.

My first impulse was to jump out and run toward her, but I forced myself to hold back.

Seeing her that way drove a rage up through me, but also a caution. You don’t display a hostage like this if you’re preparing to release her. He should have brought her out of the truck with him, perhaps holding her arm as a restraint. This looked more like a provocation, an enticement to get me near the vehicle.

I grabbed the fake scroll can, slipped out of the Jeep, and began my walk toward the truck. I tried to look like a shopper, but my grip tightened on the can until my knuckles turned white. I felt the tension in my gut as I moved closer to Jill. I caught a pleading look in her eyes that nearly did me in.

As I approached, I looked at the man who stood near the front of the truck. I held the can in my right hand against my chest, which kept it near the Beretta. He had a prominent nose and a receding hairline that disappeared beneath his hunting cap. Black eyes stared at me. Arms hung loosely at his sides. I had never used lethal force during my career, but at that moment I could have dropped him.

At a sudden moaning sound, I looked back to the open door. Because of the gag, Jill could only make noise through her nose. When a hand reached around her face and started pulling her back, I lost it.

Still about twenty feet away, I threw the can down and charged toward the man. He must not have been interested in fighting, maybe because of my size, as he turned and ran around to the driver’s side door. By the time I reached it, he had already jumped inside. I grabbed the door handle as he was pulling it shut, and I heard him cranking the starter.

“Greg!” Ted’s voice rang in my ear. “The gray Ford’s coming up on the passenger side.”

I had the door half open when the truck started with a jerk. I tried to hang on, but he cut his wheels to the right, throwing me to the pavement in a heap. I grabbed the Beretta as I rolled over but didn’t dare fire because of Jill.