Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) (28 page)

“Big time. He hates Palestinians and Muslims in general. And he will kill as necessary.”

“So he would slit my throat to get that scroll.”

“I’m afraid so.”

That also meant he would kill Jill to get her out of the way. Why let her walk around when she could tell what had happened to her? The thought sickened me. I changed the subject. “How about your background, Colonel?”

I learned he was the son of a Baptist minister from
Indianapolis
and had flown F-117 Nighthawk stealth fighters in Desert Storm. Afterward, he had been chosen to work with the F-22 Raptor project, the ultra-stealth, long-range air superiority fighter capable of cruising at supersonic speeds. But along the way to Rapture, as he put it, something happened to change his career.

“I had been a lifelong bachelor, and proud of it,” Jarvis said. “Then I met a young lady who knocked me flat on my back. She was nothing like the women I had known before. They all seemed to be operating on an agenda, with something to get or something to prove. But Abby Farrell was different. As best I could tell, she wanted nothing and expected nothing. She liked herself and lived every day to the fullest. It made you feel like a king just to be around her.

“She was a civilian working on the Raptor project. I hadn’t figured out exactly what she did, and she was always somewhat coy about it. But she seemed to like me and I invited her out a few times. I was totally fascinated by her. And then, suddenly, she was gone.”

“What do you mean she was gone?” I asked, puzzled.

“Exactly that–gone. She didn’t show up around the project office. When I tried to call, her phone had been disconnected. Her apartment was vacated.”

“That sounds distressingly familiar.”

“I know,” said Jarvis. “That’s probably the main reason I’ve taken on your problem. I saw the parallel.”

I stubbed out my cigarette. “Did you ask the project manager about Abby?”

“He was evasive. Said her job was finished and she had moved on. He had no idea where.”

“Didn’t you push him for answers?”

“As hard as I could afford to. You know how it is in the military. He claimed she had been sent by some government referral agency. He couldn’t remember the name. Said her personnel file had been dispatched to the Pentagon. When I pressed him on that, he got testy. Said I’d have to go to SecDef for anything else.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The Secretary of Defense?”

“Right. And when I called there, I was told they had no record of an Abby Farrell.”

“She must have been under deep cover.”

He nodded. “The only thing I could figure was
counter-
espionage.”

“That could have meant
OSI
or FBI,” I said. I had been involved in a few spy chases during the Cold War. “But neither of those are normally that secretive. There are some scenarios where the
CIA
might have been involved. Did you ever learn anything more?”

“I’m still looking.” He watched as a large truck loaded with drilling equipment pulled out in front of him. “That’s what got me into this attaché business. I realized there was a whole different, invisible world out there most people knew nothing about. I set out to find a way through the maze. I went to
Intelligence
School
, then studied Hebrew at the Defense Language Institute in
Monterey
. After that, they sent me over here.” He managed a smile. “I miss the flying.”

As I looked out at the stark Judean hills, beneath a leaden sky, I remembered some of my
OSI
buddies going through the same route Jarvis had. As for obscure government agencies that did strange things, I had run into a few of those myself during my Air Force career. But I knew he would need luck to stumble onto the one that might lead him to Abby Farrell. At any rate, I was happy he had chosen his present path. Without him I’d fail.

On the outskirts of Tel Aviv, with its modern high-rise skyline barely visible in the haze, we turned north and circled around to an upscale housing development near the coast. Jarvis lived in a spacious apartment. The furniture was solid and tasteful, the colors subdued and masculine. As rain began to spatter on the windows the colonel brewed a pot of coffee. We sat down at an oval table off the kitchen.

“I’ve been thinking about that
Caesarea
business,” he said.

He set a cup in front of me and I grinned at the inscription:
OLD AIRMEN NEVER DIE, THEY JUST FADE OFF THE RADAR
.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

“What if we leave the scroll with some troops in a vehicle parked outside the
Fortified
Medieval
City
? You and I go in to the rendezvous. If they have your wife as promised, we radio the troops to bring in the scroll and escort you two back out.”

I took a sip of coffee. “It might work,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll have plenty of reinforcements, but I don’t believe they’d want to get into a fire fight with a bunch of American troops. The only other possibility I’ve thought about is that kibbutz.”

“Kerem?”

I nodded. “As I recall from the booklet we looked through, they have a retail store and offer wine tastings and tours of the winery. It might be worthwhile to pay them a visit.”

Jarvis blew on his coffee. “We might nose around and ask a few questions, but I’m not sure how much we would learn. As I understand it, people on these kibbutzim are close-mouthed when it comes to strangers prying into their business.”

“Maybe so, but it probably depends on how you go about asking questions.”

The telephone rang and the colonel reached for a portable lying on the table. He glanced at the caller ID. “It’s a
Jerusalem
number,” he said, then answered it.

After listening a moment, he said, “McKenzie’s sitting here. You can talk to him.” He held out the phone and mouthed,
Cohen
.

“What’s up, Jake?” I asked.

“I just got off the phone with Wolfson. When I told him what had been happening, he got terribly excited. He said he was in his office and would wait there until you called.”

“What’s he so excited about?”

“He said you should destroy that scroll.”

“Why?”

“He said he would explain it to you when you called. What have you decided to do about Jill?”

“We’re thinking about going up to check out that kibbutz. Maybe we can find someone who has seen or heard about a strange woman there.”

“Don’t count on getting much out of those people,” Jake said. “They’re like a big family. They won’t talk about each other, and they may simply turn off if you start asking questions.”

“That’s what Colonel Jarvis says. We’ll just have to take that chance,” I said, trying to sound more optimistic than I felt.

“Tell you what, I’ll come over there and go with you,” he said. “I’ve been to Kerem before. As a tour guide and a Hebrew-speaking Jew, I’d have a lot better chance at getting some answers.”

“Look, Jake, you’ve done enough–”

“Don’t worry about me, Greg. This isn’t the Guardians of Palestine. With my beard, I’ll fit right in with the scenery. I’ll look as natural as a grapevine. I can be at Colonel Jarvis’s place within the hour. We could be at Kibbutz Kerem by
five o’clock
.”

It made sense. He could relate to a group of Orthodox Jews a lot better than a couple of American Gentiles. I still didn’t like getting him further involved, but his help was too valuable to reject. I copied down David Wolfson’s phone number and told Jake we would wait for him.

When I repeated what Jake had said, Jarvis disparaged the idea. But I had the impression he just didn’t trust civilians. I suspected his contact who came up with the info at Ben-Gurion was from Israeli air intelligence. The colonel’s status at the embassy came in handy, though, as he got David on the line within seconds.

“You’re up early, my friend,” I said. It was around
seven a.m.
in
Nashville
.

“Just tell me you haven’t given them the document.”

“I haven’t yet,” I said, “but we have a meeting set for seven this evening to make the exchange.”

“Cancel it. I can’t tell you why on the phone, but you must not let them have that document. In fact, I would advise you to destroy it.”

“Destroy it?”

“Right. Remember when you and your friend were here at my apartment and I told you what the bad guys had in mind?”

He was talking about the
Temple
Alliance
, about their raising money to build a Third Temple on the
Temple
Mount
, where the Muslim holy sites currently stood.

“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “I remember.”

“And I said we’d be talking World War III?”

“Right.”

“Well, this thing could be the trigger.”

“You’re kidding.” I couldn’t–or didn’t want to–believe the scroll I possessed could hold such awesome power. Especially since Jill’s safety depended on my delivering it to the
Temple
Alliance
.

“I’m deadly serious. Burn the thing.”

“You don’t understand, David. They have my wife and this is the price for her freedom.”

“I do understand, Greg. Ted Kennerly down at
Tullahoma
told me all about what happened, why you were headed over there.”

“I hear Detective Adamson talked to you also.”

“He found my number on one of the messages I left on your answering machine. He asked a lot of questions. How I knew you, what I knew about your wife, when I last talked to you.”

“Has there been anything in the newspaper about me?”

“No. Kennerly said Adamson probably hadn’t gone public because he didn’t want it to look like the police were prejudiced against you.”

“Okay,” I said. “So maybe I’m off the hook with Metro. But that isn’t going to help us tonight. Why can’t I hand it over?”

“It’s very simple,” David said. “The hidden message gave the location in old Roman cubits from a certain prominent landmark. I located a scale drawing of the real estate in question–the place we discussed at my apartment.”

The
Temple
Mount
. The landmark was probably one of the gates in the old wall that led to it, maybe the
Golden Gate
.

“When I plotted out the location,” he continued, “the ‘X’ fell at the edge of that popular tourist attraction. The one we discussed.”

I felt like my chin had dropped at least six inches. We had discussed only one popular tourist site. I looked up at Colonel Jarvis and covered the telephone mouthpiece.

“Those golden candlesticks are hidden beneath the Dome of the Rock.”

Chapter
38

As soon as Jake Cohen arrived at Colonel Jarvis’ apartment, I gave him the bad news.

He stared at me in shock. “Remember my comment that all they needed was a halfway decent excuse?”

I held the scroll canister and twisted it slowly in my hands. How true it was, I thought, that the most powerful explosives came in the smallest containers.

“Yeah,” I said. “And this roll of animal skin would do it.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time somebody tried digging for buried treasure on the
Temple
Mount
,” Jake said. “Back in 1960, a member of the Dead Sea Scrolls editorial team went on an expedition searching for treasures from Herod’s
Temple
. They were detailed in the Copper Scroll, found in one of the
Qumran
caves. When his team started digging on the esplanade of the Dome of the Rock, the government put a stop to it. That was back when
East Jerusalem
was part of
Jordan
. If some Jews were to try it now, after all the controversy over that area, all hell would break loose. I’m afraid I have to agree with David. The scroll should be destroyed.”

When he saw the look on my face, he suddenly realized the import of what he had just said. “But, then, how do we get your wife released?”

That was the question. For me, it was priority. I did not relish the idea of being the guy responsible for pushing the button on World War III, but I was not going to sacrifice Jill McKenzie to avoid it.

“If we want to get to Kerem before dark, we’d better get moving,” Jarvis said.

“I need a weapon,” I said. “Do you plan to carry one?”

“In this country right now it’s always advisable,” he said. “I have a little Beretta Jetfire .25 you can use. Not much stopping power but easy to carry.”

Jarvis had been strangely silent for most of the past hour, following an initial burst of concern after David Wolfson’s call. While he agreed with the need to keep the scroll from falling into the
Temple
Alliance
’s hands, he felt a heavy burden of sympathy for my plight. It was too close to what he had experienced with Abby Farrell. He offered an alternative.