Sparkles (12 page)

“What time is it?”

“Just after noon. You’ve been sleeping for an hour. They did not come today.”

“That is unfortunate. I cannot stay.” Joachim sat deep in thought.

Then the old man said, “If you wish to speak with the man, you can reach their house by taking the path to the top of the hill. Go left at the big rock. You cannot miss the rock because it blocks the path. Remember. Go left.”

Joachim nodded, rose, and went to the door
.
“I will go to see this woman. Perhaps the man with her is her son, after all
.
It is worth a try. If he is this Frenchman, I must find out for sure.” Once outside, Joachim turned, and without thinking said, “
Shalom
.”

“
Allah
Salaam
,” replied the old man with a smile.

Doorstep Savior

JOACHIM APPROACHED
a stone cottage and listened to the muffled conversation through the rough wooden door.
A man and a woman. So far, so good.
He rapped on the doorjamb. A moment later the door slowly opened. There, a tall thin man wearing a black turban that covered most of his light brown hair leaned on a cane made of elm wood. He stood eyeing Joachim with suspicion. His face, partially covered by a lightly woven cloth, showed the unmistakable signs of bruises that had not quite fully healed. Finally Joachim said, “
Bonjour, mon ami. Je viens te raccompagner.”

At this the young man took a step forward and said in French, “You’ve come to take me home? But this is my home.”

“Armande, your father and your brother are heartsick. I’ve been sent to get you out.”

Armande shook his head as if to make sure he’d heard correctly. “You know my name, then.”

“I know everything.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“It is my job.”

Nodding to the woman who now stood behind Armande, Joachim said, “
Waʿalaykumu s-salām.
”

Although unsure of this big foreigner, she responded, “
As-salāmu ʿalaykumā.
”

“May I come in?” Joachim said.

Armande stepped aside. Once indoors, Joachim asked, “Does this woman know who, or should I say, what, you truly are?”

“I’m not sure. Nasreen has been taking care of me ever since—”

“There is no need to discuss that now. I’m leaving in a short while. We don’t have much time, so listen carefully. By this time tomorrow there will be a boat at Astara. You will identify the boat by a red and yellow pennant flying from the mast. The captain will be wearing a cap with the same colors. He will take you north into Azerbaijan. From there you will be taken by land across into Turkey. Our people there will bring you out. There may be many days where nothing will happen, but I caution you to be ready to move at a moment’s notice—al-Qaida has many eyes.”

Armande plopped down on the carpeted floor. “I can’t believe it. You are serious!”

“I have risked my life to find you. It doesn’t get more serious than that.”

“But… what if we’re stopped?” Armande frowned. His eyes darted nervously around the room, as if calculating his chances of making an escape. He said, “If they find out I’m still alive, I’ll be killed on the spot. Why do you think I’ve stayed here all this time? I don’t know… I’m not sure.”

The woman, who until now had remained silent, spoke. “What is going on?” she said in Farsi. To Armande she said, “Who is this man?”

“I have come on a special mission to rescue this man and take him back to his family.”

“I am his family!” she shouted through tears welling in her eyes. “I am a poor widow! I saved his life! What will become of me if he is gone from me!”

Joachim rubbed his forehead.
She’s right. She needs a man to help her. Besides, leaving her behind would bring suspicion on the old man. Everyone will wonder why a son would leave his mother. Questions will be asked.

Joachim considered the idea of taking her out too.
If I arrange passage for both, they risk detection. If I leave her, the plan may be exposed. Al-Qaida is very unforgiving. Hmm, what would Jan do?

Joachim squatted down in front of Armande and motioned the woman to come closer. “Here is what you are to do,” he said in Farsi. “Early tomorrow, both of you are to go down the mountain to the old woodcutter. Give him your goat’s milk. Then leave immediately for the coast and the boat. The boat will wait until the following morning. That should give you plenty of time.”

“How will the boatman know who I am?” Armande said.

“You will say that the sea is salty.”

Armande furrowed his brow. “Why do
I
need to know the recognition phrase?”

“I won’t be going with you. Others will pass you along. First, you, Armande will go to France to see your father.” Joachim thought about Jan and how much he’d invested in finding Armande. “Also, there is a chance you’ll be in America soon,” he said. “I am certain the one who sent me will want to see you.”

The woman spoke up. “America? Is it warm in America? I am sick of the cold. I want to go to someplace warm!”

Joachim thought a moment. “How about Miami?”

“Is it warm in… what is it, Miamee?”

“You will love it.”

The woman beamed a smile. Armande twisted his hands in the cloth that earlier had covered his face. His eyes became misty. “Home,” he whispered as if saying it louder would break some spell that had been cast against all odds.

As Joachim rose, he caught a glimpse of a worn copy of the Quran. Armande noticed and immediately tensed. Joachim eyed the book and then Armande. “Is that yours?” Joachim said.

Armande gave a slight nod, hoping the woman wouldn’t catch the significance of Joachim’s question.

Joachim picked up the book and paged through it. Underlined passages and small notations in pidgin English told of a cipher within the text. Joachim looked Armande in the eye and said, “Perhaps I should take that with me, just to ensure it gets where it needs to be.”

“Yes…. Perhaps you should.”

At the door Joachim turned. “I will leave you now, but keep in mind, this will be your one and only chance to get home. There won’t be another. I suggest you take it. Speak to no one about the plan. Go straight to the coast. Remember the red and yellow pennant….
Bon courage.
”

Joachim left the pair standing in the doorway of the stone cottage. As he walked down the path toward the valley below, Joachim hoped Armande would find his way home. The cipher in the Quran meant that Armande was a trained agent, but Joachim knew that training was no substitute for experience. That Armande had been captured at all spoke to his handlers’ unpreparedness for such an eventuality. That Armande had survived al-Qaida’s brutish methods spoke to his inner strength and to the woman who’d brought him back from the brink of death. Joachim patted the Quran in his pocket.
I’ve got to get this to the code breakers before anyone realizes what Armande has done.

Kazakhstan

Kaysm Khan Royal Hotel

JOACHIM CHECKED
at the hotel desk for messages he knew would not be there. The routine of a visitor had to be maintained, especially for one who’d caught the eye of the feared SVR. The young man who’d followed him was waiting for him when he returned from his trip to the mountains.

Joachim had been away from his room for just over two days. He was tired, and he needed a shower and sleep, but before sleep came the necessary room sweep. Removing his wristwatch, he pulled out the stem, activating a debugging device. The second hand ticked past thirty-one.
Hmm, no bugs… these guys must be slipping
. Joachim went to the desk where his laptop computer lay. A fine line of dust edged its case. His first impression was that the maid service had dusted, but this tiny layer was missed, and yet there was no residue around the desk lamp or the telephone.
Idiots! Was this trick supposed to fool me?

Joachim powered on the laptop. He opened his CD case and picked out a record marked
Patsy Cline Sings Puccini Favorites.
He flipped the CD upside down and put it in the player. After closing the tray, the disc immediately began searching the hard drive for anomalies. Joachim watched the dark green screen as columns and rows of encrypted letters raced by. A moment later a telltale red asterisk appeared. The hard drive had been removed, and then replaced. Joachim smiled. Just as he was about to send Jan a coded message that he’d made contact with Armande, there was a knock at the door. Joachim closed the computer case. The young man who’d tailed Joachim since he’d arrived in Kazakhstan stood holding out his SVR identification card. “Sir,” he said, “would you please come with me?”

A LIGHT
mist, leftover from the cold night, swirled around the tarmac. British Airways flight 719 taxied onto the runway. The big engines revved. The brakes were released. The plane soared upward, and Joachim Nussbaum watched Kazakhstan fall away from view. The SVR, the equivalent of the American CIA, had kept him in relative comfort for two weeks while he was interviewed. Believing Joachim to be a devout Muslim, they even let him keep his holy book for prayer. The discussions, when they finally began, were with the SVR’s regional head, a man named Fomenko. The questioning had lasted off and on for an additional two weeks, and often centered on why a Muslim would seek out a priest. The priest, Joachim had said, was well known as someone who knew the mountains along the Iranian border, and he’d given directions to Dolatska. Fomenko was thorough. He had to be. His masters demanded it. His life depended on it. Fomenko questioned Joachim relentlessly, and fortunately for them both, Joachim answered convincingly.

He checked the date on his wristwatch and reset the time. He thought,
Weeks in the field, thousands of dollars spent… and a dead man returns to the land of the living. I wonder why the Frenchman is so important to Jan? Doesn’t matter. I did my job. Jan will be pleased when I tell him in person.

Philadelphia

Jan’s Townhouse Study

STARS GLITTERED
across the clear night sky. Jan and Daniel sat quietly digesting their late dinner.

“Nightcap?” Jan said, reaching for a decanter of tawny port.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Daniel said.

Jan ignored him. “I got a message from Nussbaum a few weeks ago.”

“I haven’t seen Joachim in quite a while. What’s he up to?”

Jan stifled a yawn. “He did some work for me. Nothing came of it, unless you consider someone ending up dead nothing.”

“Anyone I know, or should know?”

“No. It’s just… I dunno, I’m rambling… sorry.”

“Okay, I get the message. I’m going.”

Daniel rose, heading for the door.

“Daniel, wait,” Jan said. “Take a look at this.”

Jan handed Daniel a typed replica of the napkin puzzle he’d found at the Broadway Diner. “What do you make of it?”

“What is it?”

“I found it at the Broad Street Diner.”

“Looks like a kid’s scribble,” Daniel said.

“One of the scribbles, as you call it, looks to me like a formula for a chemical reaction… actually it appears to be a thermal reaction, but chemistry is my bag, not physics.”

“And who do I look like, Enrico Fermi?” Daniel said, joking.

“Well, you’re the official Mundus code breaker. Do your best with it, okay? I’m off to Paris tomorrow. E-mail me if you figure this out. It might be important.”

Daniel folded the paper and put into his shirt pocket. “Considering where you found it, I wouldn’t think so, but you’re the boss.”

A Cougar in Cougar’s Clothing

AS DANIEL
picked his way over the slippery cobbles past Charlotte De Vere’s house, his haphazard progress was being watched. With the keen eyes of a night predator and the lust of a she-wolf in heat, Kat Manlove watched from her bedroom window as Daniel walked the short distance from Jan’s home. Month after rolling month, she had watched Daniel Jelski—divorced Daniel Jelski, therefore available Daniel Jelski.

Kat’s house, quaintly called Lovage Lodge, stood opposite Charlotte De Vere’s and offered a bird’s-eye view of the narrow tree-lined street. Burning with unrestrained resentment toward anyone who blocked her heart’s desire, Kat turned away from the window. She glanced at her reflection in the bureau mirror. Her waist was slim. Her skin and muscle tone, with careful salon conservation, remained relatively youthful. Only her bottle-colored black hair betrayed her as a woman pushing the wrong end of her forties. She looked down at her breasts. The soft flesh was squeezed and pushed up and out in her bra like a Wagnerian soprano. Why, she wondered, did Daniel prefer Charlotte?

Paris, France

ONLY THE
mantel clock counting the passing minutes disturbed the quiet in Jan’s apartment on the Il Saint-Louis.

Outside, cars dashed across the Pont de Sully. Amal was in his bedroom. It was midafternoon—time for prayer.

Jan’s cook, plump as an apple dumpling, was in the kitchen preparing small sandwiches of tongue and watercress when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Jan said as he passed the kitchen.

As he headed toward the door, Jan mulled over the last text message he’d gotten from Joachim. Armande Bonnet was dead. Jan arrived at the door just as the bell rang once more. Outside, a tall man with short gray hair waited. He wore a beige cashmere overcoat over a dark brown suit. His shoes gleamed from a recent polishing. Jan opened the door. The man removed his brown fedora hat and handed it to Jan.

“My name is Claude Bonnet. Tell Monsieur Phillips that I am here, as he requested.”

Jan put the hat on nearby table.