Sword Of God (11 page)

But a murder? That was
way
beyond anything she was prepared to handle.

She was a religious archaeologist, not a detective.

Obviously this was a situation she couldn’t handle on her own, not with all the politics involved. So she did the one thing she was told to do if there was ever a major problem.

She called her boss, Omar Abdul-Khaliq.

He answered the phone on the third ring, his voice as composed as ever.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

She explained everything—the delivery, the murder, her concerns. The entire time he said nothing. He just listened, occasionally taking notes.

“This is troubling indeed.” He paused for a moment. “But it can be handled.”

“Handled how?”

“You must listen to me and do exactly what I say.”

She knew not to question him. So far he had proven his worth at every turn. Not only did he finance the project with his deep pockets, money his family had earned in the oil business, but he’d done a remarkable job of getting work permits from the Saudi government, a minor miracle since they were digging right down the street from the Great Mosque, and keeping the police away. Several times she wanted to ask him how that was possible, but she realized it was one of those questions better left unasked.

“Have you touched the body?”

“No! We checked to see if he was dead, but other than that we haven’t touched anything.”

“Good. This is good. You must not touch the body. Leave it as it is.”

She grimaced. “For how long?”

“It will be removed today.”

“But—”

His voice grew stern. “Please allow me to finish.”

She nodded, regretting her mistake.

“I will send a new team of guards, men more equipped to handle this crisis. They will remain at the site, night and day. You shall brief them when they arrive. They’ll need to see everything.”

“Of course.”

“Activity around the mosque will only increase as pilgrims arrive. The old city will be crowded, filled with millions of witnesses.” Abdul-Khaliq paused, thinking things through. “Until the hajj is over, all work should be stopped at the site. No workers, no digging, no attention. No one but the guards to protect our work…. Do you not agree?”

She answered carefully, realizing it was a loaded question. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Besides, you and your team deserve some time off—a reward for all your efforts. It will help you forget this tragedy…. Mecca is a historic city, one you’ve barely seen. Use your time wisely. Roam the streets, observe the celebration. It is one to behold.”

Shari was quite familiar with the hajj and its customs. While preparing for her dig, she read several firsthand accounts, tales of tragedy and triumph, loss and salvation, written by men and women whose lives were changed by their journey. Deep inside she knew she would never participate as a pilgrim—she was a nonpracticing half-Muslim— but as an academic, she realized her observations would be invaluable.

Maybe he was right. Maybe this was the best thing to do.

Considering the circumstances, it was certainly the safest.

“Before we conclude,” he said, “there is one more item to be discussed.”

“Which is?”

“The delivery of my package. Did it arrive safely?”

She held the sealed envelope in her hand. “Yes. I have it right here.”

“Good. That is good.” He paused briefly. “Is it unopened?”

“It seems to be.”

“Excellent!”

She was dying to find out what was inside, especially since the man who’d delivered it was dead in her tunnel. Still, she knew not to ask too much. “What should I do with it?”

“Hold it at all times. One of these days, it will come in handy. You shall see.”

The guards showed up sooner than expected, less man an hour after she’d called Abdul-Khaliq.

They were highly trained and highly unsociable. Only one of them spoke to Shari, and even then it was to tell her to stay out of their way.

Their first order of business was the body. One of the men went through Nasir’s pockets, finding the keys to the Toyota Camry, while another man backed a van as close to the tunnel entrance as possible, until his rear bumper nearly hit the chain-link fence that protected it. They unloaded an Arabic rug that had been purchased at a nearby bazaar and unrolled it next to Nasir. Two of the men moved him to the edge of the rug, then rolled him up inside like a burrito.

Seconds later, the body was in the back of the van.

The bloodstain was even less of a challenge. Since most of the blood had dried on the wooden planks that lined the floor, they simply lifted the boards and replaced them with fresh ones from the building supplies that filled the vacant lot outside. Two men tossed the stained wood onto the rolled-up rug, closed the van door, and sped away.

The whole process took less than five minutes.

“Anything else I should know?” asked the lead guard.

Shari shook her head, stunned at their efficiency.

“In that case, please take me below.”

She led him underground, giving him a brief tour along the way. “Most of this digging was done before I even arrived at the site. They were laying water pipes for the Abraj Al Bait Towers up the street when the discovery was made. That complex is so humongous they had to build their own pumping station just to handle the demand.”

She pointed out where the tunnel branched. “The water pipes go that way toward the towers, but our site is back here. We only had to dig this small stretch. It was rather simple.”

He listened to every word, studying the layout. Searching for weaknesses.

“Just about the only water in the old city is the spring that feeds the Zamzam Well in the Great Mosque. Have you heard of it?”

According to Islamic tradition, Hagar, the wife of Abraham and mother of Ishmael, was desperately seeking water for her son in the scorching heat of the valley. She ran back and forth seven times between the hills of Safa and Mar-wah, searching for water. God sent the angel Gabriel, who scraped the ground with his heel, causing a spring to bubble forth from the sand. When she found it, she collected the water in a tiny pool, reinforced by small stones.

To this day, pilgrims still honor her during the hajj, walking between Safa and Marwah seven times. They also drink from the Zamzam Well, water that many Muslims believe to be blessed.

“Some people actually bottle that water during their pilgrimage and sell it on the Internet. You wouldn’t believe how much money it costs.”

Her keys jingled in the tunnel like a bell as she unlocked the gate that protected their discovery. She started putting them away when he grabbed her hand.

“You better leave those with me.”

Angry, she yanked her arm away. “You’ll get a copy when I leave. Not a moment before.”

He stared at her with unblinking eyes. Annoyance filled his face. A look that said he was accustomed to getting his way, especially with women.

Suddenly, Shari realized she was alone with this guy. Several meters underground. With nowhere to run or hide. The thought was unnerving. Even to a courageous woman like herself. An old Middle Eastern proverb flashed through her brain, one that explained her status in their society.
Women belong in the house or the grave.

She gripped her keys a little tighter, just in case she had to use them as a weapon.

“What’s up ahead?” he asked, not showing any remorse.

“The main site.”

“You better show me. After all, that’s what I’m here to protect.”

From a distance Payne and Jones watched the conversation between Kia and Kim. Far enough to give them space but close enough to intervene. Violently, if necessary.

“You’re sure she can handle this?” Jones wondered.

“She was doing great
before
you showed up. Let’s hope your lips don’t distract her.”

Jones ignored the joke about his initial encounter with Kia. “Good. Then let’s talk about our mission. We were brought in to rescue Schmidt, even though one glance in that cave proved he was dead several days ago. Colonel Harrington must’ve known that long before he talked to us in Pittsburgh. So the question remains. Why were we brought in?”

“My guess is revenge. Cold-blooded revenge.”

“You think?”

“Why else was this village unsecured? The moment that cave was discovered they should’ve sent men here to look for hostiles. And within minutes he would’ve known about the slaughter. But guess what? He wanted
us
to find it. Otherwise this place would’ve been swarming with forensic teams long ago. But he assumed our discovery would fuel our rage, making us even more motivated. First Schmidt, then this. He wants us to do his dirty work.”

Jones considered the facts, trying to decide if Payne was right.

“And all that bullshit at the cave? Making us tour the scene but refusing to tell us anything? Nothing but theatrics. And Dr. Sheldon? Not only did he lead us on, but he was smiling the entire time. Like he was having fun.”

“So you don’t trust him?”

“I don’t trust him at all. In fact, I snapped his picture before I left the cave and sent it to Randy Raskin. No telling what we’ll get on him.”

Jones nodded, glad to see that Payne was thinking clearly. “Have you heard back from him?”

“Not yet. But when I do, I’ve got several questions.”

“Such as?”

“Who was Schmidt’s prisoner? That might have something to do with why we’re here. Maybe it’s someone we’ve dealt with before. Who knows? Maybe Harrington didn’t give a rat’s ass about Schmidt. Maybe he cares about the prisoner.”

“You know, that’s a possibility.”

Payne smiled. “Just because you’re smarter than I am doesn’t mean that I’m dumb.”

“Well, let’s talk about
that
some other time. In the meantime, let me ask you something. How do you want to proceed?”

“In regard to what?”

Jones lowered his voice. “In regard to Harrington. I say we keep digging but don’t tell him anything until we get some answers of our own.”

Kia finished her conversation with Kim and then watched as he was escorted inside, where an armed guard kept an eye on him at all times. Even though she trusted him, Payne and Jones did not. And it would stay that way until they found out what had happened in the village.

She filled them in on everything—from the appearance of the young boy to the burning of the bodies in the fire pit—before they started asking questions.

Jones began. “Did he take anyone from the cave?”

“No way. He’s scared to death of that place. Too many bad memories. Plus, I don’t think he’s strong enough to push a wheelbarrow up that hill. And even if he could, there’s no way he would’ve risked it. For all he knew, the soldiers were still up there. Besides, he was concerned about his neighbors, no one else.”

“Speaking of which,” Payne asked, “any theories on the boy and his father?”

“He thinks they left the village but probably not the island.”

“Why’s that?”

“First of all, he warned them about being spotted at the airport or any of the major docks. Kim is highly paranoid about all authority, so he stressed how important it was to avoid departure points. Second, he feels confident that Chung-Ho wouldn’t abandon his family. Odds are they were going to rendezvous somewhere close so they could decide what to do next. The only reason he took his boy was because Kim told him to, but he wasn’t going to leave the rest of his family behind.”

“So Kim talked to them?” Jones asked.

“The father, yes. The boy, no. Yong-Su was pretty incoherent, just mumbling something over and over about the black stone. In fact, that’s all he said the entire time.”

Payne frowned. “The black stone? What the hell is that?”

Jones glanced at him and shrugged. He was unfamiliar with the term. “Maybe he was talking about the interior of the cave? There’s nothing but volcanic rock in there.”

Payne nodded, no other theories in mind. “Did the father say anything to Kim?”

“Not really. He went to Kim for advice, not the other way around.”

“And what was the advice? To leave ASAP?”

“Yes,” she said. “And considering what happened next, it proved to be wise.”

The vibration of Payne’s phone broke his concentration. The caller ID said
Randy Raskin,
so he stepped away to answer it while Jones continued to debrief Kia.

“Randy,” he said, “how you been?”

“Overworked. People like you are
always
calling in favors.”

“Those selfish bastards. Do you want me to take care of them?”

Raskin laughed. As a computer researcher at the Pentagon, he was privy to many of the government’s top secrets, a mountain of classified data that was just there for the taking if the right person knew how to access it. His job was to make sure the latest information got into the best hands at the most appropriate time. Over the years, Jones had used his services on many occasions. Eventually Raskin fostered a friendship with Payne, too, and realized he probably could eliminate anyone he wanted. Of course, that made Payne’s comment even funnier.

“Is suicide out of the question? Because
you
seem to bother me more than anyone.”

“Sorry, pal, it ain’t gonna happen. I know I’m going to hell someday. No need to buy an early ticket.”

“In that case, let’s talk about your message.” Raskin stared at the photo on his computer screen, toying with the brightness and contrast of the image until he saw a man wearing a surgical mask standing in some sort of underground lair. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything you can tell me. Background, specialty, whatever. My guess is he isn’t who he says he is.”

Raskin hit a few keys and pulled up the personnel records on Dr. Ernie Sheldon. No photo was included with the file, but it didn’t take a computer genius to tell there was a discrepancy. “Score one for you, big guy. I just spotted a critical fact that’s pretty important.”

“What’s that?”

“Dr. Sheldon is dead. Has been for three years.”

Payne nodded, all kinds of theories floating through his head. “Yep, I’d say that’s important.”