The Venice Code (23 page)

Thank God we’re not going to Gaza.

The West Bank was a paradise compared to Gaza. He sometimes wondered why everyone spoke of a “two state solution”. Why not three? Israel could recognize the West Bank, make peace with that one territory, leaving the Gaza Strip to rot with its terrorist Hamas running the show. Word would get back pretty quick on how much better things were on the other side.

He dismissed the thought.
As long as the leadership on one side of the negotiations insists the other be extinguished from existence, there can be no peace.
But today they were hoping to gain access to the more peaceful enclave, retrieve an artifact hidden there for over seven hundred years, then somehow miraculously make it back out alive.

“I wonder…” he began.

“You wonder what, dear?”

Acton looked up as Laura entered the room, ready to go, her clothes “dig-site” chic—shorts, button up shirt with sleeves rolled up, lots of pockets, hat sitting on the chair, work boots on the floor.

And she’s still smokin’!

Acton lost his train of thought for a moment as he appreciated how lucky a man he was, then quickly jumped up realizing he wasn’t ready himself. He began to dress and talk at the same time.

“I was thinking about how we’re going to get out,” he began. “Let’s say we can’t trust these guys to get us out without killing us, or stealing the skull once we have it—”

“We can probably count on that,” muttered Reading.

“Well, what if we get ourselves away from them—”

“And just how would we do that?” interrupted Reading.

“Bear with me,” said Acton as he buttoned up his shirt. “Perhaps they abandon us, perhaps there’s another way out, who knows. Bottom line, let’s say we need to get out, have survived their attempt on us, there’s still a way out.”

“How?” asked Laura, waving off Reading’s retort.

“The border,” replied Acton as he rolled up his sleeves. “Just go to one of the checkpoints, go through with our passports and deal with the consequences on the other side.”

“It might work, but you’d probably have that crystal bastard taken away from you,” said Reading.

“Oh! Which reminds me!” exclaimed Acton. “At the airport, the security guy was Triarii!”

Reading almost burst from his chair. “What?”

“Yeah, he showed me his tattoo when he handed me back my passport. He said something like, ‘we’re watching you and if you ever need help we’ll be there.’ He gave me a card.” He grabbed his pants from earlier and rifled through the pockets. On his third go he found the small rectangle of thick paper and pulled it out, holding it up triumphantly. “This could be our way out!”

There was a knock at the door.

Acton shoved the card in the pocket of his shorts and he positioned himself between the door and Laura, Reading already looking through the peephole. He looked over at them. “It’s the driver.”

Acton’s eyebrows jumped for a moment. “Let him in, I guess.”

Reading nodded, unlocking the door with a frown. He pulled it open and stepped back, Acton noticing a clenched fist at the ready.

Their driver stepped inside.

“Are we ready?” he asked.

“For what?” asked Acton, examining the man for any obvious weapon bulges.

He closed the door, but not before looking up and down the hallway. “I was told you require transport to a—shall we say—
difficult
destination. I am it.”

“And just how do
you
expect to get us in,” asked Reading, fists still clenched.

“Because I am Alamar, and it is my job to get people and things in and out.” He looked at Reading then at the man’s clenched fists, frowning. “I suggest you don’t ask too many questions. They can be dangerous, especially with my friends.” He pointed at the fists. “And those won’t help you.” Alamar slapped his hands together, a smile suddenly returning to his face. “Now, are we going, or what?”

Acton nodded, realizing they had no choice, and this was probably as friendly as it was going to get. “Yes.”

“Good. Then take everything you need with you, and I suggest”—he nodded at Laura’s left hand—“you leave all valuables in the safe.” Laura looked at her engagement ring, it in Acton’s opinion embarrassingly modest compared to what he felt she deserved, but on a professor’s salary, modesty was the order of the day.

But she loved it, that much was obvious. She nodded, removing it, along with her earrings and a bracelet. Acton took them then put them in the room’s safe, along with his own watch.

“What about our passports?” asked Laura.

Alamar shook his head. “They will do you no good where you are going and are worth more than gold. Definitely leave them.”

As Acton complied he had the distinct impression that all of their valuables were merely being put into one convenient place for someone to come along after they were gone and help themselves. As he put the passports into the safe, he palmed the engagement ring.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, Alamar immediately opening the door and looking both ways. They followed him, Acton taking up the rear as he unrolled his sleeve, deposited the ring in the fold of the cuff, then rolled it back up.

Now as long as I don’t lose my shirt.

Alamar walked past the elevators, leading them farther down the hall.

“Ah, where are we going?” asked Reading.

“Service elevator. More private.”

Acton could feel his pulse quicken and the hairs on the back of his neck tingle as he traded glances with Reading, the silent exchange making it obvious they were both thinking the same thing.

Something’s wrong.

But then again they were with someone who was going to illegally get them into the West Bank. He was obviously either a criminal or a terrorist—either way an undesirable—and those they were going to probably meet over the coming hours just as much so.

They arrived at the large doors of the service elevator and Alamar pressed the button. Acton watched as Alamar looked up and down the hall, clearly nervous about being seen. Acton wondered if Alamar realized the big black dome above his head was a security camera.

A chime sounded and the doors opened, the elevator empty. They all boarded and Alamar pressed the button for the parking level. The doors closed and Acton had the odd feeling that this might be his last trip in an elevator. He squeezed Laura’s hand and she squeezed it back.

The chime sounded again and the doors opened. Alamar stepped outside, Reading first to follow. As Acton stepped into the parking garage a van burst from nowhere, screeching to a halt directly in from of them. The side panel slid open and four men burst out, AK-47s aimed at the trio. The doors behind them were just beginning to close. Acton shoved Laura back toward the doors and she fell inside with a yelp as Acton spread his arms trying to cover her escape. Reading already had a barrel pressed against his chest, two approaching Acton as he backed up, still trying to block the elevator.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Laura climbing to her feet, reaching for the panel to press a floor, the doors almost closed, when Alamar calmly stepped into sight and waved his arm between the door sensors causing them to open again. Acton made eye contact with Laura, his chest tight with the knowledge he had failed to protect her.

Suddenly the wind was knocked out of him and he dropped to his knees, gripping his stomach where someone had butted him with their Kalashnikov. His hands were grabbed and he was zip tied, a black sack pulled over his head. Dragged to his feet, he was tossed into the back of the van where he smacked his head on something hard and unforgiving, knocking him out cold, the last sounds he heard those of Laura screaming and Reading cursing them all to hell.

Unknown location, Israel

Present day, two days after the kidnapping

Acton awoke, his head pounding, a searing pain making itself known through the side of his skull. Everything was black and he felt something over his face. He tried to reach up to remove it but found his hands bound, his situation suddenly rushing back with a gasp.

“Laura!”

“No talking!” yelled a voice he didn’t recognize.

“I’m here,” came a whisper from his left. He sighed in relief knowing she was okay.

He kept his voice as low as he could, the sounds of an engine whining ahead of them and an exhaust in desperate need of repair roaring behind them making it difficult for them to hear, and he hoped for their abductors as well. “Hugh?”

“I’m bloody well here,” came the muttered return through what Acton was sure was a clenched jaw.

“I said no talking!” Acton felt a kick to his legs.

A burst of Arabic from what sounded like Alamar had his kicker sounding contrite. After a few minutes of what seemed like quite calm driving, signal lights clicking, stops seemingly obeyed, they came to a halt, the engine turning off. Acton had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious, but it couldn’t have been that long. The sound of the side door opening to his left then the feeling of hands pulling him toward the door had him hoping this portion of their ordeal was over.

The question was what was next? Were they now to be held prisoner, ransom demands made for their release? Laura was rich. Getting ten or twenty million out of her would go a long way to fund their terrorist activities.

We never should have come!

At this very moment he hated the Triarii. He hated the crystal skulls. He hated the Pope. He hated Martin Chaney. He hated every goddamned thing connecting to any of them. He wanted them all out of their lives, permanently. He just wanted to get back to his college, stand in front of his class and teach. No guns, no terrorists, no constant threats to his life.

He wanted to get married and start a new life.

A powerful grip on his arm led him somewhere, where, he had no idea, but he had the distinct impression they were inside. Suddenly the bag was yanked off his head and he began to blink rapidly, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden flood of light. He felt a jerk at his wrists as the zip tie was cut and he instinctively rubbed his wrists as he looked around. Laura was to his left and he immediately put his arm protectively over her shoulders, pulling her toward him. Reading was to the right, glowering at the group of men standing in front of them, including Alamar.

Alamar held out his hands. “I must apologize for this, but we couldn’t risk you knowing where we were going.”

“And just putting us in the van and asking us to put on the hoods wasn’t an option?” asked Reading, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Alamar shrugged then smiled. “Usually they don’t go willingly.” He smacked his hands together as the other men laughed. He pointed to a table. “Now, sit. We will eat and have something to drink, then when it is morning, we will go.”

“You still haven’t told us how we’re getting there,” said Acton, holding a chair for Laura as she sat down.

“You will see soon enough,” said Alamar as he shouted in Arabic for food to be brought. Several women appeared in traditional Arab garb with platters of food that to Acton at this moment smelled fantastic. His stomach rumbled and Reading gave him a “how can you be hungry at a time like this?” look. Acton shrugged with his eyes, and dug in.

“Eat up,” he said. “You’re going to need your strength for tomorrow, that I can guarantee.”

Laura was already reaching for the hummus. “He’s right,” she said. “Who knows if we’ll get to eat at all tomorrow.”

Reading shook his head, poster boy for the “don’t break bread with thine enemy” campaign, finally overwhelmed by the delicious aromas and his own hunger.

They were left alone, the “guards” in the next room. One of the women would occasionally check on them as they ate in relative silence, afraid that any conversation would be overheard. After they were finished they were shown into a room with several cots and questionably clean linens.

“You sleep! You sleep!” urged an elderly woman who then closed the door.

“Sounds good to me,” said Acton, lying on one of the cots, Reading again the reluctant follower.

“If I ever get out of this I’m putting Martin back in a coma,” he muttered.

Acton chuckled, rolling to his side and falling asleep within minutes, trying not to worry about what hell the crystal skulls would bring them when they woke up.

Unknown location, Israel

Present day, three days after the kidnapping

“James!”

Acton grunted then rolled over, opening his eyes to find Laura leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder shaking him gently. He blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep out of them, feeling far better rested than he thought he should.

“What time is it?” he asked as he slowly swung out of the cot.

“Almost four in the bloody morning,” replied Reading as he stretched his arms behind his back. “I
just
fell asleep I’m sure ten minutes ago.”

Laura gave him an accusatory look. “I can assure you from that god-awful sound erupting from your throat you were asleep for hours.”

“What god-awful sound?”

“You snore.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.” Laura held up her phone and tapped it. Immediately a sound emerged from the speaker that had Reading flush, his cheeks burning red and Acton roaring with laughter.

“That’s not me,” muttered Reading, standing up and doing some more stretches. “You just downloaded that from the Internet. There’s no way Martin would have let me get away with that in Egypt. We were sharing a bloody tent!”

Laura laughed, killing the recording. “You got me! I downloaded it. Although there were a few good snorts out of you.”

“You’re getting his bloody sense of humor,” said Reading, bending over to touch his toes but failing miserably, instead tapping his knees as if that were his intention. “Bah! Getting old sucks!”

Acton nodded in sympathy, his own bones and muscles needing more tender loving care lately than he remembered. He stood, did a quick check of himself in the mirror, nobody having brought any toiletries and none apparently available. Reading did the same, and Laura, looking impeccable, Acton assumed had already partaken before waking them up.