The Sinai Secret (33 page)
Lang had forgotten his ale. "Too many for a clerical mistake. Was there any follow-up?"
Now Jacob was conducting a pocket-by-pocket search for matches. Despite the view, Lang was wishing they had chosen a table inside, where smoking was forbidden. "Oh, there was a proper ruckus, an exchange of e-mails, but that was about it. Zwelk was about to retire to a kibbutz, anyway. It was an election year, and the government wasn't too keen about making a public brouhaha of it."
Compared to Israeli politics, those in the States were calm indeed. In such a small country many of the constituents knew their representatives and were passionately pro or anti. Accusing one of the many factions, cults, or sects of something could easily upset the precarious balance of power based on the thinnest coalitions between groups disparate in culture, ethnic origin, or belief. Alienation of the smallest group could bring down the government.
Lang sat back in his chair, waiting.
Jacob found his own Mirabelle's matches, and puffs of evil-smelling smoke dissipated into the air. "I pulled some strings, as you Yanks would say, and got a peek into the man's service jacket. Seems the pistols weren't the first things nicked on his watch. A dozen or so A-model Heckler & Koch MP5s vanished the year before."
The same model Lang had seen far too well just outside Brussels.
Jacob took the pipe out of his mouth and inspected the bowl, a gesture Lang recognized as a dramatic pause before revealing the more important part of what he had to say. "He was still being investigated for that when the Desert Eagles went missing. Had the cheek to deny he knew anything about it."
"Amazing the man could be so careless," Lang commented dryly.
Jacob nodded. "Seems Colonel Zwelk had had a past with Mossad. There was a spot of bother there, too. Suspected but never convicted of sharing classified with unauthorized. Rather than cause problems, transferred to the quartermaster corps of the army."
A definite demotion. Like going from naval intelligence to galley duty.
Lang tried to mask his impatience. "Any reason given?"
Jacob took a full five seconds applying another match. "No. But I did find that, while he was there, the good colonel had whatever Echelon access Mossad could beg from the Americans or English."
"So, it's possible that he kept a contact there."
Jacob eyed Lang over his glass. "Possible his contact passed on an occasional transmission, but how would he know which ones?"
Lang remembered the glass in front of him and emptied it before waving to the waiter. "Once you're into Echelon, you're into the filter system. You can key in words, names, phone numbers."
Jacob mouthed a perfect smoke ring that spun into the still air a moment before dissolving. "Well, then, there's your answer as to how they knew where you were. Whoever the sodding 'they' might be."
Lang knew his friend well enough to know there was more. "I can't imagine you stopped there."
Jacob applied yet another light before continuing. "You know me well. The lad's background's seemed worth a glance. He was born into a sect of extremely conservative nationalistic Jews who call themselves the Essenes."
Lang thought a moment. The name sounded familiar. "Weren't they the group that lived out in the desert, out near Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found?"
"Had quite a settlement: water conduits, huge meeting rooms, their own coinage. They settled in the desert before Christ's birth, were displaced by an earthquake, and moved back to the same place about the time of Herod the Great. They were one of the three philosophical Jewish sects, the others being the Pharisees and Sadducees."
"And they're still around?"
The pipe had gone out and would not rekindle. "So it would seem. Though that lot no longer live in isolation, they are intensely loyal to their order, are extreme Zionists, have their own kibbutz, and still hold to many of the old ways. Think of them as Jewish Amish crossed with your VFW"
Use of the most sophisticated eavesdropping devices the world had ever known, theft of modern weapons, and attempted and actual murder did not exactly comply with Lang's concept of peaceful, if eccentric, Pennsylvania farmers.
Lang thought a moment before asking, "I don't suppose this colonel of yours has any connection to Bruges?"
Jacob stopped in the middle of reaming the pipe bowl with the nail. "Bruges? As in Belgium?"
"As in."
"Odd you would ask. Bruges happens to be the only place outside of Israel where there are any of them to speak of. Understand a small colony is still there, remains of the many who migrated during the Middle Ages, when Jews were the only banks in Europe, what with you Christians finding it sinful to lend money for interest. This lot financed the lace and weaving trades all over the Spanish Empire, which, of course, included Belgium. Just like their cousins back home, they keep pretty much to themselves."
"That's an odd bit of information."
"Mossad keeps track of factions of Jews that might be militant at home and abroad. But why...?"
Lang slowly nodded. "And if we were to check out Benjamin Yadish, I'd bet he had been an Essene."
They both thought of that before Jacob stood. "Seeing how many these sodding bounders, if it is them, have killed, I'd say being a Jew isn't a primary requirement." He glanced over his shoulder back into the pub. "Too many black and tans. I've got to go to the loo."
Lang watched him retreat inside without really noticing. Loyal. Sect. Zionist. It had happened before: silencing a member of the faction deemed disloyal. Once one was emboldened by one or two murders, killing as a means of silencing people who had no relationship to the group became progressively easier, a progression from warning shots in Underground Atlanta to permanently silencing someone.
Of course, the Essenes could be just one of many of the small and various types of Judaism, and Zwelk simply a thief or a very poor administrator.
Could be.
But Lang didn't think so.
The murdered scientists had not been killed because of what they were discovering, but because of what that discovery might include.
He was so deep in thought, he didn't notice the young boy park his bicycle at the curb, walk across the pub's lawn, and stop at the table.
"Mr. Reilly?"
Lang turned his head to see a redheaded, freckle-faced, pudgy child of eleven or twelve.
"Yes?"
The youth handed him an envelope. "This is for you."
Reflexively Lang reached for it. "From whom?"
The kid pointed to a dark Audi idling at the far curb. It drove off immediately, its tag too far away to read.
Lang opened the envelope. At first he thought it was empty. Then a ringlet of red hair fell out.
It was not the messenger's.
The emerald ring Sara had mentioned and Alicia's unexplained absence from work came together in a revelation that almost made Lang gag.
He grabbed the boy's wrist. "Who are the people who gave you this?"
The child struggled but could not break free. "I don' know, honest I don', they give me five quid and th' envelope, point to you. You're hurting me!"
Lang realized he was telling the truth and let go. The child was rubbing his wrist as he backed away, as though afraid Lang would seize him again.
Lang was on his BlackBerry when Jacob returned, no longer caring how many people tracked the call. "Sara? Yeah, it's me. Hate to bother you on the weekend. Listen: Monday, I want you to drop whatever you're doing. Call the DOJ, find out if Alicia Warner has been to work in the last week." He nodded as though his secretary could see him. "Yeah, I know, but use whatever pretext you can. Thanks."
Jacob slid into his chair. "A bit dodgy, y'know, using that thing. The Essenes, or whoever, could trace you here if they're still tapped into—"
"They already have," Lang said, shoving the envelope and its contents across the table.
New Scotland Yard
Broadway
London
At the Same Time
Inspector Fitzwilliam was trying to control the foul mood working on weekends always produced. He recognized as irrational his feeling of guilt as he had kissed his wife, Shan- don, good-bye as he left the flat this morning. He should have been disappointed at not being able to join her on the trip to Manchester to see the new grandchild. But then, squalling, projectile-vomiting, and excreting babies were not his favorite creatures, no matter how close the kinship. Let nannies, or even the parents, do the necessary. He preferred to wait at least a year, until the child had some semblance of humanity, to make the acquaintance.
Even more illogical was the hostility he was feeling for his assistant, Patel, the author of the morning's balls-up.
Patel, eternally bright smile dividing the dark face, reeking of curry, stood behind the two chairs that faced the inspector's desk. If giving up his weekend bothered him, he didn't show it.
For the third time Fitzwilliam glanced at the report, the single paper on the faux wood of the government-issue desk. "I don't understand how you could have lost him."
Patel shrugged. "He is cunning, sah. As you know, I was one of a pair observing the barrister, Annueliwitz. We saw him come out of his residence at oh-seven-twenty-one. Or at least, a person wearing a man's overcoat drove the man's vehicle out of the car park. Naturally, sah, we followed, followed all the way to Notting Hill, sah. When the vehicle stopped in another car park, a woman later identified as Rachel Annueliwitz got out. Naturally I called in, and two more men were dispatched to watch the Annueliwitz residence, sah. So far we have not observed Mr. Annueliwitz."
Nor is it bleeding likely you will,
Fitzwilliam thought, recognizing the onset of a headache. He could be out of the country with the American, Reilly, by now.
He sighed in resignation. "Very well. Keep the observers in position and let me know if anything happens."
"Sah!"
Patel did a near-military about-face and headed for the door.
"And Patel?"
He stopped in midstride and looked over his shoulder. "Sah?"
"Next time, try having one man follow the family auto and one man stay in position. Or, better yet, call for backup."
Fitzwilliam was treated to that infuriatingly good-natured smile. "Yassah!"
The inspector watched the door shut before he began the search for the aspirin bottle he kept in a desk drawer. He was not looking forward to informing his counterpart in Vienna, Rauch, that Scotland Yard had lost contact with its only lead to Reilly.
He found the bottle and took a tablet before he picked up the telephone. As he waited for the connection to be completed, he wondered just how much of a furor he would incur if he transferred Patel to one of the Yard's more remote offices in London, Wapping, for instance. If the man were white, not a word would be said.
But he wasn't, and the diversity people denied the existence of incompetence unless it was wrapped in a white skin.
The inspector took another aspirin before a voice came on the line.
Bull & Rose Public House
Abington
At the Same Time
Jacob looked at the lock of hair, puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."
Lang explained to him while the replacement for his empty glass finally arrived. He was gratified to see Jacob putting his pipe away along with its assorted impedimenta.
Jacob held his own empty glass up for the waiter. "I look forward to meeting your new bird."
"I hope you do. First we've got work to do. Obviously Zwelk and his people have her."
"If he's the heavy in all this. Either way, I'd guess you'll be getting some kind of a demand shortly."
Lang leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Why, do you suppose, didn't I get one with the envelope?"
Jacob pursed his lips for a moment and then pointed to the BlackBerry still on the table. "I'd venture they want you to use that thing, verify the chippie has disappeared, before they start making demands."
"But that means they'll have to keep me in sight."
"No, that means you bloody well will want them to keep you in view rather than lose contact."
Lang thought about that. "I suppose they're watching now."
Both men resisted the impulse to turn around.
"Doesn't mean we can't start," Jacob said, standing as he drained his glass in a gulp. "Come along."
Lang followed suit. "Where?"
"On a bleeding holiday, lad."
Minutes later they were strolling along the river's grassy bank. Shortly past the lock, Jacob stopped at a dock to which five or six gaily painted rowboats were tied, each with a tiny outboard motor bolted to the transom. A cloth banner overhead advertising boats to rent by the hour hardly moved in the still air.
"Ever cruised the Thames?" Jacob asked.