Virgin (24 page)

I am cursed by
God, he thought. I have always been cursed.

He wanted to
scream, but that would solve nothing.

"I want
you to call every Eldan agency in the country."

"But
sir--"

"Every
one of them! It won't take you long. See if the Ferris car
has been turned in at any of them. If not, give them this very simple message:
The Ferrises rented their car here and you wish to be notified immediately if
they turn in their car anywhere else.
Immediately.
Is that clear? Is
that simple enough?"

She nodded,
cowed by his ferocity.

"Good.
Then get to it."

He turned and
stalked away from the counter to continue his pacing. And as he paced he was
haunted with the possibility that the Ferris couple might have had nothing at
all to do with the disappearance of the Mother.

Haifa

Haifa had its
beauties and Carrie wished she could spend some time here seeing the sights.
Behind them rose Mount Carmel, high, green and beautiful; somewhere on its
slopes, near the Stella Maris lighthouse, sat the Mount Carmel monastery, home
of the Carmelite order; and in a grotto on the monastery grounds was the cedar
and porcelain statue of
Our Lady of Mount
Carmel. Carrie would dearly love to climb the mountain to see it.

But she had to
be all business now as she and Dan stood in the monolithic shadow of the huge
Dagon grain silo and watched the inspector check off the crates on the manifest
from the Kaplan Gallery. Her American Express account now carried the purchase
price of a piece of "modern sculpture" from the Kaplan Gallery.
Carrie had nothing tangible to show for that charge, but the Virgin had been
packed up and placed on the gallery's shipping manifest. Carrie scanned the
ships anchored in the harbor but couldn't make out their names in the hazy air.
One of them was the
Greenbriar,
which would unknowingly start the Virgin
on the long first leg of her journey to a new home. Beyond the long breakwater
stretched the azure expanse of the Mediterranean, bluer than she'd ever
imagined a sea could be. The creak of nails snapped her attention back to the
docks. The inspector was using a pry bar to open one of the crates. She looked
more closely.
Good God, it was the Virgin's crate! She stepped forward
but Dan grabbed her arm. "Easy, Carrie," he whispered. "I told
you we shouldn't have come."

True enough.
Carrie should have been satisfied that the Virgin was safe after watching
Kaplan's staff seal her into that excelsior-filled shipping crate, but she
couldn't let her go. Not yet. She'd insisted on accompanying the crate to
Haifa. There'd been this overpowering urge to see her off, like a child coming
to the docks to wish a beloved parent bon voyage.

And now she was
glad she'd come.

"That's
our
crate. Why did he have to pick ours?"

"Kaplan warned us that they do spot checks. Don't
worry. She'll pass. Just stay calm."

Carrie held her
breath as the inspector lifted the crate top and pushed the excelsior aside. He
unfolded the blankets and she saw him freeze for a moment as he stared at the
Virgin's face. She watched him lean closer, staring.
Please don't touch her.
PLEASE don't!

The inspector
looked up from the crate and scanned the area. He had close-cropped gray hair,
wore aviator sunglasses, and carried himself like an ex-military man. When he
spotted Dan and Carrie, he tucked his clipboard under his arm and approached
them.

Beside her, Carrie heard Dan mutter a soft, "Uh-oh." The
inspector thrust his hand at Dan. "Good day. My name is Sidel. You are the
owner of that sculpture, I believe?"

"Yes," Carrie said. She noticed that he didn't offer to
shake hands with her. "We just acquired it." She emphasized the first
word.

"It's most
unusual for people to come down to the docks
to
see off a shipment, but in your case I can understand why.
What an extraordinary piece. Who's the artist, if I may
ask?"

"Frankly,
I don't know," Dan said. "We saw it and just
had to have it."

"I can
understand," Sidel said, nodding. "I do a little
toying with modeling clay myself, so I can appreciate the
fantastic detail of this work. You're shipping it to
Ireland?"

Carrie felt her
heart begin to thump. Why all these
questions?

But Dan was
cool. "The name's Fitzpatrick, after all."

"Enjoy
it," Sidel said, turning away. "I envy you." Sidel returned to
the crate, stared at the Virgin a moment longer, then shook himself and covered
her again. Carrie's heart rate began to slow as the crate top was nailed back
into place. She sagged against Dan.

"Oh, Lord.
That was close. For one very long minute there I thought . . ."

"You and
me both," Dan said. "All right. We've seen her off. Time to go."

Reluctantly
Carrie had to agree. They'd discussed their options as they'd followed the
Kaplan Gallery truck to Haifa. Dan saw two courses: stay in Israel a while
longer, then head home, or head directly home tonight. He favored the latter.

Carrie agreed
with getting out of Israel as soon as possible. Just as she had at the Resting
Place, she felt an urge to keep
moving. But
she preferred a third route: fly to Ireland and meet the
Greenbriar
in
Cork, make sure the Virgin was transferred properly, then fly back to New York
and wait for her there.

They'd argued
but eventually Carrie had won, as she'd known she would. From the outset she
hadn't the slightest intention of doing it any other way but hers.

She called and
learned that there was an El Al flight to London tonight. If they hurried, they
could make it. From there it was practically a shuttle flight to Shannon.

They wheeled
into Ben Gurion Airport with time to spare. But they received a shock when they
turned in the Explorer at the Eldan desk.

"Ferris!"
said the thin, mustached man behind the counter. "Boy, have you caused a
stir."

Carrie saw Dan
go pale and felt her own heart kick up its tempo again.

"Really?"
Dan said. "What's the problem? Look, I know we rented the car in Jerusalem
but I thought we could return it anywhere we--"

"Oh,
that's not the problem," he said. "No drop-off fee if you turn it in
here. But somebody at the Jerusalem desk has been burning up the wires looking
for you two. Something about a Shin Bet fellow who wants to talk to you."

"Shin
Bet?" Carrie said.

"Right.
Domestic Intelligence. Somewhat akin to your FBI, I believe. But don't worry.
You're not in any trouble. Just wants to ask you some questions."

"Well, uh,
we'll be glad to cooperate in any way we can," Dan said. "Just, uh,
have us paged. We'll be around for a while."

His grip was
tight on her arm as he led her toward the El
Al
ticket counters. Her mouth felt dry. Were they in trouble?

"Dan,
what's the matter? Why would this Shin Bet--?"

His voice was
tight. "Somebody's on to us. How long
before
we leave?"

Carrie glanced at her watch. "A little less than an
hour."

"Damn!"
He stopped. "Look. Before we buy our tickets and check our bags, let's get
changed."

"Why? What
for?"

"It might
give us an edge to be in uniform."

Jerusalem

Kesev had come
to the end of his patience. He was about ready to explode with frustration and
start breaking some Hilton property when he saw someone gesturing to him from
the Eldan desk.

Chaya had gone home. Sharon, a brittle-looking peroxide blonde,
had replaced her. She was waving a bony arm over her head.

"We found
them!" she said, grinning as he approached.

Kesev's heart
leapt. He wanted to take her in his arms and dance her around the lobby.
Perhaps God had not deserted him after all. Perhaps this was just a warning.

"When?
Where?"

"They
turned their rental into one of our Tel Aviv locations just a few moments
ago."

"Which
one?"

"Ben
Gurion."

Kesev went
cold. The airport! Merciful God, they're leaving the country!

He wheeled and
ran for the door.

"Where are
you going?" Sharon called out behind him. "You can call from here.
They said they'd be there awhile and you could page them!"

Page them?
Kesev groaned as the meaning of her words sank in. The Ben
Gurion desk must have blabbered that someone was looking for them. They'd
probably be long gone by the time he got there.

Ben Gurion Airport

Kesev was sure
he made the fifty kilometers to Ben Gurion in record time. For once luck was on
his side. The airport was designated Tel Aviv but actually it was in Lod, just
east of the city. If he'd had to fight city traffic, he'd still be in his car.
But he wasn't looking for a racing medal. He wanted the Ferrises.
He flashed his ID at the El Al ticket desk and had them run
a computer search for a couple by that name. They found a single. Carolyn
Ferris. On a one-way to Heathrow. Seat 12C, non-smoking. Boarding now. Gate 17.

A single. He
was looking for a couple. But this Carolyn was the only Ferris he had. And if
he didn't check her out right now, she'd be gone. Kesev ran for Gate 17.

He wasn't armed
so he had no problem with the metal detectors and his Shin Bet ID got him to
the boarding area without a ticket. But along the way he picked up a friend:
Sergeant Yussl Kuttner of airport security.

The last thing
Kesev wanted at this point was someone looking over his shoulder, but he had no
choice. Anything that deviated from normal airport routine was Kuttner's
business, and allowing an unticketed man onto an El Al plane, even if he was
Shin Bet, was certainly not routine. Kuttner was armed and he wasn't letting
Kesev out of his sight.

"Just what
is this passenger suspected of, Mr. Kesev?" Kuttner said, puffing as he
trotted beside Kesev.

"The home
office didn't have time to fill me in on all the details," Kesev said,
improvising. "All I know is that an archeological artifact has been stolen
and that the thieves will be trying to smuggle it out of the country."

"And Shin
Bet believes this passenger in twelve C is involved?"

"We don't
know. We do know one of the suspects is named Ferris. That's why I need to
speak to her. You really don't have to bother yourself."

"Quite all
right. Besides, if you want to remove her from the plane, you'll need me."

Kesev clenched his jaws. This was getting stickier and stickier.
If only he'd had more time to set this up.

Kuttner led him
down the boarding ramp to the loaded plane and explained the situation to the
stewardesses while Kesev moved down the aisle, looking for row 12.

He froze,
staring. The right half of row 12 held only one passenger. Seats A and B were
empty. Seat C was occupied
by a nun. A young,
pretty nun. Almost too pretty to be a nun. That gave him heart.

"Excuse me,
Sister," he said, leaning forward. "Is your name Ferris?"

"Why,
yes," she said, smiling. She had a wonderful smile. And such guileless
blue eyes.
"Sister Carolyn Ferris. Is something wrong?"

What to say?
There was no time to ease into this, so he might as well throw it in her face
and see how she reacts.

He flashed his
Shin Bet ID and kept his voice low. "You're wanted for questioning in
regard to the theft of an archeological treasure that belongs to the Israeli
government."

She reacted
with a dumbfounded expression.

"What? Are
you mad? Just what sort of treasure am I supposed to have stolen?"

"You know
exactly what it is, Sister. It doesn't belong to you. Please give it
back."

"Does it
belong to you?"