Virgin by F. Paul Wilson
Just in case.
Then he gunned the Jeep toward the uplands.
He had a bad feeling about this.
That bad feeling worsened as he spotted patches of rutted earth and tire tracks here and there along the path toward the Resting Place. Never, in all the times he’d been back and forth, had he encountered a single tire track this far into the Wilderness. Not even his own from previous trips. Sharav, the incessant desert wind, saw to that, scouring the land clean of all traces of human passage, usually overnight.
Which meant these were fresh tracks. But who’d made them? The couple in that Explorer? Or somebody else—somebody who even now might be desecrating the Resting Place.
Despite the Jeep’s efficient air-conditioning, Kesev began to sweat. He upped his speed past the safety limit into the reckless zone. He didn’t care. Something was wrong here.
He ground his teeth and cursed himself for not leaving last night.
Finally the tav rock hove into view. No other vehicles in sight, but that brought no relief—he was following a double set of tire tracks. Two vehicles? Or a single vehicle arriving and departing?
He swung around the front of the tav and let out a low moan as he spotted the lengthy coil of rope tangled under the overhang.
“Lord in Heaven,” he whispered, “don’t let this be! Please don’t let this be!”
Fear knotted around his heart as he gunned the jeep into the canyon and slewed to a halt at the base of the path to the top. Without bothering to turn off the engine, he leaped out and scampered up the ledge as fast as he dared, muttering and crying out as he climbed.
“Never should have left here” … Please, God! Let her still be there! … “What was I thinking?” … Dear Lord, if she is still there I swear I will never leave this place again. Not even for food! … “Should have moved back after the scroll was stolen, should have foreseen this!” … Please hear me, Lord, and have mercy on a fool!
The instant Kesev’s head cleared the top of the plateau, his eyes darted to the mouth of the Resting Place. At first glance the barricade of rocks appeared undisturbed and he slumped forward onto the ledge, gasping, nearly sobbing in relief. But as he rose to his feet to send up a fervent prayer of thanks, he spotted the dark crescent atop the barricade—an opening into the Resting Place. The sight of it drove a blade of panic into his throat.
“No!”
He broke into a dead run, clambered up the rocks and all but dove head first into the opening. Enough light streamed through the opening to guide his way to the tunnel. He scrambled through to the second chamber. Stygian darkness here. Kesev’s heart was a mailed fist pounding against the inner wall of his ribs as he felt his way across the chamber to the niche where the Mother’s bier had been set. His fingers found the edge, then hesitated of their own accord, as if afraid to proceed any further, afraid to find the niche empty.
He forced them forward—
Empty!
“No!”
Sobbing, he dropped to his knees and crawled around on the stone floor, running his hands over every inch of its craggy surface, choking in the clouds of dust he raised, all in the futile hope that she might still be here.
But she was not. The Mother was gone. The Resting Place had been vandalized and the Mother stolen.
Tearing at his beard, Kesev staggered to his feet and screamed as the blackness surrounding him seeped into his despairing soul.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”
For an eternal moment he stood there, impotent, lost, devoid of the most tenuous hope, frozen, incapable of thought …
And then he remembered the car he’d seen turning onto Route 90 earlier … the black Explorer.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he still had a chance. He had no honor to salvage, and no hope of redemption, but if he could retrieve the Mother and return her to the Resting Place, he could continue his task as her guardian.
Hope bubbled up like a cold spring in the heart of a desert … but he dared do little more than wet his lips.
All the way back to the highway, Kesev fixed the image of the Explorer in his mind, trying to remember whatever details he could about the driver and passenger. They’d been shadows, identifiable as male and female and little more. When he screeched onto Route 90 again, he floored the accelerator, pushing the Jeep to 150 kilometers an hour in the open stretches, ready to flash his Shin Bet ID at any highway cop who tried to slow him down.
He called information and learned that Eldan had a car rental office in the Jerusalem Hilton.
Hope edged a trifle higher.
He located the Eldan desk in the spacious lobby of the tower portion of the Hilton. The pert brunette there wore a name tag that said “Chaya” in English. Kesev made sure she was properly impressed by his Shin Bet ID, then he handed her the sheet from his notepad with the number of the Explorer’s license plate.
“Did you rent a Ford Explorer with this plate out of here?”
“Explorer, you say?” She tapped a few instructions into the terminal before her. A few beeps later, Chaya smiled. “Yes, sir. To an American. Carolyn Ferris. Out of New York.”
What luck! Found them on the first try. Then again, if you were going to explore the area around the Dead Sea, Jerusalem was the ideal base.
“Have they returned the car yet?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“When’s it due back?”
“Today, I would assume. They took it on a two-day special—unlimited mileage. But there’s nothing to say they won’t keep it till tomorrow. They have an option for extra days.”
Tomorrow—he prayed they wouldn’t keep it till then. Especially since he wasn’t even sure this Ferris couple were the ones he wanted. The tire tracks around the Resting Place might not be theirs.
But they were the only lead he had.
If only there were some way to involve Shin Bet in this. He could have the tire tracks identified as to their size and brand and from that get a list of what vehicles used them as standard equipment. If a Ford Explorer was on the list, he’d issue an all-points alert for the Ferrises and their vehicle.
But Shin Bet would want to know what crime they’d committed or were suspected of committing. Theft? What did they steal?
Kesev could not answer those basic questions, so Shin Bet had to stay out of it.
He was on his own.
He wrote down his cell number and handed it to the Eldan clerk.
“I will be close by and will be checking in with you frequently. But if I am not about, call this number immediately should you hear from the Ferrises. Make sure you fill in whoever relieves you.”
“Are they dangerous?” Chaya said, a note of anxiety creeping into her voice.
He smiled to reassure her. It wasn’t easy. He wanted to grab the front of her blouse and pull her half across the counter and shout that they may have stolen a relic that God Himself had designated as untouchable and only God Himself knew what might happen to Kesev—to the entire world—if it was not returned immediately to its designated Resting Place.
Instead he kept his tone low and even.
“Absolutely not. They are just a couple of tourists who may have witnessed something and we need to question them. The problem is that they don’t know we’re looking for them and we don’t know where to find them. Not yet. But with your help we can clear up this matter swiftly and everyone can go about their business.”
Meanwhile, he didn’t have to sit idle.
He went to one of the Hilton’s house phones and asked the operator to connect him with the Ferris room. He slammed his fist on the counter when she informed him that there was no Ferris registered at the hotel, then glanced around to see if he’d startled anyone. He did not want to attract attention. He forced himself to return the receiver gently to its cradle.
Then he pulled
No luck. They weren’t registered in Jerusalem. One could almost believe they’d driven to the north end of Route 90, and instead of turning left toward Jerusalem, turned right toward Jordan. Or worse yet, were hijacked by some Hezbollah crazies …
The thought staggered Kesev, weakening his knees.
The Mother … in the hands of that rabble
No. Such a thing was unthinkable, so why torture himself with it?
Kesev found himself a seat in the lobby where he had an unobstructed view of the Eldan desk. He calmed himself with the thought that he had done all that one man could do at the moment. All that was left was the waiting. So he sat and waited. He was good at waiting. An expert.
Sooner or later the Ferris couple would show up to return their car. When they did he would confront them. He’d know if they were hiding something. And if they were, he’d get it out of them. First by intimidating them with his Shin Bet credentials. If that didn’t work, there were other ways.
Kesev slipped his left hand into his pocket and gripped the handle of the long folding knife he always carried.
Yes, he thought grimly. He knew other ways, and he was quite ready to use whatever means were necessary to return the Mother to the Resting Place.
THIRTEEN
Tel Aviv
“It should be right around the next corner to the left,” Carrie said, glancing between the street signs and the map on her lap.
“I sure as hell hope so,” Dan muttered from the front seat.
Carrie reached forward and gave his shoulder a gentle rub.
Poor Dan. Not a happy camper at the moment. He’d complained most of the trip that her sitting in the back made him feel like a chauffeur. Carrie was sorry about that, but with the way the Explorer had bounced around the hills, she’d been afraid the Virgin would be harmed. She’d folded down part of the rear seat and pulled the Virgin’s blanket-swathed form beside her to steady and protect it.
But even after they hit paved road she’d stayed here, her fingers gripping one of the cords that bound the blankets. Carrie felt good sitting close to the Virgin. Despite the danger in smuggling her out of the country—Carrie had no idea how the Israeli government felt about smuggling, but she was sure it could cost Dan and her years in jail if they were caught—she felt strangely calm. At peace.
“Damn this traffic!”
Dan was anything but at peace. They’d got lost twice already, and now they were sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic that would give Manhattan’s cross-town crawl a run for its money, all of which might have been bearable if the air conditioner had been working. Tel Aviv in the summer … almost as hot as the desert they’d left this morning, but suffocatingly humid thanks to the Mediterranean, only blocks away.
“At last!” Dan said as he turned off Ibn Givrol in the northern end of the city.
Carrie saw it too: The Kaplan Gallery. Gold letters on black marble over two large windows filled with paintings and sculpture. A spasm of anxiety tightened her fingers around the cord. She prayed Bernard Kaplan would help them. If not, where else could they go?
Dan had called Kaplan from Jerusalem and asked if he could arrange a shipment for them similar to the one he’d arranged for Harold Gold. Dan said Kaplan had been non-committal on the phone but gave them directions—not very good directions—to his gallery.
Dan double-parked and turned to her.
“Stay with the car. I’ll leave the engine running and go inside. Hope this isn’t a wasted trip.”
Carrie nodded and watched him disappear through the gallery doors. She sat in the heat and fumes, ignoring the glares of annoyed drivers as they inched around the Explorer. As long as they weren’t police …
Dan seemed to take forever inside. Finally, when she was almost ready to run in and see what was taking him so long, he emerged with a man in a gray business suit—tall, tanned, silver hair slicked straight back.
Dan introduced him as Bernard Kaplan. He said Mr. Kaplan had called Harold in the interim and Harold had vouched for them.
“He wants to get a look at the size of our, uh, sculpture.”
“Ah, yes,” Kaplan said with a British accent—or was it Australian?—and flashed a dazzling set of caps as he looked at the bundle. “About life-sized, as you said. I’ll have a couple of my men bring it in and we’ll—”
“That’s okay,” Carrie said quickly. “We’ll bring it in ourselves.”
Kaplan glanced at Dan who nodded and said, “It could be fragile and this way we’ll take full responsibility for any damage.”
Kaplan shrugged. “Right. Very well, then. I’ll have one of my men find a parking spot for your car.”
With Carrie taking the shoulders and Dan the legs, they carried the bundled Virgin the length of the gallery to the shipping area at the rear where they placed her on a bench.
Before she could stop him, Kaplan had a knife out and was cutting the cords.
“What are you doing?” Carrie said.
“Going to take a look at this sculpture of yours.”
“Must you?”
“Of course. How else can I list it for the manifest?”
She watched anxiously as Kaplan cut the rest of the cords and unwrapped the blankets. He gave a low whistle when he saw the Virgin’s face. His diction seemed to regress.
“Well, now, that’s bloody somethin’, in’it?”
He leaned closer and touched the Virgin’s face, running the tip of his index finger over her cheek. Carrie wanted to grab his wrist and yank him away, but restrained herself.
A few more indignities, Mother Mary, then you’ll be on your way to safety.
“What is this?” Kaplan said. “Some sort of wax? I’ve never seen anything like it. The detail is incredible. Where’d you get it?”
Dan glanced at Carrie before he spoke. On the trip from the desert they’d agreed that rather than invent a series of lies, the best course was to give no answers at all.
“We’d prefer to keep our source a secret,” Dan said.
Kaplan nodded and straightened. Carrie sighed with relief as he folded the blankets back over the Virgin.
“Very well. But I see no problem shipping this out. We’ll simply list it as a wax sculpture—a piece of contemporary art.”
An idea flashed in Carrie’s mind. She turned to Dan. “Why can’t we do that ourselves? Ship it home on the plane with us?”
“You could do that,” Kaplan said. “You wouldn’t need me for that. But remember, anything going aboard an El Al flight gets a going over like no other place in the world. Direct inspection, dogs, metal scanners, x-rays—”
“Never mind,” Carrie said quickly as she imagined the Virgin’s skeleton lighting up on an inspector’s fluoroscopic scanner. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Very well. I can include it with a consignment of other crates I’ve scheduled for shipment, and have it on a freighter out of Haifa tonight.”
“Wonderful! When will it get to New York?”
“It’s not going to New York,” Kaplan said. “At least not on this freighter. The Greenbriar will take your shipment to Cork Harbor. After that, we’ll have to make other arrangements for the second leg.”
“Can’t we get a non-stop?”
Kaplan’s smile was tolerant. “No, love. We don’t want a direct route. Why draw a line straight to your door? Much safer to break up the trip. We ship your crate to a fictitious name in Cork where one of my associates picks it up, holds it awhile, then puts it on another ship to New York. Bloody near impossible to trace.”
Carrie was uncomfortable with the thought of the Virgin lying in a moldy warehouse in Ireland, but if this sort of route would safeguard her secret …
“How do we pay y
“Cash, preferably.”
She looked at Dan. Cash? Who had cash? All she had was the AmEx card Brad had given her.
“Do you take plastic?”
Kaplan sighed. “I suppose we can work something out.”
Jerusalem
Kesev had given up sitting and waiting. Now he was pacing and waiting. He’d explored every nook and cranny of the lobby, browsed all the shops until he thought he’d explode with frustration. Where were these people, these Ferrises? They had to turn in their rental sooner or later.
Didn’t they?
An awful thought struck him. He ran to the Eldan counter. Chaya was still there. She’d just finished with a customer when Kesev arrived.
“How many offices—rental centers—do you have?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Let’s see … a couple in Tel Aviv, a couple in Haifa, one at Ben Gurion—”
This was worse than he thought. “Can these people, the Ferrises, turn their car in at any of them?”
“It’s not a practice we encourage. In fact, there’s a drop-off fee that—”
Kesev tried to keep from shouting. “Can they or can’t they? A simple yes or no will do.”
“Yes.”
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.