Marcus glanced down at his shoulder, dried blood on the gauze. He touched the bandage, looked under it. The bleeding had stopped and the wound appeared better. The taste in his dry mouth was like copper, metal, and sand.
She glanced at her arm and lifted the gauze. “Paul, my arm…it’s healed. I need to process this.” She lifted her eyes to Marcus, her face filled with awe. “I need to wrap my mind around this.”
“You can’t process it in human terms. It’s larger than anything we can even hope to understand.” Marcus touched his injured shoulder. “Let’s go.”
He walked back to the car, sat in the driver’s side and turned the ignition. Nothing. Marcus tried again. Nothing. “Battery’s dead.”
“Maybe we can hitch a ride.”
“Look at us, Alicia. It looks like we’ve been through a war. Also, we’re in the middle of the Sinai Peninsula. No one would stop.” He pointed to the car the men used to chase them into the desert. “Let’s see if we can find their keys.” They walked to the abandoned car, stepping around the body of the man Marcus had shot. The dead man looked Middle Eastern. His chest was soaked with dried blood, eyes open, the corneas clouded, and a fly crawling near crusted blood in the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s hope the car keys are on that guy and not on the one down the hole in the cave,” Alicia said, bending down to search the body. “Bingo.” She found car keys, a Jordanian passport and a cell phone. A wad of Egyptian cash was money-clipped to an America Express card. Alicia opened the passport and read. “Name’s Amal Nasar, from Jordan.”
“Let me see his phone.” She handed it to him, and he scrolled through the last few numbers on the man’s mobile phone. “Look, at this.”
“What?”
“One of the last numbers this guy called was the same one Nathan Levy texted to me — the number of Andy Jenkins. What if Jenkins is the Lion?”
Alicia reached for the phone. She quickly removed the sim card, waving away a fly from her face. “Let’s get our laptops and get the hell out of here.”
On the outskirts of Cairo, Marcus and Alicia bought new clothes. He purchased a small box and packaging material. Then he placed the spear inside. They abandoned the car and took a bus to the airport.
They approached the gate and paid cash to ship the small package counter-to-counter from Cairo to Stockholm. Marcus used the rest of the dead man’s cash to buy one-way passenger tickets to Stockholm.
ONE HUNDRED
Under assumed names, Marcus and Alicia checked into the Lydmar Hotel. Their room overlooked the harbor and, under different circumstances, they would have taken time to appreciate the view. Instead, they quickly settled in and began setting up their laptops with audio recording capabilities. Using the private number to U.S. Senator Wyatt Dirkson, which Alicia had hacked, and a covert routing configuration, Marcus made the call.
Jonathon Carlson answered on the fourth ring. “Hello, Senator. Congratulations are in order. It looks like you have more than enough votes on the surveillance bill to pass it. It’ll easily pass the House.”
Marcus said, “Maybe that’s because you’ve manufactured terrorist’s attacks to justify passage of the bill. Blow up some buildings, capture a few American hostages, and you can scare people into thinking every man, woman and newborn baby will be safer with microchips planted inside them. Is that why you had The Post reporter, Al Weinstein, kidnapped and killed in Libya? Was it so you could justify mandatory sub-dermal GPS tracking and stick it in the surveillance bill?”
Carlson was silent more than five seconds. “Who the hell is this? How’d you get Senator Dirkson’s damn phone?”
“I suspect you know who this is, Carlson. You’ve been tracking me for the last two months.”
“What do you want, Marcus?”
“You’re a clever fella. So clever, in fact, that you and your pals in your Circle of 13 really think the world is yours to use and destroy. Guess what — it’s not. Those days are numbered—”
“Go to hell!”
“That might be a trip you’ll take soon. You’ll be able to say hello to your relatives — your great grandfather and grandfather. Your family inheritance, your sick legacy, will no longer include trying to rule the world. It’s over. Your grandfather wanted the Spear of Destiny…wanted it enough to kill General Patton for it. He never got it, neither will you.”
“I’ve heard you were a sick man, Marcus, a man with delusions. You need to be in a hospital, maybe shock therapy for starters.”
“How many in your Circle of 13 are on the Kinsley Group payroll? A real circle has no beginning and no end. Your ring of misfits can’t quite grasp that. You think you’re invincible, but what you do has a cause and effect — way outside the circle. It’s traceable if someone looks close enough. And, you know very well what we’d find, your fingerprints covering the edges of deceit. You won’t get away with Kennedy Junior’s death any more than you’ll escape prosecution for starting the war in Syria under false pretenses, or dodge complicity in the kidnapping of journalist Al Weinstein. We can credit Syria to you and your robber barons, too. Don’t forget the recent assassination of Prime Minister Meltzer; and before that, the murder of Yitzhak Rabin. You thought the sand in the Middle East was your sandbox, but it’s mixed with way too much blood. What a tough love game you play, trying to leverage power between the Arabs and Jews. I’m leaving out some details, but I’ll post those stories on my blog. It’ll be required reading.”
“I refuse to play your little game. Nothing you’ve said, of course, is accurate or attributable to me. However, I do look forward to meeting you, Mr. Marcus. It’s going to be a pleasure to show you around the ranch. In the meantime, I’m hanging up.”
“Is that where most of the bodies are buried? Enjoy the ranch with the little time you have left, Carlson. You’re going to be indicted for war crimes against humanity and murder, just for starters. Maybe you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life as a cell mate with known terrorist Zacarias Moussaoui.”
The call disconnected.
Marcus felt sweat roll down his sides, his lips parched, heart hammering. He looked up at Alicia. She let out a deep sigh. “Wow…you definitely stepped on a fire ant hill. Let’s see where they scatter. If he doesn’t use a different phone, we’ll turn his current phone into a one-way hidden microphone, and we’ll record everything that comes out of Carlson’s mouth. Beginning right now.” She tapped her keyboard, used the audio software to adjust the controls, and put the volume on speakerphone.
There was the sound of a phone call going through, and then a woman answered. “Senator Rush’s office, may I help you?”
“Madelyn, it’s Jon Carlson. Is Wyatt in his office?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll put you through to his private line.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“Hey, Jonathon. You lose my cell number?” Senator Dirkson laughed.
“No, but someone else found it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen to me! Paul Marcus is onto us. He knows everything.”
“Everything. What are you talking about…us?”
“Don’t even go there. You wouldn’t have that damn senate seat, and you wouldn’t be in a position to run for president if it weren’t for me. Marcus made the connections to Kinsley. He knows about Syria, maybe Libya. He’s made the connection to Weinstein. The son-of-a-bitch, he knows about Meltzer’s assassination…and the bastard even knows Kennedy Junior’s death wasn’t an accident—”