If they knew what I had in this tube, they’d be out here with a red carpet.
A sign directed her to the gallery entrance, where she was met by two black-suited men with close-cropped hair and earbuds. If she had been in the US, she would have guessed they were Secret Service agents.
“Karen Vail?” one of them asked.
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
He looked her up and down, lingering on the blood stains soaked into her shirt and pants.
The other agent gestured at the tube. “We’ll take that.”
“No, you won’t.”
He looked at her a long moment, his expression stern, as if he were deciding whether to challenge her. He finally said, “Come with me,” and he led her through the admissions area and into the museum, up a long corridor with dark walls and a charcoal granite floor. Dramatic exterior spotlighting illuminated the frosted glass windows to her right.
They passed ancient floor-to-ceiling mosaics, which, according to the posted sign, were from sixth-century Beit She’an ruins.
First the Louvre, then the Israel Museum … someday I’m going to visit all these places with Robby. No guns, no bad guys. No killers. No terrorists with bombs or chemical weapons.
A girl can dream, right?
The agent led her outside, where they crossed a long, narrow cement promenade that stretched into the distance to her left. Ahead was a dark gray freestanding rectangular wall, and to her right a shiny white brick dome with a nipple on the top.
“What’s that?” Vail asked.
The agent slowed, turned, and said, “The roof of the shrine. It’s designed to look like the lid of the clay pots that contained the Dead Sea Scrolls.” He swung back and continued on and Vail hustled up beside him. They entered an area designated “The Shrine of the Book,” then descended a series of stone steps with a glass-sided railing that led into a small plaza.
Several suited men and women were standing there — which Vail immediately pegged as part of Knox’s protection detail.
Her escort stopped at the door and said, “Inside. They’re waiting for you.”
Vail walked into a dark corridor with museum displays on each side. They appeared to deal with the discovery of the scrolls in the Qumran caves, but she did not stop for a look.
She proceeded straight ahead into a dramatic atrium that had a dome-shaped ceiling; she was underneath the white brick structure she had seen outside a minute ago. In the center sat a circular display case five steps up on a raised platform that contained a Dead Sea Scroll that had been unfurled.
On the main level, along the periphery, were wall-mounted exhibits featuring scroll sections and informational placards.
Vail ascended the stairs where two women and several men were standing — two of whom she knew: Gideon Aksel and Douglas Knox. Knox had been pacing. He stopped and looked up when she entered the room.
Vail swallowed deeply and suddenly became aware of the tube she had tucked under her left arm — and its significance.
“Agent Vail,” Knox said. “You have something for us?”
“Yes sir.” She stepped forward and handed it to a woman who reached out and took it from her with extreme care. If you only knew what I just put it through.
“I’m Tamar,” the woman said. “Thank you. For bringing this to us.” She and three of the other men descended to the main level where a temporary table and an assortment of magnifying lenses and tools were located.
Knox came up alongside Vail. “Glad you made it.” He squinted in the dim light. “You’ve got blood spatter all over your clothing.”
“You should see the other guy.”
Knox tilted his head and a smile teased the corners of his mouth, a sign of approval.
“Agent Vail.” Tamar’s voice echoed in the empty room. She was holding her white-gloved hands vertically, like a surgeon in an operating room. “Other than some Arabic papers, this tube is empty.”
“What?” Vail leapt down the steps. She lifted the container and peered inside, then looked at the table. What the hell? Could they have fallen out when I dropped the tube? No. I would’ve seen them.
“Where are the documents?” Askel asked.
“I–I don’t understand.” She brought her gaze up and looked at him. Then at Knox.
“Hector called me two hours ago,” Knox said. “He told me each of you were bringing portions of the codex and scroll.”
Footsteps drew their attention. They looked up in unison to see DeSantos walking in, a portfolio in his hand.
Vail could tell he was reading their faces as Tamar reached over and took the bag from him.
“My tube was empty,” Vail said. “There’s no way I lost the pages. I mean, I guess it’s possible but I can’t see how. I would’ve seen them.”
A moment later, Tamar’s stern voice echoed in the chamber. “This is empty as well.” Even in the understated light, Vail could see that her jaw was firm, her eyes fiery.
What the hell is going on?
DeSantos rooted out his phone, started dialing.
“You’re calling Uzi?”
DeSantos did not answer. He lowered the handset and cursed under his breath.
“Either of you hear from Fahad?” Knox asked.
Vail bit her lip. “Nothing.”
DeSantos indicated likewise.
Seven minutes passed. Knox paced. Vail and DeSantos sat on the bottom steps of the shrine.
Vail was concerned about Uzi. Thinking about the two ancient documents they had been entrusted with. And starting to have doubts about Fahad’s true intentions: were they as DeSantos claimed — nefarious — or beneficent, as Uzi claimed?
DeSantos rose up and began to stretch when Uzi walked in. Vail immediately noticed that he was not carrying anything.
Aksel was the first to question him. “Where’s your—”
“Gone. I was intercepted by al Humat militants and I got away with a GSW to the arm. I lost the tube, but—”
“Our docs are missing,” Vail said. “My tube and Hector’s portfolio are empty.”
“I know.”
DeSantos stepped forward. “What do you mean, ‘I know’?”
“I gave it all to Mo.”
Knox descended the steps and stood face-to-face with Uzi. “You what?”
DeSantos’s face shaded red. “Boychick, are you crazy? We’ve been worried about him since the day he joined our team. He may’ve been the one who almost got you killed.”
“I don’t think so.”
Aksel came up beside Knox and folded his short, thick arms across his chest. “Let me get this straight. You gave two of the most ancient, most holy documents of the Jewish people, to a Palestinian? A CIA operative? After what I told you? And you expected him to bring it here, to turn it over to Israel?”
“Yes.”
DeSantos shook his head and walked out of the chamber, heading for the shrine’s exit.
Knox cleared his throat. “Agent Uziel, you should’ve consulted me on this.”
“No time, sir. Al Humat was approaching Sahmoud’s house. We had to get out right then — or we wouldn’t have made it out alive.”
That’s not entirely true. You had to put everything in Mo’s satchel before we knew they were coming.
“Given the situation, I felt he stood the best chance of getting back here safely, without being challenged and detained. Or killed.”
“The situation?” Knox asked.
“He’s Palestinian, sir. He speaks Arabic, he looks like them, he knows their culture, he’s got friends in Gaza.” Uzi swallowed. “And family.”
Yeah, he’s got family there, all right. A brother named Nazir al Dosari.