“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.”
Sidel nodded. “I can understand. 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. 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.
She’d 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 El Dan 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. 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 onto 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.
Kesev improvised. “The home office didn’t have time to fill me in on all the details. 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 12C 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? He had 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?”
The question took Kesev by surprise. And she was staring at him, her narrowed eyes boring into his, as if seeing something there.
“No...no...it belongs to—”