Carried Away (2010) (9 page)

found the jeweler her mother had often patronized. The wizened old man was thrilled to see Coco and quickly and painlessly pierced her navel, then inserted the solid gold ring with five small diamonds. Afterward, he demanded she and Grant stay and eat a snack of hummus with ripe red tomatoes, freshly baked pita and strong black coffee. Traffic is sparse today, she told Grant as they waited now for her friend to arrive and take them to the east side of town on a day when few taxis were in service. Shabat, he replied, looking up from reading a text message on his cell. Yes. Friday after two oclock begins the Jewish Sabbath and the majority keep to the laws and avoid using cars and modern conveniences. She and Grant had quickly finished their lunch awhile ago because the restaurant was about to close until 92 Carried Away sundown Saturday. For Christians and Muslims, Friday is a day to get around town easily. Thatll make our job easier today. He smiled at her. If Jason ever gets here, she worried. Hes with an international aid organization, so he probably works around-theclock. Still, Jason has always been late for everything. Hmm. He takes after you? Grant teased. She narrowed her eyes at him. Id say you can be replaced, but that is not true. His gaze turned hard as steel. Dont ever try it. Never, she whispered. The house phone rang. Thats probably him now. Grant picked it up, listened to the receptionist and after a minute said, Yes, great. Send him up. Jason Gregory had the tall, slim, pale look of a man who needed a vacation, a tan and a life, and not necessarily in that order. Coco was shocked at how slim her old friend from high school had become. At thirty-three, he appeared a decade older. Gray strands threaded through his sable brown hair. Her first instinct was to call attention to it, but her manners took hold as they hugged each other. You look terrific, kid, Jason told her as his blue eyes sparkled. Though Id say the worry lines dont add a lot. Im going to try to improve that with your help, she told him as she hooked her arm in his. Meet Grant Warwick. The two men shook hands. He owns Warwick Security and we met three years ago in Washington. Grant is helping me, too. 93 Cerise DeLand Coco watched Jason assess the man who was at least two inches taller and weighed twice as much. She had to smile at her old friends unabashed assessment of her lover. Does he pass inspection? Grant grinned. Please say yes. I assure you, Jason, Ive worked hard to get here. That did the trick for Jason who ended his exam and gave Grant a hearty grin. Seal of approval, done. You guys ready? Its going to rain, so wed better grab umbrellas from the concierge. Downstairs at the front door, Jason pointed a remote at his car to unlock it and they got in, Coco in front, Grant in the back seat. Jason waved his thanks to the doorman for the courtesy of the parking space, then turned the ignition. I have the address. She told Jason the specifics. I think I recall this neighborhood, but I wanted you along to tell us. She also wanted the assurance of a friend driving them around and the impartial appearance of the organizations marked car. Glad to help. I recognize the street. Jason pulled into the ring road traffic and zipped around the periphery of the Old City walls, headed for the east side of town, the Palestinian sector, administered by the Israeli government since 1967. Within ten minutes, Jason parked on a residential street and looked at a two-story structure with ornate green shutters and a patio. The rain that had begun as a shower was now a downpour. This is the right apartment, Coco assured the two men. The color of the shutters was no longer red, but this was definitely where she had come before to examine the brother of the man shed identified in Madrid. She checked her watch and wondered how long they would have to sit to glimpse anyone coming in or going out. Tough to see anything with the shutters closed, Grant commented. Ill go check the mailbox listing, Coco put her hand on the door handle. 94 Carried Away No, you wont, both men objected. Ill go, Jason volunteered. He hopped out, pulling up his collar against the rain. And he wanted us to bring umbrellas, Coco jested, as she watched Jason peer at the mailboxes on the front porch alcove, then turn toward the small market next door. Hes going to ask around, Grant said. Hows his Arabic? Better than mine, she responded. Within a few minutes, Jason was sprinting out of the shop and into the drivers seat. Our man and his family have moved, he announced, swiping rain from his hair. Coco clutched. What now? Dont worry. The owner of the store told me where theyve gone. Jason was grinning as he turned the engine and eased them into the road. Coco was so pleased she could have kissed him. How did you do that? Jason kept his attention on his driving as he shifted up to a higher speed. Told them I needed to find him, thats all. Which is true. But the shop owner says that the family moved but keep the apartment for when they come into the city occasionally. Thats all. But he taught college courses here, she said, surprised that hed moved. Now he teaches in Ramallah. Jason glanced at her and named a small university. So were going through a checkpoint into the West Bank? she asked him. We are. Ever been through? A few times, she told him, full of trepidation that her control had not known about this move. Or had she just decided to keep me in the dark? You two do have your passports, I hope? Jason, she assured him, patting her purse and feeling more dismay at this turn of events than she hoped she showed, we dont leave home without them. 95 Cerise DeLand Grant grumbled about the change in plans. Did the shop owner give you any information about the man and his family? Just that the man, his wife and two sons left three years ago. Coco stilled. The timing means my control should have known about this. Grant was silent in the back. Jason glanced at Coco. Why? Is the timing of the move significant? Maybe. Did the shop owner have any ideas why they left Jerusalem? Got a job in Ramallah. Moved quickly, though. Does that help? Coco swiveled to look at Grant. A lot, I think. Grant said, Jason, tell me. How difficult is it for someone to move from Jerusalem across the Separation Wall? From what I hear, not tough at all. Traffic began to slow as they approached a long line of cars and trucks snaking toward a concrete forty-foot-tall guard tower. Brown-uniformed Israeli guards with machine guns worked the lines of cars, examining passports, and checking out vehicles entering the West Bank. From either side of the tower stretched the twenty-five-foot-tall slabs of concrete strung together like gray dominos over hills and into valleys. Waved past the gates by the guards, they picked up speed along the two-lane highway. Within an hour, they entered Ramallah, a city that resembled Jerusalems new city with its pale ivory and ochre buildings, its bustling populace. Some women in modern dress, others in their long gowns and head scarves, abaya and hijab. The language now Arabic, instead of Hebrew. The aromas of cumin and cinnamon reminiscent of the souk in Jerusalem. Once more they came to a stop in a residential neighborhood. At four in the afternoon, people walked the street, women chatting over fences, men coming home from work. A few houses down, a group of four boys played soccer in the road. The 96 Carried Away house that she and the two men examined was a pale ivory with paler white filigree around the front porch and the windows. This house looks deserted, too, Grant observed. The children in the street caught Cocos eye. See those boys? Want me to drive down? Jason asked. No, too obvious. Stay here. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tiny digital camera. She focused on one of the boys, hit the zoom and turned the dial to movie mode. Nothing like genetics, she murmured with a lump in her throat. This boysee the one in the red jersey? What would you say he is? Ten? Twelve? She stopped the movie mode and switched to high-resolution picture capability, then continued taking one shot after another. The shape of the jaw. The eyes. The brows. Oh, yes! Grant sat forward, his voice reverberating in her ear. You think he is related to your man? Has to be, she said, shot a few stills of the house and put her camera down. A woman came out, called to the boy and entered the house again. Uh-oh. She dug in her purse for her sunglasses and a scarf. Whats the matter? Grant asked, his tone wary. The man getting out of that car? She lowered her face as she tied the scarf and jammed on the glasses. Which? Jason asked. The one that just parked. The man in the gray suit waving to the boy. Grant put a hand to her shoulder. What about him? She could barely get the words out. He looks familiar. He and the boy are going into the house together? She refocused her lens to a higher speed. The sun was setting, but she could see that the man and the boy were affectionate, knew each other well. I dont understand, she said on a down note as the two figures entered the front door of 97 Cerise DeLand the house. Suddenly, it opened again and the man came bounding out, looking like he was headed straight for their car. Oh, Jason. Get us out of here. Take that road to the left... But the man only picked up the soccer ball from the edge of the street and took it inside. That was a scare, she whispered. Grant squeezed her shoulder. As Jason drove them quickly away, she told Grant, Hes one of the men at the meeting in the desert. Which is he? G. or C.? Grant pressed. She looked over her shoulder at Grant. Neither. But you said... I know, I know. She raised her hand. Closed her eyes. Hes lost weight. That is not the sibling of the man I identified in Madrid. That is the man who would not talk. Grant searched her eyes. Youre sure? I know what I see. This man is one of the five Ive been searching for. But hes not the one I expected to see here. Hes not Palestinian. Not Arabic. I know, Grant said slowly. He looks European. Jason agreed. Id say Greek. Or Italian. How could that be, she asked herself a thousand times on the ride back to Jerusalem. Jason and Grant remained silent, letting her think. The still pictures Langley had shown her had been such poor shots. True. But had Langley confused the suspects? 98 Carried Away Were some of the pictures incorrectly gathered or labeled? Mistakes happened. Intelligence was not always perfect. Face recognition software was good, but not foolproof. Neither was she, clearly. The fact that made her stomach churn was that her control had not done her job. Had not told her that the man had moved, taken his family and gone to Ramallah. But then, was that man whom shed just seen in Ramallah the brother of the man shed sent to a black site? He didnt look like it. He didnt act like it. He had totally different features, body build and posture. The boy was not his son, though. No. That she knew, too. The boy was the son of the Madrid radical or his nephew. Thats how closely the boy resembled his elder male relatives. But she had the pictures. Clear ones, this time. And in high resolution. Shed make copies of her camera disk when they got back to their hotel. Shed go to an internet caf, and buy a flash drive. Transfer the jpegs. And send the disk to... Not her control. Who then? Her controls supervisor. Hey, it was jumping rank, but this had merit. If she got chewed out, terrific. If she lived, she wasnt interested in a promotion. What the hell good would that do her if she were miserable, without Grant...or dead? But why the son or nephew of the Madrid radical lived in the same house with the other man bewildered her. Did they all just live together for companionship and protection? Where are the birth records and housing records kept for those in Jerusalem? she asked Jason. Jason shook his head. No clue. Id have to ask around. Why? I have to discover why these people live together. Are they family? Related in some way? By marriage or blood? Or are they just a big commune? And I have missed that, too. 99 Cerise DeLand * * * * * Grant itched to get out of the car, out of the West Bank and Israel, back into his own jet where he could feel secure and keep Coco safe. Jason dropped them off at the front door of their hotel with a promise to find out where vital statistics were kept and see who had access to look at them. I think youll have to get Langley to ask the Israeli government to open private records. Grant knew putting that request through channels could mean hed be much older and grayer before they had results. Thanks, Jason, for everything, he bade him goodbye as he and Coco stepped out of the car. Well be in touch. Coco leaned in to peck Jason on the cheek. I appreciate this. No idea what you are into, but stay safe, he told her. I have good help, she told him and waved him off. Grant took her arm. Lets walk a bit, shall we? The rain had subsided and dusk had turned the sky to silver storm clouds. They strolled along the sidewalk, virtually alone. Tell me all that youre thinking, he ordered. My control has holes in her head. He snorted. Big ones. A lot of people missed details. I should have been allowed to take longer to identify these suspects. I realize Langley wanted fast results three years ago, but whats the good of mistakes and sloppy work? Grant agreed. Waste of time and money. And people die who shouldnt. Like Ahmed, she added and hooked her arm through his to press closer. Grant, I want to go to Naples to look at the other man. Ill call Mark and tell him to prepare a flight plan. She stopped and faced him, her expression forlorn. I dont trust anyone now. Only you. 100 Carried Away He tried to smile. Ill keep earning that. Wont be hard. Lets get out of here, shall we? They passed through the quiet lobby and up the elevator to their floor. Grant entered their room and stopped to survey it. Some air about it felt different. He saw it then. A hand print, or rather an indentation of a hand into the made bedding. He raised his arm, barring Coco from entering behind him. Wait, he mouthed to her. She examined the room herself. His gaze took in the glare of the lamplight and a swirl of a hand or a cloth across the surface of the night table. A flesh-colored powder seemed to have been swept away, and whoever did it, missed a light sprinkle near the base of the lamp. He put a finger to his lips for her to be quiet. She nodded. He took his handkerchief from his trouser pocket and covering his index finger, put it to the substance. No change of color. He shot her a glance. Coco didnt use face powder. So what Oh, shit! He threw the scrap of white to the floor and watched it begin to disintegrate at tiny pinpoints wherever the powder had touched the fabric. He stepped backward. No fumes. No odor. But in concentration, it could do harm to fabric and perhaps to skin too. He examined the floor