Grains of Truth (39 page)

“We’ll take number two,” Linda said shortly, “and be in touch.”

“Bon, merci,” came the cheery reply.

Chapter 45

Moonlight still washed the distant mountains when Brad switched off the Jeep’s parking lights and rolled slowly past the road where the car ahead had turned in. It led to a nondescript block of flats on the west side of the town of Dahab, the opposite direction of the touristy area along the waterfront. He turned off the engine and both agents slid from their seats.

A dog began to bark as they crept along a side street leading to a nearly-vacant parking lot. Brad watched with a grin as Linda pulled a scrap of cheese from her pocket and tossed it in the direction of the mangy hound. The barking abruptly ceased. 

As the pair approached the poorly lit corner of the first building, they heard the sound of closing car doors. Their heads tilted around the corner, thankful that all of the streetlamps were burned out. Two men went to the rear of the vehicle and opened the trunk. Together, they leaned over and lifted out a heavy sack. Linda’s sharp intake of breath prompted Brad to give her arm a painful squeeze. Neither needed to express the thought that struck them both: that the sack might contain Julia Grant’s lifeless body.

As they continued to watch, one of the men spoke, causing his companion to grunt. After placing the sack on the pavement, the driver closed the trunk while the other knelt down and untied a rope at one end. He reached in with one hand and tugged at something inside. With his back to them, blocking their view, Brad and Linda were unable to see, at first, the dreaded contents. When he stood up and swung a smaller bag over his shoulder, the faint duet of sighs blended with the soft evening breeze.

“Too small for a body,” whispered Brad.

“If it’s in one piece.”

Brad shot his partner a look that spoke bleak volumes. They watched the driver bend over and hoist the larger sack, stooping slightly under its weight. The men approached one of the flats in the second of a row of two-story buildings. Thankfully, their destination was on the first floor. The door closed behind them and lights went on in windows on either side. 

“Stay here and cover me,” murmured Brad, close to Linda’s ear.

She nodded without comment, removing the Beretta from her coat pocket.

He moved stealthily across the open parking lot and sidled up to the first window. The drawn shade effectively blocked sight of anything inside. Cursing silently, he crept across the doorstep to the other window. A triangular tear near the bottom of the shade provided the needed view. By crouching down, he could see a pair of trouser-clad legs moving about in a kitchen. The smaller of the two bags lay on top of a table, the other on the floor beside it. Low voices hummed in another room. 

He waited at the window, counting his heartbeats, until another pair of legs appeared. They went to the table. One hand held a knife with a glittering blade. It slit the string at the top of the bag lying there. The other hand reached in and pulled out a dark brown, sticky mass. He dropped it on the table.

Dates.

When his breath resumed, Special Agent Brad Caldwell slipped away from the window like a phantom. As he crossed the parking lot, he took a handkerchief from his pocket to blot the blood on his bitten lip.

“You’re on the right track.” Linda spoke into the phone as the Jeep sped north towards Nuweiba. “We’re on our way.”

Brad gripped the wheel as the raw night air assaulted the drying sweat on his face.

~

The first call to prayer erupted over loudspeakers as the vehicle ahead turned into an alley off the main road leading into Nuweiba. Alex steered the van to the curb. He’d already switched off the parking lights before they turned onto the main road. Driving without lights was common enough and it made them less conspicuous. Hopefully.

He reached to open his door then flinched involuntarily as a wrinkled hand appeared on his shoulder from the back seat. “Let us go,” said Henry with a cool decisiveness. Henrietta was already halfway out the side door.

“Right,” came the reluctant reply after a moment’s hesitation. Alex had to agree that the elderly couple were not only capable but also the least likely to attract undue attention. The occupants of the van watched Henrietta tuck her arm in that of her husband and cross the deserted street. 

~

“It’s a warehouse.” Henry stood beside the passenger window and gave a concise report. “Two men and a black-robed figure went inside—at least two other men there already.”

Alex swallowed his angst. “All right. It’s nearly six. We should get the van out of sight and find a place to use as a base of operations. Someone needs to stay here as lookout. No, Mohamed,” he added with sincere empathy, “it has to be someone they won’t recognize, which leaves both of us out.”

“That’s gotta be me,” asserted Sarah from the back seat. 

Alex turned and gave her a level look “All right, Sarah. Take Mariette’s phone. Call me or Linda if there’s any activity. Anything at all. Someone will relieve you shortly.”

Mohamed located a Bedouin camp-style motel a few blocks away that could accommodate his “tour group.” Laid out in typical native fashion, three wings of rooms made a u-shape around a central courtyard, with a fire pit surrounded by low cushions in the middle. The fourth side opened to the Gulf of Aqaba. Across the water, the craggy coast of Saudi Arabia rose up in the morning light.

They unloaded the luggage and Alex pulled the van to the side of the building, out of sight. Brad and Linda drove up in front as he came around the corner from the parking area. He signaled them where to go, following on foot. They all walked back to the courtyard while he brought them up to date. Once everyone was present and accounted for, Alex suggested they meet in one of the rooms.

“I mustn’t be seen with any of you here,” he reminded them.

They drifted in ones and twos to the Langleys’ room, apparently the largest. No one would really call it large. With two twin-sized beds, a desk and one armchair, it provided barely enough space for the anxious group. 

“I’m to be contacted at noon to finalize the delivery,” Alex reminded them.

“Okay,” said Brad, who sat on one of the beds, hands rubbing his spread knees. “It’s vital that we do nothing to arouse suspicion until we put the plan in play.”

“And what plan might that be?” inquired Mohamed evenly. Henrietta smiled approvingly into his bloodshot eyes. His initial rabid frustration at not having plucked Julia from the oasis had subsided back into a steady doggedness.

Linda, positioned by the window, looking out into the courtyard from behind a thin curtain, responded. “We need food and rest. Let’s get cleaned up then meet for breakfast. Everyone except Alex and Mariette. Neither one of you should be seen with us or with one another. Mariette, you should stay out of sight as much as possible or get some kind of disguise. Mohamed, you’ll need to at least wear a hat and sunglasses. I’ll take a quick shower then relieve Sarah.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” joked Henry at her cool commands. “Anything else?”

Linda grinned. “Once Alex has made his contact, we’ll reconnoiter.” She looked at the narrowed eyes of her boss. “Back here at noon?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he mimicked. 

“Whoever’s on guard should have a vehicle,” Alex suggested. “In case they make a move.”

“Oui,” concurred Mariette, “and we must obscure the license plate number. I will make a batch of mud.”

After she smeared the mess on the plates and bumpers of both vehicles, Linda drove off in the van.

~

The French archeologist squatted outside the arched entrance of the camp, rubbing the stomach of a stray dog sprawled on its back. The creature moaned in ecstasy at the uncommon attention. Mariette greeted Sarah as she approached on foot.

“Ah, Mam’zelle Sarah, here you are. All is well?”

“Yeah.” Sarah returned the smile. “All quiet.”

“C’est bon. Come with me, we are to share one of the petite cabins. I will show you.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted at the Spartan accommodations. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to rough it, far from it. She’d lost count of the times she’d been arrested for protesting one cause or another and spent time in jail. She smiled with satisfaction at that thought. Julia always teased her about the time she was thrown into a cell with a bunch of prostitutes. Sarah spent the night talking to them and trying to convince them to try to find a better way of life. She gave them all her phone number and one actually called for her help. Naturally, Sarah did what she could for the young woman, predictably scandalizing the Littlefield clan.

This was different. It was supposedly a hotel room, so she’d expected better. Oh, it appeared relatively clean but so minuscule they could scarcely pass without bumping into one another. And the showerhead mounted on the wall of the bathroom hadn’t even a curtain to keep water from spraying all over the room.

“Pardon, the Ritz it is not, I am afraid,” commiserated Mariette.

Sarah grinned. “Oh, I’ve seen worse. Never mind.” The grin turned grim as she added, “With any luck, we’ll have Julia out of there by this time tomorrow.”

Her roommate sat down on one of the narrow beds and wrapped her arms around bent knees. “You have known your friend Julia for a long time, non?

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been friends—sisters—for many years,” came the quiet reply.

Mariette burned with curiosity over these extraordinary circumstances. Linda had shared only the most basic explanations and she’d met with a stone wall in trying to learn more during the long day of watching the oasis with the men. She’d observed the curious dynamic and sensed the tension between two of them. This was a perfect chance for a tête-à-tête with the American mam’zelle. 

“Tell me, Sarah, how did your friend Julia become mixed up in this affair?” 

Sarah flopped down on the other bed, her golden curls spreading out around her head on the pillow like a halo. “It’s a complicated story, and I have a feeling that I’m not up-to-date on things. One thing you should know about her is that she’s a confirmed pacifist, in the strongest sense of the word. She opposes violence in any form: physical, verbal or emotional. That’s the bedrock of our friendship.” 

“But this kidnapping, it is a most terrible thing. The men who have her are unquestionably violent.” She shuddered at the remembrance of the driver’s face. Though now that she understood the situation a bit better, she realized that the man calling himself Sharif was the real threat. A frightening intensity smoldered disturbingly behind the charismatic façade.

“I think this man, this Sharif, should be handled with great care,” she said pensively. “He has a most gorgeous face, the manners of a Frenchman and a cold and calculating charm—a lethal combination.” 

Sarah shivered. “Julia is a very special person. Although she’s one of the smartest people I know, she often finds herself being taken advantage of. She always tries to see the best in people. I wouldn’t put it past her to be working on reforming the whole gang by now.”

“Mon Dieu,” murmured Mariette as she tried to picture the black-robed figure attempting to convince her nefarious captors to repent. She could no longer hold back the question that itched for an answer. “Pardon, Sarah, is one of these men here her husband? Her lover?”

Not feeling comfortable about discussing Julia’s private affairs with a stranger, Sarah merely shook her head and changed the subject. “Tell me, Mariette, have you lived in Egypt for long?”

Mariette gave a Gallic shrug at having her question brushed aside. “Oh, oui, I have come for many years. In the winter, I work here excavating and in the summer, I live in Paris. It is a most suitable arrangement.” She still could not speak casually about her husband without a lump in her throat, so whenever possible she refrained from mentioning him.

“Don’t you find it difficult living here? I mean, well, the heat, the dirt, the poor, the mistreated animals, the dilapidated buildings? It’s all, well, kind of depressing.” Sarah had had plenty of time to survey her surroundings during the madcap journey. Truthfully, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to live here. Especially when their options were places like Paris and San Francisco.

“It is the work, you see. I am an archeologist, as you know, and to excavate here is a fantasy come true. Even as a girl, I dreamed of the ancient pharaohs. Now I can know, how you say in English, ah, ‘up close and personal,’ how they lived.” 

Both women laughed at this. Suddenly Sarah popped up and said, “Didn’t you say something earlier about breakfast and going shopping?”

Shopping for disguises. Of course. For Mohamed, they found a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. Sarah chuckled because she remembered Julia once telling her how he hated wearing hats.

Mariette, with that innate sense of style that all French women seem to possess, transformed herself from the dusty excavator in wrinkled khakis into a sleek femme fatale in the blink of an eye. After changing into a pair of form-fitting jeans and a big white shirt, she purchased only a wide belt, a bright cotton scarf and a straw hat with a wide brim. She cinched the belt tight over the shirt, accentuating a slim waist, rolled up the sleeves and turned the collar up around her neck.

With the scarf wrapped around her head to cover her hair, the hat shading her face and a pair of large dark glasses, she was completely unrecognizable. Formidable.