Living Stones (26 page)

Gordon handed Ashley and the two men his card so they could reach him day or night. He said goodbye and walked away. The three sat there. Najid looked at the floor. Jim grimaced and shook his head, sighing deeply.

Tears formed in Ashley’s eyes. “I prayed I had left all the trouble behind, in Israel.”

Robert Bentley had counted the days. He knew from the Internet that the U.S. Airways flight had landed, bringing back the tour group to Seattle. He paced the floor in his apartment wondering whether or not Ashley Wells returned with the rest of them. Neither cable nor local TV broadcasts mentioned anything about the bombing victim not returning from the Holy Land. They would have if she had disappeared. He’d contact Imam Jabril in the morning to get any news. He could always query his contact in Israel by secure e-mail. Robert tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. He would have to wait for the answer to Jabril’s e-mail. He hated waiting, but had to confirm that Imam Jabril’s contacts in Israel had succeeded in their mission to get rid of this woman. She could put him behind bars for life—or worse.

The clock moved so slowly. Robert would drive over at five-thirty in time for morning prayers, and then they could talk. No, he would walk. It would be good to get out. Besides, he didn’t want neighbors to identify him now with a red Corvette convertible.

Robert, bowing on his knees with the imam, looked over during the prayers and noted the spot on the man’s forehead where he had pressed it to the ground in prostration before Allah for many years. He didn’t share that intense desire to pray like the imam, but he did share the desire for revenge against the policies in the U.S. and Israel. He would never lose that hate.

He followed the imam to the kitchen after prayers, for the early morning tea. They carried steaming cups outside in the quietness of an early July morning to avoid any sensitive discussion that could be picked up by the prayer room bugs, if they existed. The backyard had to be safe. It would be difficult to plant eavesdropping devices there since the telephone and power lines came from the street in front. Settled in plastic chairs in the back of the Islamic Center, Robert began, “They’re back.”

“Who’s back?” Jabril asked.

“The tour group from Israel. You know, the group that Ashley Wells traveled with.”

“Oh yes. The problem my contact there worked on.”

“But I need to find out now whether he succeeded.”

“We’ll probably know in a few days.”

“Look, Imam. I need to know now! My life is at stake here! I’m paying for you and your man over there, lots of money. I want you to go to your computer now and find out with your secure e-mail what happened in Israel!”

“Alright. I haven’t checked e-mail this morning. I’ll send an urgent message asking him.” Jabril walked back into the house.

Robert shook his head. His future hung on the answer. The one bit of news that could free him from the dark cloud hanging over him, and the imam acted like it was just an ordinary morning to take tea. How long would it take to get an answer back? Who was he writing to, and would he know now what happened to the woman? Robert sighed and began to sweat. Five minutes went by.

Suddenly the imam broke into a run from the house toward Robert. His face appeared ashen. His eyes stared from under his bushy eyebrows. “My friend sent me an urgent message! Oh, Allah! We’re in trouble!”

Robert blanched. He held his breath in panic. “What—what
happened?”

“All he wrote in Arabic was ‘Mission failed.’ Then he wrote ‘Mossad closing in’ without finishing the sentence.”

“Oh, no! Did he say anything in English?”

“No. He must have sent it in a hurry as he saw police or intelligence agents coming. Or maybe he just heard they were coming somehow.”

“Who’s Mossad?”

“Israeli intelligence. Like FBI.”

“What does that mean, Imam? Are we in danger?”

“They work back. They must have captured the hit man and discovered my friend who sent the message and received the funds I sent. Mossad has ways of getting information out of people. I don’t know how. But they always seem to get what they want. I had wired half the money you gave me.”

“So what does that mean?” Robert looked wide-eyed at Jabril and trembled.

“It means Mossad has his computer now, including the messages to and from me. My friend sent that last message two hours ago. They probably have the FBI already tracing my address as we speak. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“What about me, Imam?”

“You have no electronic or telephone messages to the Islamic Center or to Jerusalem, so they have no way of tracing this back to you. The only thing is the bank. They could follow the money trail . . . particularly if my friend is forced to tell where he got the money. But he won’t tell. And I use a false passport with a different name to set up accounts to wire funds. He doesn’t know who you are. But he can’t stop them from reading his e-mail. But no, he won’t, how do you say, ‘sing’?”

With that, the imam disappeared into the house. Robert waited, frozen over what to do. Within five minutes, Jabril ran with his laptop and a carry-on bag through the backyard toward the alley. He slapped a very small pistol on the table next to Robert, who soon heard a car start and take off, tires squealing.

Robert stood numb and motionless, thinking. Ashley Wells. Still alive, in Seattle, to identify him to the FBI. All his plans had failed.

Robert grabbed his hair in his fists. What would happen to him with the FBI on his trail? What did they know? What would they learn from coming to the Islamic Center? Where would the imam go? What would happen to the center? What about Ali? He hadn’t seen him since the bombing. Ali and the other brothers didn’t know where Robert lived. Good thing he hadn’t shown up at the center. But what should he do now?

He finally realized the FBI could find him at the center. Robert picked up the pistol, bolted out to the back alley, and walked hurriedly out to the next street, heading home at just under a run. He needed time to think this through. He would never go anywhere without the loaded gun in his pocket.

As he sat on the edge of the bed in his small apartment, Robert took a mental inventory of his situation. First, he had kept a low profile at the community college and elsewhere. And Ali, his friend and accomplice, had no idea where Robert lived. The people who helped obtain the C-4 never really saw him or heard his name. Now the imam had left, heading who knows where in the U.S. or Mexico. Probably not Canada. That would be both too obvious and difficult to get through the border. No one else besides those two knew anything. Except Ashley Wells.

He had gone over and over this in his mind so many times. Why hadn’t she gone to the police already if she recognized him that day in the church? The fact that he wasn’t aware of them following him suggested that maybe she hadn’t recognized him after all. If that was the case, then he needn’t have tried to get her eliminated in Israel. He had been so caught up in the excitement of the bombing, and then covering his tracks, that he had not been thinking clearly. All he lost was a lot of money.
But the FBI now knows it came from the United States. So that directed their search back here. And with computer information, they would settle on the Islamic Center and Imam Jabril. Jabril thinks his friend won’t sing. But with the guy’s computer and financial records, it won’t matter
.

Robert stared at the floor. Maybe there was no point in going
after the woman now. His attempt to neutralize her as a threat would probably fail. It would jeopardize him further. He should just stay away from her so she wouldn’t see him again. But on the other hand, perhaps she still posed a danger to him. He must try something.

He could move from Seattle. But where would he go without attracting attention with his red convertible?
You don’t live in a stupid little room and drive that kind of car
. Perhaps he should sell it and move. But every major transaction, every move with official documentation, leaves a paper trail to follow. No, he must lie low, use buses mostly, make all purchases in cash, and stay away from any place he might see Ashley Wells. Robert put his feet up to go to sleep. It would be lonely, alone in his apartment. He couldn’t even see Jenny at the community college. She might know Ashley from church. But fortunately Jenny didn’t know where he lived. What had his life come to? Hiding, alone. He had become a jihadist hero to radical Islamists around the world. But they didn’t share in paying the price.

Two of Ashley’s housemates had welcomed her home, met Najid, and went into the kitchen to cook a homecoming dinner for Ashley, inviting Najid as well. He carried her two bags upstairs and came down to find her lying on the couch, smiling at him.

That began hours of conversation about the trip, her wonderful time with Najid’s family and how much she would have liked to have him with her. She avoided telling him about her troubles, not wanting to spoil their time together. She had so much to tell, and she was happy just to be back with this amazing man. She smiled and then yawned as her eyes closed. Jet lagged, she just made it through dinner without falling asleep.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Najid said as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Ashley slept for twelve hours.

She called her parents the next morning to let them know she had arrived safely at home. When asked if she had a good time in Israel, she simply shared a bit about the famous churches and some
highlights, the Western Wall and the Garden Tomb. She didn’t mention the abduction, realizing they had not heard of it, nor of any ongoing danger. Apparently she had escaped so quickly that the abduction didn’t make the news. So they didn’t need to know any of that now. Her parents had had enough to worry about after the bombing without concerning themselves with something more that may never happen.

Najid appeared at the door. He looked at her with a startled look, speechless. He handed her a single long-stemmed rose in a water tube. She thought she had looked a mess when she got off the plane yesterday, so she took special care to look her best when he came. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He stood there, a bit red in the face, smiling down at her. “Ashley, you’re, um, you look a lot better than yesterday. It’s . . . so good to have you back home.”

Ashley grabbed his hand, put the rose in a vase, and led him to the table for lunch. Her housemates disappeared. “Can’t you stay?” Najid called to one of the girls running up the stairs.

He didn’t notice the quick wink she flashed to Ashley. “We’ve already had lunch. But thanks, Najid.”

Ashley brought a salad and sandwiches from the kitchen and sat down around the corner of the table next to him. The sun shone though the large window, brightening the yellow table cloth and red roses from her roommates and now Najid. The neighbor’s silk tree
dominated the view with its striking light red blossoms, hiding much of their 1920s house and porch.

“I prayed for you every day while you traveled, Ashley. Obviously you needed miraculous help at times, from the little you’ve explained so far. You remember the ten lepers that Jesus healed? Only one came back to thank him. So I want to thank him now.” Najid looked up, eyes open, and smiled.
“Thank you, Father, for keeping Ashley safe and free from harm. You answered our prayers. And thank you for this lunch together.”

Ashley gazed at this remarkable young man, thinking back to their first meeting in the zoology grad student lounge. She kept smiling at Najid, forgetting to eat.

“This salad looks good,” Najid said. “Pomegranates. I haven’t had them since I came here. Should I have some?”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she said, pointing to the salad. “Please . . . start.” Ashley flushed. “I . . . was just thinking.”

“About what? You have been through so much in the last three months.”

“Yeah . . . about everything. Meeting you. Dragging you to the synagogue just in time to get bombed. You in jail. Me in the hospital. Meeting your family. Having so many experiences with so many different people. I mean the good stuff. That’s what I’m focusing on. Not the abduction. Najid, I met so many interesting people.”