Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) (33 page)

The envoy of the
Hashemite
Kingdom
was a stocky, dark-haired man with a large mustache. He sat with heavy hands folded into fists, which he tapped together in front of him.

“It was found by a Palestinian student from the
University
of
Jordan
. He made the grave error of bringing it to
Israel
, where it was apparently taken from his cousin by a militant group known as the Guardians of Palestine.”

“What happened to the student?” I asked.

He smiled. “With the encouragement of the daughter of one of our government ministers, he confessed to what he had done. The minister pleaded his case and he was allowed to return to his studies. I don’t think he will be anxious to hide any more discoveries.”

I certainly hoped so, particularly if they might lead to anything like what we had been forced to endure the past week.

The Israeli representative apologized lavishly and offered a generous monetary settlement. Jill and I declined everything except reimbursement for transportation costs. We had no desire to be obligated to anyone because of this.

We arrived at the
Nashville
airport the following morning to a tumultuous welcome. Well, not really, although for some reason an unruly mass of TV cameras and reporters were just retreating down the escalator as we emerged from the concourse. Our welcoming committee was composed of a blue-jean clad, floppy-hatted David Wolfson. Jake Cohen had called him with our travel schedule.

We found David standing outside the secured area with a small sign reading:

WELCOME HOME

NON-PERSONS

Jill and I got a good laugh out of it, following which I introduced them and then pointed at the sign. “What prompted that?”

“I had a nice visit this morning from a serious young fellow from some obscure branch of the federal government,” he said. “He suggested it would be well to develop a memory loss about anything to do with an ancient Hebrew scroll. In fact, when he found out the translation was in my computer, he insisted on paying me ten times what the machine was worth. Then he proceeded to take out the CPU and the hard drive. He pounded several nails through the hard drive before shoving it into his briefcase. He was a very thorough young man. He also advised that I erase from my own personal memory anything regarding some people named McKenzie.”

I grinned. “Then it’s appropriate that you just met Jill. Let me introduce myself. I am ex-Lieutenant Colonel, ex-DA Investigator Gregory McKenzie.”

His face glowed. “Speaking of which, you should be happy to know that Mrs. Tessa Peterson, the young lady your Metro detective nemesis said was dead, turned up yesterday in Key West, Florida.”

My mouth gaped open. “She what?”

“It was in the news this morning. They said she was suffering from amnesia. After a tentative identification, they were to fly her back home. I’d say that’s what the media frenzy was all about just as you got here.”

Jill looked around at me and smiled. “Now maybe they’ll leave you alone.”

Getting home was the best medicine of all for Jill. She bounced back quickly from her ordeal and helped me clean up the mess that Kamal Nazari and his friends had left. The biggest problem we faced was explaining our disappearance to Sam and Wilma Gannon. Our answering machine was crammed with messages from them, and we knew they would have been worried unmercifully when we failed to return their calls. But in order to keep our word with Ambassador Hamilton, we were forced to lie.

We finally devised a small conspiracy with Ted Kennerly, who had been contacted by Colonel Jarvis and told to say nothing about the scroll and its aftermath. Ted called Sam and apologized, saying he was supposed to have informed the Gannons that the
OSI
had suddenly called me out of town to help close an old case and Jill had gone with me.

It worked. I followed up with an invitation for Sam and Wilma to come over for dinner and view my unedited videos of the
Holy Land
. The four of us enjoyed reminiscing about the trip, but Jill found it a little difficult to contain her enthusiasm when the scene included shots of Jake Cohen. She knew Jake’s help had been invaluable in the quest to free her.

In the days that followed, the media as well as the Metro Police Department totally ignored me, much to my delight. And several weeks later, the final chapter was written. DEA agents and Metro vice squad officers raided Star Express, confiscated forty kilos of heroin and arrested Pat Intermaggio and two of his drivers. Among other things, they charged Intermaggio with running a major money laundering operation. I would never know for certain if he was the one who had tipped the police about me, but considering the obviously close relationship between him and Nazari, it seemed logical that he would have been privy to details of the Palestinian’s caper.

To celebrate the final tip of the scales of justice, Jill cooked an elegant dinner with wine and candles and an exotic seafood dish called lobster thermidor, a dinner to which Ted and Karen Kennerly and David Wolfson were invited. We all agreed it was time to bury the tale of the secret scroll, once and for all. It was also payback time and I offered David an after-dinner cigarette, lighting both his and mine.

Ted brought up the only remaining loose end. “What about the Palestinian that wasn’t in the panel truck when Zalman and Lipkowitz torched it?”

I threw up my hands. “May he rest in peace. If he’s smart, he fled as far west as possible. The bastard’s probably set up outside
Disneyland
selling little Dead Sea Scroll pots.”

I caugh
t
Jill’s eyes narrowing at my reference to the man’s paternity. Then she eyed the cigarette and gave me a wry grin.

“Back to the drawing board, Greg,” she said.

“Hadda do it, babe.” I shook my head. “All’s fair, remember . . . hadda do it.”

Acknowledgements

A special thanks to the following, who were more than generous with their help in bringing this story to life:

Rev. Tom Gildermeister,
now at
Emory
University
,
who contributed ideas toward the concept. Max Miller
, also
of Emory, for advice on archeology in the
Holy Land
. John M. Angelo, former Office of Special Investigations special agent in charge, for insights into the
OSI
. Jim Campbell, my ever faithful legal and technical advisor. The Quill & Dagger Writers Guild, for general encouragement and constructive criticism. Beth Terrill-Hicks, my first reader and trusted critic. Ben O’Daniel of Sumner Crest Winery and Wilburn Hall of Hall Vineyards, for information on vineyards and winemaking. Agent Karen Lewis, for helpful advice on style. Kay Garrett of Professional Editing Service, for improving the story and coaching me on matters of style. And especially my wife Sarah, for being there constantly, encouraging and cheering me on.

Finally, to Bob Middlemiss, my editor at Durban House, who showed me how to make a thriller more thrilling.

About the Author

An old hand at the keyboard,
Chester
has worked as a newspaper reporter, freelance writer, magazine editor, political speechwriter, advertising copywriter, public relations professional and association executive.
He began writing novels after retirement in 1989 and has eight published books.
An Air Force intelligence officer in the Korean War, he retired from the Air Force Reserve as a lieutenant colonel. He is past secretary of the Southeast Chapter of Mystery Writers of America and immediate past president of the Middle Tennessee Chapter of Sisters in Crime. He lives in
Madison
,
TN
with his wife, Sarah.