The Jerusalem Creed: A Sean Wyatt Thriller (11 page)

Dubai

The door to Nehem’s room burst open, and Sharouf entered like an angry bull. He stormed across the small space to where Nehem sat at his desk, surprised but not scared. Not yet anyway.

Sharouf drew his pistol from his side and aimed the weapon at Nehem’s head. “Time’s up, Doctor.”

Nehem’s face waxed pale, confused and worried. “What are you talking about? I still have several hours left.”

The Arab looked over at the cot against the wall and noticed the sheets and blanket were not folded, instead lying in a crumpled heap as if someone had just got out of bed.

“You sure sleep a lot for someone whose life is on a timer. We watched you waste your time and ours,” he motioned to the cameras. His eyes narrowed, and he brandished the gun at the archaeologist who was now starting to cower a little. “You know what I think? I think you have been lying to us. I believe that you already know where the relics are. Either you tell me right now, or I will kill you. After I kill you, I will kill your daughter. And I promise you, she will take a long time to die.”

Nehem trembled, but he would not surrender easily. “You cannot kill me. If I die, your boss will never find the relics. They will be lost to the annals of time forever. And whatever it is you have planned will fail.”

“Interesting,” Sharouf said. “I find it odd that the Americans you contacted are on their way to Indonesia right now. You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”

Nehem tried to keep his face expressionless, but he failed miserably. Like a bad poker player at a table full of seasoned gamblers, his eyes gave away what he was so desperately trying to hide. There was a glimmer of hope, though. If Tommy was on his way to Indonesia, that meant he’d figured out the code. He was on the right path. At the very least, if Nehem was going to die, he could do so with the knowledge that Mamoud Al Najaar would never possess the holy relics.

Sharouf pressed the gun to Nehem’s forehead. “Tell me where they went, exactly, and save the life of your daughter.”

Cautiously, Nehem moved his hand backward to the surface of the desk and tapped on a sheet of paper next to the keyboard. “That is where they are going,” he said in a weak voice. “It is an ancient Buddhist temple in Indonesia, in the Java region. You will find one of the relics there.”

“Which one?”

Nehem forced a laugh. “I don’t know. The clues the high priest left were vague for a reason. Whoever finds the relics will only know what they have found when they find it.”

“So you do not know if it is the Hoshen or the sacred stones at this place?” Sharouf pulled the gun back a few inches. He looked over at the writing on the paper.

“No. No one could know that. I’m telling you the truth. But you should also know this. If the Americans are on their way, you will never catch up to them. They are far smarter than you. Once they arrive, it will not take them long to discover the relic. And when they do, your boss will have failed.”

Sharouf considered the man’s words for a moment. He stared into the fearful eyes of his prisoner without sympathy. The hand with the gun flashed to the left, smacking the side of the weapon against Nehem’s temple. The man crumpled to the floor. A few seconds later, a thin cut oozed crimson down the side of his face and underneath his eye.

Sharouf turned to the two guards he’d brought and ordered them to take Nehem downstairs to the car. “Make sure he doesn’t cause you any trouble when you get him there. We have a long flight ahead of us, and the last thing we need is more delays.”

The men nodded and hustled into the room. They scooped up the unconscious hostage by the armpits and dragged him through the open door. When they were gone, Sharouf stepped over to the desk and picked up the sheet of paper. He stared at the name written on it.

Borobudur.

His lips creased ever so slightly into a knowing grin. He’d been correct about the prisoner keeping the answer from them. He was stalling to give the Americans a head start. Unfortunately, that would not be enough to save them.

He pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Mamoud, letting him know that whatever business he was taking care of would need to be put on hold for a moment, that he had something his boss wanted.

Mamoud replied after a minute, telling Sharouf to come to the office at the other end of the compound.

They were heading for a showdown with Wyatt and Schultz.

Sharouf cracked his neck to one side and then the other. He would be ready.

He left the room and walked fast from one end of the mansion to the other, where he knew Mamoud would be waiting. Sharouf had taken the liberty of ordering the archaeologist to be transported down to a car, figuring that is what his boss would have wanted.

When he reached the massive double doors to Mamoud’s office, he pulled on the cylindrical bronze handle and stepped inside.

The wealthy young Arab sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. A woman in a miniskirt and a black skintight top stood waiting nearby. She looked like a common prostitute in that tacky dress. Perhaps that was what Mamoud’s tastes desired for the day.

The boss motioned for her to leave. She hesitated for a second, to which he ordered, “Leave us.”

The girl hurried out the door, her high heels clacking on the hard tile floor as she clumsily tried to run.

Mamoud waited until the door closed behind her before he spoke. “I assume you have news, especially since you know I have financial assets I have to look after, not to mention the war I am preparing to wage.”

“I would not have bothered you if it weren’t vitally important.” He paused for a second and then said, “The first relic is in Indonesia. I forced Nehem to give it to us.”

“Forced? He had a deadline.”

“My apologies, sir. But he was playing you for a fool.”

Mamoud’s eyes narrowed, but he remained calm.

“He was stalling. I had eyes on him all day. He hardly worked at all, even took a nap at one point. I reasoned that the only purpose he could have in doing so was that he already knew the answer we were looking for and was holding out until the last possible moment before giving it to us. When I came to this conclusion, all I had to do was apply the right amount of pressure.”

Mamoud considered his guard’s words. Sharouf had done the right thing. Now he wanted to know what his next plan was for the Israeli. “Did you kill him?”

“No. I ordered him to be taken to a car downstairs. With your permission, I will fly to Indonesia with my team and recover the relic.”

The last part didn’t seem to please Mamoud. “I need you here. Send your chief of security. Have them recover it and bring it here.”

Sharouf had worried the man would say that. There could be no hiding his true intentions. “Wyatt and his friend escaped Jerusalem. They made it back to Tel Aviv and flew out late in the afternoon.”

Mamoud leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “And where did they go?” His voice stayed low, barely audible as it passed through clenched teeth.

“I had another man stationed at the Jew’s apartment to make sure everything went according to plan. When I did not get a status report from them, I contacted the observer. He followed them back to the airport. He couldn’t get access for obvious reasons, but he kept an eye on the plane and knows where they’re headed. With that information, I coaxed Nehem to tell me exactly what he’d been hiding.”

Sharouf placed the piece of paper on the desk in front of his employer. Mamoud examined the writing for a few seconds and then lifted his eyes again. “Take him there. Now. See to it, personally, that the Americans do not escape this time.”

The guard nodded, spun on his heels, and strode out of the room. Mamoud picked up the paper. He leaned back in his high leather chair and gazed at the strange name Nehem had provided. After a few seconds, he set it back down next to a series of papers he’d been looking over.

Most of them were invoices from legitimate businesses. At least that was what he wanted them to look like. The largest bill of all was from a pharmaceutical company with a price tag of just over three million dollars. 

The phone on his desk rang loudly and danced across the surface as it vibrated. He reached over and picked it up.

“Have the shipments arrived?”

“We’re loading them into the warehouses now. Will this be the last of them, or should we continue buying more storage properties?” The voice on the phone wasn’t of Arab descent. It sounded distinctly Spanish.

“If any good opportunities arise, you have the green light to buy. At the right price, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And what of the training of my men?”

“All two hundred pilots are getting better each day. Each has logged over a thousand hours. They’ve mastered the simulators and are ready for some test flights when you say the word.”

Mamoud thought about it. It would be risky. If there were any spy planes flying in the area, or even less detectable, satellites, his operation could be in jeopardy. His eyes wandered out to the gulf and gave him an idea.

“Have them fly low-level test missions over the water. If anyone is watching, it will be unlikely they’ll have their eyes on the water. Be sure to keep them low.”

“Understood. Less chance of being noticed on radar. A good plan.”

“Keep me updated on their progress. Have them ready to fly within the next week.”

He ended the call and set the phone back on the desk. Once more, Mamoud leaned back in his high leatherback chair.

Soon, he would have the war his father had wanted. Soon, the devils in the West would feel the wrath of Allah.

Atlanta

“All right, Emily. I only have a few minutes before I have to give a speech, and the pressroom is at least a three-minute walk from here. Something must have got you spooked for you to call me on this line.”

The president of the United States stared at Emily from her widescreen computer monitor. Only she and a few others in charge of top-level agencies had access to the number she’d called. After a quick linkup, the president appeared on the screen through a secure network line. Some of the techies called it the Internet subway. No civilians had access to it, and for good reason.

“We’ve noticed something strange going on in Dubai lately, sir,” she cut right to the chase, which was something she knew Dawkins would appreciate. A farmer at heart, the president knew bull when he saw or heard it. When time was short, he preferred to dispense with pleasantries and get straight to dancing.

“Define strange, Director Starks.”

Emily Starks had been the director of Axis for the past several years. The ultra secret agency was an Atlanta-based arm of the Justice Department that handled counterterrorism, counterintelligence, and internal investigations. They were occasionally called upon to handle dirtier jobs that the CIA, FBI, and NSA didn’t want to touch. Axis operated with only eleven agents to keep things simple and clean, and deniability much more plausible. Recently, another agent was added to the list, although he was to be used sparingly, at his request. She’d often wondered why eleven and not ten or twelve agents but finding that answer had proven impossible.

“Based on CIA reports, there have been several shipments being dispersed to recently purchased warehouses on the outskirts of the city. One of our people on the inside of an arms ring said that something big is going down soon. They aren’t sure what, exactly, but someone has been buying a lot of weapons.”

“A lot, Director Starks, is a fairly vague number.”

“Yes, sir. I apologize. Over two hundred million dollars worth of weapons is the report I’m seeing.”

The president’s face scrunched up. He wrinkled his nose before speaking again. “So who are we talking about? I’m assuming it’s not insurgents. They don’t usually have that kind of funding.”

“That is correct, sir. However, we are not certain what affiliation this buyer has. Word from our guy is that it’s a man named Mamoud Al Najaar. He’s a wealthy business owner in Dubai, though he is only involved with a few actual enterprises.”

“Where did he get all that scratch from then?”

Emily didn’t need to glance at her notes. She’d already memorized everything after one read through the report. She kept them with her just in case, but rarely needed them when relaying information up the chain. “Al Najaar inherited a substantial fortune when his father passed away several years ago. It seems his father sold the family oil fields to one of the larger conglomerates. They made billions from the sale. Since then, his net worth has nearly doubled from investments and the few businesses he’s taken on.”

Dawkins didn’t appear convinced. His wise, narrow eyes displayed his dubious thoughts on the matter. “What would his motive be? He’s obviously a capitalist.”

“More than you know, sir. His lifestyle is heavily influenced by the West. He keeps a stable of women in his beachfront mansion, has wild parties, and was even educated in the UK.”

“Yet it seems like he’s preparing for a war.”

“Certainly contradicts his risqué exterior,” she agreed. “He’s something of an enigma.”

“Director, do you want my permission for something regarding this Al Najaar, or did you want to keep me in the loop?”

Emily smirked. “A little of both, sir. As I said, we have an agent keeping a close watch with some high-end arms dealers. I don’t have anything to request at the moment, but if things get shady, we may need backup.”

Dawkins’ expression remained firm. “Understood. Will that be all, Director Starks?”

She nodded. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“Keep an eye on it, and let me know if anything changes. Play this one close to the chest. We don’t need to piss off the UAE by storming in there and kicking up a bunch of sand under their noses without a good reason.”

“I agree. Good luck with your speech, sir.”

He smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”

The screen went black. She turned off her own monitor and folded her hands in front of her face. Her eyes stared across the room at the grained finish of her wood-paneled walls.

Emily sighed, frustrated. She needed answers, and the president hadn’t offered any. He seemed almost ignorant of the man she’d said they were watching closely. President Dawkins had a lot on his plate, and as he said, he was about to give a speech.

She suppressed her insecurities. He trusted her. That was the biggest thing to remember. With that in mind, she sent a text message to her guy in the field, instructing him to lie low and pay attention.

He’d reported in regularly with details of what was happening. If anything changed, she wanted to know about it, and fast. What concerned her most was what her man
didn’t
report. He said there were dozens of forty-foot steel shipping containers arriving each day, but he had no idea what was inside. It could have been anything. Rockets. Long-range artillery. There was no way to know without seeing inside the containers.

Concern began to swell in Emily’s mind as she considered the implications and the words of the president hung in her ears.

It seems like he’s preparing for a war
.