The Shadow of Death (Psalm 23 Mysteries Book 9) (16 page)

“And here I thought a man such as you was cursed to be always alone.”

“You know the thing I’ve learned about curses? Most of them can be broken.”

Jeremiah’s tone was light-hearted, but she could feel the tension in the arm that was around her waist. He was anything but relaxed. Still, she forced herself to smile.

“Omar, this is my wife, Cindy,” Jeremiah said.

Omar took her hand in his. “A god-given beauty needs no beautician, my dear, and that certainly applies to you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Welcome to my home.”

A figure darkened the doorway.

“What do you want? Can’t you see I’m with friends?” Omar roared.

“Your wife needs you.”

Omar sighed. “I shall return shortly. And then, we shall talk. Until then, please make yourselves comfortable. Eat! You look hungry, and hunger is the infidel.”

He exited the room and Cindy turned to Jeremiah. “He is interesting,” she said.

Jeremiah nodded. He turned and began to walk around the room, eyes looking everywhere.

“Is everything okay?” she finally asked.

“I think so,” he said as he returned to her side.

It was a new day and Mark had arrived at the hospital early, smuggling in Traci some donuts. The day before had gotten busy once he got back to the hospital. Several people had been by to visit including Amber and Doug who were overjoyed to see their niece and nephew. Traci’s mom had called and talked for a while, reminding them that once the babies came from the hospital she would be coming for a two week visit to help. Mark was definitely not looking forward to that.

He had just handed Traci her second donut
when his phone rang. He checked it and didn’t recognize the number. He was about to put his phone away when Traci stopped him.

“Who is it?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll check the voicemail later if they leave one.”

“Answer it,” she said, getting a strange look on her face. “Hurry.”

Her expression frightened him and his hand slipped on the phone, but he managed to answer it before it went to voicemail.

“Hello, this is Detective Walters,” he said.

“Oh, Detective, I’m glad you answered. This is Amy Smith, we talked yesterday.”

“Yes, Amy, what can I do for you?” The girl sounded frightened.

“I have something I think you need to see.”

“I can meet you at the coffee shop.”

“No, I don’t want to meet in public. Can you come to my apartment?”

“Sure. Just give me the address.”

He quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote it down as she rattled it off. “Hurry, please,” she said.

He hung up. “I just got the weirdest-”

“Go!” Traci shouted.

“What?” he asked, taken aback.

She was shaking. “I have the most awful feeling. You have to go right now. Please, hurry!” She started crying. His natural instinct was to step forward to comfort her, but mindful of her words he turned and ran. He sprinted down the corridor, bypassed the elevator and took the stairs two at a time. By the time he skidded into his car he was sweating and the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Traci’s fear had communicated itself to him and he slammed the flashing light on top of his car and hit the siren as he peeled out of the parking lot.

Ten minutes later he was pounding on Amy’s door.

She opened it, and he saw that she was shaking. Her face was blotchy, evidence that she had been crying. She stepped back and he walked in.

“What is it?” he snapped, searching the room for signs of danger. He couldn’t see anything. Why had Traci wanted him to hurry?

Amy picked up a letter off the table and held it in her shaking hands. “I was thinking about our conversation. I realized I forgot to tell you that one of Asim’s best friends was this homeless guy in the park. They used to sit together and talk, sometimes for hours. I never understood it, but I was always proud that he wasn’t the type of person to judge.”

The dead former C.I.A. agent had known Asim, Mark realized. He might have known far more about the student’s death than even Mark had suspected.

Amy wasn’t finished, though. “I kept thinking about what you said, about how I should let go of the guilt. I’ve kept this letter for two years. It arrived the day after he died. He sent it the morning of his death. I was always too ashamed, too afraid of what he might have said about us, the fight, to read it. I was scared. What you said, though, I realized I had to stop being scared and face the truth. I never opened it until just before I called you.”

She held it out to him.

Mark took it from her fingers and began to read.

My Dearest Amy,

If you are reading this, then something has happened to me. I have given this letter to my friend, Peter, to mail if it does. I’m hoping I will just be able to tear it up and you’ll never have to know how close I came to losing you. I am sorry about the fight we had. I couldn’t tell you what was going on because I didn’t want to get you involved. I should explain now.

When I went back to Iran for Tamir’s wedding I found my brothers even more twisted by anger and hatred than when I left. I was dismayed at their current state. By accident I learned that they were planning something dreadful with a handful of others, an act of terror that would inevitably plunge the region into war. I tried to reason with them, and I thought I had succeeded.

A week ago my brother called me as you know. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you at the time about the nature of the call. I discovered that I had not dissuaded them as I had hoped. He tried to convince me that theirs was a just cause, but I would not listen. He begged me to side with them and told me that they had powerful friends who would not broach a security leak.

It frightened me, but I stood firm. In desperation, I talked to Peter. I know that might seem strange, but the man once worked for the government. I asked for his help and he agreed to reach out to some former friends. He was worried, though, that they wouldn’t believe him. I couldn’t blame them. A homeless man with mental problems and an Iranian college student do not make the most trustworthy sources in the eyes of those with no imagination.

Then the Russian woman approached me. I do not know her name, but I do know that she is working with my brothers. She tried to persuade me again, but I stood firm. She told me she would give me until this morning to decide. I am going to the park to meet her. I pray that she is alone. If she is then perhaps I can overpower her. Maybe Peter can help. If I have her in custody maybe then someone will listen to what I have to say.

I am so sorry that we fought. I will make it up to you if I can, and if I cannot, please know that I loved you and was faithful only to you. My uncle knew about you and I had hoped in a few more months when you knew me even better to ask you to be my wife. I do not say this to make you feel bad, only to let you know how deeply you were loved.

Be happy, for my sake.

All my love,

Asim

Mark felt as though a knife were twisting in his gut. He reread the letter. He had been right to connect the dots that he had between Asim, Peter, and Jeremiah. Peter must have failed in convincing any of his old colleagues at the C.I.A. that there was a credible threat.

And then, in desperation, he turned to Jeremiah. He had known Jeremiah when the rabbi was still a Mossad agent. Maybe he’d hoped that Jeremiah would believe and be able to convince others where he had failed.

He looked up at Amy. “He did love you, and he’d want you to be happy.”

She nodded.

“I need to make some calls. Will you be okay?”

She nodded again.

“Call if you need anything.”

Mark left, heading quickly for his car. The call he needed to make he didn’t want anyone else to overhear.

A few minutes later Omar reappeared. “I am sorry for keeping you.”

“We are sorry for interrupting this day,” Jeremiah said. “Let us be brief so you can go and celebrate more with your family.”

“Alright,” Omar said, seating himself on one of the cushions on the floor and indicating for them to do the same.

Jeremiah held onto Cindy’s hand as she sat. Once she was comfortable he sat down beside her.

“You are right, of course, my daughter is missing my presence, though I am surprised she notices anything but her husband.” He looked at Cindy. “Are all brides so giddy on their wedding days?”

Cindy smiled. “It is a good thing. Your daughter looked very happy.”

Omar shrugged. “Tamir is not my first choice for a son-in-law. He is a recent widower. But, my daughter met him at school and she thinks the world of him, so.”

He turned to Jeremiah. “What is it that I can do for you?”

Even though they were alone in the room she noticed that Jeremiah still leaned forward. “There are troubling rumors of an attack that is planned in Jerusalem.”

Omar waved his hand in the air. “There are always rumors.
Believe what you see and lay aside what you hear, that’s what I always say.”

“These rumors I cannot lay aside. The attack would be a great atrocity.”

Omar dropped his eyes to his hands. “Do the rumors speak of which side will make this attack?”

“No.”

“The wound that bleedeth inwardly is the most dangerous,” Omar said.

“You believe it to be my countrymen?” Jeremiah asked sharply.

“As they say, the wrath of brothers is fierce and devilish.”

“Please, help me. Tell me what you know, or, at least, what you have heard.”

Omar looked up at him and there was conflict in his eyes. “They say a foolish man may be known by six things. The second is speech without profit.”

“I can make sure you profit for your speech,” Jeremiah said, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m afraid that sometimes even gold cannot save a man. I always say, do not stand in a place of danger trusting in miracles.”

Cindy realized he was afraid to tell them what he knew. She glanced at Jeremiah, wondering how he would persuade the other man to help them.

“If you know what I am speaking of then you know the consequences. It is said that a person who does not speak out against the wrong is a mute devil.”

Suddenly Jeremiah’s cell phone rang, startling Cindy. He reached for it to silence it, but then his hand hesitated above the screen.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The detective is calling,” he said.

“Take your call, my friend, it will give me a moment to ponder your words,” Omar said with a wave of his hand.

Out of habit Jeremiah rarely kept numbers stored in his phone. He still memorized numbers as it kept the information safer. He had recognized Mark’s number and knew that Mark wouldn’t be calling unless something serious had happened. Jeremiah’s gut told him he needed to take the call. He answered it and stood swiftly, walking several paces away from Omar so the other man couldn’t overhear what he had to say. Out of habit he turned his head away in case the other man could read lips.

“What is it?” Jeremiah asked tersely.

“I’ve done some more digging. I’m convinced that the Iranian student that was killed here two years ago found
out about an impending terrorist plot that his two brothers were involved in, and that he was killed, likely by a Russian woman, before he could tip off the authorities. My gut is telling me this has something to do with the reason you’re over there.”

He heard the rustling of cloth and he wondered if Cindy was getting up to come check on him and find out what was up with Mark.

“Do you have names?”

“Yes. The last name is Kazmi. The oldest brother, Khalid, moved to Jerusalem six months ago. The other brother is still in Iran. His name is
Tamir.”

Jeremiah spun on his heel, his left hand reaching for his knife. Then he froze as he saw what had made the rustling noise behind him. Omar had his hand over Cindy’s mouth and a gun at her temple.

14

Cindy was terrified. She could feel the steel of the gun against her temple. Omar had moved so quickly she hadn’t had time to scream and warn Jeremiah. One moment he had been smiling at her, telling her he liked her dress and the next he had turned on them.

He whistled and several armed men ran into the room. Jeremiah removed his hand very slowly from the back of his waistband and raised it into the air. He raised his right as well which still held the cell phone.