With a polite smile and a quick handshake, Mariano and his four “colleagues” walked briskly to the doors, jumped into a waiting WHO van, and sped off.
Bennett hung up quickly and turned to Erin and Natasha.
“We have to leave now.”
“Why? What is it?” asked Erin.
“I’ll explain on the way. Natasha, does your cousin have a car we could borrow?”
“Why can’t we use the Mercedes?”
“Every cop in Israel is looking for it.”
“She’s got an SUV,” said Natasha. “A Navigator — it’s in the garage.”
“Where does she keep the keys?”
“In a dish by the back door.”
“See if they’re still there,” said Bennett. “Erin and I will get the gear.”
Ten minutes later they were on the road, headed north around the lake, through Capernaum, and around to the eastern shores.
“So why the rush?” asked Natasha. “I thought we were going to wait until dark.”
“Costello said Abdullah Farouk is on the move. He may be coming here.”
“To Israel?”
“To the Golan Heights, at least, through Jordan.”
“What? Wait a minute,” said Erin. “Go back. What exactly did Ken say?”
“He and Rajiv did some checking on Prince Farouk, like you asked. Rajiv said he’s someone the intelligence world is beginning to get very worried about. Two weeks ago Lee James added Farouk to Homeland Security’s watch list of suspected terrorists.”
“Why?”
“Apparently Farouk recently moved his money and his men from Saudi Arabia to somewhere in southern Europe. They’re not sure where, but they believe he is actively recruiting terrorists for the Legion. The same group behind the bombing in Washington that killed George Murray. The same group the guys who attacked us at Eli’s house belonged to. Then Ken called your old buddy Danny Tracker.”
“What did Danny say?” asked Erin.
“Who’s Danny Tracker?” Natasha interjected, trying to keep up.
“Sorry,” said Erin. “He’s the deputy director of operations at CIA.”
“Got it. Sorry. Go on.”
“Anyway,” Bennett continued, “Danny had good news and bad news. The good news was that an Agency operative spotted Farouk three weeks ago, arriving at the Kuwait City airport on a flight from Rome. Two days later, Danny’s financial unit spotted $25 million being routed into a Cayman Islands bank account believed to be controlled by one of Farouk’s sons. The money changed hands at least a half dozen times before arriving in the Caymans, but Danny said as best as they could tell, its origin was an Iraqi-owned shipping company. What’s more, a friend of Danny’s at NSA said a few days ago they intercepted a cell-phone call between a senior aide to President Al-Hassani and the CEO of that Iraqi shipping company. On the call, the CEO mentioned something called Operation Black Box; then the call was cut off.”
“Operation Black Box? What’s that?” asked Erin.
“Actually, Danny was hoping you’d know.”
“I’ve never heard of it. Have you, Natasha?”
“No.”
“Your grandfather never mentioned it? or maybe Mordechai?”
“No — not with me around, at least.”
“Could it be a plan to find the Ark?” said Bennett.
“Maybe,” said Natasha. “Or a plan to kill everyone looking for the Ark.”
“Either way, Danny says Farouk’s private jet landed in Amman this morning,” Bennett continued. “A CIA operative assigned to our embassy there says twelve men got off the plane, including a man matching the prince’s description. They got into two vans with U.N. markings and went to the Jordan Archaeological Museum.”
Erin gasped. “The same place we were yesterday!”
“Right. An hour later, they were headed north to the border of Syria.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Natasha. “Can’t they just move in and get them?”
Bennett shook his head. “That’s the bad news. You know how many U.N. relief trucks are in Jordan right now? Our guy lost them in the crowd.”
“Which means he’s on the loose, just across the border,” said Erin. “And he may be heading straight for us.”
The phone rang and he answered it immediately.
“Ken Costello.”
“Mr. Costello, this is the White House operator. Please hold for the national security advisor.”
A moment later, Marsha Kirkpatrick was on the line. “Any luck finding Jon and Erin?”
Costello explained the situation.
“They’re making a terrible mistake,” said Kirkpatrick. “But it sounds like there’s nothing more you can do. The president wants you back in Washington right away. He wants a briefing on your meetings with Doron and Lucente, and he wants to see that letter Lucente gave Jon.”
The sun had not yet set, but they couldn’t wait.
Bennett knew they had to get into those tunnels before Farouk and his team did. He just prayed they weren’t already too late.
“There, take a left,” Erin said suddenly.
Bennett pulled off onto a dirt road. He came to a stop and cut the lights. Just over the ridge, Israeli and U.N. peacekeeping forces were busy burying the dead and trying to keep deadly diseases from triggering a global pandemic. Here — for now, at least — all was quiet. But they dared not attract attention.
Natasha’s night-vision equipment was designed to be used inside caves, not off-roading through old mine fields, but it would do.
They proceeded up the side of the mountain for another twenty minutes.
It was agreed that Bennett and Erin would be the “scroll hunters.” Natasha would take the SUV back down the mountain to avoid suspicion, monitor police and military frequencies, stay in constant communication with the Bennetts via encrypted wireless radios, and come back for them when the time was right.
“How much farther?” Bennett asked.
Erin used a penlight to double-check the coordinates from Ray Donovan’s message, then took another GPS reading. “Another half mile on the left,” she said.
A few moments later, she tapped Jon on the shoulder.
“Pull over,” she said. “We’ll have to walk from here.”
43
The sun was gone and the moon had not taken its place.
Thick clouds covered the night sky, and a strong breeze swept through the mountains. Bennett and Erin hiked for another fifteen minutes, and then began hunting through the thick brush for the cave opening Donovan had described in such detail in his notes. They never would have found it without the GPS coordinates, Bennett realized. The small opening was completely concealed. When they finally found it, the opening was just large enough to squeeze through.
Bennett lowered his equipment first, then strapped on the MP5 machine gun Natasha had given him and lowered himself into the cave. There was no telling who or what was already in there. But he was not about to let Erin go first into the unknown.
The air inside was cold and moist. The walls were damp and mossy. The granite floor was thick with mud.
“You okay?” he asked when Erin joined him, also outfitted with an MP5.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “How about you?”
“I’d rather be back in that honeymoon suite in Ronda; that’s for sure.”
“Me too,” she said wistfully. “Me too.”
They helped each other put on the hefty backpacks full of gadgets and supplies, then flicked on the flashlights atop their weapons and began moving forward, weaving through stalagmites and stalactites. The tunnel was narrower than Bennett had expected, without much headroom, giving him a feeling of claustrophobia he had never experienced before.