ring any number of people might wear—maybe just a souvenir from some religious shop.”
Ari was looking at her skeptically—it wasn’t like her to dismiss important evidence so readily. She went on:
“No, I can’t tell you about that thing…that object. It’s classified at the highest levels. But I can tell you that its value is beyond estimating, and worth whatever trouble the thieves go to screen themselves. It’s just possible that all this hocus-pocus is meant to distract us long enough so they can get what they want.”
“And what do they want?” Ari gave it back.
“Money. And loads of it. I admit it’s a new angle, but ritual murder might be just the kind of angle they want us to pursue. In the meantime, here’s another angle I want you to pursue.” She beamed a message to him.
Eagle went off the grid at 1107. Last seen westbound Ramla checkpoint.
“Who’s Eagle?”
“That’s our designation for Nasir al-Ayoub. Somewhere outside Ramla, our key suspect disappeared a few hours ago. He could have gone to ground there. I want you to find him.”
“The lattice?”
“You talk about that at your own peril. Our discussion is recorded per your request and regulation. And ended.” The pyramid said goodbye politely and went to sleep.
Angry, Ari turned and left the building. Choking on smoke, he cursed her all the way to his car, then pulled out his GeM and rang Toad.
“You’ve been tracking an Eagle?”
“Eagle. Yes,” Toad replied. “He’s disappeared. Our people lost him at the Ramla checkpoint…found his car in a car park nearby.”
“He must have known we were tailing him.”
“Best to assume that. They’re still looking, but it’s been since before noon.”
“What about satellite?” Ari asked.
“They never got a visual fix on him.”
“Why ‘Eagle’?”
“His name is Nasir—Arabic for eagle.”
“Oh. Kristall wants me to take this one over. Got any ideas?”
“We followed him this morning, on foot through Damascus Gate to his house. After a few minutes he motored out and we traced him electronically this far. None of our taps give any indication of his agenda for today.”
“He wouldn’t be broadcasting it, would he? Any known contacts in Ramla? Women?”
“He is hooked up with a woman, a Dr. Adawi, who lives in Nablus.”
“Wrong direction.” Ari turned and saw something on the driver’s seat of his car. It was a note. He picked it up and scanned it quickly.
“Um…Toad, something’s come up. Keep me in the picture, will you? I’ll ring you later.”
Jaffa Gate, Old City, Jerusalem, 1545h
The last thing Ari expected to see in his life was Tovah Kristall playing the tourist. She stood just inside the Jaffa Gate wearing white capri pants and a blue-and-white striped shirt, sunglasses, and a sailor’s hat. That skin the sun had rarely touched gleamed a fishy yellow. She was arguing with a street vendor over the price of a cheap alabaster chess set that she held with one hand while waving her cigarette with the other.
“Look, I collect chess sets. I could buy one of these from anybody in this town. There are a hundred places. But I chose you. I’ll give you seventy-five euros.”
“You’re killing me. A hundred.”
She looked up at Ari, who now stood smiling next to her. “Can you imagine? This cheap little man. I offered him seventy-five euros…five times what he paid for it.” She turned back. “Keep it. I won’t deal with a pirate.”
Kristall grabbed Ari by the arm and led him away. The vendor followed, moaning “eighty…eighty…”
“Why don’t we go up to the Wall now? I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time,” she said a little too loudly. She headed for the entrance to a staircase nearby, where for a few shekels a tourist could mount the steps and walk about half the circumference of the Old City Wall.
“So now you’re Mata Hari, the famous tourist?” he whispered.
“Come on.”
At the ticket window he waited for her to pay, but she just looked at him; then he pulled his GeM from his pocket and paid both their admissions. Halfway up the steps, she stopped to cough. It was a noise like pebbles and sand in a cement mixer. He put his hand on her arm to steady her.
“It’s all right, Davan.” She shook it off and continued up the stairs.
From the Wall, they could see the roofs of the Old City dominated by the Dome of the Rock, rising into the air like the sun. They walked slowly in the heat along the parapet.
“I didn’t know you were such a chess enthusiast.”
“Everything is chess, Davan.”
He paused. “I’m here, as you asked. You were quick getting here yourself. What other tricks do you do?”
“I like to play spy now and then, don’t you? It reminds me how fun this job is.”
“You like to get out into the field, get in touch with reality.” It was quiet sarcasm.
“My friend, reality is back in that blue hellhole of mine.” It was true; he had rarely seen her outside of the hazy blue-paneled situation room. But she was not convincing; he knew that she liked it there at the center of things.
They stopped in shade beneath a stone tower in a corner of the wall. The blinding gold Dome seemed near enough to touch. She turned and spoke quietly:
“You think there’s some kind of plot concerning the Temple Mount.”
Ari was surprised—he thought she had dismissed the idea. “Yes?”
She gazed again at the Dome. “I knew Shor was connected with a group that wants to build the Temple.” Gnawing silently at her cigarette, she breathed smoke in and out while Ari waited for her to surface again from her thoughts. Then she started speaking, as if to herself.
“This mess is deep. Religious crazies. An itinerant Palestinian contractor. And a new kind of weapon…” She caught herself and looked at Ari. “I couldn’t, or rather didn’t want to, get into this after you forced me to record our conversation. In certain circles, it’s best to dismiss this sort of thing.”
She crushed her cigarette on the ground.
“Any threat to all that Vatican over there I take seriously,” she said, pointing to the Temple Mount. “I take it very, very seriously. These people who want to rebuild Solomon’s Temple—they are the worst enemies we have.”
