Covenant (10 page)

Tyrell leaned on the roof for a moment, looking thoughtfully back at the office building as he retrieved his handkerchief and mopped his brow once again. He noticed with a sigh that Bailey was watching him from a rear seat covered by a sea of biscuit crumbs.

“Get in touch with the International Commission on Missing Persons. I want details of all individuals reported in the last four weeks who match the bodies we’ve got in that morgue. Whoever they were, it’s my bet that someone’s missing them. As for this,” he said, tapping the titanium rod, “get in touch with the hospital administration and find out who it belonged to.”

Lopez nodded and opened her door.

“Captain Powell won’t want us chasing this down, Tyrell. He’ll have it tagged as another bunch of po’ crackheads wiped out on misadventure once he gets the FBI report from yesterday morning.”

“Indeed he will,” Tyrell agreed, “but we won’t. We keep this to ourselves, for as long as we can.”

UNITED STATES EMBASSY
HAYARKON STREET, TEL AVIV

G
reetings and welcome to Israel.”

A smartly dressed envoy led Ethan and Rachel through the large, modern building of concrete pillars and smoked glass situated in the heart of the city. Supported by a consular section in the nearby Migdalor Building, the embassy was home to Ambassador Jeb Cutler, a buoyant Arkansan with a long history of diplomatic wrangling who welcomed them into the conference room as though it were his own living room.

“Ms. Morgan, welcome to Tel Aviv.”

Cutler was middle-aged, his features creased by the years of worry that marked the career politician, but his brown eyes danced with genuine delight.

“Thank you for seeing us, ambassador,” Rachel said.

“It’s Jeb,” he insisted. “I’m glad that you’re here, although I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Cutler turned and gestured to a wiry little man in a neatly pressed suit who stood behind a table dominating the room. Ethan looked on as Rachel was introduced to Shiloh Rok, a representative from Israel’s Foreign Ministry.

“Welcome, Miss Morgan,” Rok murmured, then glanced over Rachel’s shoulder at Ethan. “I believed that you were traveling alone.”

“This is Ethan Warner,” Rachel said. “He has come to help me here in Israel.”

Cutler’s handshake was firm and dry, but Ethan saw an undercurrent of unease rippling like a cloud shadow behind Rok’s eyes as he watched them. The Israeli reminded him of a bird of prey, hawkish and alert.

“Come,” Cutler said, “let me pour you a drink. Iced tea? Cola? We’ve much to discuss.”

Rachel wasted no time, speaking as soon as Cutler had handed her a glistening glass of Coke and ice as they sat down around the table.

“Has there been any word at all from Lucy?”

“Alas, no,” the ambassador admitted as he handed Ethan a glass and sat down. “We have contacts across the government and security services working on this but so far there hasn’t been a lead.”

Rachel’s face fell, and Ethan realized that she had placed too much hope in this meeting with the ambassador. Cutler caught the look on her face and leaned forward in his chair.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find your daughter no matter how difficult it might be. I apologize for Israel’s inability to act more decisively at this time.”

“The Knesset dare not take the chance of broadcasting your daughter’s disappearance for fear of upsetting the delicate balance achieved with the Palestinians in the current peace negotiations,” Rok said. “I know how much this must distress you.”

“Media attention could increase our chances of finding Lucy,” Ethan pointed out, “either through word of mouth, the bait of a ransom, or even terrorist abductors seeking media sympathy by releasing Lucy.”

Rok shook his head. “That is not a chance that I would like to take with my family, Mr. Warner.”

“And if Lucy’s abductors are trying to influence the peace process?” Ethan challenged. “If you ignore them, and the process goes ahead, they’ll have no further use for her.”

“Again,” Rok said, “an assumption, not an analysis, Mr. Warner.”

“We don’t have the time for indecision or analysis,” Rachel snapped. “Right now we don’t even know if Lucy’s still alive.”

“She is alive,” Cutler said. “This was an organized abduction. In Israel there is always a motive, always a statement to be made.”

Ethan saw Rachel take a breath, controlling herself.

“I understand that it’s quite unusual for there to be no word from abductors regarding a Western captive,” she said.

“It’s downright unlikely,” Ethan chipped in. “Abductions achieve nothing if there’s no political or financial gain.”

Cutler took a thoughtful sip of his drink before replying.

“It’s a problem, all right, but insurgent groups have no illusions as to the ability of Israel’s intelligence services and special forces to liberate Lucy if she is found. They may be laying low.”

“I agree that Israel’s security forces are capable,” Ethan said, “but Israel is a large country and much of it remains sparsely populated. There are thousands of square kilometers of terrain and Lucy could be concealed anywhere out there in the deserts.”

“We do not have the manpower to search for her there,” Rok said.

“What about the excavation site Lucy was working on? That could harbor some clues. Could we visit it?” Ethan suggested.

Cutler was about to answer, but a gruff reply came from behind them.

“That will not be possible.”

Ethan turned in his seat to see a man with severely cropped brown hair, dressed in khaki combat fatigues and a dark-blue beret. Rok stood as the soldier strode into the room and stopped at the opposite end of the table.

“This is Spencer Malik, head of security at Munitions for Advanced Combat Environments—MACE. He is responsible for security in the area where Lucy disappeared.”

Malik nodded curtly but remained silent. Ethan glanced at Malik’s stubbled jaw and defensively folded arms. He looked more like a mercenary than a trained soldier.

“Why can’t we go to Lucy’s dig site?” Ethan asked.

Malik met Ethan’s gaze, the rest of his body remaining as still as though carved from rock.

“The Israeli Air Force is conducting low-level flight training operations from Ramon Air Base in the Negev Desert. Dr. Morgan’s excavation site is within the training area near Masada, and off-limits to civilians.”

“I thought that the area around Masada was used as a tourist destination?”

Malik nodded. “The Masada complex lies outside of the practice range, which is concentrated in the canyons to the west, but sometimes the aircraft have to fly overhead at low level.”

“Lucy found something before she disappeared,” Ethan pressed. “It could be relevant to the reason why she was abducted.”

Malik shook his head.

“Not until the exercise is over in three weeks’ time.”

“The area could have been pulverized by Israeli bombs by then,” Ethan pointed out.

“Such is the price,” Malik replied, “of living and working in a country oppressed by terrorism. We cannot delay our work over one missing foreigner who knew damned well that she shouldn’t have been there.”

“What about Gaza?” Ethan insisted. “I have friends there. If you can arrange visas, then we could travel into the Strip and ask around for—”

“That also will not be possible,” Malik cut in with an insincere smile. “Gaza is too dangerous and it would not be politically prudent for us to request a search within the territory.”

Ethan turned to look at Rok, who shook his head.

“We can’t allow you access to the Gazan territories without risking further abductions or political repercussions from their leadership. I’m sorry we can’t help you further.”

Ethan felt a lance of anger pierce his guts.

“You’re not helping, you’re hindering. Lucy’s been missing for over forty-eight hours and we’re running out of time for political niceties. If you’re right and her abductors are trying to affect the peace process, then Lucy only has twenty-four hours to live. Are you willing to act or not?”

The air in the room suddenly felt thick and heavy. Rok set his glass down and stood up, peering at Rachel over the bridge of his nose.

“We will continue to try to resolve this tragedy, but I must ask that for security’s sake you do not inform the media of your daughter’s disappearance.”

Rachel appealed quickly to Ambassador Cutler as Shiloh Rok turned and left the room.

“If anything is heard, you will let me know as soon as possible?”

“Of course,” Cutler promised.

Ethan watched as two young men in smart suits with cropped hair and a military bearing appeared in the doorway and Spencer Malik gestured to them.

“Agents Cooper and Flint here will act as your escort. Obey them at all times. They are here to protect you.”

With that, Malik turned and left the room.

“Brilliant work,” Rachel snapped at Ethan.

“We’re wasting our time,” Ethan said, gesturing to where Rok had been sitting. “He was never going to help us.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“Been here before.”

“And you think that they’re conspiring to ensure that I never find my daughter?”

Ambassador Cutler spoke quietly. “They’re not conspiring. I suspect that they genuinely fear any further abductions from within their borders, or the media uncovering the story and upsetting the peace process with baseless conjecture or accusations.”

Rachel turned to Ethan with a venomous look in her eyes. “So, what’s your next genius move?”

Ethan ignored her sarcasm and thought for a moment.

“We talk to people who knew what Lucy was doing out in the desert, starting with Hans Karowitz. The Negev isn’t entirely devoid of life and Spencer Malik said that Lucy’s dig site was near Masada. If we’re lucky, Karowitz may know something that Shiloh Rok doesn’t.”

Spencer Malik walked outside the embassy and lit a cigarette, watching as a stocky Arab man emerged from a car nearby and approached. The index finger of his left hand was missing, an injury Malik had once been told he’d suffered in the Balkans at the hands of Chechen rebels years before. Now, he wore black leather gloves to conceal the disfigurement.

“I have work for you, Rafael,” Malik said as he walked down the steps.

“Something else that you can’t handle?” Rafael murmured in a soft voice touched with an Arabic lilt.

“Find out what you can about an Ethan Warner,” Malik said, ignoring the jibe. “The name seems familiar to me. Get this guy’s life history as soon as possible and let me know what you find.”

“It shall be done,” Rafael said, glancing at the building behind them. “But why would you be concerned with an American? Byron Stone will consider it a waste of resources and …”

Malik looked down at the Arab as they reached a large black SUV parked nearby, puffing his chest out as he spoke. “Byron Stone pays you to do what
I
damn well tell you to do. I just saw Ethan Warner insult the Foreign Ministry’s representative. If he’s willing to do that, then he’s likely to cause more trouble. Get on it.”

HEBREW UNIVERSITY OF JERUSALEM
GIVAT RAM CAMPUS

T
he Hebrew University of Jerusalem lay outside the Old City near the district of Rechavia, perched atop Mount Scopus. Ethan guided Rachel around the immense campus using a hastily scribbled set of directions, their MACE escort following, and after retracing his steps more than once finally located the Berman Building.

The Natural History Collections and Institute of Archaeology was enveloped in a hushed atmosphere as Ethan led Rachel through a maze of corridors, Cooper and Flint following in ominously silent formation until they reached a door bearing a plaque with the name
Doctor Hans Karowitz
etched into the surface. The door was half-open, the room apparently empty.

“He was Lucy’s mentor, according to her e-mails,” Rachel said, peering into the room.

Ethan knocked gently on the door, but there was no response. He walked inside, Rachel and their agents following behind.

The office was like a miniature lecture hall, complete with a lectern. Chairs were stacked neatly to one side beneath broad windows overlooking a sculptured garden. The room was silent, dust motes winking in the musty air as they floated between two rows of large display cases that dominated the rear of the office.