F Paul Wilson - Novel 03 (21 page)

           
 
True enough. Carrie should have been satisfied
that the Virgin was safe after watching Kaplan's staff seal her into that
excelsior-filled shipping crate, but she couldn't let her go. Not yet. She'd
insisted on accompanying the crate to
Haifa
. There'd been this overpowering urge to see
her off, like a child coming to the docks to wish a beloved parent bon voyage.

           
 
And now she was glad she'd come.

           
 
"That's
our
crate. Why did he have to pick ours?"

           
 
"Kaplan warned us that they do spot
checks. Don't worry. She'll pass. Just stay calm."

           
 
Carrie held her breath as the inspector lifted
the crate top and pushed the excelsior aside. He unfolded the blankets and she
saw him freeze for a moment as he stared at the Virgin's face. She watched him
lean closer, staring.
Please don't touch
her. PLEASE don't!

           
 
The inspector looked up from the crate and
scanned the area. He had close-cropped gray hair, wore aviator sunglasses, and
carried himself like an ex-military man. When he spotted Dan and Carrie, he
tucked his clipboard under his arm and approached them.

           
Beside her, Carrie heard Dan mutter
a soft, "Uh-oh." The inspector thrust his hand at Dan. "Good
day. My name is Sidel. You are the owner of that sculpture, I believe?"

           
"Yes," Carrie said. She
noticed that he didn't offer to shake hands with her. "We just acquired
it." She emphasized the first word.

           
 
"It's most unusual for people to come
down to the docks to see off a shipment, but in your case I can understand why.
What an extraordinary piece. Who's the artist, if I may ask?"

           
 
"Frankly, I don't know," Dan said.
"We saw it and just had to have it."

           
 
"I can understand," Sidel said,
nodding. "I do a little toying with modeling clay myself, so I can
appreciate the fantastic detail of this work. You're shipping it to
Ireland
?"

           
 
Carrie felt her heart begin to thump. Why all
these questions?

           
 
But Dan was cool. "The name's
Fitzpatrick, after all."

           
 
"Enjoy it," Sidel said, turning
away. "I envy you." Sidel returned to the crate, stared at the Virgin
a moment longer, then shook himself and covered her again. Carrie's heart rate
began to slow as the crate top was nailed back into place. She sagged against
Dan.

           
 
"Oh, Lord. That was close. For one very
long minute there I thought . . ."

           
 
"You and me both," Dan said.
"All right. We've seen her off. Time to go."

           
 
Reluctantly Carrie had to agree. They'd
discussed their options as they'd followed the Kaplan Gallery truck to
Haifa
. Dan saw two courses: stay in
Israel
a while longer, then head home, or head
directly home tonight. He favored the latter.

           
 
Carrie agreed with getting out of
Israel
as soon as possible. Just as she had at the
Resting
Place
, she felt an urge to keep moving. But she preferred a third route: fly
to Ireland and meet the
Greenbriar
in
Cork, make sure the Virgin was transferred properly, then fly back to New York
and wait for her there.

           
 
They'd argued but eventually Carrie had won,
as she'd known she would. From the outset she hadn't the slightest intention of
doing it any other way but hers.

           
 
She called and learned that there was an El Al
flight to
London
tonight. If they hurried, they could make
it. From there it was practically a shuttle flight to
Shannon
.

           
 
They wheeled into
Ben
Gurion
Airport
with time to spare. But they received a
shock when they turned in the Explorer at the Eldan desk.

           
 
"Ferris!" said the thin, mustached
man behind the counter. "Boy, have you caused a stir."

           
 
Carrie saw Dan go pale and felt her own heart
kick up its tempo again.

           
 
"Really?" Dan said. "What's the
problem? Look, I know we rented the car in
Jerusalem
but I thought we could return it anywhere
we—"

           
 
"Oh, that's not the problem," he
said. "No drop-off fee if you turn it in here. But somebody at the
Jerusalem
desk has been burning up the wires looking
for you two. Something about a Shin Bet fellow who wants to talk to you."

           
 
"Shin Bet?" Carrie said.

           
 
"Right. Domestic Intelligence. Somewhat
akin to your FBI, I believe. But don't worry. You're not in any trouble. Just
wants to ask you some questions."

           
 
"Well, uh, we'll be glad to cooperate in
any way we can," Dan said. "Just, uh, have us paged. We'll be around
for a while."

           
 
His grip was tight on her arm as he led her
toward the El Al ticket counters. Her mouth felt dry. Were they in trouble?

           
 
"Dan, what's the matter? Why would this
Shin Bet—?"

           
 
His voice was tight. "Somebody's on to
us. How long before we leave?"

           
 
Carrie glanced at her watch. "A little
less than an hour."

           
 
"Damn!" He stopped. "Look.
Before we buy our tickets and check our bags, let's get changed."

           
 
"Why? What for?"

           
 
"It might give us an edge to be in
uniform."

           
Jerusalem

           
 
Kesev had come to the end of his patience. He
was about ready to explode with frustration and start breaking some Hilton
property when he saw someone gesturing to him from the Eldan desk.

           
Chaya had gone home. Sharon, a
brittle-looking peroxide blonde, had replaced her. She was waving a bony arm
over her head.

           
 
"We found them!" she said, grinning
as he approached.

           
 
Kesev's heart leapt. He wanted to take her in
his arms and dance her around the lobby. Perhaps God had not deserted him after
all. Perhaps this was just a warning.

           
 
"When? Where?"

           
 
"They turned their rental into one of our
Tel Aviv locations just a few moments ago."

           
 
"Which one?"

           
 
"Ben Gurion."

           
 
Kesev went cold. The airport! Merciful God,
they're leaving the country!

           
 
He wheeled and ran for the door.

           
 
"Where are you going?"
Sharon
called out behind him. "You can call
from here. They said they'd be there awhile and you could page them!"

           
 
Page
them?
Kesev groaned as the meaning of her words sank in. The Ben Gurion
desk must have blabbered that someone was looking for them. They'd probably be
long gone by the time he got there.

           
Ben
Gurion
Airport

           
 
Kesev was sure he made the fifty kilometers to
Ben Gurion in record time. For once luck was on his side. The airport was
designated Tel Aviv but actually it was in Lod, just east of the city. If he'd
had to fight city traffic, he'd still be in his car. But he wasn't looking for
a racing medal. He wanted the Ferrises. He flashed his ID at the El Al ticket
desk and had them run a computer search for a couple by that name. They found a
single. Carolyn Ferris. On a one-way to Heathrow. Seat 12C, non-smoking.
Boarding now. Gate 17.

           
 
A single. He was looking for a couple. But
this Carolyn was the only Ferris he had. And if he didn't check her out right
now, she'd be gone. Kesev ran for Gate 17.

           
 
He wasn't armed so he had no problem with the
metal detectors and his Shin Bet ID got him to the boarding area without a
ticket. But along the way he picked up a friend: Sergeant Yussl Kuttner of
airport security.

           
 
The last thing Kesev wanted at this point was
someone looking over his shoulder, but he had no choice. Anything that deviated
from normal airport routine was Kuttner's business, and allowing an unticketed
man onto an El Al plane, even if he was Shin Bet, was certainly not routine.
Kuttner was armed and he wasn't letting Kesev out of his sight.

           
 
"Just what is this passenger suspected
of, Mr. Kesev?" Kuttner said, puffing as he trotted beside Kesev.

           
 
"The home office didn't have time to fill
me in on all the details," Kesev said, improvising. "All I know is
that an archeological artifact has been stolen and that the thieves will be
trying to smuggle it out of the country."

           
 
"And Shin Bet believes this passenger in
twelve C is involved?"

           
 
"We don't know. We do know one of the
suspects is named Ferris. That's why I need to speak to her. You really don't
have to bother yourself."

           
 
"Quite all right. Besides, if you want to
remove her from the plane, you'll need me."

           
Kesev clenched his jaws. This was
getting stickier and stickier. If only he'd had more time to set this up.

           
 
Kuttner led him down the boarding ramp to the
loaded plane and explained the situation to the stewardesses while Kesev moved
down the aisle, looking for row 12.

           
 
He froze, staring. The right half of row 12
held only one passenger. Seats A and B were empty. Seat C was occupied by a
nun. A young, pretty nun. Almost too pretty to be a nun. That gave him heart.

           
 
"Excuse me, Sister," he said,
leaning forward. "Is your name Ferris?"

           
 
"Why, yes," she said, smiling. She
had a wonderful smile. And such guileless blue eyes. "Sister Carolyn
Ferris. Is something wrong?"

           
 
What to say? There was no time to ease into
this, so he might as well throw it in her face and see how she reacts.

           
 
He flashed his Shin Bet ID and kept his voice
low. "You're wanted for questioning in regard to the theft of an
archeological treasure that belongs to the Israeli government."

           
 
She reacted with a dumbfounded expression.

           
 
"What? Are you mad? Just what sort of
treasure am I supposed to have stolen?"

           
 
"You know exactly what it is, Sister. It
doesn't belong to you. Please give it back."