Solomon's Gold

CHAPTER 25

Dalir Rashidi stood at the balcony windows of his office, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out at Jordan's capital city of Amann. Outside the embassy compound, the flag of the Islamic Republic of Iran hung limp in the morning heat. A haze of gray smog cast a choking pall over the endless stream of cars crawling by outside.

Rashidi was tall, well-built. He'd dressed as usual in a black suit, with a white shirt and no tie. He was forty-seven years old, a product of the theocratic educational system installed after the revolution to replace the secular institutions that had existed under the Shah. Rashidi was a true believer in the destiny of Iran. Everyone who worked for VAJA had to be.

A large official portrait of an unsmiling Ayatollah Ruholla Khomeni hung on the wall of the office. Rashidi had seen the Supreme Leader several times before his death, but could not recall ever seeing him smile.

The eyes of the portrait seemed to bore into Rashidi's back. Rashidi's official title was cultural attaché, but he was VAJA's principal agent in Jordan, which meant he had to keep a close eye on Israel. At the moment he was considering what to say to the man sitting behind him in a brown leather armchair, sipping from a glass of orange juice.

General Abbas Javadi had flown in from Tehran after Dalir briefed him on events in the Negev.

"Well, Rashidi? I wanted to talk with you face-to-face. What do you have to say?"

Rashidi turned away from the windows to face him. He wasn't about to let this hatchet man push him around. He'd paid his dues in the Revolutionary Guard and had powerful political protection.

"You will recall that the decision to intervene before the gold was found was made against my advice," Rashidi said. "The Americans were more resourceful than we'd thought."

"We can find men to replace those who were killed, but the loss of the woman is more significant. She was part of an important operation in the land of the Great Satan."

"What operation?"

"That is no concern of yours," Javadi said. "What have you done to correct your mistake?"

Rashidi heard the words and wanted to tell this officious bureaucrat what he could do with his questions. What did he know of the difficulties one encountered in the field? He was a political general, not a true soldier. Rashidi chose not to answer Javadi directly.

"The Jews took the Americans to Ein Gedi. They are in a compound outside of the resort."

"And the gold?"

"We have the scroll," Rashidi said. "We know as much as they do. I have a team searching for the next marker as we speak. It has not yet been found. There are many caves in the mountains near Ein Gedi, but most of them have already been explored. Those that are left are high up and reached only with great difficulty."

"You are certain that Ein Gedi is where we should be looking?"

"The entire search is what the Americans would call a crapshoot. Ein Gedi seems to be the best choice, based on the marks that were found at Jabal Ideid."

Rashidi used the Islamic name for Mount Karkom.

"Seems to be?" Javadi said.

Rashidi shrugged. "Like I said, a crapshoot. I have to go on what I am told the marks mean."

"What if the marks are being misinterpreted?"

Rashidi decided to be conciliatory. "General, we can only go on what we know. We continue to study the scroll. Sooner or later, we will find our way to this treasure."

"And the Americans?"

"What would you have me do?"

"Eliminate them. This time, don't fail to do so."

Javadi hauled his bulk out of the chair.

"You have a good reputation, Rashidi. It's the only reason you have not been recalled to Tehran. The Supreme Leader himself is following your progress. Do not disappoint him."

After his tormentor had left, Rashidi opened the windows on his balcony. Better the smell of exhaust fumes than Javadi's sweat and cologne. He thought about the conversation.

Why had Javadi been concerned about the woman's death? She was only a woman, after all. She'd met a martyr's end, which was the best she could ever have expected. Javadi was a pompous fool. Mentioning a secret operation was probably a way for the man to puff himself up, to make himself look important. Well, it wasn't his concern. The Americans and finding the gold were his concerns, not the woman.

The Americans were untouchable while they were in the Israeli compound. Or were they?

Rashidi thought about it. The compound was on the edge of the desert, away from nearby buildings and houses. As far as he knew, there were only two Israeli agents on the site. It would be easy enough to send another team. Perhaps the Americans were not as safe as they thought.

They had proved to be dangerous opponents, worthy of grudging respect.

This time, his team would be prepared.