The Solomon Scroll

CHAPTER 19

Addison Rhoades woke feeling as if someone had hit him in the head with an axe. His mouth tasted like camel dung and sand. His tongue was swollen. He could smell his breath, foul and unpleasant. He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. He used the toilet and turned on the shower. One of the advantages to living in Al-Bayati's villa was hot water, even if the pressure left something to be desired.

His career at MI6 had ended under a cloud. He'd been in Iraq. Two prisoners had died while he was interrogating them. Whitehall had adopted Washington's new policy of politically correct treatment of enemies. Rhoades had an IQ approaching genius level. It didn't take a high IQ to see that after the incident in Iraq his days in the service were numbered.

American dollars had poured into Iraq by the planeload after Hussein was defeated. Washington threw money at the corporations, security firms and corrupt Iraqis who were supposed to turn the country into an American extension of the oil industry. Accurate accounting was almost nonexistent. Rhoades had arranged for several million dollars to be diverted to an account in the Cayman Islands, in anticipation of the day he'd be terminated.

It had been a smart move. Rhoades had hidden embarrassing proof about what was going on in Iraq and threatened to release it publicly. A deal had been struck. The hypocrites who ran MI6 waived prosecution and any attempts to recover the money. In return he'd resigned and promised not to release his information.

For the good of the service, they'd said.

As he walked out the door of MI6 headquarters for the last time, he made a decision. If he couldn't work for them, he would work against them. His years in the Middle East had left him with a wide base of contacts. Within a year he was well-established as a man who could be relied on to persuade someone of what was in their best interests and remove them as a problem if they could not be convinced. Then he and Al-Bayati had found each other. That had been three years before.

Now warning bells were sounding in his mind. Rhoades had a well-developed ability to see trouble coming before others knew it. It had gotten him out of situations that would have ended badly for most men.

He stood under the shower for a long time, his mind clearing under the flowing water. The night before had been unusually disturbing. Al-Bayati's behavior was becoming more erratic, more extreme. Standing under the water, Rhoades faced the thought that had been nagging him for months.

He's insane. He really is.

Addison Rhoades was under no illusions about his own perverted morality, but Al-Bayati had gone beyond what even he could tolerate. Nazar's brutal and sexually sadistic nature was sliding out of control. That was bad enough. What had convinced him was when Al-Bayati had told him the real reason he wanted to find the tomb and Solomon.

It wasn't just the money, the enormous treasure that was supposed to be buried with the king. It wasn't even the potential profit in exploiting an explosive political situation where all the major players in the Middle East had a stake in the outcome. It was because of something rumored to have been buried with Solomon.

A ring. More specifically, a magic ring, bearing the Seal of Solomon.

In Jewish, Islamic and Western occultism, Solomon's ring had magical powers for good and evil. Legend held that Solomon could bring the desert wind with the ring. He could call upon the jinni, the dark spirits of the desert. He could speak with animals.

Al-Bayati wanted the power he thought that ring would bring him.

Working for a madman who sought to retrieve a magical ring was not Rhoades' cup of tea. It was time to think about finding new employment. He'd miss the drugs but he'd been there before. A week or two of unpleasantness and he would be past it. Besides, there were other drugs to ease the transition. In the meantime, he needed to make sure Al-Bayati had no reason to suspect his loyalty. If Nazar became suspicious, the results would be most unpleasant.

Rhoades turned off the water, stepped out of the shower stall and began to dry off. He thought about the scroll. Even though he was certain that Solomon's ring was a myth, the treasure of the Jewish Temple was not.

The ancient Hebrews, like many other peoples of the time, believed that God was pleased and honored by the gleam of gold. The Temple had been filled with treasures made from the precious metal, a horde unlike anything else in history.

Religion had changed since the destruction of the Temple. One thing that had stayed the same was the worship of gold. It was as strong as ever. Rhoades didn't believe in magic or religion but he believed in gold. As long as Al-Bayati was looking for the hidden tomb, he would bide his time. Why not let him do the work, using his network of spies? If anyone could find it, it would be Nazar, Rhoades was certain. When the tomb was discovered he'd make his move.

He finished drying his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. Even with the dark bags under his eyes he thought he was still an attractive man, though some would say the mirror revealed his dissolution. There seemed to be more lines today than usual. His eyes were bloodshot, that was to be expected. It was a small price to pay for pleasure.

The gold in that tomb would buy anything he wanted for the rest of his life. Women, boys, a villa in the islands, youth. Anything he wanted.

He smiled at his reflection.

Rhoades dressed and went down the main staircase to the grand entrance of Al-Bayati's villa. He put on sunglasses and walked back to the patio where Al-Bayati lay by the pool.

It was midmorning. The full strength of the sun had not made itself felt. Even so Rhoades felt sweat break out on his forehead. Al-Bayati lay on his lounge chair covered with glistening oil, like a beached, hairy creature from some dark sea.

"What is it?" he said.

"I found out who came after Yusuf."

"Go on."

"I don't know who was in the alley. Witnesses said there were three men involved. One of them was in the club, along with the woman."

"Get to the point."

Rhoades resisted a sudden urge to reach into his pocket for the switchblade he always carried and cut the disrespectful bastard's throat from ear to ear. He filed the thought away for another time.

"They were Americans."

Al-Bayati sat up. "Americans? Who? CIA?"

"No, another group, much smaller. Another intelligence unit, not well publicized. I identified the woman from a picture taken inside the club."

Al-Bayati was many things but he was far from stupid. "They're after information about the scrolls," he said.

"It would appear so. When I looked at the video from the club, I knew I'd seen her somewhere. She was leaving the British Museum as I was going in."

"Then they know what is on the second scroll as well."

"That would be a logical assumption."

Rhoades could see Al-Bayati's mind working out what he was going to do.

"Where do these people work?"

"They seem to have a special relationship with the American president. The group is run by a woman."

Al-Bayati made a sound of contempt.

Rhoades ignored it. "They have a secure compound outside of Washington, across the river in Virginia."

"Vulnerable?"

Rhoades could see where this was going. "No."

"They could be a real problem for us. I want you to eliminate them."

"That isn't a good idea," Rhoades said, "even if it were possible. The Americans would never stop until they found out who was responsible. Then they would eliminate the threat."

"They won't find out if you do your job properly."

"You pay me to handle things for you. You need to trust me on this. It might be possible to eliminate one or two of them if they were outside the compound. A few deaths would send an appropriate message and it would divert their attention from the scrolls. They'll be busy running around trying to figure out who did it. It would give us time to recover the treasure."

"The ring," Al-Bayati said. "With the ring no one can stand against me. All right, we'll try it your way. Kill as many of them as you can."

Madness, Rhoades thought.