Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

THIRTEEN

Tel Aviv

“It should be right around the next corner to the left,” Carrie said, glancing between the street signs and the map on her lap.

“I sure as hell hope so,” Dan muttered from the front seat.

Carrie reached forward and gave his shoulder a gentle rub.

Poor Dan. Not a happy camper at the moment. He’d complained most of the trip that her sitting in the back made him feel like a chauffeur. Carrie was sorry about that, but with the way the Explorer had bounced around the hills, she’d been afraid the Virgin would be harmed. She’d folded down part of the rear seat and pulled the Virgin’s blanket-swathed form beside her to steady and protect it.

But even after they hit paved road she’d stayed here, her fingers gripping one of the cords that bound the blankets. Carrie felt good sitting close to the Virgin. Despite the danger in smuggling her out of the country—Carrie had no idea how the Israeli government felt about smuggling, but she was sure it could cost Dan and her years in jail if they were caught—she felt strangely calm. At peace.

“Damn this traffic!”

Dan was anything but at peace. They’d got lost twice already, and now they were sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic that would give Manhattan’s cross-town crawl a run for its money, all of which might have been bearable if the air conditioner had been working. Tel Aviv in the summer...almost as hot as the desert they’d left this morning, but suffocatingly humid thanks to the Mediterranean, only blocks away.

“At last!” Dan said as he turned off Ibn Givrol in the northern end of the city.

Carrie saw it too: The Kaplan Gallery. Gold letters on black marble over two large windows filled with paintings and sculpture. A spasm of anxiety tightened her fingers around the cord. She prayed Bernard Kaplan would help them. If not, where else could they go?

Dan had called Kaplan from Jerusalem and asked if he could arrange a shipment for them similar to the one he’d arranged for Harold Gold. Dan said Kaplan had been non-committal on the phone but gave them directions—not very good directions—to his gallery.

Dan double-parked and turned to her.

“Stay with the car. I’ll leave the engine running and go inside. Hope this isn’t a wasted trip.”

Carrie nodded and watched him disappear through the gallery doors. She sat in the heat and fumes, ignoring the glares of annoyed drivers as they inched around the Explorer. As long as they weren’t police...

Dan seemed to take forever inside. Finally, when she was almost ready to run in and see what was taking him so long, he emerged with a man in a gray business suit—tall, tanned, silver hair slicked straight back.

Dan introduced him as Bernard Kaplan. He said Mr. Kaplan had called Harold in the interim and Harold had vouched for them.

“He wants to get a look at the size of our, uh, sculpture.”

“Ah, yes,” Kaplan said with a British accent—or was it Australian?—and flashed a dazzling set of caps as he looked at the bundle. “About life-sized, as you said. I’ll have a couple of my men bring it in and we’ll—”

“That’s okay,” Carrie said quickly. “We’ll bring it in ourselves.”

Kaplan glanced at Dan who nodded and said, “It could be fragile and this way we’ll take full responsibility for any damage.”

Kaplan shrugged. “Right. Very well, then. I’ll have one of my men find a parking spot for your car.”

With Carrie taking the shoulders and Dan the legs, they carried the bundled Virgin the length of the gallery to the shipping area at the rear where they placed her on a bench.

Before she could stop him, Kaplan had a knife out and was cutting the cords.

“What are you doing?” Carrie said.

“Going to take a look at this sculpture of yours.”

“Must you?”

“Of course. How else can I list it for the manifest?”

She watched anxiously as Kaplan cut the rest of the cords and unwrapped the blankets. He gave a low whistle when he saw the Virgin’s face. His diction seemed to regress.

“Well, now, that’s bloody somethin’, in’it?”

He leaned closer and touched the Virgin’s face, running the tip of his index finger over her cheek. Carrie wanted to grab his wrist and yank him away, but restrained herself.

A few more indignities, Mother Mary, then you’ll be on your way to safety.

“What is this?” Kaplan said. “Some sort of wax? I’ve never seen anything like it. The detail is incredible. Where’d you get it?”

Dan glanced at Carrie before he spoke. On the trip from the desert they’d agreed that rather than invent a series of lies, the best course was to give no answers at all.

“We’d prefer to keep our source a secret,” Dan said.

Kaplan nodded and straightened. Carrie sighed with relief as he folded the blankets back over the Virgin.

“Very well. But I see no problem shipping this out. We’ll simply list it as a wax sculpture—a piece of contemporary art.”

An idea flashed in Carrie’s mind. She turned to Dan. “Why can’t we do that ourselves? Ship it home on the plane with us?”

“You could do that,” Kaplan said. “You wouldn’t need me for that. But remember, anything going aboard an El Al flight gets a going over like no other place in the world. Direct inspection, dogs, metal scanners, x-rays—”

“Never mind,” Carrie said quickly as she imagined the Virgin’s skeleton lighting up on an inspector’s fluoroscopic scanner. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Very well. I can include it with a consignment of other crates I’ve scheduled for shipment, and have it on a freighter out of Haifa tonight.”

“Wonderful! When will it get to New York?”

“It’s not going to New York,” Kaplan said. “At least not on this freighter. The Greenbriar will take your shipment to Cork Harbor. After that, we’ll have to make other arrangements for the second leg.”

“Can’t we get a non-stop?”

Kaplan’s smile was tolerant. “No, love. We don’t want a direct route. Why draw a line straight to your door? Much safer to break up the trip. We ship your crate to a fictitious name in Cork where one of my associates picks it up, holds it awhile, then puts it on another ship to New York. Bloody near impossible to trace.”

Carrie was uncomfortable with the thought of the Virgin lying in a moldy warehouse in Ireland, but if this sort of route would safeguard her secret...

“How do we pay you?”

“Cash, preferably.”

She looked at Dan. Cash? Who had cash? All she had was the AmEx card Brad had given her.

“Do you take plastic?”

Kaplan sighed. “I suppose we can work something out.”

‡

Jerusalem

Kesev had given up sitting and waiting. Now he was pacing and waiting. He’d explored every nook and cranny of the lobby, browsed all the shops until he thought he’d explode with frustration. Where were these people, these Ferrises? They had to turn in their rental sooner or later.

Didn’t they?

An awful thought struck him. He ran to the Eldan counter. Chaya was still there. She’d just finished with a customer when Kesev arrived.

“How many offices—rental centers—do you have?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Let’s see... a couple in Tel Aviv, a couple in Haifa, one at Ben Gurion—”

This was worse than he thought. “Can these people, the Ferrises, turn their car in at any of them?”

“It’s not a practice we encourage. In fact, there’s a drop-off fee that—”

Kesev tried to keep from shouting. “Can they or can’t they? A simple yes or no will do.”

“Yes.”

I am cursed by God, he thought. I have always been cursed.

He wanted to scream, but that would solve nothing.

“I want you to call every Eldan agency in the country.”

“But sir—”

“Every one of them! It won’t take you long. See if the Ferris car has been turned in at any of them. If not, give them this very simple message: The Ferrises rented their car here and you wish to be notified immediately if they turn in their car anywhere else. Immediately. Is that clear? Is that simple enough?”

She nodded, cowed by his ferocity.

“Good. Then get to it.”

He turned and stalked away from the counter to continue his pacing. And as he paced he was haunted with the possibility that the Ferris couple might have had nothing at all to do with the disappearance of the Mother.

‡

Haifa

Haifa had its beauties and Carrie wished she could spend some time here seeing the sights. Behind them rose Mount Carmel, high, green and beautiful; somewhere on its slopes, near the Stella Maris lighthouse, sat the Mount Carmel monastery, home of the Carmelite order; and in a grotto on the monastery grounds stood the cedar-and-porcelain statue of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Carrie would dearly love to climb the mountain to see it.

But she had to be all business now as she and Dan stood in the monolithic shadow of the huge Dagon grain silo and watched the inspector check off the crates on the manifest from the Kaplan Gallery. Her American Express account now carried the purchase price of a piece of “modern sculpture” from the Kaplan Gallery. Carrie had nothing tangible to show for that charge, but the Virgin had been packed up and placed on the gallery’s shipping manifest. Carrie scanned the ships anchored in the harbor but couldn’t make out their names in the hazy air. One of them was the Greenbriar which would unknowingly start the Virgin on the first leg of her long journey to a new home. Beyond the long breakwater stretched the azure expanse of the Mediterranean, bluer than she’d ever imagined a sea could be.

The creak of nails snapped her attention back to the docks. The inspector was using a pry bar to open one of the crates. She looked more closely.

Good God, it was the Virgin’s crate!

She stepped forward but Dan grabbed her arm.

“Easy, Carrie,” he whispered. “I told you we shouldn’t have come.”

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.”

Sidel nodded. “I can understand. 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. 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.

She’d 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 El Dan 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. 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 onto 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.

Kesev improvised. “The home office didn’t have time to fill me in on all the details. 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 12C 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? He had 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.”

“Does it belong to you?”

The question took Kesev by surprise. And she was staring at him, her narrowed eyes boring into his, as if seeing something there.

“No...no...it belongs to—”

“Who are you?” she said.

“I told you. Kesev, with—”

“No. That’s not true.” Her eyes widened now, as if she were suddenly afraid of him. “You’re not who you say you are. You’re someone else. Who are you—really?”

Now it was Kesev’s turn to be dumbfounded. How did she know? How could she know?

Reflexively he backed away from her. Who was this woman?

“Excuse me, Sister,” said another voice. “Is this man bothering you?”

Kesev looked up to see a tall priest rising from an aisle seat a few rows back, glaring down at him as he approached.

“The poor man seems deranged,” Sister Carolyn said.

The priest reached above the nun’s seat and pressed the call button for the stewardess. “I’ll have him removed.”

Kesev backed away. “Sorry. My mistake.”

The last thing he wanted was a scene. He had no official capacity here and no logical reason he could give his superiors for pulling this woman off the plane.

Besides, he was looking for a man and a woman, not a nun. Especially not that nun. Something about her, something ethereal...the way she’d looked at him...looked through him. She’d looked at him and she knew. She knew!

He staggered forward through a cloud of confusion. What was happening? Everything had been fine until that damn SCUD had crashed near the Resting Place. Since then it had been one thing after another, chipping at the foundations of his carefully reconstructed life, until today’s cataclysm.

Kuttner looked at him questioningly as he reached the front of the cabin.

“Not her,” Kesev said. “But I want to check the cargo hold.”

The head stewardess groaned and Kuttner said, “I don’t know about that.”

“It will only take a minute or two. The object in question is at least a meter and a half in length. It can’t be in a suitcase. I just want to check out the larger parcels.”

Kuttner shrugged resignedly. “All right. But let’s get to it.”

‡

Dan quietly slipped into 12A. His boarding pass had him in 15D—they’d decided it was best not to sit together—but Carrie had this half of row 12 to herself so he joined her. But not too close.

When no none was looking he reached across the empty seat and grabbed her hand. It was cold, sweaty, trembling.

“You were great,” he whispered.

She’d been more than great, she’d been wonderful. When he’d seen that little bearded rooster of a Shin Bet man stalk down the aisle, he’d prayed for strength in the imminent confrontation. But he’d stopped at Carrie’s seat, not Dan’s. And then Dan had cursed himself for not realizing that their pursuer would be looking for someone named Ferris. But Carrie had stood up to that Shin Bet man, kept her cool, and faced him down. Dan had only stepped in to add the coup de grace.

“I don’t feel great. I feel sick.”

“What did you say to him at the end?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he hadn’t seemed too sure of himself in the first place, but—”

Carrie’s smile was wan but real. “We can thank your idea of getting into uniform for that.”

“Sure, but you said something and all the color went out of him.”

“I asked him who he really was. As he was speaking to me I had the strangest feeling about him, that he was an impostor—or maybe that isn’t the right word. I think he’s truly from their domestic intelligence, whatever it’s called, but he’s also someone else. And he’s hiding that someone else.”

“Whatever it is, I’d say you struck a nerve.”

“I didn’t really have a choice. I just knew right then that I was very afraid of the person he was hiding.”

“So am I, though probably not for the same reason. Damn, I wish we’d get moving. What’s the hold up?”

Dan looked past Carrie through the window at the lights of the airport, and wondered what Mr. Kesev was up to now. He wouldn’t feel safe until they were in the air and over the Mediterranean.

“And yet,” Carrie said softly, “there’s something terribly sad about him. He said something that shocked me.”

“What?”

“He said ‘please.’ He said, ‘Please give it back.’ Isn’t that strange?”

‡

Kesev stood at one of the panoramic windows in the main terminal and watched the plane roar into the sky toward London.

Nothing.

He’d found nothing in the cargo hold or baggage compartment large enough to contain the Mother.

That gave him hope, at least, that the Mother was still in Israel. And if she was still here, he could find her.

But where was she? Where?

He trembled at the thought of what might happen if she were not safely returned to the Resting Place.