“C’mon, Ma, this is that fuckin’ Flowers you’re talking to.” She backed into the kitchen, which smelled liked mashed potatoes and gravy, and maybe pie of some kind, and Vigil swerved around her and stuck his head into the kitchen and found Bauer sitting on the couch. His shoes, Virgil noted, were on and firmly tied, which meant that he hadn’t gotten too comfortable. “How’s it going, Tag?”
“Going fine,” Bauer said, with a cheerful grin. “I’m thinking about leaving town, though.”
“Not with the stele.”
“I can’t promise anything—I’d say that the recovery of the stone is something that we all are working toward.”
Ma said, “Virgil—”
Virgil said, “Ma, Tag, let’s sit down and have a little conference. I’ve been doing a lot of investigating and have things to report.” He raised his voice and shouted, “And Reverend Jones, if you’re up there, this is something you might want to hear, too.”
There was no response, not even a squeaky board, and Ma said, “Virgil: he’s not here.”
“All right,” Virgil said.
“So what’d you find out?” Bauer asked.
“I’ve been doing research, Tag, and I know a few things that I didn’t know before,” Virgil said. “You’ve got this urge to be a movie star, which is just fine with me and everybody else. And you’ve got some money—my best estimate is that when your father died, you probably inherited three or four million dollars. You spent a good piece of that on
The Wanderer
and
The Drifter
and so on. Then you’ve got that apartment out in the Hamptons, you pay on that time-share in Malibu, you rent a place in Paris.”
“Cool,” Ma said.
“You probably don’t quite break even with your TV show, because they’re so cheap about the travel money,” Virgil said. “And there’s a good chance that the show won’t be renewed—there’s been talk about
Bauer’s Last Crusade
. . . and I figure you’re probably down to your last million or so.”
“They’ll renew,” Bauer said. “They know I could be on the History Channel in one second.”
Ma: “If you’re down to your last million . . . how’re you gonna buy the stone?”
Virgil: “He can’t.”
“Well, poop,” Ma said.
“This is all speculation,” Bauer said. “I—”
Virgil cut him off. “Let me finish. The thing is, the information I’ve developed over the past day suggests that you’ve got no chance to win the auction, because you don’t have enough ready money. Jones is dying, he’s got no time to waste on promises, and Hezbollah is going to show up with three million dollars in hundred-dollar bills. He’ll take it, if he has a chance. I’ve also found out exactly who we’re dealing with. Now, you’ve got no chance to actually get the stone, but if you interfere with the deal, or if the Hezbollah guys think you’re for real, they will kill you. And they won’t be nice about it. They will cut your head off. I’m not exaggerating.”
Ma and Bauer exchanged a quick glance, and Bauer said, “I’m sure there’s a
little
exaggeration there—”
“No. There isn’t. Ma knows me, and she knows I can be a pretty sincere guy. I’m telling you, they will kill you. They have a killer right here, on tap. I promise you, this is the truth.”
Ma said to Bauer, “I think he’s serious.”
Virgil said to Ma, “And I’ve got some news for you, too. I know you’re messing around with Jones. I haven’t found out exactly why, yet. I know you’re a little pinched for money, from time to time, but you’ve got that big red Ford, so you can’t be too pinched. But Ma—I found out something in the last hour or so. I’m ready to let it go, but if you fuck with me on this Jones thing, your whole family is going to have a problem. I want you to know I’m serious about that, too. This is a threat, and I’ll carry it out.”
“What’d you find out?”
Virgil shook his head. “I won’t tell you, but I give you my word: if you knew, and if you thought I’d act on it, you’d drop Jones like a hot potato.”
“Something to do with Rolf?” Like she’d picked it right out of his brain.
“What do you think?”
So they all sat in a long quiet spot, and then Bauer said, “What should we do? Walk away? If we walk away, Jones will meet the Hezbollah someplace quiet, and you’ll never see the money or Jones again.”
“What I want is for you to go ahead with the auction, wherever you were planning to hold it. But I want you to tell me where it is—I’m going to bust it up. I want to grab the money, and Jones, and the stone, and the Hezbollah guys. If you go along with that, I’ll tell the TV people that you, Tag, were instrumental in recovering the stone. I’ll tell them that you were a hero. And Ma, I won’t let you sell that fake lumber, I won’t let you keep running that scam, but you go along with me, and I’ll let bygones be bygones. You stop with this Jones bullshit, and I won’t try to hang any old stuff on you or your kid.”
They sat some more, then Bauer said, “I’ll take your deal, but it really burns me up. Tell the TV people that I’m a hero? You know how long they’ll remember that? About a nanosecond. But I don’t see much choice. I don’t want to get my head cut off.”
“Where’s the auction?” Virgil asked.
“I don’t know yet. Jones said he’ll call me tomorrow night at nine o’clock, and tell me where to meet him. He says it’ll be a public place, and the other bidders will be there.”
Ma said, “And I’ll take the deal, though it’s a bitter pill. I can’t help you with Reverend Jones. I don’t know where he is, but he wants me to back him up at the exchange. He’s going to leave the stone for me, someplace, and call me at the last minute and tell me where. When he sees the money, I’m supposed to show up wherever it is, and flash the stone at them.”
“That’s . . . perfect,” Virgil said. “You could drop the stone with me instead.”
Ma shook her head. “Won’t do it, Virgil. I won’t leave the man hanging that way, with this killer. Now: I know he’s going to do something tricky with the exchange, but he hasn’t told me what it is. So what I will do is, I’ll play my part. The money will be there, and I’ll show up, with the stone, and if he’s tricky enough, Reverend Jones will wind up with the money and you’ll wind up with the Hezbollah and the stone. If he’s not tricky enough to pull it off, then that’s his problem, and you’ll get all of it—Jones, the stone, and the money.”
“You won’t tell him that I’m going to bust it up?”
“No. I won’t betray anybody,” Ma said.
“Seems to me like you’re betraying everybody,” Bauer said.
She shook her head: “This is really starting to hurt me,” she said.
Virgil sighed and said, “Ma, I really don’t want to do that.”
“Can’t see how we can avoid it, now,” she said. “We’re all jammed up here.”
“You really don’t know where Jones is?”
“No,” she lied, and steered Virgil in another direction. “I know where the red Volvo is, but I don’t know where he is, or what he’s driving now.”
“Where’s the Volvo?”
“Up in one of the Gustavus’s parking lots.”
“All right,” Virgil said. “Now. Let’s work through some details.”
—
T
HEY WORKED
through a plan for the next day. Bauer agreed that he would call Virgil with the exchange point as soon as he got it.
“You’re not going to try to sneak up on me and take the stone away, when I get it, will you?” Ma asked.
“I’m not sure I could, out here in the countryside,” Virgil said, but he didn’t say yes or no.
“Think real hard about that, because I don’t think you could, either. I’ll make a whole bunch of stops, and if you jump me before I get the stone . . . I just won’t show up at the auction, and the whole deal will fall through.”
“I’ll think hard about it,” Virgil said.
When Virgil left, he looked back and saw a light go on, on the second floor. And he wondered, was Ma going up to the bedroom with Tag? Or was Jones up there, and now on his way down? Or what?
He watched for anyone looking out at him, then got in his truck, retrieved the extra GPS unit, stepped over to Ma’s truck, and stuck it on the frame.
—
B
ACK AT THE HOUSE
,
Ma came down from the bathroom, paused on the landing to watch Virgil’s taillights rolling out the driveway, then walked the rest of the way down and said to Bauer, “I don’t know what to do. I’m stuck between two men.”
“Take me,” Bauer suggested.
“You’re not in the running, sweetheart,” Ma said. “I was talking about the Reverend Jones and Virgil.”
“Flowers is pretty sweet on you,” Bauer said. “That’s obvious.”
“I’m not sure of that, not at all,” Ma said.
“Take my word for it: he is,” Bauer said.
Ma sat on the arm of an easy chair. “So what do you think I should do?”
“Play it by ear. Get the stone from Jones, take it to the auction, like Virgil said. But meet me first. I’ve got a camera, we’ll put it on a tripod. I want to handle the stone, show it off for the camera. That’s all I need, and then I’ll be happy.”
“I guess I could do that,” Ma said. “I don’t see any harm in it.”
A
wad called: “Al-Lubnani just got a call from the Hatchet. He has just gone to a meeting now. He says he might be getting the money.”
“Keep your head down,” Virgil said. “This Hatchet sounds like a nutbag.”
“I have thought to take myself out and get lost,” Awad said.
“Do you have a favorite bar?”
“The Pigwhistle.”
“Go there. Although, for a guy like you, it’s a poor choice. No coeds at the Dog.”
“As a man who knows these things, where should a man like myself go to meet women who will fornicate with me?”
“Ah, well, hmm, I’d try the Rooster Coop,” Virgil said. “It’s a cowboy bar. Don’t tell them you’re Lebanese—tell them you’re part Apache. If a part-Apache can’t get laid in the Rooster Coop, he can’t get laid.”
“I have cowboy boots,” Awad offered.
“Then you’re good,” Virgil said. “But go to a drugstore first and pick up some protection. You don’t want a bunch of little Apaches running around.”
“I have many of those protections here in my apartment, which I buy, like you Americans say, just in case,” Awad said. “I am going now.”
—
V
IRGIL GOT
the double-secret phone from under the car seat, brushed some pizza crust crumbs off it, and pushed “1.” Lincoln answered two seconds later: “Yes?”
“Al-Lubnani has gone to pick up the money from the Hatchet.”
“We know. We’re all over him. And Awad—we just heard you tell Awad to go to the Rooster Coop to get laid. That’s fine. Now, you should just stay out of this.”
“I’m starting to feel oppressed,” Virgil said.
“That’s your role in life,” Lincoln said. “Go home.” She hung up.
Is not,
Virgil thought.
But he went home anyway, got online, read the news, thought about calling Ma, just for a social chat, but resisted the idea, and finally went out to the garage, turned on all the lights, climbed in his boat and began detailing the interior.
Virgil was a modestly tidy person, as much as most bachelors are, anyway, but he was serious about his boat. The last time he’d been musky fishing on Eagle Lake, up in Northwest Ontario, he’d hooked into a fish in the fifty-inch range. But the guide, who was not reasonably tidy, had left a net sitting on the front casting deck, and Virgil had stepped in it while fighting the fish. The guide, excited at seeing the fish, had pulled at the net handle and said, “Move your feet,” and Virgil, feeling that he was losing his balance, looked down at the net and then tried to pick up both feet at once, doing a little dance, lost his focus on the fish, felt the line go slack, and then watched the fish dive away.
Both Virgil and the guide could see Virgil’s bucktail hanging loose in the water, and the guide, standing there slack-jawed with the net in his hand, asked, “Why’d you do that? That was a nice fish.”
Wouldn’t have happened in Virgil’s boat.
—
T
AG
B
AUER
opened the motel room door and found himself looking at a slender dark woman who he suspected was not a fan. “Can I help you?”
Tal Zahavi put her index finger against his chest and pushed him back into the room, looked around, then kicked the door closed with her foot. “I’m from Israel,” she said. “I am looking for the Solomon stone.”
Tag shook a finger at her: “Ah. Yes. The Mossad agent. I’ve heard about you.”
“I would like to make you an offer.”
Bauer interrupted: “How’d you find me?”
“I called a source . . . and got the make and license number of your car. There are not many hotels here—I drove around until I found it.”
“How’d you find my room?”
“I paid a cleaning lady for the number,” she said.
“Okay. So what’s the offer?”
“I watched you on television and then I watched some of your TV shows on YouTube,” Zahavi said. “From some of the shows it seems that you shoot your own video at times. You have your own camera?”
“Of a sort,” Bauer said. “It’s a small Panasonic, but it takes excellent video. Of course, the results are not as good as real movies, it’s all handheld and so on.”
“This Flowers will not help you obtain the stone,” Zahavi said. “He is a liar and a sneak, and if he gets the stone, it will disappear into a police station and never come back out.”
“He says all he wants to do is send it back to Israel.”
“Yes, yes, with this Yael Aronov.” Zahavi nodded. “She is a pest. I can tell you, hers are the wrong hands. This stone is a very powerful propaganda weapon, and it cannot fall into the wrong hands, even if they are Israeli.”
“This is all very interesting, but I don’t see how it impacts me, or my camera,” Bauer said. He backed up and sat on the bed. “I’m actually thinking it might be time for me to get out of town . . . unless you can tell me why I shouldn’t.”
“I make you an offer. If you help me get the stone—if you provide information that will help me—I will help you make a movie about it. Here, in the U.S. And I will be able to provide further benefits, at a later date, in Israel. There are many things in Israel that would shine on your show. The copper scroll—”
“The treasure of the copper scroll . . .” Bauer said, his eyes narrowing at the thought.
“May be a myth,” Zahavi said. “But, we could provide you many sources knowledgeable about the copper scroll—the greatest experts in the field—and access to the scroll itself.”
“The scroll’s in Jordan.”
“We have resources in Amman,” Zahavi said.
Bauer pushed himself back on the bed until his head was on a pillow, and thought about it. Zahavi leaned her butt against a bureau, crossed her arms, and let him think. Eventually she added, “Of course, you are free to decline, and we Israelis are free to decline access to our valuable archaeological country.”
Bauer said, “First the carrot, then the stick.” More thought, then, “I do have some information that could prove useful.”
Zahavi smiled: “That makes me very happy.”
“I’m not sure that I would want to be involved in the actual acquisition of the stone.”
“You wouldn’t have to be, if there’s a way I could get it on my own.”
“On the other hand,” Bauer said, “I’m not sure I’d trust you to help me make the movie, once you got your hands on the stone, if I wasn’t there to insist.”
“When I make a deal, I honor it,” Zahavi said.
“What else could you say?” Bauer asked.
“My organization has a reputation to uphold,” she said. “When we promise to pay, we pay—otherwise, people would stop talking to us.”
He mulled it over for a while, and eventually said, “Jones has had help in concealing both himself and the stone. A woman. Flowers is working with this woman. Tonight, she agreed to help him recover it. I don’t think she was telling the complete truth, but in any case, at some point tomorrow night, she will be alone with the stone. She doesn’t have it yet, she’ll have to pick it up somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if Flowers has her under surveillance—or will have her under surveillance tomorrow.”
“Why would this woman have the stone?”
“As I understand it, and I don’t have the final details, the bidders will bring their money to the auction, which will be held in a public place. When Jones has seen the money and has accepted the bid, the woman will appear with the stone, and display it. Then Jones will be given the money, and Ma . . . and the woman will deliver the stone. Everybody will probably have guns.”
“Do you have the money to win the bid?”
Bauer hesitated, but then thought,
Flowers knows anyway, and if Flowers knows, then the Mossad could know.
“No. I don’t. I planned to show up in my truck, and put the headlights on Jones and the bidders. My camera will be mounted in the truck window, and I’ll make movies of the exchange—I’ll plead with Jones to give me the stone, so it can be saved for posterity. He won’t, of course, but that’s about all I got. I’d rather have the stone. Even temporarily.”
“If you tell me about this woman, you could have the stone long enough to make a video.”
Bauer chewed his lower lip, then said, “The exchange is tomorrow at nine o’clock at night. The woman will have to get the stone before then, maybe several hours before. I guess it’s possible that she already has it. She has—”
He stopped suddenly, and Zahavi cocked her head: “What? Tell me.”
“I’ve already made arrangements with her to see the stone, and maybe take a few pictures. Not film, just a quick photo.”
“And who knows this?”
“Just me . . . and the woman, of course.”
Zahavi smiled: “So we have it . . . unless Flowers is with her.”
“No. She won’t let him ride with her—because if she did, he’d just take the stone and the auction would be finished.”
“But he could have her under surveillance.”
“He could. But I can tell you something else that would be valuable to you. I found all of this out at the woman’s house. I was talking to her when Flowers showed up, and he forced us to take a deal on giving up the stone. She was going to refuse, unless she got her way. And her way is, let the exchange take place, and then take the stone away from the high bidders. Flowers wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed.”
“Yes, yes, yes, but what is this valuable other thing?”
“He wants to make sure that when it all takes place, that he gets the right stone, and nobody tries to give him a fake. So he will have Yael Aronov with him tomorrow evening, to verify the stone. And since Aronov is Israeli, you may have some influence over her. If she could tell us where Flowers is, and whether he’s directing a surveillance of this woman . . .”
“You’ll have to give me the other woman’s name eventually,” Zahavi said.
“Sure, but not yet,” Bauer said, crossing his arms over his chest. A signal that he’d taken a position, and wouldn’t give it up.
“So,” Zahavi said. “Do you know where Yael Aronov stays?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Bauer said.
—
V
IRGIL WAS
still working on the boat, checking screws on the oarlocks, when Awad called, shouting over the sounds of a cowboy band. “I have an emergency. Al-Lubnani is at my apartment. He wishes to speak to me, but I do not wish to speak to him because I am very very very busy. I tell him to speak to you and he says he will.”
“All right. I’ll go there now,” Virgil said.
“Thank you. Thank you, my friend. I go now.”
“Good luck,” Virgil said.
Al-Lubnani let Virgil into Awad’s apartment and asked, “Do you wish a screwdriver?”
“Got a beer?”
“Alas, I do not,” al-Lubnani said.
Virgil looked in the refrigerator, found a Pepsi, and he and al-Lubnani, carrying a screwdriver, moved to the couch and easy chair. Virgil put his feet on the coffee table and asked, “What happened?”
“I meet this Hatchet,” al-Lubnani said, sipping at his drink. “He shows me the money. He has a pack for your back, and he opens it, and inside, it is filled with packets of dollars. One-hundred-dollar bills. Three hundred packets with one hundred bills in each packet. This is a very interesting sight.”
“I bet it was,” Virgil said. “Do you have it?”
“I do not. This is what he told me: when we have a rendezvous tomorrow, he will be my backup. He will go with me, but will not come exactly to the meeting. He will wait nearby. I am wondering, does he have a gun? Does he rob the meeting, to keep both the money and the stone? Will he shoot everybody, including me?”
“Good questions,” Virgil said. “I will take these under advisement. Do you know where you are meeting?”
“Not yet. Jones will call me at nine o’clock tomorrow and tell me where to meet. I said, ‘It is dark at nine o’clock,’ and he said, ‘That is why we wait until nine o’clock.’”
“Hmm.”
“You say you take this under advisement. I ask you, are your arrangements . . . Is everything under control?”
“Yes. I believe we are watched even now.”
Al-Lubnani looked at the ceiling. “CIA?”
“They won’t tell me,” Virgil said. “As far as I know, it could be Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.”
“I wish I was in Paris,” al-Lubnani said. “Instead, I am in a ridiculous Hollywood movie.”
“Know how you feel, pal.”
—
W
HEN
V
IRGIL LEFT
,
he heard the door close behind him, but when he was thirty feet down the hall, heard it open again and turned and saw al-Lubnani coming after him.
“I forget to tell you,” he said. “When I go to meet the Hatchet, I find him in a limo. You know these black limos, like they have in New York City? Towns, I think?”
“Town cars,” Virgil said. “I know them.”
“This town car has a driver and the Hatchet sits in the rear seat. But, as we are looking at the money, I see that the driver is listening to us. A window is between us, but I can see him listening. So I think the driver is not entirely a driver. I think he is with the Hatchet. Or, excuse me if this sounds crazy, it is possible that the Hatchet is very, very careful, and the man in the backseat is an actor, yes? He is an actor, and the driver is the Hatchet.”
“Why do you think that?”
Al-Lubnani scratched his beard, thoroughly, then said, “I can’t tell you this, except to say, I have lived in Beirut a long time, and there, you learn to know when something is wrong. There is a . . . wrongness. Is this a word?”
“I don’t know, but I know what you mean,” Virgil said. He scratched his own chin, thinking about it, then said, “I will also take this under advisement.”
—
O
UT IN THE TRUCK
,
he got the double-secret phone from under the seat and pushed “1.”
Again, Lincoln answered in two seconds: “Yes?”
“Did you hear me talking to al-Lubnani?”
“No. We have his phones, but we don’t yet have his apartment. We will remedy that as soon as we have the warrant, which should be at any minute.”
“All right. Well, al-Lubnani didn’t get the money, though he saw it. He says three hundred packets of ten thousand dollars each. The Hatchet kept it, and will turn it over to al-Lubnani tomorrow night, just before the exchange, which is set for nine o’clock.”