He quickened his steps.
The woman approached the car.
A man emerged from the passenger’s side—young, short-haired, dark suit—who opened the rear door.
The woman was ten feet away from entering.
“Stop,” he called out.
And he ran the last thirty feet toward her. Dark Suit spotted him, and he saw the man reach beneath his jacket.
The woman whirled.
Tom came close, then stopped.
Dark Suit advanced toward him, but the woman grabbed her protector’s arm.
“No need,” she said. “I’ve been expecting him.”
———
ZACHARIAH DECIDED TO PLACE SOME DISTANCE BETWEEN HIM and Alle and the ceremonial hall. He was unsure where Tom Sagan had gone, and the last thing he needed was to be spotted. He wondered if Sagan had seen him in the cemetery. Alle had finally provided him with some useful information, telling him more of what Sagan had learned from his father. Rabbi Berlinger now seemed a player in this game.
His mind reeled, processing all the new information.
At least he now knew.
This place, long held sacred by Jews around the world, was a part of the quest. But how? And Jamaica seemed an important locale, too. The curator from the museum in Cuba had called to say that Rowe and his companion had fled before the police arrived, no way to stop them.
That would not be a friendly conversation. He’d thought himself through with Rowe. But that might not be the case. Abiram Sagan had included a road map of Jamaica for a reason.
His phone vibrated.
He found the unit and saw it was Rocha.
“Where are you?” he asked, answering.
“Sagan left the hall and ran around the block. He’s confronting some woman at the moment who has a bodyguard.”
“Describe her.”
He already knew who, but he had to be sure.
Which answered another question. Sagan had seen him. And maybe even heard, considering the bombshell she revealed about the ex-journalist.
“I had to be careful so he wouldn’t spot me,” Rocha said. “But I’m where I can see them now.”
“Let me know what happens.”
He ended the call.
“What is it?” Alle asked.
He’d not masked his concern.
“A problem.”
———
TOM STARED AT THE WOMAN AND ASKED, “WHO ARE YOU?”
“That’s unimportant.”
“Like hell. You know what happened to me.”
She turned to Dark Suit. “Wait in the car.”
The man climbed back into the passenger’s side. She shut the rear door.
“You said you were expecting me. How,” he asked, a plea in his voice.
“You heard me in the cemetery?”
He nodded.
“The rabbi said he would make sure you did.”
“Berlinger is in on this?”
“Just offering some assistance.”
“Who are you,” he asked again.
“I am a Jew who believes strongly in who we are. I want you to believe, too.”
He could not care less about that. “They stole my life. I deserve to know who did that and why.”
