“He wasn’t the talkative type. He liked to give orders.”
“Like you?”
Rowe laughed. “You really were once a good reporter.”
“I still am.”
And he meant it.
“The Simon said he has information that you don’t. That’s why I’m supposed to hold you up until he gets here.”
“And you don’t believe him?”
“Not a man known for telling the truth.”
“He knows nothing.”
“Then it’s good for me that I took a chance on you.”
He wasn’t so sure if the reverse were true. “How far to Falcon Ridge?”
“In a straight line, maybe fifty kilometers. Unfortunately, roads here don’t go so straight. I’d say two hours to get there. What are we looking for?”
“A cave.”
“Jamaica has thousands of those.”
“Is there one at Falcon Ridge?”
Rowe reached for a phone. “Let’s find out.”
Tom watched as the man dialed a number, waited while the party answered, then listened as Rowe explained what he wanted to someone named Tre.
Rowe then ended the call.
“Calling and driving is dangerous,” Tom said.
“That’s what I hear. But lots of things are dangerous. Like getting into a truck with a stranger.”
“As if I need reminding.”
Rowe grinned. “I like you. Smart guy. I heard what you did to the Simon in Florida.”
He asked what he wanted to know. “Who was on the phone?”
“A friend of mine who knows about caves. He’ll call back and let us know what’s at Falcon Ridge.”
“Why are you so interested in the Jews’ Temple treasure?” he asked Rowe.
“I wasn’t, until a few hours ago. You realize Simon is coming to Jamaica.”
He nodded. “I do now. He’s probably bringing my daughter with him.”
“Your daughter? Still with him? I bet that’s quite a story.”
“You could say that. How will we know when Simon arrives?”
“No problem. I have people waiting to welcome him.”
———
ZACHARIAH SLIPPED HIS PASSPORT BACK INTO HIS POCKET AND walked with Alle out of the building. The hanger sat away from Kingston’s main terminal, used by private planes, his charter now among the many parked on the tarmac. Rocha had deplaned first and disappeared.
A warm blanket of humid air soaked him.
“How are we going to get around?” Alle asked.
“I do not think that is going to be a problem.”
He pointed at two black men strutting their way, chests inflated like dogs eager for a fight. The area where they’d exited the hanger was secluded, near a small parking lot with few cars. Weak bulbs splashed pale yellow light onto dark pavement. Palm trees lining the edges rustled in a light breeze. The two men wore jeans and khaki shirts stained with moisture. They approached and stopped a few meters away.
“Mr. Rowe sent us to fetch you,” one of them said, the face beaming with hospitality.
“How kind.”
They followed their hosts into the parking lot, where one of the men motioned to a light-colored sedan.
“You not going to make any trouble, are you?” one of them asked.
“Why would I?”
Alle seemed concerned, but he allayed her fears with a slight shake of his head.
A shadow lunged from the trees.
He heard a crack, then the man to his left spilled facedown to the asphalt. The other man reacted to the assault, a hand plunging into his pant pocket, surely for a weapon, but the shadow leaped forward.
“Now, sir,” Zachariah said. “I need you to keep your hands where we can see them.”
