“Exactly. Unless there was more involved. If I recall correctly, by 1675 the Cohens would have been in their seventies.”
Tre explained how the brothers helped settle Jamaica. Abraham Cohen was expelled from the island in 1640, yet he apparently returned in 1670, purchasing 420 acres that his brother cared for until 1675, when they disagreed over payment for that care.
“I see it in your eyes,” he said to Halliburton. “There’s more. What is it, my friend?”
“In the settlement, Moses offered to drop his lawsuit if Abraham would provide some information. The mine, Bene. That was what these two old men were really fighting about.”
———
ALLE SAT IN THE REAR SEAT, FEELING BETTER TO BE ON HER WAY out of Austria. The airport lay twelve miles southeast of the city in a place called Schwechat. She did not know the way but noted that the signs they were following to that locale included the European symbol of a jet airplane, marking the route to an airport. Traffic was light on the four-laned highway—understandable given it was approaching midnight. She was tired and hoped to sleep on the plane. She’d flown many times during the night and this flight should not be a problem. She’d rest and be ready for whatever Zachariah would need tomorrow.
She was on her own again.
Why had men so disappointed her? First her father. Then a succession of failed relationships. Then a disastrous marriage. Nothing had ever gone right when it came to them. Zachariah, though, seemed different. Was he a father figure? What she’d always craved? Or something else?
Hard to say.
She knew only that she respected him and, since her grandfather died, she hadn’t been able to say that about any other man.
Being in the car with Midnight unnerved her. She felt dirty just knowing he was only a foot away. A few more minutes, she told herself, and she’d be gone, never to return.
A part of her felt bad about what she’d done to her father. She wouldn’t want any child of hers doing such a thing. But it had to be done. Hopefully, things had worked out and her father cooperated. Her being summoned meant something significant had happened. Which, hopefully, did not involve any face-to-face encounter with her father.
She’d said about all she wanted to say to him.
The car veered onto an exit ramp, one that contained no reference to Schwechat or the airport.
Odd.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Midnight did not reply.
They turned left onto a two-laned highway that wove a path into what appeared to be black woods on either side. No lights shone either behind them or in the opposite lane.
Speed increased.
“Where are we going?” she asked again, becoming anxious.
Midnight slowed and turned a second time, into more black trees, the headlamps illuminating a bumpy dirt lane.
“Why are you doing this? Where are we going?”
A consuming panic gripped her. She tried to open the door, but child locks engaged. She pushed the button to lower the window. Locked. Ahead, she spotted something coming into view. A car. Parked at a point where the dirt lane emptied into an open area, nothing but darkness all around.
A man stepped from the far side of the vehicle.
In the uneven wash of light she caught a face.
Terror swept over her.
Brian.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TOM BOLTED OUT OF HIS SLEEP. THE BEDSIDE CLOCK READ 6:30 P.M. His brow was moist with sweat, his breathing labored. He tried to recall the dream, but couldn’t. It had something to do with Robin Stubbs. Since he’d been thinking about her earlier, he was not surprised she’d remained on his mind. A few months ago he spent $125 for an Internet search and discovered that she still worked in Ohio for the same regional newspaper chain that had hired her eight years ago. It had been amazing that she’d found work, but he recalled how some pundits came to her defense. The story he’d been accused of falsifying, on its face, seemed legitimate. It was only when it was carefully investigated that the flaws became evident. And no editors engaged in such detailed analysis. Instead they trusted the people who worked for them.
