The waitress returned and set down a saucer and mug for each of them. Hazo immediately sipped the Turkish coffee, or
‘I suppose no one can ever proclaim to understand our people,’ Karsaz warned. He fingered his mug and sipped some coffee. ‘So many conflicts. So many old scores yet to be settled. War is in our blood, is it not?’
Hazo nodded.
‘We’ll never cooperate,’ Karsaz lamented. ‘Maybe it’s not so bad that you don’t have a family of your own. Less grief and worry.’
The comment stung Hazo, but he managed a tight smile before moving on to business: ‘I don’t mean to rush, but I have little time,’ he eased in. ‘The reason I am here … I was hoping you might help me.’
Tilting his head, Karsaz replied, ‘I
‘I understand.’ From his pocket, Hazo pulled out the photos. ‘Please, if you could take a look at these pictures.’ He began with the headshot of the female scientist. ‘This woman was here a few years back. Perhaps with others. Do you recognize her?’ If he was really lucky, the woman - like most tourists - would have walked through Karsaz’s doors.
‘Many, many people walk through these doors …’ Karsaz replied with obvious scepticism. Retrieving a pair of bifocals from his suit jacket pocket, he put them on and gave the photo a cursory glance. A surprised look came over him. ‘Ah … yes.’ He held up an index finger and tapped it at the air. ‘Yes, I remember this one. Years ago. She wore shorts and a teeshirt. Ooh, what a sight, I’ll tell you,’ he confided. ‘The legs, the …’ Midway through the vision, he cupped a hand over his chest and gave the memory a cold shower. ‘Anyway, as you might imagine, the women were not pleased. The men weren’t kind, either. Dangerous for such a very pretty woman who has no shame. I actually mentioned these things to her, you know, to help her. It’s the way I am …’ he said, tapping his hands to his chest.
‘Of course.’
‘She did eat here a few times. Very friendly, polite. Always left generous tips. Those Americans and their tips. When will they learn?’ He shook his head.
‘Do you remember when she was here?’
‘Not long after the Texas cowboy blew up Baghdad.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘No, there were others too, I’m sure of it.’ He took a long moment to juice the memory. ‘The others were all men. Five, maybe six. Some military men, yes … and two wearing Levi jeans. I’d like a pair of those,’ he confessed. ‘I’d look like John Wayne … or maybe James Dean, no?’
Hazo smiled. ‘Do you remember
Karsaz shrugged. ‘Lots of soldiers back then. Reporters too. Nothing unusual.’
‘Do you remember any talk of them going up into the mountains, excavating perhaps?’
This confused Karsaz. ‘I’m sure the only digging they did was for Saddam and Osama.’
‘I mean digging for artifacts.’
A look of confusion preceded another shrug.
Hazo moved on to pictures from inside the cave. ‘And these … Any idea what these images might mean?’
‘What is this?’ Karsaz said to himself, as he studied the haunting images. ‘Looks like something one might find over the mountains in Persepolis. Or maybe in the temple ruins of Babylon … or Ur, perhaps. You remember? Back in school we saw things like this on our trips, yes? Saddam was rebuilding the old empire in hopes of inciting the Jews and Christians to scream Armageddon. Thought he was the new Hitler. Brought a new Holocaust to our people. That evil man.’
Hazo tried to keep him on track. ‘These etchings are different from anything I’ve ever seen in Babylon. See this woman?’ He tapped the picture. ‘This goddess figure is highly unusual.’
‘Maybe it is Ishtar?’ Karsaz guessed.
The Assyrian goddess of sex and war? Hazo considered, contemplating the picture again. ‘It’s possible.’
‘What is this she carries in her hands?’ Karsaz said, scrunching his eyes. ‘And why does it glow like this?’
‘I thought you might know, cousin.’
Karsaz shook his head. ‘This is like nothing I have ever seen.’ He studied the images a few moments longer, considering the connection to the American woman. ‘The woman in the photo … did she find these things in the mountains?’
Perceptive, as always, thought Hazo. ‘It would be best that I not say too much about it.’
‘I see,’ Karsaz said. ‘There are many secrets in those mountains. I suppose if anyone were to know about them, it would be the monks. The Chaldeans know many secrets. After all, they profess to be direct descendants of the ancient Mesopotamians who once inhabited those mountains.’
‘I think you’re right.’
‘There is that monastery in the mountain north of Kirkuk …’ For three seconds Karsaz spun his hand to conjure the name, but came up blank. ‘You know the place I speak of?’
‘I do.’
Karsaz neatly arranged the photos, handed them back to Hazo. ‘I would suggest you go there. See if the monks might answer your questions.’
14
LAS VEGAS
Stokes punched his security code into the keypad and the mechanical jamb bolts disengaged. He cranked down on the handle, gave a push, and the door whispered open. The fowl stench of excrement drifted out at him. ‘Good lord,’ he gasped, holding back his gag reflex. He set the air filtration system to the max. Then taking the handkerchief from his blazer’s breast pocket, he covered his mouth and tentatively proceeded into the vault.
At the room’s centre, Roselli was sprawled face up on the carpet in a spread eagle, blue complexion, murky eyes opened wide and frozen to the blank ceiling. Whatever he’d had for dinner and breakfast, both liquid and solid, had found its way into his trousers. Post-mortem bowel release; Stokes had seen it many times in the killing fields.
‘Oh, Frank. Why couldn’t you just keep your cool, like the old days?’ he said, crouching down and rummaging through the corpse’s pockets until he found a key ring and Roselli’s PDA. ‘All right fellas,’ he called back to the door. ‘Get in here.’
A broad-shouldered man came in wearing a sour expression. Behind him a second man, shorter by at least five inches, came in pushing a heavy duty Rubbermaid tilt truck. Both men were wearing periwinkle baseball caps and coveralls embroidered with a crisp logo for a fictitious company whose speciality was document shredding. The truck parked near the service entrance bore the same insignia, along with a slogan: ‘YOUR SECURITY IS OUR SPECIALTY’.
Stokes stood and stepped aside. ‘It’s not pretty. I’ll throw in extra for your trouble.’
‘How do want to do this?’ the taller one asked, all business.
‘Let’s go with heart attack at the wheel.’ Stokes tossed the keys over.
‘Like a telephone pole … something like that?’
‘Sure. Just nothing too dramatic,’ Stokes reminded. On a previous assignment to eliminate a pesky senator who’d been poking around into the project’s financing, this same duo had roughed up the body enough to raise a coroner’s suspicion. An investigation ensued, which luckily led only to dead ends.
‘And no witnesses, you hear me?’ Stokes warned. He slipped Roselli’s PDA into his inside breast pocket.
‘No witnesses,’ the taller man replied.
‘All right. Get him out of here.’
The shorter man wheeled the tilt truck closer.
The two men each claimed a spot on opposite sides of the corpse, hooked an armpit and a knee, hoisted the body up on a three-count, then dropped it into the tilt truck with a thud. The taller man folded down the stiff legs while his partner got back behind the handles.
Stokes stared down at the wide brown stain left behind on the rug. A call to housekeeping would raise too
