Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Noah
Noah’s hands were shaking.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened. Not by a long shot.
He’d first noticed it a few years earlier, one time that he’d been invited by an old army friend out for a hunt in York.
He hadn’t wanted to go, but Ginger had encouraged him to take the time for himself—keep the acquaintance of men he’d served with during the war, when he’d been little more than a green infantryman.
After the hunt, he’d gone to an inn for the night, and that was when he’d noticed it: his hands, trembling uncontrollably as though something ailed them. The shaking had vanished overnight that time, but occasionally it returned—when he least expected it.
Like right now—seated on the divan of Fahad’s house while sipping coffee, while Jack worked on decoding the telegraphs by Gretchen Herbert they’d stolen from the office in Baghdad that morning.
Noah’s hands hadn’t been shaking on the airplane trip back to Jerusalem.
Or even after they’d arrived at Fahad’s.
He set his coffee cup on the saucer, then smoothed his palms over the rough fabric of his robe, over his thighs. Maybe killing Hower and his assistant had affected him more than he’d realized.
Or maybe it had been the sight of Jack face-down on the floor, a pool of blood beside his head.
I thought he was dead.
The sight had struck him like a bolt of lightning. And then Jack’s distress.
God, that had cleaved his heart.
Jack was the most loyal man Noah had ever met. Inexplicably so, given what Jack had been through.
On the other hand, maybe Noah’s shaking wasn’t about that at all. Maybe it was just time for him to admit the truth—that he wasn’t the same man he’d been almost twenty years ago, when he’d been recruited to spy and lie, kill and hurt.
He’d gone soft.
Love had softened him. The love of his wife. The love of his children. The love of his friends. Hell, even the love for people and causes he followed less blindly and more from true conviction.
He wasn’t sufficiently stoic for the sort of emotionless detachment that this job required anymore. And being talented at killing and deception held little luster for him.
“God save the king,” Jack muttered, slipping his pencil behind his ear.
Noah lifted his head sharply. “What’s that?”
Jack released a guttural sigh and shook his head. Then he gestured toward the logbook they’d stolen from the telegraph office. “If she was trying to take it easy on me, she failed. Most of this is absolute nonsense.”
“You decoded JERUSALEM, though—that’s got to mean something.”
“I’ve decoded all of them,” Jack replied tersely, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least I think I have. None of it makes sense.” He shoved the sheet across the table toward Noah. “Like this. GOD SAVE THE KING. What in the hell does that mean?”
“Maybe you did it wrong,” Fahad said from the end of the table. He took a long drag from a pipe. “You don’t always do it right.”
Jack jerked his head with a scowl, then grimaced as though the quick movement had pained him. He wore a bandage on the side of his head—one Noah was certain Ginger would say she was proud of him for doing, then promptly redo herself.
Grasping the paper with his thumb and forefinger, Noah turned it toward him, careful not to allow Jack to see the trembling in his hand.
I HAVE HER
JERUSALEM
GOD SAVE THE KING
WAKE UP
DON’T BELIEVE FATHER
HELP ME
Words. Phrases that seemed like gibberish.
“Did she use the same type of cipher each time?” Noah asked, glancing at Jack over the top of the paper.
Drooping against the table, Jack cradled his forehead in his palm. “No. Some were more complicated than others. The one that said wake up was a beast to work out.”
“Then maybe it’s the most important one.”
“Wake up.” Fahad chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling. “Maybe she knew you’d be falling asleep in the middle of decoding her messages.”
“She always did like to keep you on your toes,” Noah said with a smirk.
He set the paper down on the table and leaned back.
He didn’t dare take another sip of coffee under Fahad’s watchful and eagle-eyed gaze.
His shrewd friend wouldn’t miss the tremor in his hands.
“You should have seen them together in Malta, Fahad. The woman had Jack so tightly wound around her finger that we spent half the time there carrying parcels out of the merchant shops—and emptying Jack’s pocketbook. ”
Jack grunted. “Don’t remind me. Lot of good it did me too. I’m never buying another woman anything again in my life.”
Noah didn’t respond. The humor hid a deeper hurt, thinly veiled as it might be right now. Since Jack had confirmed on that train from France that Kit and Sarah had been the same person, Jack’s actions after Malta had been something Noah hadn’t wanted to think about.
No wonder his friend had been so devastated when he thought Sarah had died.
Jack had needed just as much consolation from Ginger when he’d married her as Ginger had needed protection from Jack. Noah had just never realized it until now.
And neither did he want to imagine just what form of consolation that meant.
Noah’s jaw clenched, and he pushed the thought into a deep, dark place in his mind, where he could keep it locked away and tightly sealed. He turned to the task at hand instead. “Wake up,” he said in a low voice, letting his gaze drift over the walls of Fahad’s home.
“It could mean something else,” Fahad offered helpfully.
Obviously. Noah didn’t let the snarky comment pass his lips, though.
“God save the king could be about King George,” Fahad suggested again. “Maybe someone is planning an assassination.”
Noah pursed his lips. “Much as that would be intriguing, I’d hope Kit would have better sense than to send a message about something like that to Jack in code through a newspaper and simply hope he didn’t miss it. He very nearly missed this.”
“But I didn’t,” Jack said wearily.
“But only because you went to her hotel room in Baghdad.”
“Because I was being distracted by a woman, apparently, who wanted to keep me distracted,” Jack said bitterly. “If I’d had the chance to spend some more time looking at those newspaper clippings she stole from me, I’m sure I would have found it sooner.”
Noah frowned and clasped his hands together. “Then why would she leave you the key to the telegraph office? She had to know you’d go there and get the logbook.”
“Why do women do anything the way they do, Noah? If you can solve that mystery, you’ll be the best goddamned codebreaker in the universe.”
A plume of smoke came from Fahad’s lips. “That’s true. Ask any man on the streets of Jerusalem. Women are the most mysterious of all of Allah’s creatures.”
Noah smiled then paused, his gaze darting toward the words Jack had uncoded.
Streets of Jerusalem.
Noah’s eyes drifted to the paper again, the phrases stacking in his head. God Save the King. Jerusalem. His mind jumped, stitched the two together, and a spark lit through his brain.
He slapped his palm flat on the table, the sound cracking through the room. “That’s it.”
Both Fahad and Jack jumped, giving him startled looks.
“What’s it?” Jack asked, squinting as he raised his head.
Noah leaned forward, an eager feeling energizing him. “The Streets of Jerusalem. King George. King George Street in Jerusalem.”
“Is there a King George Street in Jerusalem?” Jack asked, sitting straighter as he looked at Fahad.
“You’ve been away too long,” Fahad said with a shake of his head. He nodded. “For a decade now. By Jaffa.”
Jack locked eyes with Noah. “You’re a genius, you know that?”
Noah shrugged. “I didn’t decode those messages.”
“Don’t get carried away. I didn’t say you were the only genius here,” Jack said with the faintest glimmer of his normal humor. “What’s on King George Street?” he asked Fahad.
“Many new buildings. Merchant shops. The Talitha Komi orphanage for girls.”
Of course.
Noah cocked his head. “Talitha Komi?” The barest hint of a smile showed on his lips.
Jack rolled his eyes. “What now?”
“Talitha Komi. In Syrian Aramaic it means wake up, girl.”
“Of course it does,” Jack muttered, then gripped onto the edge of the table and stood. “Something I never could have known, since I don’t know Syrian Aramaic. You sure Kit wasn’t leaving this message for you instead of me?”
Noah held his gaze. “I’m sure that Kit assumed you’d turn to your closest friend for help, yes.”
He hated to see Jack so bitter. So wounded by this Ruby woman—whoever she was. Jack didn’t open up to anyone easily. If she’d managed to have that sort of effect on him, he must have really liked her.
Silence hung between them and Jack drew a slow breath, his shoulders rising with the effort. Then he nodded. “You’re right.” His eyes sparked. “An orphanage, huh? Who runs the place?”
“German nuns. Christians,” Fahad said. He set his pipe down then also stood, rolling his shoulders.
Nuns.
An orphanage of girls.
A safe institution of veiled women.
“It’s a perfect place for them to hide,” Jack said, echoing Noah’s thoughts.
“The sisters aren’t likely to allow you in, though. Especially if they’re hiding Kit and Alice. It’ll take someone they trust to do that,” Fahad said.
Jack crossed his arms. “Like whom?”
Fahad gave Noah a grave look. “Someone like Sheikh Omar. He is a friend to many—both Christians and Moslem Arabs seek his counsel. He will know either someone within the community at the orphanage or have a friend who can open the doors for you. If he’ll talk to you again.
Only one man was watching the house this morning.
He may be losing interest in you, Yusef. ”
“Sheikh?” Jack asked, giving Noah a wary glance.
Noah sighed, then rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t had the chance to fill Jack in too well with what he’d learned—or what had happened with Hower. Cracking his knuckles, he gestured for Jack to sit once again.
Jack did, giving him a pointed look to get on with it.
“After we parted in France, I was approached by Alain Roche and a man named Clive Hower. Hower claimed to be working for Knight, but I quickly realized he was a Blackwell operative.”
“Quickly?” Jack raised a brow. “That’s impressive. They don’t usually give themselves away so easily.” His eyes narrowed, as though he’d suddenly remembered Ruby. “Trust me, I know.”
“For the sake of brevity, let’s simply say it was an educated guess that I confirmed by locating this on his wrist.” Noah flashed the Blackwell tattoo Fahad’s wife Nasira had given him.
Jack tilted his head, his eyes sparking with anger. “I didn’t tell you about that so you’d go and mark yourself, Noah. You have no idea what trouble that symbol could cause you.”
Noah shrugged, unfazed. “I’ll tattoo over it soon enough.
Regardless, Hower made me an offer—come to Palestine, work for Knight and MI5 to pinpoint any German overtures being made to Arab nationalists, and my family would be safe from threats.
He also promised to give you what Knight had promised back in England—the ability for you to move freely in the Middle East and official aid in finding Alice and Kit. ”
Stretching his legs in front of him, Jack said, “At which point, you promptly sent me a message not to trust anyone because, since Hower was compromised, you didn’t know who else might be?”
“Precisely.” Noah sank slowly back into his seat.
“And, once here, I noticed that the evidence of German-Arab nationalist connections was less apparent than Hower had claimed. As though he was keeping me occupied. I took my job seriously enough—Fahad helped introduce me to a well-connected local sheikh. And, while there, I had the brilliant idea to ask after Kit and Alice—to see if he’d heard of any rumors of American women who’d come through the area. ”
“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Fahad admitted with a rueful smile. “The sheikh hears more than most. He’s an important man from an important family.”
“But it made him wary of you?” Jack asked.
Noah nodded. “Because he had heard of two American women. Only, he said nothing. His servant boy, however, reacted in a way that made me suspicious. So I followed the boy and questioned him—and the boy let slip that I wasn’t the only one who’d come asking.
I thought it might have been Federline, but it wasn’t.
It was a man named Sharif Kamal al-Rashid.
A man who, it turns out—according to Roche—just may have had reason to see King Faisal Hussein meet an early death. ”
Now Jack’s eyes shot to Noah’s. “Holy shit,” he breathed.
Indeed.
The implication was enormous. King Faisal was dead, after all.
“You think this Sharif al-Rashid murdered King Faisal?”
Noah nodded.
Jack raked his fingers through his hair. “But why would he be looking for Alice and Kit …” Jack shot to his feet once again, then steadied himself as though the movement had made him woozy. “That’s what you think Alice and Kit found, don’t you? They found evidence of it!”
Then Jack covered his face with his hands. “The goddamned microfilm.”
“Microfilm?” Noah asked, keeping his tone even.
Jack’s gaze slid away, his fingers curling against the table’s edge. “Last night—just before she attacked me—I found something. Microfilm. Inside a typewriter, of all places.”
Noah felt the words like a blade sliding under his ribs.
“When I woke this morning, it was gone,” Jack finished, his voice flat. “She took it.”
The realization made Noah’s close his eyes, his hands fisting.
If that was true and Ruby was Blackwell … then they’d just let vital intelligence—intelligence that was potentially explosive—slip into the hands of Prescott Federline.
Noah released a breath, then shook out his fists. He had no time for shaking hands. No time for softness. Not now. “Then let’s go. Let’s go talk to the sheikh. Let’s get back Alice and Kit.”