Chapter 2 #2
They continued in silence, the heaviness of their conversation weighing in the space between them. When he’d enlisted, none of Noah’s loyalties had felt divided. Britain, king, and country. And it was the army that had wanted him to be here, to live and breathe and become what he was now.
Yet, what he was now was a liar. A killer.
Someone willing to look his friends in the eye and tell them what they wanted to hear rather than the truth.
Just like the sycophant diplomats in Cairo.
“The great thing about you Brits,” Jack had said the last time they were together, “is that you do a swell job of making everyone feel heard. Which is a problem when you’re not listening to anyone but yourselves. ”
A problem indeed. Noah didn’t even know if there was an official position on any of it. But the British government had certainly put a target on the backs of men like himself, who they commissioned to make promises he couldn’t keep.
The rows of cactus hedge and rocky walls soon gave way to dark and narrow stone streets. An occasional cedar or olive tree rose among the buildings, but with the rain and darkness, it was hard to see much. As they passed through the gap in the wall near the Jaffa Gate, Fahad slowed.
Noah tensed. A Turkish guard stopped them, and Fahad handed travel papers over to him. The guard scanned them, then thrust them back into the window. He hurried back to his cover, away from the rain.
Noah released a breath as he waved them through. One more reason to be thankful for the storm.
When the car stopped, Noah met Fahad’s awaiting gaze. “Thank you. As always. And give my regards to Nasira.”
Fahad wagged a finger. “One more thing.” He handed Noah a gun, which Noah recognized as the Mauser parabellum the Turkish officers carried. Fahad held his hand out, palm up.
Noah removed his own service pistol and traded the Turkish gun for it.
Fahad always worried about those details.
If Noah was stopped and searched, his British-issue weapon would give him away.
Noah had even lost a pistol that way, forced to dispose of it before they could search him.
Still, he preferred a gun he’d had a prior opportunity to fire.
He left Fahad and went back into the rain, darting through an alleyway. When he looked back, Fahad had already pulled away, his car lights off. Even though their time together had been brief, seeing Fahad had been good for him and erased some anxious thoughts clawing in the back of his mind.
Noah sidled up to a doorway on a stone building and rapped sharply. The door opened a minute later. Jack Darby stood behind a crack in the entrance, the yellow glow of electric light behind him. Jack eyed him, then opened the door fully, ushering him through. “I thought you might not show up.”
The door closed behind Noah. Jack wore a similar outfit to his, and his dark beard had fully grown in—it seemed wild, in fact. Had it only been a month since they’d last seen each other? Noah tipped a smile at him. “When have I ever failed to appear when I said I would?”
Jack didn’t comment, going toward a window high enough from the ground that even a man as tall as Jack—over six feet—had to stand on his toes to see out of.
Raindrops battered the window, running in rivulets down the pane.
Thunder trembled in the distance. “Not a great night for going out, but it’ll have to do. How was Fahad?”
“He seemed well enough. Frustrated.” Noah rubbed his hands together, his skin still cold, grateful that Jack had a fire going in the small room.
The cramped space featured only a makeshift bed on the floor and a rickety table with two chairs.
No running water. A chamber pot was in the corner, under the washstand.
Hard to imagine someone with as much money as Jack had accumulated over the years would live like this for an extended period.
Jack came back from the window. “We’re all frustrated. It’s high time this damned war ended already.” He sat in one chair, inviting Noah to take the other.
As a seasoned cryptographer, Jack’s services weren’t likely something the army wanted to let go of—even with America having joined the war.
Jack had confessed to Noah he’d been tempted to ask his government to help him get out of his commitments to the British.
But with the Americans, Jack would probably end up in France.
Jack’s knowledge of the languages in this region—both present-day and ancient—were more useful here.
Noah went to the fireplace instead, to ease the chill.
He’d found nothing but a hot bath could dispel the cold that came from being wet and miserable for an extended period—but that wouldn’t be a possibility tonight, of course.
The fire helped. He checked his watch. They had only minutes before they’d need to be on their way.
Jack observed him in silence. “You look better than the last time I saw you. Not so thin.” He cocked his head. “Maybe even less tormented?”
Noah met Jack’s dark-brown eyes. They’d been friends for too long for Jack not to inquire, and the last time they’d seen each other, Jack had made him promise. “I saw her.”
A pleased smile settled on Jack’s features. “When?”
“In Gaza. She was at the clearing station. About two weeks ago.”
“Good. Now—don’t you feel better?”
“Not much.”
Jack leaned back in the chair, and it gave a tremulous groan. Noah braced himself, waiting for the chair to snap, but it held steady.
Of course Jack was interested. Jack had been there when Ginger had saved Noah’s life.
He’d seen them together. He knew how Ginger had changed Noah, even in the brief span they’d been together.
And what Ginger had sacrificed in the end: she’d promised Lord Helton to stay away from Noah, something Victoria had neglected to relay to Noah during the months he’d been recuperating.
Noah had been sure she’d stayed away out of hate. Why wouldn’t she hate him?
Jack had been the one to tell him differently.
Noah rested his shoulder against the wall, his skin feeling unnaturally hot from the fire. “If I’d left well enough alone, she might have found someone who suited her better. Someone equipped to give her a life.”
Jack stood and rolled his eyes. “Right. Because you’d be able to live with yourself if she ever married anyone else.
” He picked up a canvas bag by the bed and slung it over his shoulder.
“Well, since you’ve learned nothing, there’s nothing more to say.
Except you might want to keep an eye out.
I intercepted a message from Sir Reginald Wingate to Lord Helton asking about details regarding what happened with her father. ”
Noah stiffened. He’d dreaded that possibility for months now—that someone with a higher level of authority than Lord Helton would want to know more about the matter.
Sir Reginald Wingate was one of the worst possibilities as he’d recently been named high commissioner to Egypt. “When did you intercept it?”
“About a week ago.” Jack drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Which is why I brought the whole thing up. She may need your help with it if they dig too deep.”
“I worry about what other secrets Lord Braddock hid that may come back to haunt his family.” Noah had unraveled much of the man’s underhanded dealings, and yet it felt as though he’d barely scraped the surface.
The ring of smuggling Lord Braddock had operated was deeply underground.
Without Stephen Fisher, their hopes of discovering the key players remained stalled.
His gut clenched at the thought of Fisher out there. Lord Helton’s refusal to let Noah hunt for him still infuriated him.
The conversation was doing little to bring Noah the calm he’d craved before his meeting this evening. “Shall we move on? I’m not sure this mental exercise is doing me any good.”
Jack seemed to understand he’d struck a nerve. “You got it.” He stood. “Ready for this?”
Noah smirked at him. “Do I ever have the choice?”
They left and headed back into the rain.
They were matched in height, which had never worked to their advantage when they were undercover—both were several inches taller than the average Arab or Egyptian.
Noah ducked under an archway, the dark enveloping them.
With the rain, the baked ancient dust of the limestone buildings had settled, giving way to an earthy smell.
He exited the covered arched passageway, following Jack into a narrow, curved side street.
He’d never dreamed his aptitude for languages would lead him to years of this.
Jack stopped. Noah crouched beside him. Jack pointed to a building across the way, where a candle shone in a second-story window. “Abdullah is in there. If there’s trouble, knock the candle over.”
“And if I can’t?”
Jack shrugged. “Then improvise. I’ll do my best to help. He should only have one or two men with him tonight, at most. At least, based on my sources. But hopefully it won’t come to that.”
Noah crossed the street and knocked on the door. The door opened, and he nodded to the petite man who stood there. “As-salaam alykum,” he said. Then he continued in flawless Arabic, “Karim Sayed. Abdullah is expecting me.”
The man stood on his toes to look past Noah, toward the street. Then he ushered Noah through. He directed him up the staircase and then down the hall to a doorway. He opened the door, folding his hands in front of him.
Abdullah, a large, solid man with bushy brows so thick they nearly joined above his nose, stood from a desk in the back of the room.
He wore a fine gold-embroidered maroon caftan with gold tassels.
Spreading his hands, he gave Noah a toothy smile, greeting him in Arabic.
“Karim, my friend. It’s been too long. I’m surprised to see you out of Aleppo.
All your friends seem to flee the city, and here you are. ”
Noah embraced him like an old friend. Most of the times he’d met with Abdullah, it had been safely within firmly held Ottoman territory. He’d only visited him in Jerusalem once—in the house of a Turkish diplomat. “And you? Don’t you fear the regime change? Yet you stay.”
Abdullah pursed his meaty lips. “They profane our gates. But they have showed their true face now, with their promises to the Jews. They will not chase me out of my homeland.”
Abdullah’s Ottoman loyalties were no great secret—more than many, he’d profited from rubbing elbows with the Turks and Germans in Jerusalem.
“Do you have the papers?” Noah asked. His gaze flickered to the candle at the window.
He’d have to take a few steps to make it there if necessary.
Knowing Abdullah, he and the man at the door were both heavily armed.
He produced from his tunic the bag he’d strapped to his torso during the sea voyage.
The one thing he couldn’t afford to lose—the money they had given him for this exchange.
Snapping his fingers at the man who’d shown Noah in, Abdullah rubbed the well-groomed beard along his jawline. The man came forward and Abdullah whispered in his ear. The man left the room, closing the door behind him.
Abdullah held out his hand for the bag. Noah gave it to him, thankful to have his hand free if he needed to reach for his gun.
Abdullah opened it and sifted through the contents, then lifted dark eyes toward Noah, a satisfied look in them.
He pulled out a rolled paper from his robe.
Sucking air through his teeth, he unrolled the paper on his desk, revealing a map. He gestured Noah to stand beside him.
The map was of the entire Palestine and Transjordan region and Arabia, as well as Syria.
Abdulla pointed to some shaded areas, which had names and dates written above them.
Noah had spent so much time staring at maps of these regions he could practically draw them from memory.
“These are the concessions granted, to the best of my knowledge. There are two areas of interest not represented here.”
He pointed to an area near Mosul. “There are rumors of good conditions in Kirkuk.”
“Seepages?” Noah scanned the map. He’d heard of oil seepages in Kornub, and recently, but not of that area. He’d have to send a message to Gertrude Bell in Baghdad.
“Perhaps.” Abdullah shrugged. “The rumors conflict.”
He pointed to another area, much further south in the Arabian Peninsula. “The second area of interest is here. My men tell me Ibn Saud granted a secret concession to an Englishman—a Lord Braddock. I can’t tell you more of it, but I have someone who can.”
An icy feeling hit him in the core. Lord Braddock had been granted a concession? What had happened to it?
As Noah tried to process Abdullah’s claims without reacting, the door creaked open behind him. Abdullah looked over Noah’s shoulder and straightened. “Karim. Let me present you with Oberleutnant Stephen Fisher.”
Noah froze. Of all the people who might be in Jerusalem, only Stephen could give him away instantly. Several thoughts assailed him at once, his eyes glued to the map in front of him. He’d have to remember as much of it as possible in case it didn’t make it out of this room with him.
Whatever Stephen was doing here, Noah had only seconds to react. Abdullah and his men would easily overpower him. No candle would help. And if he left, they’d alert the Turks to his presence.
Noah pulled his gun from its holster. He fisted the map in his other hand, crumpling it, then fired three shots toward the window. The glass splintered and burst, shards tinkling against the stone street below.
Abdullah cried out and Noah glanced back. His eyes met, for a split-second, with Stephen’s icy blue gaze. Then Noah hurled himself toward the window, arms over his face. Shots rang out behind him.