Chapter Fourteen #2
“Haven’t you got anything better to do than to follow me around?” she asked him.
He relaxed back into his seat, turned toward her with one hand on the wheel. “Actually, no.”
“Is there a reason for this obsession?”
“I want the golden coffin,” Ahmed said, “and you’re going to find it for me.”
Gabriela thought this was much more comforting than other possibilities. At least he wasn’t a lunatic sexual predator, and as long as he thought she was useful, she would be safe and not need the gun she had in her pocket.
“So, what is the expectation? That I find the coffin and then I hand it over to you?” she said.
“That would make things very pleasant.”
“And if I don’t hand it over to you?”
“I would have to take it,” Ahmed said.
“Why do you want the golden coffin?”
“I have my reasons.”
“That’s a little too mysterious for me,” Gabriela said.
Ahmed shrugged.
“Okay, what do I get out of this if I find the coffin?” Gabriela asked him.
“We would have to negotiate that.”
“The truth is, I’m not sure I’m making any progress,” Gabriela said. “I’m not even sure it’s still in Egypt.”
“It’s here,” Ahmed said. “It weighs one hundred nine kilos and it’s one point nine meters long. It’s difficult to conceal. Word on the street is that the coffin is supposed to be shipped out of the country, but it’s too hot right now. Security is too tight.”
“Did word on the street tell you anything else? Like who has the coffin? Or where it’s stashed?”
“No. And my informant has disappeared. Permanently, I suspect.”
Gabriela thought that returning to New York and hiring a lawyer for Harley was looking better all the time.
“I’d love to stay and chat,” she said, “but my falafel is getting cold.”
She left the car and walked back to the restaurant.
Rafer was still outside, waiting at the door. “Did you say hello?” he asked.
“I did. It was all very civilized.”
“Why is he following us?”
“He wants the golden coffin, and obviously he thinks I have a good chance of finding it.”
“Your reputation precedes you. Is he trying to stop you or is he wanting to work with you?”
“He wants to make sure if I find it, he’s there to take it away from me.”
“Nice. Was that his drone that you shot out of the sky?”
“Yes. And he was involved in the failed attempt to hijack the Rosetta Stone in London. My old friend Ahmed El Ghaly.”
It was past midnight, and Gabriela was alone in her room, working at her computer. She’d changed into a T-shirt and lightweight pajama bottoms. Her hair was an unruly mess, free from the confines of a ponytail. Her feet were bare and the lavender polish on her toes was somehow still perfect.
She’d been reading the information Marcella had emailed her, looking for a lead, piecing together possible relationships. She had a pad next to her computer that was filled with scribbled notes, meaningless doodles, and questions. It was her way of organizing thoughts.
There was a knock on her door. Knock, knock, pause, three knocks in quick succession. Rafer. It was their secret knock since forever. First grade maybe. She opened the door, and he stepped in.
“I knew you’d be up, working,” Rafer said.
“And you?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I’m feeling guilty that I got you into this mess.
” He took in her T-shirt, pajama bottoms, and lavender toenails.
“Cute.” He looked over at the desk. “I see you’ve got the doodle pad going.
That’s serious. You only turn to the doodle pad when you’re balls to the wall, trying to figure something out. ”
“You’re right about the doodle pad,” Gabriela said. “I’m thinking this project might be above my pay grade.”
“What have you got?”
“Leon Blake. He most likely recruited John Mackey. Prior to his employment at the British Museum, Blake worked for an LLC in London. His title was security specialist. The LLC also has locations in New York and Paris. I have a photo and physical description of Blake. Caucasian, five feet ten inches, brown hair, blue eyes, forty-three years old. Clean-shaven in the photo. I thought Blake was probably in Cairo, but Marcella hasn’t been able to locate him there… or anyplace else, for that matter.”
“Probably dead,” Rafer said. “A lot of people involved in this mess turn up dead.”
“Dead is a possibility. Blake seems to have vanished.”
“Next up?”
“Next up is Fooze,” Gabriela said. “We first heard about him when we were in London. Friends with Leon Blake. Also friends with Dodi Khabi. Marcella couldn’t get an address or more of a name.
It’s possible that Fooze recruited Dodi Khabi.
If I had to establish a pattern, it would be that there’s a single team involved in all the thefts.
Fooze seems to be part of the permanent team.
I’m not sure what to think of Leon Blake.
Probably there are others on the team, but I haven’t run across them yet.
When the team needs someone on the inside to help with a theft, they find a weak link.
Some local who is dissatisfied with their life.
Someone who will be tempted to go to the dark side for a big bag of money. ”
“Someone like John Mackey and Dodi Khabi.”
“Yes. And then once the theft has taken place, the weak link is eliminated, either for security or so they don’t have to share the money.”
“So, we have to find Fooze,” Rafer said. “Is there anything else?”
“I have two other players that I can’t explain. Harry Bench, representing the bank. And Ahmed El Ghaly.”
“Maybe Ghaly is working for a buyer,” Rafer said.
“That’s a good possibility. And then there’s Mausud Freight Forwarding.
They packed the crate of supplies that was shipped to Merrick, and they transported the crate to the plane.
They also shipped an empty crate that was large enough to hold two small men.
It’s a relatively small company that ships goods between New York, London, and Cairo. It has an excellent reputation.”
“The crate had a false bottom that contained a fake golden coffin,” Rafer said. “Hard to believe that Mausud wasn’t aware of it. Any recent deaths in the company?”
“Marcella didn’t come across any. It’s a privately owned, family-run business.
Half of the employees are related. Mohammed Mausud is listed as president and owner.
He’s based in New York with an apartment there, a flat in London, and an apartment in Cairo.
He has a forty-six-year-old son, Rocky, who manages the Cairo office.
I thought I’d take a look at the office tomorrow.
I’d also like to do a drive-by on the Mausud residences here in Cairo. ”
“It’s already tomorrow,” Rafer said. “Are you going to include me on this trip, or do I have to sleep in the lobby so I can catch you leaving?”
“You’re included. I’m going to have an early breakfast and then take a quick look at the Mausud residences before the freight forwarding office opens.”