Tel Aviv and Strasbourg

After a further brief exchange, Miryam returned us to the airport to catch the earliest return flight. Through the 747's passenger window I took my first look at Jaffa's setting sun. I pulled up the shade to see a resplendent blazing orb sinking below a blue horizon.

Joseph, in an adjacent seat, pointed to scenes below us. "Many believe, John, that the name 'Jaffa' originates from the name of Noah's son Japheth. Jaffa is mentioned several times in the Bible, even in your Christian Bible when St Peter raised a widow from death."
'St Peter, in Jaffa, and it's in the Bible,' I thought. I wondered when he'd decided to bury the box.

My mind returned to hear Joseph saying, "Jaffa has been extremely important militarily. Tel Yafo, Jaffa Hill, rose to 40 feet and gave commanding views of the coast."

I looked through the window again and felt my stomach lurch when the plane banked. The wing tip appeared to touch buildings, and I heard the "clunk" of wheels.

A red sign blinked on and the pilot announced that we were to fasten seat belts. We were landing. The flight had been so quick I had hardly noticed it.

In the arrivals area, Sean called me to give an update.

"Hiya, Sean. We've just touched down at Ben Gurion." Looking at my watch I continued, "It's 16:00 here. We'll hail a cab and head to Simeon's house." I told him about our meeting with Caleb. "Yes, he's in his mid-70s. He's very upset that his stolen desk diary opened the door for the attempted theft of my case at Heathrow Airport and resulted in the abduction of his nephew. How are you getting on?" I asked.

Sean gave me a brief summary of his conversation with Joshua.

"Get this, John, I am, and I quote, 'a trained, experienced, and responsible former officer of the UK military'. What do ya think about that?"

"What do you want, a cub scout good deeds award?" I gave a spluttered laugh. "Anyway, about Caleb. He thrust his laptop at us as if it had leprosy. We sympathised with the old man and tried to placate his guilt and worry, told him it wasn't his fault that there were evil people."

"Listen, John, before I set off," Sean said. "We've some extra personnel. Working under Joshua we've four Mossad people. My instinct is they're computer and telecom buffs. How about they hook up with James?"

"Let me chat to James and Aly," I said. "They work on the edge...if you know what I mean. They may not want official recognition. I'll call him now and let you know when we get to Simeon's." I ended the call and looked up James in my contacts.

*

During the day, Simeon was taped to a plastic chair. He winced; the chair was hard and uncomfortable. His captors brought him lukewarm microwaved meals and cups of water. During meals his hands were freed, but cruel eyes watched him closely, the fierce eyes of hardened men. Through the broken slatted windows, he could see trees and fields through gaps. He remembered being forced up some stairs, blindfolded, but he had no idea where he was. He thought he recalled hearing crowds cheering as he journeyed. Did they pass a stadium of some sort? Would help come soon?

*

Jason Gould, seated in a plush chair, stretched his legs under a huge mahogany table. The executive boardroom table. Neon lights reflected in its highly polished sheen. Jason's jacket draped the back of his velvet-cushioned seat, but he felt uncomfortable.

"Look, I don't know any more about it than you do," Jason said. A man with grey hair and bushy eyebrows whispered to a younger man who was doodling on a pad.

The older man suddenly jumped up and slammed his fist on the table. "Du Hurensohn! You son of a bitch!" he yelled.

The doodler stopped and smiled. Speaking in English for the benefit of Jason, he said, "The box is in Tel Aviv as we speak. Morgan and the other Latchman brother are staying at the Hilton."

The grey-haired man slumped into his chair and stroked his goatee. "Why so long?" he spoke in broken English.

"Don't worry, Granddad," the doodler said. "We'll hear from our guys soon. They still have the brother."

The grey-haired man, called Karl Weitz, leaned on his walking cane and left the room.

"Horst, you know this is not my fault, don't you?" Jason said to the young man on his left.

Horst Weitz replied, "Yah, yah. But we'd better get to Tel Aviv and find out what these idiots are doing. Bastards! The old man will blow a gasket if we don't get that powder soon."