Storm Front

seduce their Arab targets.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” Yael said. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
    “I would gladly volunteer for this interrogation,” Awad said.
    “Ah, Jesus,” Virgil said, and he went back to the hall.
    —
    H E CALLED D AVENPORT . “I haven’t found the stone yet, but I’m making some progress. I wanted to update you in case I’m found dead.”
    “Virgil . . .”
    “Lucas, I found the guy who was in the house. He’s acting as a kind of representative for Hezbollah, the terrorist group, in Lebanon. He says there’s another character in the hunt, a former Turkish Army intelligence officer, known for cutting the testicles off Kurds. He also tells me that Yael is not from the Israel Antiquities Authority, but from the Mossad. Or . . . uh . . . I think he said Shabak, which is apparently some other Israeli intelligence agency that kills people. She denies it, but she’s lying.”
    Davenport was silent for a moment, typing on a keyboard, then said, “Shabak . . . I’m looking at Google. It’s Israeli internal security. I guess here in the States we call it the Shin Bet. They do seem to kill some people. Interesting.”
    “Interesting? I’m dealing with a Turk who cuts your balls off, a Middle Eastern terrorist group, and an Israeli gun moll, and you say it’s
interesting
?”
    “It
is
interesting. You need some help?”
    “Yes. The first thing is, I want you to get onto whoever it is you get onto, your fed friend in Washington, that Mallard guy. Find out if they have anything on a Turk named Timur Kaya.” Virgil spelled it.
    “I’ll get on that,” Davenport said. “And I could spring Jenkins and Shrake if you need more manpower.”
    “Not yet, but I might. I’m going to poke this beehive a couple more times, but you tell those guys to get ready, in case I call.”
    —
    V IRGIL HAD just stepped back through the door when Awad took a phone call. He listened for a moment, and said, “I will call you back. I cannot talk at this moment.”
    He hung up and said to Virgil, “Football friend.” He tapped the soccer ball with a toe.
    Virgil said, “Raj, I swear to God, if you run, I’ll have you arrested and shipped to Israel. Not Lebanon, but Israel, for complicity in this theft. You know what they do to Hezbollah agents in Israel? They string them up by their testicles.”
    “Do not,” Yael said.
    “So I’m going to give you my phone number, and you’ll give me yours,” Virgil continued. “If I call, you drop everything and come running. You understand?”
    “Of course, but I did nothing,” Awad said. “I am not Hezbollah—I’m a Lebanese from birth, not a Palestinian.”
    “Okay, I’ll accept that, at least at this point,” Virgil said. “Did you know that we found blood on the floor of Jones’s house?”
    Awad’s eyebrows went up, and he said, “No,” and then, “The Turk,” and then, “Much blood?”
    “Not much, but it wasn’t done shaving.”
    Awad shook his head. “This is not good.”
    —
    V IRGIL AND Y AEL LEFT , after one more warning to Awad. Back in the truck, Virgil muttered, “Mossad.”
    Yael said, “You cannot believe this Arab.”
    “Shut up.”
    He pulled out of the parking lot, drove onto a neighboring street, then around the block, and then around another block, and finally parked on a hillside two blocks from Awad’s apartment parking lot, with a view of Awad’s car.
    Yael said, “We do this because he lied about the football call?”
    Virgil said, “Yes.” He unsnapped his safety belt, got out, popped the back door on the truck, got a pair of image-stabilized Canon binoculars out of his equipment box, got back in the truck, and handed the glasses to Yael. “You watch. I’m going to close my eyes and think about this.”
    He thought for thirty seconds, then sat up and called Davenport again. “I’ve got a cell phone number. I need to know where the calls are going, and where they’re coming from.”
    “We can do that,” Lucas said. “Hope it’s a smartphone.”
    “It’s an iPhone,” Virgil said. He gave Davenport Awad’s cell phone number.
    “Piece of cake.”
    —
    V IRGIL CLOSED HIS EYES AGAIN , then asked, “Will you guys have a file on this Turk?”
    “Somebody might,” she said.
    “Get it.”
    “I will ask,” Yael said.
    No mention of the handicap of working for the antiquities authority, Virgil noted.
    A minute later, Yael said, “Here he is.”
    Virgil sat up: “That