The towering masts from the numerous sailing vessels that dotted the harbor were thwarted in their vain attempt to touch the sky. Anchored and devoid of their billowing sails, the ships appeared naked and fragile. Aaron considered this a metaphor for his temporary vulnerability as he slouched in a deck chair with his feet propped up on the railing of his own tall-masted forty-five-foot schooner. Staring out at the sea around him, he heard and felt the rise and creaking inhalations of the boat on the gentle swells.
Her name was Saniyah II, and for him she was close to human—maybe even more so. She had sailed the Caribbean numerous times, but somehow she always ended up here off the coast of Belize, not far from the tiny island of Caye Caulker. It was here that both man and boat found respite.
As at home in the air as on the sea, Aaron, who co-owned Avian International, a rapidly expanding air freight company, was recovering from a nearly fatal injury he’d received a few weeks before on a clandestine mission. A former government intelligence operative, these days he also headed his own security group, Global Defense Force, known only to a few. Aaron realized that it was probably time to stop rolling the dice and get out of the game. The GDF no longer needed him as a special agent anyway since their ranks had swelled to form an elite army, all of its members being highly skilled former ex-U.S. Navy Seals, U.S. Army, FBI, and CIA operatives.
His associate, Ben Cassidy, a decorated ex-marine and co-founder of Global Defenses, had long since retired from active and managerial duty, handing over the reins to his equally skilled oldest son. Aaron was more than twenty years younger than Ben and he definitely wasn’t ready for fishing all day and watching the sunset over Bora Bora, but he had to admit that the thrill of saving the world—a world that half the time didn’t even realize it was in trouble—was gone. The savannas of Africa and the narrow twisting alleyways of Cairo no longer intrigued him, nor did the echoes in the mosques or the sun setting over the vast Persian Gulf.
The long years of espionage had left him a steely cold man who feared little and felt even less, an attitude that was surprisingly more of a flaw than an asset in the espionage business. Fear was the thing that kept one alive—kept one from being careless—but lately he did not care. If he remained active, his stellar record was in jeopardy. Aaron had never bungled an assignment, even if he’d been physically damaged in the fallout, and the most amazing thing was that his numerous aliases had never been compromised—not even once.
After many years, only a handful of trustworthy individuals knew that Aaron Weiss was more than just the private citizen co-owner of a billion-dollar air-courier service.
What bothered him as he stared restlessly at the waves, the smoke from his cigarette curling into the atmosphere, was the fear he instilled in others. Most children trembled in his presence, men gave him a wide berth, and despite some intimate dalliances with women, only three had ever looked him directly in the eye. And two of those three were long dead.
The third was named Valerie Redmond. And who would ever imagine that a nurse, a Christian no less, from Englewood, New Jersey, whom he’d first met at his business partner and friend Noah’s wedding reception, would be among those exceptional women who dared to have a conversation with him, and did so without showing any sign of apprehension. She hadn’t even trembled during their brief dance together. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She had trembled. But it definitely wasn’t the kind of trembling that came from fear.
He’d coincidentally come in contact with her again, shortly before embarking on his last nearly disastrous mission. She’d been at Noah and Jasmine’s home, temporarily babysitting the couple’s two children, when he’d stopped by to drop off an important package. They had exchanged very few words beyond the usual civilities people express while in a hurry, but the brief meeting had confirmed what he’d felt about her initially.
Taller than the average woman and stunningly curvaceous, Valerie had smooth coppery-colored skin—a complexion one might concoct from a mixture of cinnamon and orange cayenne pepper—thick, black, shoulder-length hair, and the assertive posturing of a Nubian queen. She was not an outrageous stop-dead-in-your-tracks beauty; he’d encountered those types—usually femme fatales—in all locales of the world, but she was the sort of woman whose attractiveness grew the longer he looked at her and the more time he spent with her.
So what was he planning to do about the mutual attraction? And he was positive it was mutual. Nothing. In the event he decided not to retire, it was best that way. Lovers and close family ties were a liability, an Achilles’ heel.
***
On Saturday afternoon, when Valerie and Jasmine pulled up in the circular driveway of the Allard estate, the temperature was hovering in the low teens with clouds threatening snow. A dirt-streaked white van was parked to the side of the house a few feet away from them.
“Looks like someone’s here,” Jasmine said.
Valerie frowned. “Probably just a caretaker. I hope I can talk my way in.”
The Long Island home, a modest brick mansion with withered brown ivy snaking up its foundations like arteries, greeted them half-heartedly. The house boasted a pillar-supported entrance portico with weathered, peeling paint. Icicles fringed the edges of the roof.
“A typical Colonial Georgian, very nice but badly in need of restoration,” Jasmine said, looking around, noting the two chimneys on opposite sides of the house. “Looks as if it were originally built in the early 1800s.”
Valerie smiled, bemused. Her friend was seeing the once stately home from an architect’s perspective. “You’re right. This place is not only old, but it’s got history. Mr. Allard told me that the original owners were rumored to have used it as part of the underground slave railroad.”
“For real? If that’s true, maybe it could be recognized by the historical society. Too bad the place has gotten so run down.”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Allard didn’t have much in the way of family to help him out,” Valerie said. “He did have a granddaughter, one he raised, but she turned out to be a wild one. So wild that he disowned her.”
Jasmine shook her head. “What a shame. Who’s getting the house? Even in the state it’s in, it’s still worth a lot of money.”
“Nephew from England. He’s supposed to be coming up this week.”
“England, huh? He’ll sell it, no doubt. Probably take a while in this economy, though.”
Valerie banged at the door using a brass knocker that could have awakened the dead. No one answered. She repeated the performance. The van, which they’d both assumed to be unoccupied, suddenly rumbled to life and moved out of the driveway.
“Weird,” Jasmine said. “Whoever it was could have acknowledged us.”
Valerie frowned again. “Let’s just get what we came for.”
She unlocked the door and they entered the dark, musty-smelling foyer. “Is anyone here!” she yelled loudly. No response. She automatically reached for the light switch, which of course yielded no illumination because the electricity had been turned off. Heading into the frigid living room, she drew the curtains, bringing in some gray mid-winter light.
Being in the house without Mr. Allard was eerie. Any moment she expected him to come rolling up in his creaky wheelchair to greet her with a British-tinged “Good afternoon, Valerie, my dear.” For a brief second, as she vividly remembered the hours they’d spent debating politics, discussing novels, reading passages from the Bible, and playing chess, she almost forgot why she was there.
“The books,” Jasmine reminded her. “I’m not too crazy about hanging around here long.”
Valerie didn’t comment because she was feeling a bit unsettled as well, and it had nothing to do with the injury she’d received from the subway platform fall. She led the way up a flight of long, winding stairs where an abandoned chairlift waited for a rider.
When Valerie parted the heavy drapes and feeble light poured in, Jasmine gasped to see that the entire second story had no individual rooms at all. Instead it was a private library boasting aisles of shelves loaded with books. In the center square of the room was an open area that was dominated by a long oaken table and several matching chairs. The hardwood floor was partially covered by a heavy Persian rug.
“Here we go,” Valerie said, getting down on her knees and peeling back part of the rug.
“What are you doing?” Jasmine asked.
“You’ll see.” She removed several loose planks and stuck a key into a locked panel in the floor. At this point, Jasmine tried not to laugh.
“Hidden floor panels? Get outa here.”
“Mr. Allard told me that I’m the only one who knows about this space.”
“Okaaaay…so why would he hide Bibles? Other than being God’s word, are you sure they’re not worth money?”
“Well, they are worth something, but nothing to get excited about. He had the oldest one appraised by a collector and was told that the most he’d get for it was two thousand dollars, and that would be pushing it.” Valerie wiped her hands off on her jeans. “Plus, I did warn you that Mr. Allard was eccentric. He was obsessed with the prophecies in the book of Revelation, and he believed that soon the world’s political systems would turn totally against Christianity and it would become a crime to own a Bible. He said that Bibles would be burned and no one would be allowed to own any.” She hesitated, coughing from the dust that had been released into the air. “It became his mission to preserve as many as he could.”
“That’s quite a theory,” Jasmine said with a touch of awe. “Imagine the world actually getting to that point.”
Valerie chuckled nervously. “I’m sure if it does, you and I won’t have to worry about it. We’ll be long dead.”
The two large cartons full of dusty books were impossible to lift from the concealed space, so they had to remove a few books at a time and take them out to the SUV. The process was awkward and took longer than either of them desired, but after several trips up and down the stairs, the mission was accomplished.
“Wait. What about this?” Jasmine pointed to an attaché case that was also hidden in the panel.
“Leave it,” Valerie said, stifling another cough. “I don’t know what’s in there.”
“Probably more books. It’s kind of heavy,” Jasmine said.
Shrugging, Valerie hauled the briefcase up to the surface and, since it wasn’t locked, opened it and glanced quickly inside. Jasmine was right, it contained more Bibles, smaller, more modern copies. They added them to the collection already in the car.
Mission completed, Valerie locked the compartment, replaced the planks and pulled the rug back into its original position. Her unsettled feelings lingered even after they’d secured the house, double-checked everything and were in the SUV, pulling back onto the road.
“Think we’ll make it home before the storm?” Jasmine asked idly.
“Doesn’t matter to me. You know I love driving in snow.”
“You love driving, period. Wish I felt that way.”
Valerie relaxed and pulled onto the expressway. The sky had gotten gloomier and the air was cold and slightly moist. She kept her eyes on the traffic ahead, but took note of Jasmine in her peripheral vision. “Jas, is Aaron in Cielo Vista, too?”
Jasmine, who had been fiddling with the radio, looked up, exasperated. “I knew it. I just knew you were going to ask about him.”
“C’mon. Humor me.”
“No. He’s not there.”
“Does Noah know where he is?”
“Probably.”
“And that’s all you have to say?”
“Yes.”
“You twit.”
“Bite me.”
Valerie mimicked a snarl and they both laughed like high school kids.
The car filled with the emotive sounds of the legendary Miles Davis, and the traffic sailed at a good clip around them. Valerie eyed the rearview mirror and noticed with sudden irritation that a weaving box truck was practically on her bumper, and she wasn’t creeping. Annoyed, she checked the side mirror and swung into the center lane. She accelerated, passed a string of cars until she gained a good distance, and then pulled back into the right lane.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” Jasmine said.
“Something good, I hope.”
“Oh, it’s definitely good. The timings a little off, but that’s not a problem.” Jasmine leaned back in the seat and studied the first drops of snow starting to hit the windshield. “Just last week I found out that I’m pregnant.”
Valerie felt her own heart lilt. “Wow! That’s great and…” She stopped. “You idiot! Why didn’t you tell me that before? You had no business carrying those books.”
Jasmine laughed. “No problem. You did most of the lifting.”
“Is Noah pleased?”
“Ecstatic.”
Valerie was happy for her friend. The new baby would be a biological first for Noah and Jasmine. He had a young son from a previous marriage and they had an adopted daughter.
Unfortunately, having a baby was something she’d never experience. During the fiasco of her short-lived marriage, Valerie had learned that, due to health issues, she’d probably never conceive. Although she loved children, the dire pronouncement from a doctor had long since stopped bothering her. She knew she could be tested again because there were medical advances in fertility treatments, but she’d had enough of being prodded, poked, and subjected to false hope, and she accepted her fate. After all, she was the favorite aunt to Jasmine’s kids and since there was no hint of marriage on the horizon, she might one day consider adopting as a single parent.
The box truck had caught up with them again. “Darn!”
“What?” Jasmine asked.
“That truck is following me.”
Jasmine glanced back. “You’re imagining it. Get in the other lane.”
She sped up, passed two more cars and a tractor-trailer, and moved back into the right lane, aiming for the next exit.
“You’re being a wacko, Val,” Jasmine said. “This isn’t our exit. That truck is…”
“Don’t believe me, do you? Look behind us.”
The box truck had slammed on its brakes, nearly rear-ending a Fiat, and jumped into their exit lane. Jasmine gave a gasp of alarm as she saw the truck roaring up behind them like a raging demon.
With her heart pounding and her brain calculating rapidly, Valerie prayed for clearance and plummeted the car down the ramp toward the merge, but what she saw was a huge tractor-trailer approaching. At that moment the box truck slammed into their bumper, forcing them into the path of disaster. Valerie clenched her teeth and refused to brake or relent.
“Hang on!” she shouted to Jasmine, who had covered her eyes. Jamming the accelerator to the floor and steering hard right, she rocketed the SUV forward, scraping a guardrail and causing the vehicle to shoot barely a yard ahead of the alarmed tractor-trailer driver whose horn blasts and screaming brakes filled the air. She waited for a sickening crash; there was a faint one, but it didn’t involve them. Luckily, the tractor-trailer had not jack-knifed but had sideswiped the box truck, pinning it against the shoulder.
Valerie kept driving, her hands clenched to the wheel. “JZL555. JZL555,” she recited. “Write that license down.”
“Umm…” Jasmine stared at her, eyes glazed in shock. “Shouldn’t we stop…call the police?”
“Are you kidding? This car’s still drivable, and the only time I’m stopping is when we’re back home. Now write that number down.”
***
“Someone is trying to kill me,” Valerie stated emphatically.
“What happened was an incident involving a maniac with a truck,” Jasmine said. “We were just random targets. No point in trying to rationalize why we were, either.”
Valerie took a long, slow, deliberate pause. “I suppose it was also just random…a coincidence that someone tried to push me in front of a train?”
Jasmine blanched. “Push you? You never said anything about being pushed.”
“I wasn’t sure then. Now I am, and I’m almost certain it’s got something to do with Mr. Allard’s will. I mean, really. This weirdness started happening right after I saw the lawyer.”
Well into evening, they were sitting in the sumptuous living room of Jasmine’s spacious home in the secluded Ramapo Hills, flanked by the cartons of Bibles they’d taken from Mr. Allard’s house. A muscular teenage neighbor of Jasmine’s had helped them bring the cartons inside.
Valerie slid one of the books out and inspected its well-preserved, gold-lettered spine. The Bible was written in a foreign text, possibly Italian. The copyright was 1935.
“I don’t want to believe that,” Jasmine said. “But suppose…just suppose it’s true. Do you think we were followed here?”
Valerie shook her head. “No way. That fool in the box truck was thrown off when he sideswiped the tractor-trailer. And if I really were still being trailed, he would expect me to go to my place, not yours. Plus, I deliberately made all those zigzags to throw off any tail. Make sense?”
“Of course it doesn’t make sense. None of this does.” Jasmine looked flustered. “I also must say you never cease to amaze me. Where did you learn those evasive driving maneuvers?”
“They’re a combination of paranoia and defensive driving. A retired FBI agent gave a night course at the community college.”
Jasmine shook her head incredulously. “You said the driver was a he…did you actually get a good look at him?”
“No. Just in the rearview mirror I couldn’t make out much, only that it was a man—a white or Hispanic man. I was kind of hoping that you might have gotten a better look.”
“Oh, please. At that moment all I saw was a truck bearing down on us. We did get the license plate, though…for all the good it’ll do. The truck could have been stolen.” Jasmine stood up and paced around. “And you’re absolutely positive that those Bibles are not overly valuable?”
“Absolutely. The oldest one was printed in the early 1800s. Mr. Allard told me that Bibles printed in that time period were plentiful. Generally, the ones that would be worth a lot would be Gutenberg’s or ones from the fourteenth century, and most of those are in museums or private collections.”
Jasmine looked at her directly. “Maybe someone thinks they’re valuable.”
“That could be true,” Valerie admitted. The thought had already occurred to her. She randomly flipped a page of the Italian Bible and a dollar bill fluttered out, landing on the floor. Distracted, she picked it up and realized it was not a dollar but a hundred-dollar bill.
Jasmine was still pacing and muttering to herself while Valerie, overcome by an eerie realization, placed the bill on the coffee table and flipped some more pages. Sure enough, there were more hundred-dollar bills. Lots of them.
By the time they had gone through each and every Bible in the cartons, the money that was stacked on the table amounted to nearly a million dollars. The modern Bibles in the attaché case contained no money, but they had been placed on the surface to conceal additional stacks of hundred dollar bills, along with an envelope addressed to Valerie in Mr. Allard’s spidery handwriting. Her hands shook as she opened it. The note read:
My dearest Valerie,
The treasures of the heavens and of the earth have opened up to you. Thank you so much for being there when I needed you. My deepest apologies for blending the monetary with the spiritual, but I assure you there were reasons for this blasphemy and I’m positive it will all work out. Please accept my gifts, as they can only go to one who is worthy. I have implicit trust that you will use the mammon wisely and, more importantly, that you will always treasure and preserve the spiritual.
***
“Two million dollars! I can’t keep this. No way can I keep this,” Valerie repeated in dazed delirium. “This money belongs to the Allard family. It’s got to be a mistake.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Jasmine said. “Sounds to me like he definitely wanted you to have it. And you did say that his family was cruel and never visited him.”
“His granddaughter did visit…once that I knew of.”
“You told me that she visited only because she needed money.”
“True, but she’s still his blood.”
“At the time of his death was Mr. Allard senile?” Jasmine asked.
“No.”
“Well, like I said before, he meant for you to have it.” Jasmine began checking the security system. “Boy, am I glad Noah had this security system installed. You’re staying here tonight. We have a safe where the money can be kept temporarily until you de…”
Valerie stood up. “I’m not keeping it. And I’m going to the police.”
“Oh, please. Not tonight. It’s too risky.”
Valerie sat back down, feeling more confused than ever. “You’re right. I can’t do anything about it now. I mean, I could call the police and…”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Jasmine said. “How about if I give Noah a buzz right now. He’ll probably have a worthwhile scheme…and he knows people.”
“Great idea. Call him.”
***
Hours later, when Valerie awakened in the guest suite of Jasmine’s home, she had no clue where she was. At first she thought she was at Mr. Allard’s house, reading aloud passages from Ecclesiastes. In his final months, Mr. Allard had enjoyed listening to what he proclaimed to be her theatrical voice. It finally dawned on her that she was at Jasmine’s place and that she was in trouble.
Because of the time difference with Africa, Jasmine had been unable to reach her husband last night, but she had left him a message. What time was it now? Valerie stared at the clock and shook her head in disbelief. It was almost 9 a.m. Dressing quickly, she hurried to the bathroom, washed up, and rushed down the exquisitely designed staircase, not even bothering to gawk out the windows at the panoramic views of the snow-blanketed forest and hills.
Jasmine had a light breakfast ready in the nook just off the rustic kitchen. She could afford a cook but she preferred to do things herself.
“It’s about time,” she said mockingly. “I heard from Noah.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Valerie sat down and gulped a glass of orange juice.
Jasmine ignored the question. “It’s a good plan, but…” She gazed at the ceiling. “I’m afraid it’s also a double-edged sword.”
Valerie looked hard at her friend. Jasmine didn’t usually play games when she had something to say. “Can’t be that bad. Does it involve police protection or something?”
“It involves you leaving the country temporarily.”
Valerie nearly choked on her orange juice. “Leave the country! If you’re talking about me going to Cielo Vista, I can’t do that. My agency is about to set me up on another job and…”
“You haven’t officially accepted the job yet,” Jasmine interrupted. “So hold on, I’m not finished. You won’t be going to Cielo Vista. The country is in Central America, Belize to be specific.”
“That’s even worse. I don’t know a soul in Belize.”
Jasmine took a deep breath and suppressed an eye roll. “Oh, yes you do. Aaron’s in Belize.”
Aaron. Valerie’s head, already spinning, would have fallen off her neck had it not been attached. Her heart surged and nearly jumped out of her throat. She said nothing.
“My thoughts exactly,” Jasmine said, noting her reaction. “Anyway, keeping you safe is the highest priority, but if you cooperate you’ll also be doing Noah a favor. He’s worried about Aaron.”
“Why is he worried about him?”
Jasmine inhaled deeply for the second time. “A couple of weeks ago, Aaron was injured on some…er, mission. He checked out of the hospital in Saudi Arabia way before any sane person would have. He calls himself recovering in Belize.”
“How seriously injured was he?”
“A gunshot wound. He had surgery and everything. Collapsed lung…something like that…I don’t know all the details. But trust me, the man has supernatural recuperative powers.”
Valerie shook her head. “You knew all about this, didn’t you? And you couldn’t tell me?”
“You know exactly why I didn’t. And I’m telling the truth when I say I don’t have details. Noah doesn’t talk much about Aaron’s life aside from Avian International, but we both know he’s ex-military and somehow tangled up in espionage.”
“And I’m sure Aaron is going to be thrilled about Noah’s scheme to get me down there to nurse him.”
“Surprise! Noah presented your case to him, but the actual plan was Aaron’s idea.” Jasmine hesitated, giving her a chance for the information to sink in. “True, though, he doesn’t know about the nursing part. That’s not going to be easy.”
Valerie barely heard the rest of what Jasmine said. So Aaron was concerned about her welfare—so concerned that he wanted her to be with him. Her worries about her own dilemma nearly dissolved. Even before she gave Jasmine her final answer, she knew what her decision was going to be. “What about my mother?” she asked lamely. “Aunt Marilyn would normally check up on her, but she’s away.”
“While I’m here, I can do it,” Jasmine said. “I’m sure Denise will, too.”
“Denise? For a price, no doubt.”
Jasmine smirked. “You have two million dollars at your disposal.”
“Very funny.”
“Who’s laughing? Sounds like you’re moving from the devil to the deep blue sea.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a good swimmer, definitely a lot better than you are.”