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Authors: Alan Champorcher
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was a tussle, over in a moment.
“Take it easy, you’re going to break my arm!”
Conti froze when he heard the voice. He took a step back and watched as a small figure, face and beard covered in black make-up, picked himself up off the ground. “You can’t ask before you jump on a person?”
Conti broke out laughing.
“Very funny. You could have put my eye out!” The smaller man straightened out his hiking outfit.
“Who in the world is that?” Jill asked from the safety of the trail.
“The distinguished scholar of comparative religion and my old friend, Rabbi Amos Cadiz. Why he’s lurking in the bushes, I have no idea.”
“I wasn’t lurking. I was conducting surveillance. Big difference. How did you see me?” He gestured at his face and clothes. “Pretty good job of camouflage, no?”
“It would have been, if you’d remembered to black out the gold rims of your glasses. I saw the sun glinting off them.”
“Humph! So much to remember. I don’t do much undercover work anymore.”
“I could have guessed,” Conti replied. “So why are you doing it now?”
“Who’s she?” Cadiz asked.
“You don’t remember Jill Burnham? We were both in your Middle East class at Langley. Or whatever you called it.”
“I called it Prelude to Chaos. Yes, now that I get a look at her, I do remember Miss Burnham. Who could forget that face? And smart too!”
Jill frowned, but it did nothing to hide a blush.
“So, let me ask again,” Conti wanted to move things along. “What are you doing here?”
Cadiz glanced at Jill again before answering. “It turns out Mossad is very interested in your Tibetan gentlemen. It seems that they … we … have some large contracts in Tibet also. Building electronic systems to control dams and mines. Billions at stake. They don’t want anything disrupting these projects. They found out you were searching for the monks, so they sent me to keep an eye on you.”
“Really?” Conti raised his eyebrows. “All these years, you never told me you worked for Mossad.”
“Eh, only part time. Keeps me in foie gras and Lafite-Rothschild. Mostly I do analysis.”
Jill sat down and pointed to a pack that Cadiz had left in the bushes. “You wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you? And maybe something to eat? John lost all my provisions a few miles back.”
“While I was saving her life.”
“Nevertheless,” Jill replied.
“Yes, I have food and water and you’re welcome to it. Courtesy of the state of Israel.” Cadiz bent over and undid the straps of his pack. He pulled out a canteen and passed it to Jill, who drank gratefully. Then he began taking out food packets and lining them up on the ground.
“Let’s see, chocolate bars, bread, of course, a small jar of Nutella, Fontina — I like the soft cheeses — and proscuitto.”
“Proscuitto?” Conti asked. “I thought you kept kosher.”
“At home. In the field, you have to be flexible. Anyway, it came from a Jewish butcher.” He unwrapped the cured ham and offered it to Jill.
The three of them sat chewing in silence for a few minutes before Cadiz broke the spell. “So, what now?”
“There’s a Buddhist monastery a few miles from here we want to check out,” Conti said.
“Mitri Abbey. Know it well.”
“You do?”
“I’ve lectured there. They bring in people from all over the world. Run by Tibetan monks. They hold retreats — that sort of thing. I think it’s a front for raising money for the independence movement.”
“Really?” Jill asked. “Our Rome office never mentioned that.”
“They’d have to have had their eyes open. No offense, but your bunch of college kids is too busy following rich Saudis around Rome to know what’s going on in the rest of the country.”
“How would you know that?” Jill asked, hostility creeping into her voice.
“Half those women in burkas are Israeli agents.”
“If you know so damn much,” Jill’s voice rose, “who are these South
“Take it easy, you’re going to break my arm!”
Conti froze when he heard the voice. He took a step back and watched as a small figure, face and beard covered in black make-up, picked himself up off the ground. “You can’t ask before you jump on a person?”
Conti broke out laughing.
“Very funny. You could have put my eye out!” The smaller man straightened out his hiking outfit.
“Who in the world is that?” Jill asked from the safety of the trail.
“The distinguished scholar of comparative religion and my old friend, Rabbi Amos Cadiz. Why he’s lurking in the bushes, I have no idea.”
“I wasn’t lurking. I was conducting surveillance. Big difference. How did you see me?” He gestured at his face and clothes. “Pretty good job of camouflage, no?”
“It would have been, if you’d remembered to black out the gold rims of your glasses. I saw the sun glinting off them.”
“Humph! So much to remember. I don’t do much undercover work anymore.”
“I could have guessed,” Conti replied. “So why are you doing it now?”
“Who’s she?” Cadiz asked.
“You don’t remember Jill Burnham? We were both in your Middle East class at Langley. Or whatever you called it.”
“I called it Prelude to Chaos. Yes, now that I get a look at her, I do remember Miss Burnham. Who could forget that face? And smart too!”
Jill frowned, but it did nothing to hide a blush.
“So, let me ask again,” Conti wanted to move things along. “What are you doing here?”
Cadiz glanced at Jill again before answering. “It turns out Mossad is very interested in your Tibetan gentlemen. It seems that they … we … have some large contracts in Tibet also. Building electronic systems to control dams and mines. Billions at stake. They don’t want anything disrupting these projects. They found out you were searching for the monks, so they sent me to keep an eye on you.”
“Really?” Conti raised his eyebrows. “All these years, you never told me you worked for Mossad.”
“Eh, only part time. Keeps me in foie gras and Lafite-Rothschild. Mostly I do analysis.”
Jill sat down and pointed to a pack that Cadiz had left in the bushes. “You wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you? And maybe something to eat? John lost all my provisions a few miles back.”
“While I was saving her life.”
“Nevertheless,” Jill replied.
“Yes, I have food and water and you’re welcome to it. Courtesy of the state of Israel.” Cadiz bent over and undid the straps of his pack. He pulled out a canteen and passed it to Jill, who drank gratefully. Then he began taking out food packets and lining them up on the ground.
“Let’s see, chocolate bars, bread, of course, a small jar of Nutella, Fontina — I like the soft cheeses — and proscuitto.”
“Proscuitto?” Conti asked. “I thought you kept kosher.”
“At home. In the field, you have to be flexible. Anyway, it came from a Jewish butcher.” He unwrapped the cured ham and offered it to Jill.
The three of them sat chewing in silence for a few minutes before Cadiz broke the spell. “So, what now?”
“There’s a Buddhist monastery a few miles from here we want to check out,” Conti said.
“Mitri Abbey. Know it well.”
“You do?”
“I’ve lectured there. They bring in people from all over the world. Run by Tibetan monks. They hold retreats — that sort of thing. I think it’s a front for raising money for the independence movement.”
“Really?” Jill asked. “Our Rome office never mentioned that.”
“They’d have to have had their eyes open. No offense, but your bunch of college kids is too busy following rich Saudis around Rome to know what’s going on in the rest of the country.”
“How would you know that?” Jill asked, hostility creeping into her voice.
“Half those women in burkas are Israeli agents.”
“If you know so damn much,” Jill’s voice rose, “who are these South
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