Lost Eden Read online

  Jack relived the incident again, as he had a hundred times before...watching the chopper swing away out of shooting range as he fell, mercifully landing on a slim rock ledge, and shattering his leg. He remembered the girl, Tessla, screaming and the soldiers holding her back. But that was all long ago.

  “I was in a coma for a week,” he said quietly. “Seven different surgeries to repair my leg.” He glanced down at his still somewhat disfigured limb, then back up at her. “And I always wondered what became of you, too.”

  Tess shrugged. “Mother met a visiting American historian. They fell in love, and he moved us to the United States. Quite a culture shock, I must say.”

  “And now, here you are.”

  “I’ve come full circle, so to speak. You saved me as a child, and now I’m asking you to save my boy.”

  Jack took in her beauty, remembered how she’d hugged him so tightly that day, twenty years ago. He wanted nothing more than to be the hero that he had been. But hell, who was he fooling? “Look, Tessla,” he said, perhaps a little more gruffly than he’d intended. “That was then, this is now. Heroes don’t limp and carry canes. You’ve got the wrong guy for the job.”

  Tess looked down, nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” he finished miserably.

  Just then, a car pulled up outside the café. Two men stepped out, each wearing black robes and brandishing black sub-machine guns. Those on the sidewalk instantly reacted by fleeing. The gunmen kicked open the café door and opened fire.

  With glass and mirrors shattering everywhere, Jack grabbed Tess and pulled her to the floor. Bullets tore apart the restaurant, ripping through everything in sight.

  Jack and Tess scrambled over the debris-strewn floor. They made their way around a corner and stayed quiet. More bullets, people screaming.

  “What the hell is going on??” Tess asked.

  “You tell me!” Jack hissed back.

  Jack peered around the counter. The gunmen stood in the destroyed café’s doorway. One of them fired off another burst into the counter, shredding it. Jack ducked back around to Tess, grabbed her hand. “C’mon!”

  Crouching, he led her into the adjoining kitchen. There he came face to face with an AK-47. He gulped, looked up. But it was the chef, now brandishing his own weapon. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. “Frahid,” he whispered in Arabic, “It’s me! Jack.”

  The chef nodded and moved toward the open slide and rattled off his own shots, stopping the gunmen in their tracks. The men dove for cover behind the now-overturned tables. The chef looked back at Jack and nodded toward the rear entrance.

  “Thank you, my friend,” he said, and he and Tess dashed through the back door and into an alley behind the café.

  Chapter Six

  Waiting just outside were two more gunmen. Jack’s sudden appearance caught them by surprise, though. He used the precious seconds to his advantage.

  Jack flipped his cane around, deftly catching it by the steel-tipped end, and bashed the snake-handled ball against the side of the first attacker’s head. Instantly, the man crumpled to the ground.

  Next, he drove the steel tip hard into the second man’s solar plexus. As the attacker doubled over, air exploding from his lungs, Jack now used his cane like a baseball bat, and cracked it hard over the man’s head. Out cold.

  As the second man hit the ground, his head cloth fell away, revealing a pale face and blond hair. Tess gasped.

  “You know this guy?” Jack asked her.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I think so.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of here and you can tell me about it.”

  * * *

  Jack Rome’s simple but elegant apartment overlooked downtown Tehran, the city sparkling ten floors below. Seated at a bay window, Jack sipped from a glass of wine as Tess paced nearby, speaking rapidly.

  “Three years ago, I was approached by Boris Karakov—“

  “The Russian pharmaceutical giant? He’s worth billions. Known for his innovative research on cancer.”

  Tess paused and looked at him, impressed. Then she continued pacing. “All true,” she said, “But not so well-known is that he’s now only got months to live. He’s dying of an aggressive form of pancreatic cancer.” She eyed Jack. “So, how do you know him?”

  “He’s here in Iran,” Jack explained. “Funding a huge archaeological dig in the northern desert. So, what did he want from you?”

  “He wanted my father’s research.” Tess’s voice was bitter now.

  “I thought your father was an historian.”

  “He was. In fact, he was one of the original scholars assigned to study the Dead Sea Scrolls. It was because of this that Karakov’s attention was drawn to my father.”

  Jack almost choked on his wine. “A cure for cancer was in the scrolls?”

  Tess abruptly stopped pacing, and turned to him. “Better than that,” she almost whispered. “A cure for everything.”

  Jack was taken aback. He didn’t know whether to take her seriously. But Tess continued, “Jack, do you know the story of the Garden of Eden?”

  “Of course,” Jack replied, although a little confused. “Who doesn’t? What does that have to do with your father and Karakov?”

  “More than you know,” she answered mysteriously. “The Scrolls, you see—well, at least one of them—provides clues to the location of the true Garden of Eden.”

  “I still don’t...”

  “Within the Garden of Eden, as the story goes, is the Tree of Life, which, as some claim, is the source of all life on Earth. Karakov is searching for the Tree, Jack. He’s searching for the cure to everything.”

  Jack was speechless, dumbfounded. The conversation had clearly taken a turn he was not prepared for. He stammered, trying to keep up. “But the Garden of Eden...it’s just a story...a legend. Besides, if it was real, which I seriously doubt, wasn’t it supposed to have existed somewhere along the Tigris and Euphrates? That’s southern Iraq.”

  “That’s the popular view,” Tess answered.

  “Then what’s Karakov doing in northern Iran?”

  “I’m glad you asked.”

  Jack Rome did his very best to keep his mind off this woman’s exotic beauty and on the topic at hand while she reached into her handbag and removed a laptop. She snapped it open, powered it up. Then she motioned for Jack to sit next to her. As he scooted closer, their knees touched.

  Tess began. “The Hebrew Bible gives very specific clues to the location of the Garden of Eden. In particular, it mentions the intersection of four rivers.”

  She turned the laptop toward him and plugged in a mini-mouse. On the screen was a picture of Iran. She highlighted the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, both of which snaked down across the Middle East and deposited into the Red Sea.

  “We already know two of the four rivers: The Tigris and Euphrates. It’s the two remaining rivers that have confounded scholars: the Pishon and Gihon.”

  Jack studied the screen as she manipulated her PowerPoint presentation on her laptop. The map scrolled up toward Iran.

  “Now,” she said, “if you go north toward the headwaters of the Tigris and Euphrates, you will find two minor rivers.” Here, she clicked the mouse, and northern Iran came into sharper focus. Jack saw two smaller rivers near the Black Sea. The names of the rivers were written above them. The first was Kezel-Uzun. Tess pressed the mouse again, and as she spoke, the name of the river changed...Jack was entirely spellbound by her knowledge and intellect, as well as her beauty. He looked on as the name changed.

  “The first river is called the Uzun by the locals. Now, when transcribing Farsi into Hebrew, the Farsi letter “U” becomes a “P”, so the river name Uzun is transcribed as Puzun.”

  Jack started to catch on. “Which is very close to Pishon.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled. “Now the fourth river, the Gihon, is another enigma to scholars...”

  Tess scrolled to another river called the Aras, the name of which morphed into another a
s Tess moved on with her PowerPoint. “After much research,” she spoke more animatedly now, “my father uncovered a seventh-century reference to the Aras River. In fact, the Arabic geographer referred to it as the River Gaihun.”

  Jack nodded. “Gaihun and Gihon.”

  “No doubt, one and the same,” she affirmed. She clicked back to the main map of northern Iran. Jack could see where all four rivers did, amazingly, come together at one point.

  “And here,” she said finally, “is where my father felt was the true location of the Garden of Eden.”

  She gave him a moment to take this all in. Jack studied the map intensively. “Wow,” was all he could come up with. He looked at Tess in awe. If someone had told him, when he woke up that morning, everything that had happened, he would have had them locked away. “My God,” he said.

  “There’s just one problem,” Tess said.

  He knew there was a catch. “What’s that?”

  “There is no garden there.”

  “Maybe somebody paved paradise and put up a parking lot,” he quipped because he couldn’t help it.

  “Very funny,” she said. “Now, in northern Iran, there is a volcano known as the Mountain of God.”

  “A volcano?”

  “An extinct volcano,” Tess clarified. “And, according to the scrolls, this is the true home of the Garden of Eden.”

  This was getting better and better, Jack thought. “On the mountain?”

  “Within the mountain. Once Adam and Eve were banished, the earth rose up and surrounded the Garden.”

  “That’s not in the Bible,” Jack countered.

  “No,” Tess agreed, “but the story is recounted in the lost scrolls.”

  “The same scrolls your father deciphered.”

  “Yes.”

  As Jack regarded her for a moment, she met his eyes dead-on. He leaned back and whistled. “And how many other people know this story?”

  “We’ll get to that.” She raised a hand to quell his questions. “About ten years ago, my mother was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. She was given six months to live.”

  “Let me guess,” Jack said. “Your father set out to find the Garden of Eden and save her.”

  Tess nodded. “They searched for it together. And they’ve been gone ever since.”

  Jack couldn’t contain himself—it was too much. He rose; it was his turn to pace. “And now your ex-husband, privy to this information, decides to sell it to the Russian billionaire, who is himself afflicted with cancer?”

  “Right. And now they’re here in Iran, searching for the Garden of Eden. And they have my son.”

  Jack turned to her. “And those men with the guns at the café...?”

  “Boris Karakov’s men. I am, after all, the only one who knows about my father’s research.”

  “But, what threat are you to him?”

  Tess rose from her chair and faced him. He felt the closeness of her, whether she intended it or not. And when she looked up at him, he was sure he could swim in those big, beautiful dark eyes.

  “What awaits in the Garden of Eden,” she said softly, “especially the healing oils that supposedly seep from the Tree of Life, could be priceless. That, in itself, is enough for most greedy men to kill the innocent.” She took his arm and held his gaze. “Already, my house in the States was burned to the ground. I barely escaped with my life—my life, and copies of my father’s research. So, Jack Rome, will you help me find my son?”

  Jack took a long, hard look at Tess...Tessla. Then he turned his gaze down to his injured leg, throbbing with pain as it often did. Finally, he turned away, ashamed.

  “Like I said, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next day found Jack Rome working at his desk. Or, rather, trying to work. He’d apologized up and down to Tess, only to have her cool eyes penetrate his with disappointment as she’d left his apartment.

  He glanced at his cane, which had helped save them both the day before. But then he rubbed his leg once again. “She came to the wrong guy,” he repeated for the tenth time.

  His intercom buzzed. Receptionist Angie’s voice said, “There’s someone here to see you, Mr. Rome.”

  “Who is it?” he asked irritably.

  “Rashid Ramalah, the Tehran Chief of Police.”

  Jack sat back and pinched the top of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Send him in.”

  Jack stood and hobbled around his desk with the aid of his cane, and opened the door himself. He was met by an older, gray-haired Iranian dressed in a Western suit and tie, both of which looked to be about ten years out of style. A very pleasant-looking man with a massive gut.

  Jack opened his arms, they greeted each other like old friends, kissing on the cheek in the traditional Iranian manner.

  “Chief,” Jack said as they seated themselves, “you look good.”

  The Chief shook his head. He spoke with a heavy Persian accent. “Cholesterol is off the charts. I’m bigger than ever. You are a liar, Jack Rome.”

  Jack chuckled. “Well then, you’d better arrest me.”

  “Don’t speak so flippantly, my friend,” Ramalah said. “I may have to do just that.”

  The Chief pulled a cigar out of his pocket and chewed on it, but left it unlit. “Tell me what happened yesterday at the café.”

  “I had lunch,” Jack said innocently. “A delicious salad with goat cheese, walnuts, olives...”

  Chief Ramalah raised his hand. “Enough. Some shooters opened fire, tore up the place pretty good. No one was hurt, except, that is, the shooters themselves.” The Chief’s gaze flickered to Jack’s snake-head cane. “Someone left two of them with cracked skulls. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Jack looked out his window. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Cut the shit, Rome. We know it was you. We also know who the American woman was: Tessla Morgan. We brought her in for questioning this morning.” Now the Chief did light his cigar, and Jack pushed an ashtray toward him. Ramalah continued, “Miss Morgan admitted to knowing the attackers, and has this wild story of a kidnapped child and the Garden of Eden. What would you make of that?”

  “She could be crazy,” Jack quipped.

  “That’s what I thought,” the Chief nodded his agreement, “which is why I have her in jail.”

  “You have her in jail?”

  “Seemed safer for her,” Ramalah surmised. “Meanwhile, I checked out her story and she’s telling the truth. About her child anyway. Her ex-husband and her son are both here in Iran.”

  “Good.” Jack tried to maintain a straight face. The thought of Tessla in jail...after her horrid childhood...

  Jack Rome leveled eyes with Tehran’s chief of police. “Good. Then go find her kid.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Ramalah continued. “The father hasn’t broken any laws and we could give a damn about the fraud charges brought against him by his own government. You know we have no extradition treaty with the Americans.”

  “So, what do you want with me?” Jack asked.

  “I want you to help her.”

  Jack shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “You speak fluent Persian and Arabic, and she trusts you. I know exactly what I’m asking.”

  Jack Rome pulled his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry. But I can’t—”

  “Of course,” the chief offered, “I could always arrest you, too, and sort out what happened back there at the café. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.”

  Jack bitterly contemplated Chief Ramalah’s ultimatum, but he understood he had no choice. The Chief smiled and puffed on his cigar.

  * * *

  Tess looked up as a guard unlocked her jail cell. He did no more than motion, and she followed him out into the lobby. She glanced around to see Jack Rome pacing back and forth with his cane in one hand, smoking a cigarette with the other. He didn’t look happ
y, but she approached him anyway.

  “Jack, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  He looked at her with a blend of relief and frustration. “Let’s just say the chief of police drives a hard bargain.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, automatically straightening her mussed hair. He tried not to notice.

  “Either I help you,” he told her, “or I get thrown in jail myself. I think the Chief must like you.”

  Tess got the picture. He wasn’t here of his own free will. “Well, I don’t need your help, Jack Rome.”

  “Yes, you do,” he told her. “Come on.”

  * * *

  It was early morning, and the sky was just beginning to pale with the coming dawn. Barren hills surrounded the Jeep as a bleary-eyed Jack wound down an empty road, parting the swirling mists. He was not a morning person.

  Tessla, on the other hand, was peppy and alert, ecstatic that they were on their way, finally, to search for her kidnapped son. Still, she resented the fact that Jack wasn’t helping her of his own volition.

  She reached into the back, which was overloaded with supplies and gear, and retrieved a bottle of water. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she told him again.

  “Yes, I do,” he countered again.

  “I could have gotten myself out of jail. So, why help me?”

  “To keep you out of trouble,”

  “But I thought you told me I had the wrong man. I thought you were out of the hero business and all of that.”

  “I am, officially,” Jack retorted. “This is unofficial hero work.”

  Then he glanced at her, at her beauty and liveliness. He winked at her, cracking a small smile.

  Tess grinned, and suddenly leaned over and kissed Jack sweetly on the cheek.

  At mid-morning, Jack Rome continued to roar the Jeep down the mostly empty highway, heading toward northern Iran.

  Tess dozed, mouth open, snoring softly. She looked peaceful and beautiful. Jack grinned warmly, shaking his head at the bizarre circumstances that had led Tessla back into his life. He let his gaze slip down over her figure, her smooth stomach, her long, strong but feminine body. The Jeep grazed to the right a little, bumping over rocks at the side of the road and he quickly averted his eyes, straightened the wheel, looking forward again. He took a long, deep breath.