The Dead Sea Codex Page 10

  Ellen, just ahead of her on the path, was scarcely out of breath. She swung along at a steady pace, her neat behind encased in close-fitting khaki shorts. Her blond bob was covered with a Philly baseball cap, and she looked adorable.

  They reached the top of Masada by eight a.m., just as a pale pink sun was lifting over the ochre hills.

  Lisa slipped off her backpack and stretched, taking in the spectacular scenery. Raw reddish-brown rock jutted in fantastic formations, reminding her of the Grand Canyon at home. On one side, a glimpse of green—an oasis. Was it Ein Gedi, the site of the kibbutz and a late Roman site with gorgeous floor mosaics? She'd have to ask Greg.

  On the other three sides, plenty of fissures and ridges—and possible caves—to deceive the eye. So many possible places to hide something valuable...

  It was easy to see why the Jewish rebels had chosen this spot as a stronghold. No one could approach without being noticed, and there was plenty of loose rock around with which to pelt the heads of Roman soldiers. The walls had been restored to their original height. As an archaeologist, Lisa had mixed feeling about this practice. It made pretty viewing, but you never knew what were the original remains left by the inhabitants and what were the results of the restorer's imagination. Walls were pretty safe, but when you got up to the roof—well, you'd better have solid architectural evidence on the roof type before you added to the ancient structure.

  "Let's go see the migve, then we can set up camp near Herod's Palace,” said Arieh.

  Somehow, Arieh had wangled permission for them to camp—he must have good connections through his museum job. Ellen nodded, always ready to fall in with any of his suggestions, and Lisa reflected sourly that her best friend was pretty far-gone. Arieh was attractive enough as she well knew, but he was so smooth, so plausible. Lisa could not pinpoint why she didn't trust him.

  Greg certainly didn't trust the Israeli curator. He had curtly avoided talking about his true business, deftly changing the subject whenever ancient scrolls or codices were mentioned and avoiding any private conversation with the handsome ex-soldier. Was he jealous of Arieh's obvious attraction to women, or did Greg know something Lisa didn't about Arieh's professional life?

  The three Americans followed Arieh's sturdy back over the rubble-strewn surface. They passed the Western Palace and the Swimming Pool, heading for the south end of Masada.

  "Here we are,” said Arieh, dropping his backpack and unscrewing the top of his water bottle. “The migve, or ritual immersion bath. Its Second Temple period, very interesting. For Jewish women at their time of month, you know.” He winked unnecessarily at Ellen.

  "Actually, it's for after that time of month,” responded Ellen. “A woman purified herself after her period ended, before resuming sexual relations. And men took ritual baths, too."

  "How old is the practice?” asked Lisa curiously.

  "Three thousand years,” said Ellen. She climbed up on a low wall that was all that was left of one side of the foundation.

  After a short rest, the four friends hiked along the eastern side of Masada, back towards the Snake Path and the Northern Palace complex of Herod the Great.

  Lisa slipped on a pile of loose pebbles, and Greg steadied her. She had noticed before that every time he found an excuse to touch her, her skin warmed and tingled for minutes afterwards.

  "Lisa,” he said softly. She started to turn, but he steered her straight. “No don't turn around, just listen. I don't want the others to hear. I'm going out tonight, after the rest of you are asleep. On the drive here, we passed a couple places that were on Ali Haddad's map.

  So Greg was beginning to trust her with information again. “Just don't break your neck. I hope you brought a flashlight?"

  "Sure, but I have eyes like a cat in the dark."

  He wasn't exaggerating. Lisa had done a night hike with Greg and another friend seven years ago, and Greg moved as surely as a mountain goat. Lisa herself did okay going up; it was going down she hated. Slippery stones and uncertain knees—she wished she still had the physical confidence of a ten year-old. Several twisted ankles as an adult had taught her otherwise.

  "Lisa."

  "What?"

  "It's time I told you where I'm going. It's the Nahal Se'elim. One of the canyons searched by the Bar Kokhba team."

  "Bar Kokhba?"

  "The guy who led the Second Jewish Revolt against Rome. You know, all those letters of his found by Yigael Yadin's team. Yadin excavated this place, too."

  Lisa nodded, a cold feeling in her stomach. She knew he was telling her in case something happened to him.

  They had arrived. Herod's villa hung over the abyss, held up by a huge supporting wall built by Roman engineers. Arieh led the way down to the lowest level, where Yadin's team had uncovered frescoes and plastered columns.

  "Can we really camp here?” asked Lisa dubiously. She could take unauthorized photos with impunity, but she had no desire to damage an archaeological site.

  "It is okay,” said Arieh. “Our permission extends to the whole northern end, as long as we camp on flat surfaces and take nothing away with us."

  Ellen was already crouched near the frescoes, examining the bright colors behind the protective glass.

  Lisa walked over to get a closer look.

  "See how the conservation team removed the original backing?” Ellen pointed at the new layer of grayish material behind the thin layer of colored plaster. “They stabilized the painting layer with a specially prepared mortar."

  "Didn't they have to remove the fresco from the wall first?” asked Lisa, struggling to remember what she'd read so long ago.

  "Yes,” said Ellen feelingly. “It must have been a hell of a job. Very delicate and time-consuming. And they injected glue into the plaster as well."

  Lisa, now admiring the narrow terrace that everyone said resembled the prow of a ship jutting out to the north, said “Won't it be too windy to camp here?"

  Greg scanned the area for suitable tent sites and pointed. “You and Ellen are in a good spot. If we set up over there, in the corner near the frescoes, we'll have some wind screen on two sides."

  And, Lisa added silently, an outstanding view of the surrounding cliffs with possible caves on three sides.

  * * * *

  LISA COULDN'T SLEEP. Ellen was snoring peacefully away, but Lisa's brain churned with visions and doubt.

  Visions of that night so long ago when the Jewish zealots had decided to commit mass suicide rather than fall into the hands of the Romans. Children, women, and men, in that order. Had the parents pretended to the children that they were just going to sleep as usual? She pictured a young husband and wife, weeping as they looked at their dead children. Then he reached for his knife, shielding his wife's face with his chest so she wouldn't see the blow coming...

  What courage. Or foolhardiness. No double their fate at the hands of the Romans would have been grim—and death more drawn out.

  Lisa heard the wind keening around the tent. To her, it was a lonely sound, full of ghosts. Full of the voices of people who had died for what they believed in.

  Her mind turned to the present. Was Greg endangering himself? She knew he could skulk around without being seen—he really did have eyes like a cat, and the grace to match. She was still uneasy.

  Carefully, she slid out of her sleeping bag and groped for her blue fleece jacket. The desert was chilly at night, cold enough for wool blankets and down bags. She could hardly believe the thermometer climbed to near ninety during the day.

  Lisa stood up in her pajama bottoms, stocking feet, and furry fleece. Taking a couple steps away from the tent, she gazed at a magical landscape of towering cliffs and dark ravines lit by a crescent moon.

  From the stark pier of rock that housed Herod's famous three-tiered palace, she could see into the hills of Jordan, fantastically sculpted by time and diffuse light into ramparts and towers. Somewhere out there was Greg, sneaking around looking for likely caves.

  Suddenl
y she saw movement. A dark figure on the other side of the wadi made its way horizontally across the cliff face. Startled, Lisa shielded her face from the moonlight, squinting to see clearly.

  Then she spotted another silhouette, coming from the opposite direction, but higher up. Could they see each other? Were they on the same team in the search for the codex? How many teams were there, anyhow?

  She watched until her eyes ached from strain and her feet hurt from sharp rocks underneath her. Lisa finally turned away, feeling cold inside and out.

  She was about to return to her tent when she heard a gun shot ricocheting off the rock surfaces.

  Lisa scurried back to the edge of the cliff, peering into the dark gulf, trying to see if either of the dark figures had hurtled into the ravine. Where was Greg? Was he really trying to climb a sheer rock face in the dark, without any ropes or lights? He was stubborn, but not crazy. Or so she hoped.

  Shivering and worrying, she tiptoed back to her tent. How could she ever sleep? She grabbed her warm down bag and wrapped it around her, sitting in the doorway of the tent. Maybe Greg was all right ... maybe there was nothing she could do.

  * * * *

  LISA JERKED SUDDENLY as a firm hand grasped her ankle. She yanked away her leg, ready to scream bloody murder, and saw a dark form against the opening of the tent flap.

  It had a hunk of hair flopping over the forehead—Greg.

  She scooted forward on her behind and stuck her head out into a predawn chill.

  "Where have you been?” she hissed. “I heard a shot! I thought you had been wounded!"

  "Hush. Come out so we don't wake up the others."

  Lisa shed the sleeping bag, zipped up her fleece pullover again, and stepped onto the rocky surface. Greg pulled her gently away from the tents and turned her to face him. His face was lit by excitement and the faint glow of his flashlight.

  "I think I found it."

  "My God! Where?"

  "Just across the wadi, a little northeast of here. Only problem, the cave is rather close to the Jordanian border."

  "I thought the border ran right through the middle of the Dead Sea."

  "Yes, but there are guards from both Jordan and Israel keeping watch on the whole region, plus the Bedouin tribes who make their home here."

  Lisa had another question. “How did you cover that kind of distance in such a short time?"

  "Um. I had transport arranged."

  Lisa shook her head in disbelief. “So were those border guards shooting at you?"

  "No,” said Greg grimly. “There were several guys out there tonight, at least two with guns. I have no idea now how many groups are looking for this cave, but it's got to be more than the Bedouins. After all, they found the cache—they know where it is."

  "But...” Lisa began, and then saw Greg staring over her shoulder in consternation. “Now what?"

  Instead of answering, Greg strode over to the tent he shared with Arieh and whipped open the flap.

  Arieh's sleeping bag was there, but he wasn't in it.

  The tent was empty.

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  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Whoever finds the interpretation of these things shall not taste death [Gospel of Thomas]

  LISA HUNCHED OVER the camp stove, thinking furiously. Where was Arieh, and what was he up to? While she waited for the water to boil for coffee, she reviewed everything she knew about Arieh Golovey.

  Curator at the Israel Museum—for only two years, according to Farid.

  From northern Israel, around Haifa. Had anyone checked that background? Was it his true background, or did he come from somewhere else?

  Politics—unknown. Religion—Christian, because of the little silver cross he wore suspended on his hairy chest.

  Personality—obnoxious. Pushy, know-it-all, womanizer. Dedicated to his job? Maybe, but he was awfully casual about taking time off to go to Masada and squire Ellen around.

  Greg returned from scanning the cliffs with his binoculars.

  "Lisa, what do you think of Arieh?” he asked, reading her mind again.

  Lisa said, “At first, I thought he was just an oversexed curator who chases foreign women as a hobby, but now I'm not so sure. He asks too many questions, and I don't like the hold he has over Ellen."

  "How so? I mean, what sort of questions is he asking?"

  "What we're really doing here, where we go at night, who we meet, that sort of thing."

  Greg's dark eyebrows drew together.

  They were on the same wavelength. Arieh Golovey was not what he seemed. He had a hidden agenda—and it was beginning to look like his interest in ancient manuscripts and Roman jars went way beyond curatorial.

  Lisa heard a zipper opening, and glanced over at the girls’ tent.

  Ellen emerged, her blond curls rumpled and her eyes bleary with sleep. “I couldn't help hearing you mention Arieh. Isn't he here?"

  "No. He ... must have gotten up really early,” said Lisa.

  Ellen rubbed her eyes and yawned. “He's always doing that."

  "Doing what?” asked Greg, with a warning look at Lisa.

  "Taking off without warning. And then deflecting my questions when he returns. I'm beginning to think he doesn't trust me,” Ellen said.

  "No man likes to be kept tabs on,” said Greg. “Lighten up a little."

  Ellen frowned. “You mean you don't like to be kept tabs on, Greg Manzur!"

  Greg smiled. “By the way,” he said, “What have you told Arieh about our search for the codex manuscripts?"

  "As little as possible. He guessed some of it—he knows Lisa had a look at those jars and he knows your reputation for being involved in every spectacular find for the past ten years.” Ellen's grin was conspiratorial. “Remember, he told Lisa he was trying to track down the dealer who sold the jars to the Israel Museum."

  Greg made a face. “Hmm. Wonder if he knows about my previous work on other manuscript discoveries?"

  "I don't think so,” said Ellen. “He was fishing for information about you.” She glanced at Lisa. “At first, I thought he was really interested in you, Lisa. But when he found out you two used to date, he switched his attention to Greg."

  Lisa watched Greg's lips, which tended to twitch when he was hiding something. She could almost hear the gears grinding as he tried to figure out how to wrap both women in cotton wool and keep them out of the action. The corner of his mouth tilted downwards. “Ellen, you can help us a lot by keeping Arieh busy. Don't answer any more questions about me, where I'm going, or the search for the codex. Okay?"

  Ellen nodded, her blue eyes wide and aware.

  Lisa was sure Greg suspected Arieh of some kind of illicit activity—what, exactly? If he was a member of Les Agents de Dieu, then he was dangerous. His warning to Ellen was anemic, at best. Why hadn't he mentioned torture, as he had with Lisa? She'd warn Ellen properly when they got back to the Hotel Beit Gesher.

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  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ...There is light within a man of light and it illuminates the whole world. [Gospel of Thomas]

  SALIMA POURED MINT tea for Farid, who was lounging on the low divan trying not to move his cracked ribs. She gazed fondly at her fiancé, wishing they were already married and that their problems with family were behind them.

  "Do you think your parents will ever accept me as a professional woman?” she asked softly in Arabic. “I want so much to use my doctorate, to continue my research. These manuscripts, they fascinate me. I cannot imagine not being a part of the publication. And I want to publish my work on the relationships between the Gnostic gospels and the Dead Sea Scrolls."

  Farid sighed and replied in the same language. “My father is very traditional. When he was growing up, his mother and his sisters were always at home, cooking and caring for the children. Only the men went out of the home to work, held civic offices and important government positions. He has no model for a woman such as you."

&nb
sp; "He will see I can do the traditional things just as well when I am working at the university. I cook well, I love children, and I observe good religious practices..."

  Farid placed a finger against her lips. “Hush. I know all these things. You are my choice, and my parents will just have to accept that it is final. I will not be tempted by some sixteen year-old daughter of a meat merchant.” His laughing eyes reassured her as he referred to his father's latest marriage suggestion.

  "In time,” Salima whispered.

  "In time, we will marry. My father will adapt. He must, because I am his favorite son.” Farid grinned and took her hand. “Once he sees how you are my sun and my moon, he will learn to love you and respect your work."

  It was Salima's turn to sigh. She didn't believe it would ever happen that way, but she didn't want to distress Farid with an argument. She kissed him instead, and Farid grabbed her with his good arm to pull her close.

  Their romantic interlude was rudely interrupted by the sound of drunken singing, just outside the open window.

  Salima lifted her head, her eyes widening. “That sounds like Abu!"

  Farid sat up straighter just as the door crashed open and Abu stumbled in.

  "...She wore an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka-dot bikini...” warbled Abu in heavily accented English. “What did she wear? I tell you it was a teeny, tiny...” He tripped over his own feet and sat down heavily on the tiled floor.

  His sister jumped to her feet and ran to stand over Abu. Then she caught a whiff of his beery breath and gasped. “You are drunk! You cannot disgrace the family this way! We are Muslims, we do not do this! I will tell Papa about this one..."

  Abu interrupted her tirade with a single slurred phrase. “I ... not Muslim."

  "What? Of course you are!"

  "Not now. I converted. I am ... Christian now, so I ... drink with Frenchman."

  Salima swayed with shock.

  Farid surged to his feet. “Have you gone crazy? How can you tease your sister like this?"