The Dead Sea Codex Read online

  Lisa leaned back against a large boulder and crossed her arms for warmth.

  "Greg. I never asked you..."

  "What?” His voice came out slow and deep.

  "Are you an atheist?"

  He didn't reply right away. “Not exactly,” he said finally. “I think I am really an agnostic—'not knowing.’ I would like to be sure one way or the other, but I'm not."

  "This Deborah codex. The more we see of it, the more I think these early Christians—some of them, at least—made much more sense than the modern church."

  "No argument there. The sects that existed in Christ's lifetime combined Jewish and Christian elements and allowed for much more individualism."

  "When we were in the library the other day, I looked up the Gospels of Thomas and Mary. They both seem to promote finding God on your own, without the help of priests or ministers."

  "Exactly,” said Greg warmly. “'The Son of Man is within you. Follow after him. Those who seek him will find him.’”

  Lisa recognized the quote. “The Gospel of Mary,” she said. “Deborah must have known her teachings well. Whatever her background, Deborah of Damanhur must have been an independent woman of some means to follow Jesus."

  "She could be one of the earliest Coptic Christians, which would be ironic."

  "Oh, you mean because of what Dr. Meyer told me—that Les Agents could be a Coptic splinter group.” She shivered, and Greg noticed.

  "You're cold. Why don't we call it a night and get some sleep."

  Together, they crawled into the little tent that Greg had pitched behind the boulder, out of sight from the cliffs across the wadi.

  "GET OFF ME, you lout."

  "But I though you wanted to!"

  "I'm not after sex, I clutched you because I'm freezing!"

  "Oh. You love me for my warmth."

  "That's right."

  Silence.

  "So you're going to stay loyal to Tom?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry if you thought otherwise. I wasn't sure myself, until it came right down to it. I'm still very fond of you, Greg, but I don't want sex without a future."

  "No more one night stands."

  "Not for me. Will you still respect me in the morning?"

  "I suppose so. G'night, Lisa."

  "Good night, Greg."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ...I ask of you: who are the [seven] women who have [been] your disciples? [James speaking with Jesus in the Apocalypse of James]

  ELLEN'S LAST ENCOUNTER with Arieh had left her more shaken than she realized. After she regained her wits, she decided to telephone Farid. He had reassured her that Ira Levine and another guy he knew would go after Lisa and Greg. But Ellen wasn't used to sitting around waiting. And she was still very uneasy.

  Ellen left the phone booth and returned to her car, jingling her keys in a rhythm of agitation. She wanted action, but was smart enough to know she couldn't act alone.

  Salima Najaf—she was the answer. Ellen sensed that behind her shy exterior, Salima had a core of steel and an Arab's thirst for revenge. Ellen would make an ally out of her.

  Parking in that part of Jerusalem was impossible, so Ellen locked the car and hurried to the nearest bus stop. The bus was crowded, so she leaned against a pole and held on tightly as the bus barreled down the Jaffa road towards the Old City and the Muslim Quarter.

  She had a nasty feeling time was running out. Lisa had told her roughly where they were headed as a precaution. And, with Greg's reluctant agreement, Lisa had left instructions and a sealed letter to be delivered to Israeli police if the two archaeologists hadn't reappeared by Thursday.

  A wretched Salima answered the pounding on her door. Her eyes were red and shadowed from crying and her hair looked dull and unwashed. “Come in,” she said softly.

  Ellen realized how empty the apartment must be for Salima, with Abu gone and their parents at work. Suddenly she realized how inconsiderate she must seem—she hadn't even asked about the funeral.

  Salima read her mind. “My aunt and uncle have just left,” she said sadly. “The funeral was yesterday."

  "How are your parents taking it?” asked Ellen.

  "They are sick with grief. But Father says it is the will of Allah,” replied Salima, choking a little on her words. Apparently remembering her manners, she offered tea.

  Ellen accepted, because she wanted time to assess how best to get Salima on her side. She watched her hostess move gracefully between tiny kitchen and sitting area, bringing tea and biscuits over to a low hammered brass table. Ellen shifted on the cushioned bench and eyed Salima.

  Salima surprised her. “You have something to say to me?” she asked directly.

  "Yes,” said Ellen. “I think I may know who was involved in Abu's murder."

  Salima froze in place, every fiber of her being at attention. “I am listening,” she said grimly.

  So Ellen told her everything she knew about Arieh Golovey and his strange behavior, both at Masada and earlier, when he kept asking questions about Lisa and Greg. “I think he was using me to keep track of Greg Manzur and Farid, too. Worse, I think he is working for Les Agents de Dieu. I think Greg believes it, too."

  "The same group that employed Abu,” Salima said bitterly. “What do you say, a ‘falling out among thieves?’”

  Ellen nodded.

  "So, I must do something. I have no other brother to fight for my family; Abu's death must be avenged."

  Ellen shivered a little at this clear evidence of “an eye for an eye” philosophy, but she had been banking on this attitude. “I've already told Farid everything, and he said he'd get someone to follow Greg and Lisa. But I'm still worried."

  Salima dark eyes gleamed. “You want to go up there, too?"

  Ellen nodded. “Yes, but first I want to follow Arieh. I want to see where he goes tonight and who he meets."

  "Of course. Tell me what to do."

  * * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, the two young women were seated in a dim corner of Arieh's favorite café in West Jerusalem. Arieh had not noticed them from where he sat outside in the mild evening air. Just to be on the safe side, Ellen wore uncharacteristically mannish clothes and a hat that covered her blond curls completely.

  Ellen noticed a tall, slightly stocky man wearing a suit wending his way between the tables towards Arieh. “Look,” she indicated the stranger. “I think that's his contact. He may be the Lebanese guy Lisa mentioned."

  Salima nodded, her black hair shading most of her face but not her eloquent dark eyes. She sipped her coffee.

  Ellen could see that the two men knew each other. There were no preliminary handshakes or small talk. The stranger sat, motioned to the waiter, and immediately plunged into an intense discussion with his companion. Arieh appeared to be just as focused, leaning forwards in his metal chair and ignoring fellow drinkers at nearby tables. Clearly, whatever they were discussing was not something they feared being overheard. But Ellen had noticed before that a large restaurant jammed with people bent on their own business was often the best place to exchange sensitive information. Unless someone was lip-reading, it was unlikely they would overhear more than a fraction of what was said. She suspected these two guys were experienced at clandestine meetings and probably spoke in some kind of code in public.

  "Salima, do you think you could get closer? I don't dare go because Arieh will recognize me. There's an empty table just to their right. You could pretend you'd just arrived and try to overhear what they're talking about."

  Salima's answering grin had a hint of mischief. “Yes, I will do this thing."

  She rose with a swish of her long skirt and glided to the back of the café, as if she were looking for the ladies’ room. A few minutes later, Ellen saw her reappear at the side entrance of the café and drift slowly over to the empty table. She sat down and pulled an Arabic newspaper out of her carryall and pretended to read.

  Ellen waited anxiously for fifteen mi
nutes, sipping slowly so her coffee would last. In popular cafés, the waiters lurked until you ordered another drink if they saw you sitting with an empty glass. The two men finished their conversation and then left, splitting up at the front entrance.

  Salima waited a few more minutes and then made her way back to Ellen. “Ein Gedi is their destination. Arieh is going to the kibbutz there, tonight."

  Ellen felt of quiver of fear. That was too close to where Lisa and Greg were headed. She had to warn them.

  "Have you got a car?” she asked Salima.

  "No."

  "Then I will rent one,” said Ellen.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirty

  Look, I shall lead her so that I can make her male in order that she also may become a living spirit resembling you males. For every woman who makes herself male shall enter the kingdom of heaven.[Gospel of Thomas]

  LISA LIFTED HERSELF on one elbow and gazed down at man lying next to her. Greg was relaxed, with a faint smile on his sleeping face.

  She hated to wake him and see that smile disappear as he remembered what they had to do today—and what had not happened last night.

  Lisa felt relieved now that her moment of truth had come and gone. She was sorry if Greg had been hurt, but it was such a relief not to be confused any longer. She knew where her loyalties lay, and they were not with Greg Manzur.

  Greg loved her, in his way. But love wasn't necessary to him. He was married to his work—not just the archaeology, but also the cloak-and-dagger stuff. Greg had so much to do in his life that precluded a permanent relationship.

  Reluctantly, she shook his shoulder. “Greg. Greg, it's time to get started."

  His brown eyes opened slowly and focused on her face. He smiled ruefully. “Am I forgiven?"

  "Of course."

  He searched her face. “Lisa...” Then he thought better of whatever he was going to say and asked instead, “What's for breakfast? I'm starving."

  Lisa felt mildly disappointed at his change of subject. “We have coffee and—whoopee—instant oatmeal."

  "I like oatmeal. But it's best with sliced bananas and a little butter and rum."

  "Sounds good! But we'll have to settle for straight out of the packet this time."

  Lisa suddenly remembered what she had to do after breakfast and her own appetite fled. She had never told Greg that she was afraid of heights.

  "Thinking about the climb? I have ropes and everything we need,” he assured her. “And I took a climbing course last year."

  "That will help you,” she mocked him. “But what about me? I expect I can trust your knots, but I'm worried about my arms—I'm sure they're not strong enough to lower myself."

  "Don't worry. I'm going to make a safety sling for you and you'll be rappelling down, not climbing hand over hand."

  They finished breakfast quickly and packed up their gear. Greg led the way to the cliff top. Pulling out the binoculars, he scanned the nearby mountains. “No company—yet.” he muttered. “Now, let me show you how to go down.” He began to explain how she would lower herself backwards, facing the cliff she was descending and using her feet to act as a bumper.

  "Backwards?” she said apprehensively.

  "You'd rather go forwards and use your tailbone as a bumper?"

  "Er—no. I'll do it your way.” Lisa moved closer to the edge and made the mistake of looking down. Suddenly, her stomach rebelled and her vision went blurry. She swayed where she stood.

  "Whoa! Were you thinking of pitching yourself over?” he steadied her and turned her to face him. “Lisa, are you acrophobic?"

  She nodded, trembling all over.

  "Open your eyes and look at me,” he commanded.

  She opened her eyes warily and found him nose to nose with her.

  "You can do this,” he said softly and monotonously, as if he were trying to hypnotize her. “You will do exactly what I say, and you will not be afraid.” He shook her slightly.

  To her surprise, the world righted itself and her vision cleared. Lisa willed herself to breathe deeply and slowly.

  "Good girl,” said Greg, sensing how hard she was trying. “Okay, here's what we're going to do. You will not look down again. You're going to lie down on your stomach and inch yourself backwards over the edge. I will apply steady pressure on the rope so you never feel out of control. Okay?"

  Lisa nodded. She still didn't believe she could go over a cliff without fainting or being sick, but she'd give it a damn good try.

  "You're going to steer for a little ledge just to the right of the cave entrance,” said Greg, after looking over the edge one last time. “I'll tell you when to look down. Until then, I want you to look straight ahead at the rock wall and do everything by feel."

  Lisa flexed her wrists. “Okay, I'm ready. I think."

  Greg gave her a huge grin and a quick kiss and then braced himself to take her weight with the rope wrapped around a rock protrusion behind him.

  She began her descent, a little jerkily. Then her movements became smoother as she got the hand of paying out the rope gradually. Twenty feet—thirty—she was near the ledge.

  Then Lisa lost her footing. Suddenly she was dangling over a sheer drop, the safety rope cutting into her thighs. Her insides sank and her head spun. “Greg!” she cried in a panic.

  "I've got you! You're two feet from the ledge. Look down now!"

  The rope tightened and she looked down. The ledge was more like five feet away, but Greg was lowering her so all she had to do was wait.

  Her right knee banged on a protrusion and Lisa swore. Then she spied a spindly bush and grabbed it with one hand. She dug the fingers of her other hand into a tiny crevice and slid her feet onto the ledge.

  Lisa's knees buckled. She clung to her handholds until her breathing slowed enough to talk. “I made it!” she called. “I'm undoing the rope."

  The loop swung free and Lisa watched it climb up out of sight. She imagined Greg fastening it around himself. Now he was checking his knots and walking over to the edge.

  Lisa waited anxiously for Greg's legs to appear. She leaned outside the cave and looked up.

  Suddenly she heard the crack of a rifle and chip of rock flew past her cheek. Lisa screamed and almost lost her balance.

  Above, she heard the scraping and slithering sounds of Greg rappelling at high speed.

  Greg's body slammed against the cliff just above the entrance. He hung motionless for a long moment.

  Lisa frantically tried to grab his feet that were just out of her reach. Why wasn't he lowering himself?

  Lisa felt a splash of something wet on her face. Automatically she used her hand to wipe off the moisture and then gasped as she saw it was red.

  Greg was bleeding.

  Then, as the rope slackened again, his legs came closer and she was able to haul him inside.

  He lost consciousness for the second time as she laid him gently down on the bare rock.

  * * * *

  "GODDAMN, I WISH I'D taken that First Aid course,” she muttered.

  Lisa folded her fleece jacket to make a pillow for Greg and slid it under his head. His face was as white as a piece of Dover sole and his eyes were closed, but she could hear raspy breathing.

  She began to open his shirt.

  Greg's eyelids fluttered and he groaned.

  "Lie still. You've been shot,” she said shakily as she gently rolled up his shirt. Her horrified eyes registered an exit wound in the right abdomen. Lisa groped in her knapsack for something to stop the bleeding.

  "Don't ... worry about me,” he gasped. “You've got to find the codex and get it out of here ... not much time ... whoever shot me knows we're here ... will come."

  Lisa concentrated on ripping her last clean T-shirt into broad strips. As she made one strip into a pad and bound it to his torso, she said, “I've got to stop the bleeding. Then I'll look for the codex."

  Greg gripped the pad with his left arm. “No time ... look now,�
� he pleaded.

  Lisa pulled out her canteen and held Greg's head so he could have a drink. Then, seeing that he was holding the pad himself, she rose. “I'll take a quick look. Call me if you hear anyone approaching."

  Pulling out a small flashlight, she ventured further back. The cave opened out into a bell-shaped room, dry and cool and covered with bat amber. She tried not to think about the bats that certainly lived there.

  Then her light fell on a row of jars and she nearly dropped the flashlight.

  Dozens of them—just like the Roman-period jars at the Israel Museum. Enough for a whole library of papyri, not just one codex.

  The lid was missing on one of them. Lisa flashed her light inside and saw several scraps of papyri. She opened the next jar—same thing.

  Her heart flip-flopping, Lisa took a good look around her. Nearly all the jars open or missing their lids. Two jars were lying on their sides, and several were smashed into large potsherds. With a distinctly sinking feeling, Lisa shone the flashlight on the floor of the cave. Footprints with well-defined treads—at least two overlapping pairs of running shoes or hiking boots. And a packet of cigarettes. She pushed at it with one of her own hiking boots until the label revealed itself. Jordanian.

  She walked along the row of jars, peering into each one. At the end of the row, she found some ancient woven baskets.

  They were all empty. Someone had beaten them to the cache.

  * * * *

  GREG OPENED HIS eyes. “Did you find it?"

  "Yes and no.” Lisa's voice cracked. “There are dozens of jars back there..."

  Greg's eyes widened.

  "...But they're all empty. Someone got here before us."

  "Hell and damnation!” He stared at her.

  "Yeah. It's the pits.” His sudden pallor alarmed her.

  "How many ... manuscripts are missing?” he whispered.

  "Dozens. Maybe hundreds. I saw about fifty jars, plus a few baskets like the ones found at Masada and Bar Kokhba. All I found were scraps of papyri.” Lisa showed him a sample. “The floor of the cave has footprints and cigarette butts. They—whoever they are—were here recently."