The Dead Sea Codex Read online

"Wake up, sleepyhead,” said Ellen. “It's nearly lunchtime and you've been out cold for twelve hours."

  Lisa opened her eyes and observed the smiling faces of Ellen and Salima. She struggled to sit up and gasped as her bruises caught up with her. “How's Greg?"

  "Mending. They stitched him up, and gave him three pints of blood. He'll be fine but he needs to lie low for a while,” said Ellen.

  Lisa's foggy brain grasped the one other thing she had to know. “Have you found the papyri yet?"

  Ellen made a face. “No. Now that you're back in the land of the living, Greg wants us to come over to his hospital room. Maybe together we can figure out where the manuscripts are. I ordered coffee for you."

  "You're a saint. Give me time to take a shower.” The hot water was calling to her. Lisa hoisted herself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. Her small hotel room felt like sheer luxury after the better part of two days skulking about in caves.

  * * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Lisa, Farid, Ellen, and Salima were grouped around Greg's hospital bed.

  Greg's face was pasty white and purple shadows ringed his eyes. For a sitting corpse, he didn't look too bad.

  Lisa took one of his hands in hers. “You have got to get better,” she told him. “You have all the leads on where the papyri might be."

  "Yeah,” he said weakly. “But you guys have your legs, which I don't seem to at the moment. You can search the likely places."

  "What are the likely places?” asked Ellen.

  Farid and Greg looked at each other. No one spoke.

  "The Museum?” said Farid finally. “If the manuscripts were smuggled into one of the storerooms, the only people who would have access would be museum staff members."

  Lisa's heart sank as she thought about all the hiding places one could find inside a large museum.

  "I can check the storerooms, with Ira's help,” Farid added.

  "Arieh's apartment?” said Ellen.

  "We already searched there,” said Farid. “Besides, we don't think Arieh and his accomplice have the codices. It is much more likely to be the Bedouins who found them in the first place."

  "There's always another cave,” Lisa said.

  Everyone groaned at the prospect of searching the Judean desert again.

  "I don't think so,” whispered Greg. “I think whoever has the manuscripts has brought them back to Jerusalem to sell."

  "Don't you agree Yacoub Haddad might know something?” asked Farid. He and Salima sat as close together as their two metal chairs could be. The sling around his arm had been removed, and he clutched a packet of Turkish cigarettes.

  "You should go back to his shop,” said Greg. “Try bargaining for information."

  Farid nodded, and slid the cigarettes into his pocket.

  Lisa waited for him to tell the women to stay behind.

  Instead, Farid invited them to come. “You ladies can be my cover,” he said with a charming smile. “The three of you can pretend to buy fabrics while I talk with Yacoub. And I'm calling Ira Levine for back-up."

  Ellen, Lisa, and Salima looked at each other with rising excitement.

  "The Three Musketeers?” said Ellen, dimpling.

  "What is that?” said Salima and Farid together, and Lisa laughed.

  * * * *

  GREG GROANED AS he lay back against the pillows. His chest ached in three places and his two broken ribs sent knife jolts of pain through his whole torso every time he moved.

  Worse than the physical pain was the knowledge that he was useless, stuck flat on his back in a hospital bed. He desperately wanted to be with his friends when they found the codices. He wanted to be the first to handle them, to savor the triumph of holding a priceless discovery in his hands—and the relief of knowing they had beaten the opposition.

  But what if they didn't find the manuscripts? If Les Agents had already obtained them, they would be dust by now. Greg shifted his legs and groaned again.

  His feelings were in a terrible muddle. Frustration vied with disappointed lust and desire for glory, tempered by more honorable emotions stemming from his intense desire to be the best he could at his job. His employer at Mossad was a man he greatly admired. Peter Goldstein was a top-notch officer and organizer who recruited only the best. He was impatient at times, but passionate about the work and fair in his discipline. Goldstein would understand that severe blood loss and several broken ribs meant Greg had to be sidelined for a little while, but he would be disappointed nonetheless.

  Another part of Greg wanted to beat Lisa and Salima to the goal of finding the manuscripts—despite his bravado earlier, he was afraid of losing his edge in managing the ensuing publicity and publication. And Lisa aroused other emotions—remembered love, for he had loved her once, and thwarted desire for her more mature self. She was far sexier now at twenty-eight than she'd been as a skinny college kid.

  But she was not—had never been—his. Greg found himself unusually sad at the realization that this time, he was about to lose Lisa Donahue for good. She would go home and marry this Tom Henderson. They'd stay in touch, maybe publish together, but they'd never return to the fiery relationship of seven years ago.

  Just as well. Greg had several more years worth of wanderlust and adventuring before he could even think about settling down. Would there be any good women left when he was forty?

  Greg sighed and closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  YACOUB HADDAD'S SHOP was cool compared to the baking alleyway they'd just traversed. Lisa slid through the beaded curtain at the front door and the others followed her.

  They could hear the sound of voices in the back room.

  "Yacoub has returned,” said Farid with satisfaction. “You three stay out here, and watch for Ira. He should be here any minute."

  Obediently, Salima moved over to a table of gaudily embroidered cotton dresses and began to inspect them. Ellen held up a robe against her petite figure and rolled her eyes at the effect in the cracked mirror.

  Lisa stood stock still, her gaze running around the piles of fabric stacked on two sides of her. At the edge of her mind was a memory, teasing her like a little moth. What was it?

  Cotton, silk, and wool. Piles of neatly folded, ready-made dresses and robes on tables and shelves. Rows of dresses hung on metal rods, close to the door. Bolts of cloth stacked from floor to ceiling.

  Bolts of cloth, wrapped around tubes. She looked at a row of fabric tubes and the niggling memory came back to her. The tubes were hollow. There were hiding places for things of similar shape.

  Holding her breath, Lisa stepped closer. Inside a red bolt of cotton decorated with gold thread, she spied a thin circle of brown paper. Her heart jolted as she reached up with one long finger.

  A shadow fell over the fabric-laden shelves and she turned around.

  Framed in the doorway was the stocky figure of Francois Leblanc.

  He had seen her movement, and now he slid into the shop. Lisa could see the smile twisting his thick lips and the shine of sweat on his forehead. “So,” he said softly. “You have found the Bedouin's hiding place. Like needle in haystack.” A gun appeared in his hand.

  Lisa backed towards Salima and Ellen, who stood frozen with shock.

  "Move away from the fabric!” hissed the Lebanese.

  The three women huddled together near the table. Lisa's gaze darted around the room, desperately searching for a weapon more substantial than a bolt of fabric.

  "Farid!” she yelled.

  In the inner room, there was a commotion as Farid responded. But before he could appear, the Lebanese turned on his heels and ran out through the beaded curtain.

  Farid dashed after him, his own gun at the ready.

  The women hugged each other.

  "Jeez, Lisa, you took a chance yelling like that. He could have shot you—or Farid,” said Ellen.

  "I know, but I had to do something,” replied Lisa.

  Salima was eagerly checking fabric tubes. “You have done
it, Lisa!” she exclaimed. “They are here—all of them, I think!"

  Farid returned. “He got away,” he said ruefully.

  Salima put a hand on his arm. “No matter,” she said. “Look at what Lisa found."

  They gazed in awe at the growing mound of folded and rolled papyri on the table.

  A blazing grin illuminated Farid's face. “Fantastic,” he said. “Just fantastic!"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ...and they do not go down to Hades nor have they envy nor groaning nor death within them, but they rest in him who is at rest ... [Gospel of Truth]

  SALIMA PUSHED BACK her long ponytail and rubbed her forehead with one dusty hand. She was in heaven.

  It was two days later. Arieh Golovey was in prison, Greg was still in the hospital, and she and Lisa were in a storeroom at the Israel Museum.

  The two young women were knee-deep in dust and scraps of decaying leather and ancient paper. They had gingerly sorted the papyri into groups by codex and scroll and laid them out neatly on long tables for cataloguing and photography.

  Salima was thrilled be the first scholar to handle the papyri. It was an exceptional honor; she knew if Greg had been healthy, he would have been placed in charge. Since he was still convalescing, Rafi Edelstein had given her and Lisa the job of making a preliminary assessment.

  "Don't spend a lot of time on translation right now,” warned Rafi, who was a senior intelligence officer in Mossad. “What we need is a manuscript count, a condition report, and your best estimate on the time required for translation."

  Salima would reserve judgment. If she found manuscripts that related to the codex or to her thesis topic, she planned to translate on the spot. She watched Lisa pick up one of the better preserved papyri and gently unfold the top portion with gloved hands. Salima had assured Lisa the papyri were supple enough to withstand handling, but they were both being especially careful. The preservation of the documents they had sorted so far was amazingly good.

  "Tell me a little more about your thesis,” said Lisa as they straightened out the piles on the table.

  "It is about the similarities and differences between the Nag Hammadi Library—the Gnostic documents—the Bible, and the Dead Sea Scrolls. The Scrolls were written by Jewish Essenes, and are earlier than the Nag Hammadi documents, but there are many similarities in beliefs."

  "The Essenes believed they were ‘Sons of Light’ who would be victorious over the ‘Sons of Darkness,’ right?” asked Lisa.

  "Yes, that is so. Their works contained fragments of every book of the bible except the Book of Esther."

  Lisa thought hard. “Isn't there a part of the New Testament that refers to the ‘Children of Light'?"

  "You are correct."

  "Is your thesis published yet?"

  "No, but I am writing a monograph."

  Lisa opened another codex. “Salima, I think this may be more of the Deborah Codex!"

  Salima walked around the wide table quickly, her long black pigtail swaying behind her slender back. She scanned the papyrus, translating the ancient Greek quickly and competently. “You are right!” she exclaimed. “This is the fragment that picks up where Fragment Two ended!” She didn't care what Rafi had said; she was going to translate this one completely. Salima grabbed a folding chair, a pad and pencil, and a magnifying glass and set to work.

  Lisa moved on to the next table, where the last three jars remained unpacked.

  An hour later, the two women took a Pepsi break near the museum vending machine out in the hallway.

  "Well?” asked Lisa.

  Salima practically danced in her excitement. “It is what we hoped,” she said. “Let me finish this page and bring it over to the hospital in a little while."

  Lisa glanced at her watch. “That's right, it's visiting hours! Greg will be expecting me. He'll want a first-hand report."

  Salima understood perfectly. Greg couldn't bear to be left out, especially at this stage of assessing what they really had.

  Lisa finished her Pepsi and tossed the can in a waiting bin. “I bet your role in this discovery will get you a permanent job, Salima."

  Salima's heart swelled with gratitude that this American woman recognized her ambitions as a fellow academic. “It is my dream,” she said softly. “Farid, he supports me, but our two families want his wife to stay at home and raise babies."

  Lisa raised one gold eyebrow. “Well, as one of my professors said only last month, you balance the books in one hand and the babies in the other!"

  Salima laughed. “I like that. I will follow that model. See you later."

  Lisa headed for the hospital.

  * * * *

  ANOTHER HOSPITAL ROOM. Lisa hated hospitals because they reminded her of a friend's death from breast cancer. She couldn't forget the intensive care unit with all its tubes and monitors and her feeling of helplessness.

  Lisa sat by Greg's bed, watching his sleeping face. She was grateful beyond words that he was still alive. The adventure they had shared had completed something unfinished. Seven years ago, just at the point where she had been thinking about a long-term commitment to Greg, the semester had ended and she'd had to fly home to start her summer job.

  If she'd stayed in Israel, would things have worked out? Knowing Greg better now, she suspected his relentless ambition and wanderlust would have driven her away. Deep down, she was a homebody, a nester, which hardly fit the profession of field archaeologist. That was why museum work had captivated her. She could stay in archaeology, excavate museum basements, and have children. Greg's life—drifting from project to project all over the Middle East—would take a Bedouin to appreciate.

  She discovered Greg's eyes were open, but he was looking at the ceiling.

  "Hi,” she said softly.

  "Hi,” he whispered.

  "Don't talk if you're in too much pain,” she urged him.

  "Want to talk,” he said. He pushed his remote control button and the top half of the bed screeched to a semi-sitting position. “Tell me what happened after you left the cave. I think you told me before, but I don't remember very much."

  Cleary the second concussion had scrambled his memory. Lisa described her frantic run for help and the confrontations with Arieh.

  "Salima dropped a rock on him?” he said incredulously.

  "Ellen did, too.” They both smiled at the idea of gentle Salima getting violent.

  "Tell me about the codex library.” His eyes glowed and his hands twitched. Lisa knew how hard it was to lie there when he wanted to examine the manuscripts.

  "There are probably thirty or so different manuscripts. Just in the two days we've spent in the storerooms, Salima has identified writings she thinks are by several different individuals. We both think this discovery is on a par with the Ebla library or the first set of Dead Sea Scrolls."

  And Salima wants to publish it, Lisa added silently. Greg is going to have to share both the publication and the glory, and it will be hard for him.

  Greg was silent, but his expressive brown eyes showed intense emotion. “What about our codex, the Book of Deborah?” he asked hoarsely, getting to the heart of the matter.

  "Well, it's sheer luck that the scrap Leblanc took from me wasn't part of our codex. We found the rest, just about an hour ago. Salima is working on it right now,” said Lisa. “When I left her, she was very excited because that fragment describes very non-traditional beliefs."

  "Such as?” Greg's eyes gleamed.

  "Well...” Lisa began. “Speak of the devil, here she is now."

  Her high cheekbones rosy with exertion, Salima Najaf looked more beautiful than ever. “I ran all the way,” she said, pulling up the only remaining chair. “This fragment, it is fantastic, Greg, just what we hoped."

  "So tell me!"

  "Remember the end of Fragment Two, where it says, ‘the Son of Man is within you?’”

  "Yes, and then, ‘those who seek him will find him. He exi
sts in everyone ... ‘” quoted Greg.

  "It goes on. ‘Therefore you need no priest or group or gathering place; you who truly seek shall find the All within yourself ... through your'—the word is tricky here, but I think it must be ‘mind.’”

  Greg leaned back against his pillows, his eyes huge. “'You will find the All ... through your mind,'” he whispered.

  Lisa asked, “Does it talk about resurrection?"

  "Yes, very clearly.” Salima continued to read: “’ ... No one alone is complete ... Flesh and blood shall not inherit the kingdom of God. Do not expect, therefore, carnal resurrection ... when we die, we do not go down to Hades, nor have we envy or groaning or death within us. Led by the Spirit'—and the word is feminine, I am sure of it—'we rise through the four powers, the powers of Darkness, Desire, and Ignorance, and'—I am not sure here, but I think it is ‘Wrath'—'finally to rest in Him.’”

  "Vindication!” cried Greg, who was tiring fast. “This group of Gnostics believed in spiritual resurrection, not actual bodily resurrection."

  Lisa had moved over to sit next to Salima and was poring over the translation. “Here's another bit about the dual nature of man. It says God created us, male and female in his own image. ‘Thus, all creatures exist in and with each other, no one alone is complete.’ It's just like that article we were reading last week by Sinclair—the one that states that maleness and femaleness are just metaphors for different aspects of God."

  "It means that to rise through the four powers of Gnosticism, of Knowing, each person must accept his or her dual nature and give up pride,” Salima added.

  Lisa looked at Greg, expecting triumph or at least excitement. This was his big moment, the culmination of everything that he and Farid and Salima had worked for.

  Instead, he was subdued. “My doctor says I will need several weeks of rest,” said Greg. “No traveling, no climbing."

  Lisa was not surprised. Greg had lost a lot of blood.

  "So what will you do?” asked Salima with a smile.

  "Work on the publication. You're with me on that, right?"

  Salima nodded. “But we can hardly publish anything until the translations are complete. And that will take much time."