The Dead Sea Codex Read online

  Lisa was puzzled. What was Greg's role in all this? He acted like he had a mission that went beyond purely archaeological interest. Getting a lion's share of the publication credit? That would be typical Greg—he was very ambitious to succeed as a scholar like his father.

  "Who's Farid?"

  "Farid el Baz. A good buddy of mine."

  "Can't you tell me more about what to look for? Are the papyri written in Greek or Coptic? And who are these groups that might want them?"

  Greg looked at her sharply. “Sounds like you already know too much for your own good. Look, I'd love to have your help—but later. Right now, I don't have enough information. And it might be dangerous."

  "What, is some desert lord going to drag me off to his harem if I get in the way?” scoffed Lisa.

  "You'd be surprised,” he replied with a serious face.

  That was the other thing about Gregory Manzur. Not only was he a lone wolf scholar, he was out of the Ark when it came to women—that had been one of their problems seven years ago. He had no objection to a woman who was as smart as she was pretty, just so long as she was willing to sublimate her own ambitions to his.

  "Women and children, keep back behind the lines?” Lisa said acidly.

  Greg's mouth turned down.

  "I always was a lousy camp follower, Gregory Manzur.” Lisa pocketed the napkin with Greg's phone numbers while she thought about whether to show him her clandestine photograph.

  "So tell me a little something about which religious fanatics...” she began.

  There was a commotion near the front door. Lisa heard a babble of voices, with one urgent female voice arguing in Arabic. Greg glanced up and then jumped to his feet.

  A slender, long-haired girl straight out of the Arabian Nights ran up to him and clasped him by both arms, her huge brown eyes gazing at him imploringly.

  "What's wrong, Salima?"

  She panted for breath. “Farid ... he didn't come back for his supper ... Farid has disappeared."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  The Savior said, there is no sin, but it is you who make sin ... [Gospel of Mary]

  THE HAWK WORKED late at the Israel Museum, making plans to track down the dealer of the Roman jars.

  He knew which section of the Old City to look in—the part of the souk that bordered on the notorious Muslim quarter and led to the Damascus gate. Here were the oldest, best-established shops, and the Bedouin and Jordanian dealers who knew every corner of the market. They kept lists of potential buyers, lists that were circulated among a few select men. The dealers also knew how to “seed” interest in new acquisitions—they dropped tantalizing little rumors about new manuscripts—just enough to make everyone scramble—literally—for a “piece” of the action.

  He lit a pungent Turkish cigarette and dialed the old rotary phone. When a voice he recognized answered, he said, “Salaam, Mahmoud. Let me speak to Yacoub.” He waited.

  "Hawk, what can I do for you?” drawled Yacoub.

  "When has Yacoub Haddad ever done anything for me?” replied Hawk. “No, my friend, it's what I can do for you. Offer a pretty price—in American dollars—for that scroll."

  "Codex. And I already sold it to you."

  "Not that puny fragment. The rest of it!"

  There was a silence at the other end. “We have only one other fragment,” said Yacoub Haddad

  "We know that. The point is, whatever your other customers can offer, we can offer more. In American dollars.” The Hawk had learned hard bargaining from the best teacher—his older brother Mo, master trader in the souks of Beirut. Mo could trade a pack of pens for a camel, he was so good.

  "Ah,” said Yacoub.

  The Hawk nodded to himself. Yacoub would realize that the other potential buyers could only offer Israeli shekels. “I will come tomorrow afternoon, okay?"

  "No, that is our busiest time. Tomorrow in the evening—I will call you."

  "Very well.” The Hawk hung up and did some rapid figuring on his calculator.

  His boss, the Eagle, had given him enough money to bargain with—barely. Now it was up to Hawk to beat the price down.

  Hawk smiled. His Lebanese father would be proud of him. More importantly, so would Mo.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  Now it is fitting that the soul regenerate herself and become again as she formerly was ... this is the resurrection that is from the dead. This is the ransom from captivity. This is the upward journey of ascent to heaven. [Exegesis of the Soul II:134]

  LISA WATCHED AS Greg pulled up a café chair for the Arab girl and patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Sit down, Salima. How long has Farid been missing?"

  He was clearly concerned about Salima, but Lisa suspected his mind was more focused on Farid and the problem of the codex.

  "Hours,” said Salima. “He was to come at five. I am so worried...” She broke into a spate of Arabic.

  Lisa couldn't understand the Arabic so she watched Salima's trembling hands and expressive face.

  Greg listened and corners of his gentle mouth tightened. “He should be back by now,” his brown eyes scanning the bar rapidly. “I'm going outside to make a couple phone calls. Try not to worry, Salima. Lisa here will get you a drink.” He rose abruptly and hurried away.

  Lisa could not understand why Greg and Salima were so worried about a guy who didn't come back for supper. Clearly, there was a great deal about this business that Greg had not yet told her. She had to do something. The Arab girl looked like she was about to leap out of her chair.

  "What can I get you to drink?” Lisa asked.

  "I do not want anything,” Salima said softly. Then she said, “Well, maybe it helps. A Coke, bevakeshah.” Her Hebrew was as fluent as her Arabic.

  Full of uneasy speculations and low on answers, Lisa pushed her way to the bar amidst crowds of chattering young people discussing politics and travel.

  "Our leader will keep the Prime Minister in his place, my friend. Insha'allah,” said a tall Palestinian.

  A blond tourist wearing very short shorts chattered with a friend. “Have you been to Masada yet? It is so cool."

  "A Palestinian state is still our goal."

  "A Coca-cola, please,” said Lisa.

  Returning to their table, she saw that Salima's glance was fixated on the doorway and her face was pale.

  "Here. Drink some, you'll feel calmer."

  Salima sipped the cold, sugary beverage and sighed. “Thank you. You are biblical archaeologist, right?"

  "Yes, from a museum in Philadelphia. I'm working on my dissertation."

  "As a fellow scholar, you are welcome here. I am epigrapher at Hebrew University."

  Lisa had to lean forward to catch Salima's soft tones.

  "And I will trust you because Gregory says you are a friend. Farid, he has a special interest in manuscripts because of his family—they are near relatives to Bedouin tribe who found the Dead Sea Scrolls."

  "Farid is Greg's friend, right?"

  "Yes. He is also my fiancé."

  "So Farid and Greg have heard rumors of new manuscripts on the market? From the Dead Sea area?"

  "Yes,” said Salima, pleating her skirt with nervous hands. “Farid and Greg, they both must gain the place—how you say—find this codex, if that's what it is, before others do—people who want only to have money and do not care about history."

  Lisa hitched her chair closer to Salima's. “But why is this new find so interesting? And who are the people who are trying to obtain it?"

  But Salima had caught sight of Greg returning and stood so suddenly that she knocked her drink over.

  Greg sat down and took a long swig from his unfinished beer. “I made some calls, and I left a message for Farid. I'm sure he'll check in soon.” He signaled to the waiter and ordered another Coke for Salima and some hummus and baba ganoush.

  Salima's dark brown eyes were still enormous against her creamy skin. In
stead of looking towards the door, she now focused on Greg's face.

  Greg attacked the plates of warm pita and dips as soon as they arrived. Lisa envied his metabolism. He was always eating but never gained an ounce.

  "Salima, how much have you told Lisa?” Greg asked with his mouth full.

  "Only that there are new manuscripts, and that many people want to find them."

  "Who are these people?” Lisa asked again.

  "Several groups,” said Greg, slugging some of his beer. “Scholars like us who want to see it published and preserved for the whole world to read. Then there's the Bedouin Ta'amireh tribe of Dead Sea Scrolls fame—they don't care about content, just the money they'll get for selling the pieces—and maybe a Christian sect with very conservative beliefs."

  "You mean these are Christian writings instead of Jewish books like the Dead Sea Scrolls?"

  "Yes. Possibly a find as significant as one the Nag Hammadi codices."

  "Good Heavens!” said Lisa. “So this could be a new Gnostic gospel? I thought all that controversy had died down."

  "Ha,” replied Greg. “Elaine Pagel's books were just the tip of the iceberg. Haven't you followed the news accounts of feminist groups who are using the Gospel of Mary to renounce organized religion run by men?"

  "The Sisters in Christ?” said Salima.

  "That group and others, like the Disciples of Magdalene. Now scholars are beginning to reexamine the Gnostic manuscripts, looking for any besides the Gospel of Mary and ‘Thunder: Perfect Mind’ that might be written by a woman.” Greg paused.

  Lisa leaned back in her chair, “Aha! So you think this codex is something written by another woman? That would be ... dynamite."

  "Yup, it might and yup, it would,” said Greg.

  "I assume this codex, if it actually exists, has been split up into several lots?” Lisa said.

  "It exists, all right.” Greg told her that he already knew that there were at least two lots they needed to track down. It was going to be like a treasure map ripped into sections—no one individual or group could make sense of the find until he (or they) had all the pieces. “And to make it even more complicated, the players come from at least four countries—Israel, the U.S., Lebanon, and Jordan."

  Lisa decided the moment had come. “Look what I found in the museum,” she said, extracting her digital camera from her purse and turning it on.

  Greg's response to the photo of the papyrus was electric.

  "Holy shit!"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  How does (one) see a vision ...—through—the soul—or—through the spirit? The Savior answered and said, ‘He does not see through the soul nor through the Spirit, but the mind which—is—between the two—that is [what] sees the vision ... [Gospel of Mary]

  "DAMN,” SAID GREG. “I can do modern Greek, but I can't make head or tails out of this older dialect.” He peered at the scanned image of Lisa's photo he'd just pulled off his printer.

  "Put it on the table where we can all see,” said Lisa, dropping her canvas bag on the floor of Greg's tiny kitchen. She heard the clunk of Valerie's camera hitting the hard surface and winced. She'd better not have broken her boss's property—digital cameras were still expensive. Lisa pulled it out—intact—and sighed with relief.

  Greg dragged the table away from the wall to make more room and slapped the paper on the table, right next to his open Goldstar.

  Envisioning the ancient letters vanishing in a sea of beer, Lisa moved Greg's bottle to a safe distance and pulled out a chair for herself. She glanced around the Spartan kitchen, noticing that Greg's passion for order extended to alphabetizing his spice rack. She was his polar opposite—back in Philly, she shoved new oregano and basil into her corner cabinet without ever checking the center of the Lazy Susan for buried older spices.

  "Okay, now I take a look,” said Salima. The overhead light gleamed on her long black hair as she sat down at the tiny table.

  Lisa, eager to find out what the papyrus said, handed her a magnifying glass. Her own Greek was very rusty, and she knew Greg had only minored in the language. Their translation skills weren't up to Salima's expertise.

  It had been Greg's idea to adjourn to his apartment, armed with liquid refreshment. Lisa suspected his ulterior motive was to distract Salima—putting her to work made it difficult for her to worry about Farid.

  "I have trouble with the old Greek, too.” Salima said. “But I think I see...” She studied the faded Greek letters.

  Lisa held her breath, her mind sliding into the past. She thought briefly of her father, who would be amused if he knew she was investigating ancient Gnostic manuscripts—it was a long journey from her hit-or-miss Unitarian upbringing. Greg's fidgeting brought her back to the present. He was vibrating like a short-wave radio struggling with reception.

  Salima began to translate out loud. “'After the third day, Mary came to us and told us these things she had learned ... How does one see a vision? Is it through the soul or the spirit?’”

  She broke off and looked at Greg and Lisa with shining eyes. “This is almost the same wording as the Gospel of Mary!"

  Someone pounded on the door to Greg's apartment.

  Greg checked the peephole, flung open the door, and embraced a slight, dark man.

  "Farid!” Black hair flying, Salima threw herself at the newcomer, who caught her by both arms and gently set her aside.

  "Manzur, my friend, I have news.” He pulled out a chair and sank into it, rubbing his forehead with a sweaty hand. Behind him, Salima began to rub his shoulders, talking softly in Arabic.

  "Where the devil have you been? Salima's been frantic. So have I. And I sent out a search party after you,” said Greg.

  Farid looked warily at Lisa.

  "Lisa Donahue is another archaeologist, and an old friend. You can speak freely with her."

  Farid's face split in a weary grin. “So this is Miss Donahue!"

  Lisa nodded, wondering just what—and how much—Greg had told Farid about her.

  Farid turned to Greg. “Sorry, my friend, but I've been followed all day. I finally lost my shadow, and I identified the dealer."

  "You did! Who is he?"

  "A Bedouin called Yacoub Hassad. He's a cousin of the Ta'amireh family, the same family that found the Dead Sea Scrolls. He works with a guy named Mahmoud Hussein."

  "Aha!” said Greg.

  "He was not in his shop. But if we go tomorrow, we can speak with him. It must be evening—I cannot take more time off from my job."

  Lisa raised her eyebrows in question, and Greg answered, “He's Assistant Registrar at the Israel Museum."

  Hmm, thought Lisa. Another Museum employee who was overly interested in ancient manuscripts.

  A radiant Salima took her seat again, as close to Farid as she could get without sitting in his lap. Farid draped an arm around Salima and pulled her close.

  "We have news, too,” Greg said. “Lisa found a fragment of the codex we've been looking for at the museum! She took a photo of it."

  Lisa obligingly uncovered the printout, which she had slid out of sight under her notebook when the pounding on the door began. She watched Farid's narrow face.

  The exhaustion slid off him like the world off Atlas and his face glowed. “Fantastic!” Farid said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Fantastic. Now we get somewhere, insha'allah—God willing.” He sucked in smoke greedily. “What does it say?"

  Greg and Lisa filled him in, and now four heads were clustered around the single sheet of paper.

  Salima read slowly, stopping frequently to check her marginal notes. “'Our Savior answered through Magdalene, each ... sees not through the soul nor through the spirit, but the mind ... between the two. Those who seek the Truth shall find it; this I tell you.’”

  "Is that all?” asked Lisa.

  Salima picked up the paper and held it so the kitchen light shined through it. “No, but the letters are very faded. I ca
nnot read more without higher magnification."

  Greg hit the table with a clenched fist. “Damn!"

  "We have microscopes at the museum,” Farid said. “Also a high-resolution scanner, better than the toy you have here.” He waved his cigarette at Greg's three-year-old computer set-up.

  Greg snorted.

  "So if I take Lisa's printout in tomorrow, I can enlarge the writing, and then we will see,” said Farid.

  Lisa glared sharply at Farid. “If you work at the museum, maybe you can get a look at the original fragment."

  "If it is still there,” said Farid.

  "Why shouldn't it be?"

  Farid and Greg exchanged glances.

  "Okay, let me summarize,” said Greg.

  Uh-oh, thought Lisa. He's going to start lecturing. And he's deliberately changing the subject.

  "We have a document related to the ministry of Mary Magdalene, close companion and disciple of Jesus that resembles the Gospel of Mary. Okay so far?"

  "Yes,” said Lisa.

  "Our text is the sort of thing that was thrown out as heresy by orthodox theologians like Irenaeus..."

  "When was that?” interrupted Lisa.

  "Late second century A.D. Irenaeus and others like him were the ones who accused Gnostics of making up their own gospels."

  "And the orthodox theologians of that time were the ones who decided what should be included in the New Testament, right?” said Lisa.

  "Yup. They argued that only the gospels written by the apostles—Matthew and John—or followers of the apostles—Mark and Luke—should be included. Then the final decisions were made in 325 at the Council of Nicea,” said Greg. “Now my question, is this papyrus a copy of the Gospel of Mary, or something altogether new? And if it's new, does it contain beliefs that current Christian groups would consider threatening?” continued Greg.

  "You mean,” said Farid, waving his cigarette so ash flew in all directions. “Any ideas that challenge the Nicene Creed?"

  "Yeah,” agreed Greg. “In the Emperor Constantine's time, ‘heretics’ were any people who refused to accept Jesus as divine, as God's only begotten son."