The Dead Sea Codex Page 8

  "Salima said they were getting to the heart of the manuscript. I can't wait to hear what they've found.” Farid had opted to stay behind to “help” Salima, but Lisa knew that there would be a little lovemaking, too. The two of them rarely got time alone together since Salima lived with her family and Farid shared a crowded apartment with other museum employees.

  She halted abruptly and Greg crashed into her from behind. “Hey!” he protested, rubbing his nose. “Don't stop like that!"

  "Your apartment door is hanging open. And it's dark in there."

  "Shit,” said Greg, nudging her aside and sprinting up the last three stairs. He flicked the light on.

  They stood aghast in the doorway, observing the total shambles. Lamps were tipped over, papers scattered, and books yanked off their shelves.

  Lisa and Greg hurried into the kitchen, where Farid and Salima had been working at the kitchen table amid cups of coffee and beer bottles.

  Farid lay spread-eagled on the linoleum floor near the fridge. Around his torso was an ominous pool of blood.

  There was no sign of Salima—or the codex fragment.

  Greg dropped to his knees, feeling for Farid's pulse. “He's alive,” he breathed. “Call for an ambulance. The number's posted by the phone.” Gently he examined Farid, looking for wounds.

  As Lisa reached for the phone, she watched Greg rip open Farid's shirt, gasping as he found two knife slashes, one quite deep.

  Greg cursed in a garbled mixture of English, Arabic, and Hebrew. While he removed Farid's shirt, Lisa finished her phone call and then grabbed some clean rags from the kitchen closet. Together they applied pressure to stop the blood flow.

  Lisa's hand shook as her rag turned red. “I can't stop it!” she gasped. Greg took over as the front door bell shrilled.

  The cavalry had arrived.

  * * * *

  HOURS LATER, LISA and Greg slumped in hard orange chairs in a hospital waiting room.

  Lisa tried again to reach Salima Najaf on Greg's cell phone.

  "Salima?"

  "No, this is Abu—her brother. Can I leave message?"

  "Please tell her Farid El Baz is injured. He's at Erez Israel Hospital on King David Street...” She filled him in and he promised to tell Salima.

  Lisa returned to her survey of the cracks in the ceiling. Next to her, Greg was dozing. He reminded her of a cat in his ability to sleep anywhere. Good thing, considering his irregular travel and work schedule.

  The door to the operating room swooshed open, and a young Israeli doctor stepped through. “Mr. Manzur?” His hospital tag read “Dr. Kutzer."

  Greg snapped awake. “How is he?” He stood up as the doctor approached.

  "He'll make it. He has lost much blood and will need lots of rest. But I'm sure..."

  He was interrupted by the arrival of a black whirlwind—Salima Najaf, moving so fast that her long hair flew around her like a living thing.

  "Farid! Where is he? How is he? Is he...?” she gulped, her eyes huge with distress.

  The doctor, sensing that Salima was the most concerned person in the room, spoke directly to her. “You need not worry,” he said. “He has suffered some stab wounds, and lost blood, but nothing vital was hit. He will recover."

  A little color came back into her face. “Al hamdu lillah!” she murmured, clasping her delicate long fingers in a knot. “I only went out a short time to get some food for us both. I can't believe ... when can I see him?"

  "Are you a relative?"

  "I am his fiancée.” Her dark eyes flashed with sincerity.

  "You may have five minutes with him, but he is very drugged.” The doctor smiled at the eagerness in her eyes. He led Salima inside.

  Lisa looked at Greg. “We still don't know what happened,” she said, “or who stole the codex fragment back.” Her suspicions of Farid were reduced, but not eliminated. Had he been nearly killed by a partner-in-crime, or by Greg's opponents in the codex search? And who exactly were those opponents? It was beginning to look like at least three groups were after the codex—the archaeologists, the Bedouin traders, and maybe the shadowy Les Agents de Dieu.

  "True, but at least I have a copy of it this time. Farid's not going to tell us anything tonight. Let's go home and get some sleep."

  As they left, another thought struck Lisa. She'd automatically assumed Greg was part of the archaeologist group, who were presumably acting according to Israeli and international law.

  But Greg Manzur was an ambitious man who'd shown himself willing to operate outside the law in the past. What if he was after the codex for himself alone?

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  Chapter Eighteen

  As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country ... [Proverbs 25:25]

  LISA RAN INTO her roommate on the stairs of the hotel at three in the morning.

  "Did you have a good time?"

  "Dynamite,” said Ellen. “How about you?

  "Oh, I spend the rest of the evening in a hospital waiting room."

  "What?"

  Lisa told Ellen what had happened to Farid.

  "How horrible!” said Ellen as they entered their room. “The guys who want that codex, you'd think they were Mafia or something."

  "Yeah, it looks that way. This whole trip is turning out to be more than I bargained for.” Lisa looked at her watch and groaned. “And now I have to call Val.” Their museum boss was difficult at the best of times. Lisa and Ellen both knew that Valerie Albrecht hardly ever considered other people's needs.

  Ellen was sympathetic. “I don't envy you. You're going to ask for more time, right?” She tossed her black leather purse onto her bed.

  Lisa nodded, perching on the edge of a chair. She could barely think, let alone switch gears away from the attack on Farid. “I still have to spend a day in London, and I sure don't want to leave Israel while this codex hunt is unresolved."

  "Valerie'll bite your head off, but it's your funeral.” Ellen shucked off her sandals and headed for the bathroom.

  Tensing with dread, Lisa fished out her phone card and picked up the phone. Luckily, it was only about seven p.m. in Philadelphia.

  "Hello?” Valerie Albrecht's voice was crisp and businesslike.

  "Val, it's Lisa calling from Jerusalem.” Quickly Lisa brought her boss up to date on the loan situation, leaving out her more interesting adventures. Then, taking a deep breath, she broached the subject of more time.

  "You want two weeks vacation time now? But I need you back here!” Val was clearly not pleased, a fact that the static on the overseas line couldn't obscure.

  "I wouldn't ask if there wasn't a really good reason. There are these manuscripts—well, I can't say very much now, but my staying a little longer might benefit the museum. I might get something really spectacular to add to our Near Eastern exhibit.” Lisa was not at all sure that was the case, but she knew it was the only way to get Valerie to release her. She held her breath.

  "Don't you dare spend any more of the museum's money without authorization from me,” said Val sharply. There was a pause while she thought it over. “Ten days, then,” said Val finally. “But you need to be back by May twenty-fifth because we have a Board meeting coming up. If you come back later, you just might not have a job.” Her no-nonsense tone said she meant it.

  Great, thought Lisa, as she hung up. I risk my neck and my job to help Greg, and for what? Any academic glory would be shared, despite Greg's tendency to hog the limelight. If they succeeded in finding the entire codex and making it available to an international group of scholars, then the fight over who got credit for what would take years.

  She thought about taking a shower, but she'd have to wait. From the bathroom, she heard sounds of Ellen splashing and sending all the hot water heedlessly down the drain. Ellen was not always the most considerate of roommates.

  Lisa slumped on the bed, weary and confused. A longing for the solid practicality of Tom Henderson overwhelmed her. Lisa looked at
her watch and punched in a new number. She'd take a chance on Tom being home in his apartment between shifts at the hospital.

  "Tom?” she exclaimed, incredulous that he'd actually picked up.

  "Lisa! I've tried to call you, but I always pick the wrong time. Did you get any of my messages?” His voice sounded as close as if he were in the next room.

  Lisa clasped the phone tighter. “Only one. But the desk clerk seems distracted. I bet she forgot. How are you?” She could hear him moving around the tiny kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove.

  Tom broke into an excited description of his OB/GYN rotation and the exhilaration of catching his first baby. “...Then I turned to the nurse and told her how relieved I was that she was there since it was my first one, and she said it was her first baby, too!"

  Lisa laughed. “Where were all the other docs?"

  "A code call.” That was hospital shorthand for a life-threatening emergency, like a heart attack or stroke.

  "And what did the woman say?"

  "What woman?"

  "The mother, you ninny!"

  "Oh, her.” Tom chuckled. “She said she was sure we knew what we were doing. Now, what have you been up to?"

  Lisa briefly considered editing her tale, since she knew the truth would worry Tom. But she really needed his reassurance. She plunged into a detailed chronicle of everything that had happened since she caught the bus to Jerusalem.

  "Holy shit,” said Tom, echoing Greg. “And this old friend Manzur is really on your side? Are you sure you can trust him?"

  "Sure as I am of anyone else—except Ellen. The Israeli curator Arieh Golovey is quite an operator, though. He's sticking to Ellen like a leech."

  "Because Ellen's a sexy little devil, or because he wants information?"

  "Whoa! I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to ask Ellen if Arieh's been asking questions about me—or Greg."

  "Do that. That manuscript—the codex—is worth money. One person has been killed and another murderously attacked. Do you have to continue with this? Couldn't you come home early?"

  "You know I can't."

  "Yeah, I know. Well, then I'll echo all those old movies we like where the hero says to the heroine ‘be careful, darling!’”

  Lisa smiled at his role reversal. He really was quite a guy.

  "Don't worry, Tom, I'm not going anywhere alone, except London, and who would follow me there? And I'm about to lay copies of the first two codex scraps in the hands of a specialist at the British Museum. So even if the originals disappear, we have the translations."

  "But without the originals, you can't prove anything, right? A scholar who disagreed with your interpretation could claim you made it all up."

  Smart guy. Tom was a doctor, not an archaeologist or epigrapher, but he grasped the essentials of other subjects quickly.

  "You're right, of course."

  Greg had scanned the ancient papyri into his laptop, but they had no original fragments in their possession since the attack on Farid.

  "And Lisa?"

  "Yes?"

  "I hope this Greg fellow isn't taking any liberties?"

  Lisa smiled at the old-fashioned question. “No, Tom. You've nothing to worry about."

  "I love you,” said Tom.

  "I love you, too,” said Lisa. They agreed on a time to talk again.

  As Lisa put down the phone, her mood plummeted. Tom's dear voice, which had sounded so close, triggered an acute attack of homesickness.

  What was she doing here, messing around in an antiquities affair that was none of her business? Not to mention delving into past emotions for another man that were at best self-indulgent and at worst self-destructive? Greg Manzur had never been good for her. She knew that now. Tom Henderson, on the other hand, was pure gold.

  Lisa had never intended to get married so soon. The conventional wisdom was to finish her graduate degree, acquire some professional experience, and then take time out to be a wife and mother.

  But real life wasn't so neatly arranged. When Tom appeared in her life, Lisa knew within three weeks that he was the guy for her. For the first time in her life, compromise seems like a viable option. Lisa found herself contemplating ways to finish her dissertation while following Tom to his first job, wherever that would be.

  She'd make any sacrifice—except for giving up her dream of being more than an armchair archaeologist. She was marrying a doctor, a professional with an inflexible schedule. Somehow, Lisa would adapt and find away to raise kids and stay in her career.

  Right now, none of that mattered. She lay back on her bed to the sound of Ellen singing off-key in the shower, clutching a pillow as if it were Tom. Lisa missed him with an intensity that amazed her.

  She had another ten days in Israel. Her agenda was simple: find the codex, complete her arrangements for the loan with the Israel Museum, detach her best friend from the smarmy Arieh Golovey, say a last goodbye to Greg, and fly home.

  A magic wand would be nice.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nineteen

  ...from those who thirst for the drink of knowledge they withhold it and assuage their thirst with vinegar, in order to gaze upon their straying, on their folly over feats days, on their fall into the trap. [Thanksgiving Hymns, Dead Sea Scrolls, IQH 12:8-12]

  WEARILY, LISA BOARDED her flight for London, hardly noticing the two solid businessmen who overflowed into her middle seat. If she didn't get more sleep, she wouldn't be able remember her own name.

  Fastening her seatbelt, she composed herself for a nap. But her mind kept replaying her conversation with Greg and Farid just that morning.

  "Hey, man, it's a miracle you're still alive. Did you see who knifed you?” Greg pulled a chair close to the hospital bed.

  A wan Farid clutched the little button that administered controlled doses of morphine. His chest was bare except for acres of white bandages and his left arm was strapped up. “He was wearing a stocking mask,” he replied, so softly that Lisa and Greg could hardly hear him. “Salima had just gone out for food."

  "Could he have been the Lebanese? Was he a bit thick in the middle?” asked Lisa.

  Farid frowned. “Hard to say. There were two men, one tall and thin, both with covered faces. They must have picked the lock. I didn't hear them until they were in the apartment, I was concentrating so hard."

  A nurse drew Lisa aside to remind her Farid needed his rest. Lisa nodded and remained in the doorway, watching the two men.

  She was confused. What was Farid's relationship with Greg, exactly? Greg had given her the impression initially that they were just buddies, but Lisa didn't believe this. She observed the way they sat, Greg perched casually on a chair, legs apart, listening intently to Farid who seemed to be trying to convince him of something.

  Lisa moved quietly back into the room, making almost no sound in her Rockport shoes.

  "...Ira found out that the Hawk has his base in Jerusalem, and you know what that means,” Farid was saying. Greg lifted his hand slightly and Farid changed the subject. “So, what is our next step?"

  Greg responded, “Look around Masada. See if we can find the cave, the source of the manuscripts."

  "Who is the Hawk?” asked Lisa. And what was Ira Levine's role in this? She meant to find out.

  Greg sighed. Clearly, he didn't want to tell her. “The Hawk is one of the terrorists in Les Agents de Dieu, that extremist group I told you about."

  "And you think he is involved in the search for the new manuscripts?"

  "We know he is."

  Lisa looked from one to the other. “Do you know his real identity?"

  "No. But we are pretty sure he works at the Museum."

  Lisa thought quickly. The three men who seemed to be recurring figures in this drama all worked at the Israel Museum. The prime candidates for the mysterious Hawk, therefore, were Ira Levine, Arieh Golovey ... and Farid el Baz.

  "There's more,” said Greg, who had been watching Lisa's face.

&
nbsp; "What?"

  "The Jordanians are interested, too. The source of the manuscripts, probably a cave, is very close to the border between Israel and Jordan."

  "You mean even if we find the right cave, there's going to be an international incident over who owns the manuscripts?"

  "Nothing is more likely."

  "So, the manuscripts were found by the Bedouins...” began Lisa.

  "Who are both Israeli and Jordanian. Their tent camps pay no attention to international borders,” said Farid.

  "And the good guys—that's us—are an international group,” said Greg.

  "So who gets to publish the codices?” asked Lisa.

  Greg and Farid looked at each other. “That is indeed the question,” said Greg.

  No doubt Greg wanted to be the primary scholar on the publication. Damn Greg anyway, thought Lisa as she adjusted her headrest and closed her eyes again. The roar of the propellers almost drowned out thought.

  Greg was too close-mouthed, too used to playing a lone hand. Everything he told her was carefully edited, making her feel like a five-year-old. But despite his Neanderthal habits around women, Lisa cared about him. She was more emotionally involved than she cared to admit, with a man who was not her fiancé. Surely three quarters of her feelings were leftover business from student days. She and Greg had agreed that they shouldn't marry, but she had always wondered “what if?"

  Lisa was so engrossed in memories and speculations that the time passed quickly. She didn't even mind the beefy arms of the two businessmen that prevented her from using the armrests.

  She arrived in London on schedule and took the subway to Russell Square. There was a Quaker hotel there called the Penn House. Valerie Albrecht had recommended it because it was basic but cheap, with good solid breakfasts.

  Her appointment with Dr. Gabriel Meyer was at three o'clock. After stashing her bags behind the hotel's front desk, Lisa purchased a skim latte at the café next door and walked the short distance over to the British Museum. She was grateful that the pavements directed her which way to look when she stepped off the curb—otherwise, a double-decker bus would have wiped her out within ten minutes.