The Dead Sea Codex Read online

  When the secretary showed her in, a short, rotund man wearing a yarmulke stood up to greet her.

  "Dr. Meyer?” Lisa said, holding out her hand.

  The cheerful looking Orthodox scholar ignored her hand, reminding Lisa that this religious Jewish sect did not shake hands with strange women. “Please sit down,” he gestured to a comfortable armchair and came around to sit next to her.

  "I've brought copies of the codex translations,” she told him. “The first fragment was never in our hands—I took a photo of it at the Israel Museum—and the second one was stolen twice."

  Dr. Meyer's bushy eyebrows shot up. “Ah, so we have much interest in the Book of Deborah!” He didn't seem worried that the wrong people were interested.

  "You could say that,” Lisa agreed wryly, unfolding her Xerox copy.

  Dr. Meyer shifted his fat legs over to a worktable near him and picked up a magnifying glass. Eagerly he poured over the manuscript. After about five minutes, he raised his brown eyes to Lisa's face and said quietly, “What you have here is sensational. The Greek is consistent with other examples from the early second century A.D.—just as we thought—and the content fits with the Gospels of Thomas and Mary and the Testimony of Truth."

  "What do you think of Greg's theory that Deborah was black or in some way invisible?"

  "I agree with him. Nothing is more likely. The Coptic Church has had many adherents in Ethiopia as well as Egypt. Her family could be from either area. It makes in all the more ironic that the group Les Agents de Dieu is trying to suppress this."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, Les Agents de Dieu is a radical sect of Coptic Christianity that originated in the same part of the world. The home church and the famous Catechetical School are both in Alexandria, Egypt."

  Lisa was still puzzled. “Why, then, do they want to suppress new discoveries, if they would bolster their faith?"

  "Because your codex is heresy to them. It elevates the role of women, who must sit separately from men in Coptic churches and can never be ordained. It also, I suspect, questions core beliefs such as the corporeal nature of the Resurrection."

  "You mean the parts of the text we haven't found yet might support the Gnostic idea that the Resurrection is spiritual rather than corporeal, that Christ's human body did not actually come back to life?"

  "Yes—if the Book of Deborah is consistent with the other Gnostic gospels, which it appears to be thus far. Resurrection is a metaphor for the ascension of each human being as he or she achieves Gnosis"

  Lisa's pulse danced.

  "Then we've just got to find the rest of that codex. Before anyone else does."

  * * * *

  THE NEAR EASTERN galleries were as overwhelming as she remembered them. Here were the huge Assyrian lions she'd seen in textbooks as an undergraduate. There were the original granite statues of bulls and griffins that existed only as plaster copies at home. Lisa greeted each one like an old friend.

  Nothing like visiting one of the world's major repository of antiquities to rekindle her enthusiasm for archaeology again. Sometimes, in the midst of her dissertation's birth pangs, Lisa had lost sight of the thrills she'd experienced on her first dig, her first museum trip. It was rather like falling in love—an all-overish surge of energy and wonder, a feeling of “this is it!"

  Her chosen profession. Her world.

  As she gazed at a stone bust of Thoth, the Egyptian god of wisdom, Lisa was suddenly aware of soft footsteps at the end of the gallery.

  She turned around, expecting to see another tourist or guard.

  No one was there.

  She focused on the statue again, her ears wide open and her breath stilled.

  A little shuffle as the unseen person moved closer.

  This time, Lisa let her paranoid instincts take over. She slid behind a tall mummy case in the dim light. Someone followed her. She had no idea if it had anything to do with her adventures in Israel, but why take chances? Anyone who really wanted to could have discovered her flight plan and business in London.

  Next to her was a second mummy, displayed upright so the viewer could see the details of its toothy grimace and study the X-ray right behind it. Apparently, this important official had died of a head wound.

  She listened hard. She had never meant to stay this late. Most of the tourists had left in search of dinner, but her second appointment with the Greek antiquities curator about her museum loans had kept her longer than expected.

  Light footsteps sounded in the next gallery. The guard, or her pursuer? There was only one way to find out. Lisa ran out from behind the mummies and cut across the narrow gallery to the second Egyptian room, full of artifacts connected with mummification.

  Lisa passed quickly into the Assyrian room, rich with stone reliefs of major rulers—Sennacherib and Ashurbanipal, chasing lions or receiving prisoners. They had specialized in political propaganda long before the modern age, removing the monuments of their predecessors and exaggerating their victories on temple walls and tombs.

  For a moment she thought she'd lost him, but suddenly there he was, framed in the doorway. A slight, dark man who looked vaguely familiar.

  And who was pointing a handgun directly at her.

  Lisa took off like a spooked kitten, trying to remember where the stairs to the first floor were. And where the heck were the guards? She yelled “I'm being attacked! Call the police! Help!"

  Nothing happened. She skidded to a stop behind a sarcophagus, crouching behind its protective bulk.

  Her pursuer's footsteps sounded closer.

  She tried weaving in and out of galleries, dashing past the granite statue of Thutmoses III and halting in front another statue of the god Thoth, this time represented as a baboon.

  Silence.

  Then Lisa heard stealthy noises at the end of the gallery, which was littered with Egyptian pharaohs and ornate sarcophagi. She took a deep breath and yelled “Fire!"

  This time, the response was more satisfying. Someone pushed an alarm and immediately the galleries echoed with the brazen clamor.

  The footsteps hurried away.

  As Lisa took off through the Persians and Mesopotamian kings, she smiled. The Smothers brothers’ song about falling into a vat of chocolate sang in her veins. Like the two goofy singers, she had yelled “Fire!” because no one would save her if she yelled “Chocolate!"

  She crashed into a museum guard holding a walkie-talkie.

  The guard was almost as winded as Lisa was, but didn't seem to hold the collision against her. “What happened?” he began reasonably, steadying the exhausted Lisa with one large hand.

  "I'm being chased ... by an Arab with a gun ... it's all connected to the manuscripts I'm researching...” Lisa paused for breath and looked warily behind her. She wouldn't put it past the Arab to put a bullet in her right now, guard or no guard.

  "Manuscripts?” the guard said with a frown. “But most of them are in storage."

  "I know. I've just come from an appointment with Dr. Gabriel Meyer."

  "Oh, well, he's the world expert around here on ancient manuscripts. Now, what does this guy who was trying to shoot you look like?"

  Lisa began to describe him, and suddenly remembered why he seemed familiar.

  She had met him on the way to the Israel Museum. He was walking with Salima.

  Her pursuer was either Abu Najaf, Salima's little brother—or his double.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty

  [Do not] expect, therefore [the] carnal resurrection, which is destruction ... [Testimony of Truth]

  "GREG?"

  "Hi, Lisa. How was your trip?” Greg pressed the speaker button on his cell phone so he could continue loading his dishwasher.

  "I was followed! I was in the British Museum minding my own business and this guy pointed a gun at me...” Lisa's voice rose and Greg realized she was on the verge of hysteria.

  "Whoa! Start at the beginning,” Greg said, putting a
plate down on the counter. He could hear her ragged breathing.

  "Sorry...” she said. “I had a good meeting with Gabriel Meyer, and then talked with the Greek curator about my loans. I was all set to leave the museum when I discovered I was being followed—by a young Arab who looked just like Abu Najaf."

  "What!” Greg crouched over the phone. “Are you sure it was him?

  "Pretty sure. I saw him with Salima a few days ago, when I was on the way to the Israel Museum for my third appointment with Arieh. She introduced us. I don't think I could have been mistaken. And I can't think of any reason for him to travel to London and follow me..."

  "...Unless he's connected with one of the groups looking for the codex manuscripts,” finished Greg.

  "Right. So who's he working for?"

  "I don't know, but leave it to me. I'll find out. I have connections in Israeli Intelligence who can help us.” That was the truth, although certainly not the whole truth.

  "Shall we meet at the library as planned? Then I can fill you in on my other meetings."

  "Yes,” said Greg, looking at his watch. “In about an hour?"

  "Okay."

  Greg hung up and stared at his kitchen wall without seeing it. His mind churned as he considered the various possibilities, none of them pleasant. Lisa, Salima, and Ellen were all being drawn into the net along with the codex hunters. He didn't care much about Ellen, but his feelings for Lisa were another matter. A spasm of fear shook him as he thought about what Les Agents were capable of doing to obtain information.

  Part of him wished Lisa Donahue had never come back to Israel. Her presence thrilled him but clouded his judgment. He couldn't be as effective in either job if he was worried about any woman's safety.

  Greg shook his head like a wet dog, trying to cast off unwelcome emotions. Then he picked up the phone again and dialed Farid.

  * * * *

  THE LARGE GLASS dome sheltered scholars from around the world.

  In the library of the Hebrew University, Lisa and Greg crouched over notebooks and journals.

  Soft whispers from neighboring patrons, the rustle of papers turning, and the clicking of laptop keys were the only sounds.

  "Lisa!” hissed Greg. He turned a journal towards her and marked the place with his forefinger.

  It was a list of women mentioned in the New Testament as being close associates or followers of Jesus. She leaned over and read “Mary Magdalen (the Tower), Junia, Martha, Joanna..."

  "How many female followers of Jesus are mentioned in the existing literature?” asked Lisa.

  "Seven, I think,” said Greg. “It's in one of the Nag Hammadi manuscripts, but I don't remember which one."

  "So our Codex is the first document to mention twelve women."

  "Right."

  Lisa looked at his journal again. “Magdalen means the tower?"

  "Here it says ‘Magdalen’ also means ‘stronghold.’ Remember, Salima found something similar."

  "I thought Magdalene derived from a place name, like Magdala in Galilee, or Magdolum in Egypt."

  Greg brightened. “That would be interesting! Magdolum in Egypt, I mean. Then we'd have two connections with Egypt instead of only one."

  Their mission was to find out more about the Holy Twelve mentioned in the second codex fragment, to try and piece together the evidence for a second group of female disciples equal in number and importance to the better known group of male disciples. Announcing their finds would cause controversy, so they needed to be prepared for all the doubts that would be raised about the Book of Deborah.

  Especially if they never recovered the original fragments and had to rely on copies to build their case for a second group of female disciples.

  "Greg,” said Lisa.

  His black hair flopped over his brow that was wrinkled with concentration.

  "Greg,” she said again, admiring the strong line of his neck.

  "What?"

  "Have you come across any more mentions of Sara Kali, the black queen? She was supposed to be Egyptian, too, and you said earlier that ‘black’ could mean ‘unrecognized in the streets.’ And Sarah means ‘princess’ in Hebrew."

  "Oh, you mean the story of the hypothetical daughter of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. If Sara Kali actually existed, she could be the Holy Grail—the sang royal or royal blood of the house of Jesus. It's an interesting tangent, but I don't think we need to pursue it here. What we want is context for Deborah and more information about her in relationship to Mary."

  "I was just thinking, if Mary really did travel to France after the crucifixion, some of her followers might have gone with her,” said Lisa.

  "Good point. You know, you should talk to Salima again. Her doctoral thesis was on the links between Gnosticism, early Christianity, and Jewish sects, with special emphasis on the role of women."

  "I certainly will! I have great respect for Salima.” Lisa wasn't entirely sure Greg shared that respect. The tone of his voice betrayed him; he saw Salima as an academic rival.

  Lisa shifted her long legs to a more comfortable position and stared at the open atlas in front of her. She was having trouble concentrating since her return from London. Greg had spoken to Salima, who confirmed that her brother had vanished for three days just after Lisa's plane had left for Britain. That didn't prove it really had been Abu, who frequently went AWOL to escape his parents’ questions about his activities.

  But it was highly suggestive. Abu refused to reveal his employer, and Salima had seen him in public places whenever she went out with Farid. “It is very peculiar,” Salima had told Greg, “that my parents told me to keep the eye on him but instead, he keeps the eye on me—and Farid."

  "Greg,” Lisa said again.

  "What?"

  "Who do you think Abu is working for?"

  Greg's eyes narrowed and he grimaced. “You asked me that on the phone. I'm not sure yet, but he keeps cropping up in places where he shouldn't be. I think he's being paid to follow those of us who are looking for the codex fragments."

  "But he's not the boss, right? He seems too young and inexperienced to be anything except a flunkey."

  "Exactly. But that's not what worries me."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If his employer is Les Agents de Dieu, they have a reputation for making their lackeys disappear once their tasks are completed. Abu Najaf is expendable in their eyes. I don't give much for his chances of surviving this job."

  Lisa shivered and returned to her note taking. Salima would be devastated if anything happed to her little brother, and Lisa was beginning to care quite a lot about Salima.

  Lisa hoped the trip to Masada would be a bit of real vacation and take her mind off codices and terror.

  Fat chance.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When you bring forth what is in you, what you have will save you ... [Gospel of Thomas]

  "WE SHOULD TAKE the Snake Path,” said Ellen. “You guys have all done it, but I haven't. Much more romantic than the lift."

  Lisa groaned. After the week she'd had, the idea of getting up before dawn for an arduous hike on insufficient caffeine did not appeal to her. The four of them were in Greg's apartment in East Jerusalem getting ready for their Masada trip.

  Greg eyed Ellen with amusement. “Got to do all the tourist things, eh?” he teased her. “Aren't you too old for the Girl Scouts?"

  Ellen's blue eyes snapped at him. “I am a tourist, you doofus,” she said, “and I came here to have a little fun."

  Arieh was too busy sorting gear to comment, and the other three admired his efficiency. “Knapsacks, sleeping bags, water bottles, first aid kit...” he muttered as he made four neat piles.

  "Okay, okay,” said Lisa, trying to be a good sport. “What time do we leave?"

  Greg gave her a sweet smile that sent a jolt of warmth into her gut. “Rise at four, hit the trail at five,” he replied.

  Lisa smiled back, saying nothing, while Ell
en knelt down on the tiled floor to help Arieh with the division of food.

  Greg pulled Lisa aside. “While we're up there, Lisa, I want to nose around a little. There are some very promising caves visible from Masada that are hard to see anywhere else—unless you're a bird, that is."

  Lisa said, “I can't stop you, but remember how many other people may be out there doing the same thing."

  And she didn't trust Arieh farther than she could throw him. Lisa gazed at his muscular back, thinking she'd be lucky if she could even lift him a couple inches off the ground.

  "Promise me you won't wander off by yourself?” said Greg.

  "You should talk. You're the one everyone wants to knock unconscious, or worse. Don't worry about me; I'm exhausted. You are welcome to the dangerous sleuthing; I'm planning on writing up my notes and gazing at the sunset. Ellen plans to take a million photographs, so we can hang out together."

  And Lisa could try to find out if Arieh was just a jerk, or whether he had ulterior motives for getting the four of them up onto a deserted mountain.

  Greg finished his Goldstar and threw his beer bottle into the trash. He looked at his watch. “Hey, folks. Time to hit the sack if we're getting up before the sun. I've got dibs on the couch—the rest of you can sleep where you like."

  THE AIR WAS cool and dry, which was a blessing because the path was incredibly steep. Lisa's calves ached and her breath rasped in her chest. The heavy air around her was like a giant sponge. It sucked all the moisture out of the body whether she moved or not, leaving her a withered husk. The trek reminded her of another arduous hike ten years ago—climbing the switchbacks out of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. At least here in Israel she didn't have to worry about pools of mule piss on the trail.

  Promising herself she'd resume running when she got home to Philadelphia, Lisa thought longingly of Tom Henderson. Her fiancé was working the night shift at a ghetto hospital, spending all his waking hours with drunks and stabbing victims. If she were home, she'd hardly see him, but she wouldn't have this feeling of being lost in a time warp. Being with Greg took her back to the angst of undergraduate days, a turbulent time of warring impulses. Academic ambition vied with hormonal surges that made her wonder how she could ever mesh career with marriage and motherhood.