by Merry Jones
‘Harper, wait . . .’
Maybe she should keep going, just pretend she hadn’t heard him? No, she had to be polite. He was, after all, the head of the dig. A professional colleague. Composing herself, she turned.
‘Maybe you’ll want this?’ Dr Ben Haim’s eyes twinkled as he held out her laptop.
Chloe played in her bath, pouring water from colored cups, singing. ‘My Im. My Im. My Im.’ Harper sat on the side of the tub, sponging her while Hagit washed out Chloe’s clothes in the sink.
‘Just stay away from them,’ Hagit declared.
‘I can’t. Lynne’s my dig partner.’
‘So get a new partner.’
‘Everyone’s assigned.’
‘So watch them. Listen to what they’re up to.’ She carried Chloe’s wet clothes to the porch, hung them to dry.
Harper put shampoo in her hands, massaged it into the baby’s hair. Put bubbles onto Chloe’s nose and stomach. Gave her a handful of suds to play with. Laughed with her when she reached up and plopped suds onto Harper’s nose, getting even. How did little Chloe even know about getting even? Was it the nursery? Playing with other, older toddlers? Harper rinsed away the shampoo, wrapped Chloe in a towel, thinking of all the other baths she’d given her – the recent ones, with bubbles, songs and toys, and the early ones, when Harper had been afraid to put even the gentlest soap on the newborn’s skin, had worried that the water would give her a chill. Fourteen months? How had they passed so fast? Chloe had six teeth already, was walking, learning to talk. Harper held Chloe on her lap, memorizing the moment. Smelling her curls. Drying her off. Noticing the little hamsa around her neck.
Hagit came back in and took out Chloe’s pajamas. ‘I don’t like it.’
It took a moment for Harper to realize what Hagit was talking about. ‘Dr Ben Haim is probably right. Probably they’re harmless.’
‘Probably? You want to stake your life on “probably”?’
Chloe was singing ‘My im, my im,’ again.
‘What’s she singing?’ Harper fastened the diaper, pulled the pajama top over Chloe’s head.
‘Water. Mayim.’
A song about water?
‘A song from the nursery school.’ Hagit began to sing it. ‘Mayim mayim mayim mayim, hey, mayim b’sason . . .’ Chloe scrambled to join her, beaming and clapping, trying to sing along.
Harper watched as Hagit led her in a circle dance.
‘Hey hey hey hey,’ they shouted, and Chloe squealed, jumping and clapping.
Harper didn’t know the words or the dance. She sat alone until Hagit, winded, had to stop. But Chloe, overtired and – thanks to Hagit – over stimulated, kept shouting and spinning, and tumbling and getting up again.
‘So, anyway.’ Hagit sat down on the bed, panting and dabbing her forehead. ‘I’m serious. You already attracted the Evil Eye, so trouble isn’t going to be far away.’ Again, she picked up the conversation from before. ‘Tomorrow, keep your eyes and your ears open. Watch what’s around you.’
‘I always do.’
‘I’ve learned something, Harper. Don’t assume people are who or what they say. It’s not always the truth.’
‘Thanks, Hagit.’ It was good advice. Harper had learned it, too.
Harper grabbed Chloe, ending her rampage. ‘Time for you to settle down. Let’s go tuck you in.’
Hagit wasn’t finished. ‘Be sure you wear your hamsa.’
‘I will.’
‘And say Kenahara. In fact, say plenty of them.’
Chloe leaned against Harper’s shoulder, sucking her fingers. ‘Hagit? You think these people are really dangerous?’
‘Dangerous?’ Hagit paused, thinking. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ She went back to the other room, but turned, shaking a finger at Harper. ‘But say Kenahara anyway. Just in case. It never hurts.’
The talk with Hank was brief. He was exhausted from visiting potential desalination sites, but Harper wanted his opinion and decided to tell him about her conversation with Lynne.
‘She said they’re preparing for the Apocalypse.’
‘Normal. For cult.’
Was it? Dr Ben Haim had seemed to think so.
‘But their leader says he’s found secret codes in the Bible, and I think he’s having them prepare now for the End of Days . . .’
‘Just don’t drink. Their Kool-Aid.’
Really? Hank was joking about it? He thought that Jim Jones’ mass killings were funny? That it was comical that people blindly followed their leader to their deaths?
‘Chloe asleep?’
And now he was just moving on, ignoring the entire topic?
‘Yes.’ Her answer was clipped.
‘Good day?’
‘Fine.’
‘Hoppa?’ Finally, he was getting it. ‘What?’
He really didn’t know. He sounded drained, half-asleep. Was she really going to start an argument?
‘Cult?’ So he knew what was wrong.
‘We’ll talk about it another time, Hank. You’re tired.’
‘Hoppa. Here. All kinds come. Normal.’
Again, he agreed with Ben Haim. Probably she should relax.
‘Okay? You?’
She said she was fine, told him she loved him. They said good night.
Harper didn’t feel like going to bed, felt unsettled. She went to the next room, saw Hagit sleeping. Thought about trying again to get online. Doing some research on Ramsey Travis and his church.
Quietly, she wrote a note for Hagit, picked up her laptop and tiptoed to the door. She was on the porch, about to step onto the path, when she heard a wail. A cat in heat, or maybe hurt?
‘Oh, Ramsey!’
It wasn’t a cat. The wailer was a woman.
Instinctively, Harper ducked into the shadows and peered towards the voice. Next door, light spilled out from a window onto the porch of Ramsey Travis’s bungalow. A couple stood silhouetted, locked in an embrace. Kissing, groping. Harper stepped deeper into the shadows, not wanting to spy. Unable to look away. Even in the dimness, she thought she recognized the woman, her long legs, straight blonde hair. Was it Lynne? No, it couldn’t be. Harper squinted into the darkness, trying to see.
Finally, the woman broke away from the man and stepped into the starlight, and Harper saw her clearly. No mistake.
‘Trust me, Ramsey.’ Lynne’s voice was husky. ‘You have my word.’
Travis came after her, gripped her hands, ‘Are you sure? Because the ninth is the twenty-sixth . . .’
‘I told you. I’ll do it.’
Do what? And the ninth was the twenty-sixth? What the hell did that mean?
Travis pulled her back for a final, lingering kiss, and then, abruptly, released her. Lynne turned and walked away. Right toward Harper.
Harper backed against the wall, not moving, not making a sound. Lynne passed without seeing her, and Harper looked back at the porch, at the tall beefy man with receding hair. Ramsey Travis.
Who was he really? What was he planning? All Harper knew for sure was that he’d been kissing Lynne and making her wail like a wounded animal. And that he’d sent her back to her husband.
As soon as Travis went back into his bungalow, Harper hurried down the path to the main road. The main office was empty except for a security officer and the guy at the desk. She bought a Coke from the machine and tried to log on to the Internet, but the whole time, she was replaying the scene she’d just witnessed, trying to process it.
Lynne had said the pastor had counseled her and helped save her marriage. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think that Travis would have used Lynne’s vulnerability and trust to seduce her. What a hypocrite, preaching God’s word while practicing adultery with his followers. Harper ached to get online and find out more about this guy. Ramsey Travis. Where had he come from? What was in his past?
The screen said: ‘Internet Explorer cannot display the web page.’ Damn.
Again, Harper replayed the scene on the porch. What was it that Travis wanted Lyn
ne to do? Was it to tell Peter about their relationship? Maybe. But what about ‘the ninth is the twenty-sixth’? What did that mean? Bible code? Harper had no idea. Could make no sense of it.
She tried another browser. Mozilla. No luck.
‘Miss, you need some help?’ The guy at the desk was watching her.
‘I’m trying to get online . . .’
‘To send an email? Or make a reservation? I can help you . . .’
How? Did he have Internet? Harper stood, went to the desk. The guy’s nametag had a name both in Hebrew and English: Schmuel. ‘Are you connected?’
‘Me?’ He and the security officer exchanged glances and laughed. ‘Not now. Sometime tonight, though, it will happen. Usually about two or three a.m. But maybe earlier. Maybe in an hour. Look, when it happens, I can make a reservation for you. Or send a message – anything you want.’
Actually, anything except what she wanted. Harper thanked him and explained that he couldn’t help; she was trying to do research. She picked up her laptop, deposited her Coke bottle in the recycling can, and headed out. At the door, she stopped, turned back.
‘Schmuel? Let me ask you. Does this make any sense to you? The ninth is the twenty-sixth?’
Then Schmuel blinked, said something in Hebrew to the guard who said something back. Schmuel shrugged.
‘Maybe he’s right. He thinks it’s about the ninth of Av.’
Harper didn’t understand.
‘The ninth of Av,’ Schmuel repeated. ‘Tisha B’Av. He thinks it comes this year on July twenty-sixth. In a few days.’
She still didn’t. ‘What’s the ninth of Av?’
The guard smirked, made a comment in Hebrew.
‘For the Jews,’ Schmuel explained, ‘it’s a serious day. A day of mourning. Very holy.’
The guard interjected something. Schmuel nodded.
‘It marks the destruction of the Temple. First by the Babylonians, later by the Romans. We are supposed to fast and pray – not just for the Temples any more, but for all misfortunes and injustices. It’s a day to remember the tragedies of ages. But not to worry. We’ll still have service for you that day. Anything you want, as usual.’
Harper thanked him and the guard, and started back to the bungalow. The whole way home, she kept replaying Lynne’s uninhibited moans as she clutched Ramsey Travis. Why, in the midst of a passionate embrace, would Lynne and Travis be concerned with a Jewish holy day? And why would they care that it fell on July twenty-sixth?
The next morning, Harper studied Lynne for signs of her affair. She looked for feigned cheeriness, for fatigue. For glances that wandered toward the pastor. For shifting eyes and guarded conversation. But she found nothing; Lynne was her usual chatty self. She walked to their section arm in arm with Peter, gave him a smooch when they separated. Seemed completely open and innocent with her freckled tan and wide blue eyes.
Harper told herself it was none of her business. If Lynne wanted to cheat on her husband, even with the pastor who had counseled them, it was entirely Lynne’s decision. Hell, she’d only met these people three days ago; what did she care what they did? Maybe the entire church believed in open marriage. Maybe they were all sleeping with each other. Maybe Peter knew and didn’t care. Maybe Peter was also having sex with him. It wasn’t her problem. She should just butt out.
‘So. Have a nice night last night?’ She emptied dirt into a bucket and watched Lynne’s reaction, which was none.
‘I did. You?’
Harper made her voice casual. ‘I couldn’t sleep. So I went for a walk at about . . .’ What time had it been? ‘About midnight.’
Lynne looked up, frowning. ‘What kept you up? The baby?’
‘No, she was sleeping.’
‘Oh, I bet I know why you were up. You miss your hubby.’
Her ‘hubby’?
‘Well, here’s what I would do. Have a little drinkie. Some wine right before bed.’
‘Good idea. You’re right – I don’t like sleeping without Hank.’ Maybe if she revealed things about her marriage, Lynne would reciprocate.
In fact, Lynne nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’
Harper stopped listening, stuck her trowel into the dirt. Thought of another approach. ‘You know what? My bungalow is right next to your pastor’s.’
‘Yeah?’ If she was worried that Harper might have seen her, Lynne didn’t let on. ‘Nice location. Ours is down the hill – closer to the restaurant.’ She reached for a screen. ‘Think anyone’ll find anything today?’
Harper adjusted her hat. There had to be a way to make Lynne reveal something. Maybe just getting her to talk about Travis? ‘So I was thinking about what you said about your pastor. That he could see people’s souls . . .’
‘Yeah, he’s amazing.’ Lynne sifted dirt, smeared some on her forehead as she wiped away sweat. ‘He understands people. What’s inside them. What each one is capable of. He’s truly a man of God.’ Lynne’s face glowed as if reflecting holy light.
‘So is he married?’ Harper watched Lynne’s face for a blush. A tightened jaw. A twitch.
But all Lynne did was smile. ‘Oh, you bet. Ramsey Travis is married to his church.’
Of course he was. A complete saint. And he had Lynne brainwashed. She apparently felt no guilt or conflict about canoodling with Pastor Travis; he’d probably convinced her that having sex with him was a way of serving God. Still, Harper wanted to hear more.
‘So what’s he learned from those codes?’
‘Oh.’ Lynne took a drink from her water bottle. She waved to Lowell a few sections over. ‘Hey, Lowell. When you dig to China, you can stop.’
‘Got my chopsticks ready,’ Lowell called back.
‘What exactly did you want to know?’
‘I don’t know. Just some more examples.’
Lynne shook dirt off her trowel and beamed at Harper. ‘I’m so glad you asked. Really. I have a feeling about you. I mean it. Ever since we met, I’ve sensed that you should join us. So, let me tell you about Pastor’s discoveries. Of course, there are too many examples to give right here and now. What have I already told you? About Yitzhak Rabin? And also the first Gulf War. Okay. Here’s another one.’
While they dug, Lynne told Harper about Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu’s near assassination. The codes had said that it was supposed to have occurred in Amman in July, 1996, and that his death was to have triggered an atomic war.
‘Obviously, it didn’t happen.’ Lynne sat on a bucket to take a break. ‘But here’s the thing: Netanyahu was scheduled to go to Amman in July of ’96 to meet with King Hussein. Check if you want – it’s historical fact. At the last minute, Hussein canceled. So the assassination never happened; the war never got triggered.’
‘You’re going to tell me that Hussein canceled because God wanted him to?’
‘I am. God’s decision to change His plan is written in the code. In fact, I know some of the exact words. The code specifically says, “Bibi”, his actual name. And “July to Amman”. Then it says “murdered”, and “his soul was cut off”, and “death”, along with the date, “the ninth of Av, 5756” and the question: “Will you change it?” And then it gives the answer: “Delayed.”’
Wait. ‘Did you say the ninth of Av?’
‘That’s the date given in the code. It’s a holy day marking the destruction of the First and Second Jewish Temples. And it’s also the date the final war was supposed to begin. But God delayed it. In fact, Netanyahu went in August instead, so he wasn’t killed and the war was avoided. At least, that time.’
Harper removed her work gloves, closed her eyes, rubbed them. None of this made sense. Lynne looked like a damned cheerleader, had a Midwestern accent and freckles, wore a Cubs hat. And she discussed atomic wars and the end of the world as easily and breezily as she might a backyard barbecue.
‘I know. It’s mind-boggling. You should talk to Pastor Travis. He’ll give you more examples. But the most amazing part is that all the codes were writte
n thousands of years ago. Like I told you, God wrote history backwards, telling what was to come. But He left Himself choices. He gave several dates when conflagrations could begin. But so far, for every conflagration date, there’s been a code that says, “I will delay the war”, or “I changed it”. It’s amazing, isn’t it? And Pastor has deciphered it.’
Harper’s mind was still fixed on the ninth of Av. July twenty-sixth was just three days away. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the pastor had planned the trip to include that date. ‘So do all the codes have to do with destruction? With, you know, the end . . .’
‘The End of Days? Good question. I don’t really know the answer. All I know is that Pastor Travis wants us to prepare. So far, the conflagrations have been postponed. They were written to occur in 1996, 2006, and again in 2010 – I’m sure there are other dates, too. All of those were “Delayed”. But the codes also indicate the date when all God’s delaying will end and the conflagration will actually begin. Pastor Travis knows when that is. He says it will be soon. And when the date arrives, the action will start right here, in Megiddo.’
Oh God. The pastor had brought his followers there for Armageddon – the end of the world. Ramsey Travis believed it would start right where they were digging, in three days, on July twenty-sixth. The ninth of Av.
Harper had to know for sure. ‘So that’s why you’re here. For the action?’ She thought again of Jim Jones and his suicidal followers.
Lynne didn’t answer. She might have, but from across the site, Josh shouted from section nine, ‘Dr Hadar! Dr Ben Haim!’
Volunteers ran toward the voice, a bell rang, and people hollered and hooted.
Harper was on her feet, hurrying toward the commotion before she realized what had happened: Josh and his partner had uncovered something.
It was a wall. A row of large square stones.
The excitement was palpable. Dr Hadar gathered everyone together, passed out cups of wine, led a prayer and made a toast to the discovery. The rest of the afternoon was spent gently brushing away dirt, clearing off the surface of the wall, and removing earth around it to reveal more of the structure. Harper and Lynne were able to join Dr Ben Haim’s students in the effort, clearing earth from the wall and sifting for shards or other relics.