by Jon Land
“I don’t like being the brunt of jokes.”
“I don’t understand,” Danielle said, serious herself now.
“That rock you gave me, the one labeled 5-6-1, was it some kind of a test to see what I’d tell you?”
“What about the rock?”
“You said it was part of an investigation.”
“It was, is.”
“An investigation where?”
Danielle saw no reason not to be forthcoming. “The Judean Desert.”
“Not unless the Judean has changed continents.”
“Excuse me?”
“The rock you left me wasn’t a murder weapon, and it didn’t even come from Israel, if my analysis of the sodium, magnesium, and sulphur levels are correct, and you know they are.”
“Then where did it come from?”
“The United States,” Isser said flatly. “Specifically, the Texas Panhandle.”
* * * *
Y
ou’re telling me this American archaeological team was bringing items into the desert, not taking them out,” Danielle said to Isser Raskin, minutes after speaking to him on the phone.
“That’s what my initial analysis of your rock would seem to indicate, Pakad.”
“Seem? You sounded more definitive before.”
Isser held the rock Danielle had taken from the crime scene in an open palm. “There are certain features of this that are indeed consistent with what you would expect to find in the Judean Desert. But the core structure, trace elements, and general composition clearly place its origins somewhere else entirely.”
“Only Texas?”
Isser stole a gaze at his computer monitor. “Also parts of California, but the Texas match is much more complete. There are also indications that this is a subtundra rock, meaning it was pulled from beneath the ground,” Isser said, tilting his Coke-bottle glasses up at her.
“And that number, 5-6-1?”
Isser shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine when it comes to that. It could relate to the order in which the rocks were recovered or packed, or . . .”
“Or what?”
“No, Pakad, it wouldn’t make any sense, at least not until I can conduct some more tests.” The technician’s face grew tentative. “Is that a problem?”
“Why would it be?”
“Because I was under the impression that the murder of the American archaeologists had been removed from our jurisdiction. That the investigation belongs to Shin Bet now.”
“Not entirely.”
Isser continued to hold the rock. “Can I assume from your answer that you are pursuing the chain of evidence?”
“Only if there is one, Isser. You could find no blood or fibers on the rock— you said so yourself. So clearly it’s not a murder weapon and may have nothing to do with the crime at all.”
Isser didn’t look convinced by Danielle’s words at all. “I’ve worked with you before, Pakad. You see things nobody else does.”
She thought of snatching the rock from Isser’s hand before this went any further. “So what is it you want?”
Isser laid the rock back upon his cluttered desk. “As I said, to run more detailed tests on our friend here.”
“Without formal authorization?”
“Unofficially. Filed mistakenly in a different case file.”
“Is this a favor?”
“If you’re onto something,” Isser told her, “I want to be part of it.”
Danielle looked around his cramped cubicle, trying to remember how long, how many years he had worked within it. “Okay, I think I understand.”
“It can’t hurt to consult, can it? And if something breaks, I expect you will take care of me, provide just compensation for my services.”
Danielle backed up a little, spreading out the tension that had risen between them. “You know, Isser, I may be up for a promotion.”
“So I heard. And how can they deny it to you? You are the most recognizable figure in the department with a blue chip family history. I’d say it was a lock, Pakad.”
“And what is the next position in your scale?”
“Shift supervisor. Perhaps field investigator.”
“I think you would excel at either.” Danielle moved to the cubicle’s doorway, letting Isser Raskin keep the rock. “Come visit me in my new office when you have some time.”
Isser smiled slightly. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other well before you move, Pakad.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 28
B
ack in Jericho, Ben found Father Mike on a ladder painting the ceiling of the portico that fronted his church.
“Father?”
The priest looked down, eyes gaping in surprise, and Ben saw the white paint flecked across his brow. He started down the ladder so fast he stumbled on one of the rungs and nearly fell.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” the priest said gratefully.
“I’m sorry, Father.”
Father Mike held him by the shoulders at arm’s distance. One of the priest’s eyes was swollen and a cheek was bruised.
“You don’t look much better than I. But thank God you’re all right. Thank God they released you.”
“I never should have involved you in this.”
“They were actually rather polite, for Israelis. Only hit me twice. I guess I shouldn’t have vouched for your character. They were looking for some kind of disc in the garden, were rather insistent that I had taken it.” Father Mike released Ben, still eyeing him fondly. “So how did you manage such a brief captivity?”
“Ever heard of Rabbi Mordecai Lev?” Ben asked.
“Of course. Leader of some crackpot Jews, the Pillars of the Land, who live outside of Hebron and have dedicated themselves to waiting for the true Messiah.”
“He’s the one who secured my release.”
Father Mike narrowed his eyes in concern. “You should be more careful of the company you keep.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“He must have wanted something from you.”
“Everybody does, it seems.”
“Be careful with this one, though,” Father Mike warned, his mouth taut and fixed. “His vision is extreme and singular.”
“He’s blind, Father,” Ben said, trying for a laugh.
Father Mike didn’t even smile. “Even worse. The Amudei Ha’aretz pursues one thing and one thing only. No one and nothing else matters. As far as they’re concerned, the rest of the world can go to hell.”
“While they wait for the second coming.”
“Actually, the first according to them. Their entire existence is rooted in the belief that they are waiting for the one true Messiah, just as ours is founded on the concept of new and eternal life stemming from Christ’s resurrection.”
“I didn’t say I believed Lev,” Ben said.
“Then you must be even more careful. When the Messiah comes, only the believers will be spared. Nonbelievers will perish in pillars of fire, brimstone—”
“The biblical Apocalypse.”
“According to the Amudei Ha’aretz, yes. They don’t like other Israelis any more than they like us.”
“Christians or Palestinians?”
“Either. Both. Take your pick.”
Father Mike wiped the paint from his face with a handkerchief. His fingernails were brittle and splotchy patches of his hands were dry and scaley. “What does Lev want from you, Ben?”
“He believes the murdered American archaeologists may have found a lost scroll detailing the Messiah’s appearance.”
“So the Amudei Ha’aretz can be there waiting when he appears.”
“I gather that’s the plan.” Ben hesitated. “Is it possible?”
“Lost scroll? That’s a possibility already proven by the existence of the Dead Sea Scrolls, which actually speak at some length of the Messiah’s coming. But as for another scroll that foretells the specifics ...” Father Mike
shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I see.”
“Walk away from them, Ben.”
“I did.”
“Good. Now grab a brush.”
Ben stared down at the paintbrushes soaking in turpentine. “What if I agreed with Lev, Father? About Christ not being the son of God.”
Father Mike held his hands stiff by his sides. The wiry hair on the sides of his head seemed to extend straight out. “Are you going to pick up a paintbrush or not?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Why do you come here and help me with my chores, Ben?”
“I enjoy our talks.”
“Here in the church?”
“Yes.”
“The church is Christ. You can’t separate them. You come here and make His house better, it’s your own way of trying to stay close—as close as you can, anyway. You haven’t lost your faith, Ben; you just can’t see it right now.”
“I haven’t been able to see it for a very long time.”
Father Mike studied him closely, his own features relaxing. “So you want Lev to be right to make things easier for you. If Lev’s right, you don’t have to challenge yourself anymore and I need to get myself a new assistant.”
“What if both of you are wrong, Father, you about your Messiah and Lev about his? I see people trusting that faith will make them stronger, and make them well, and bring them happiness. But at the end of the day they’re still weak, sick, and miserable.”
“And the next day they will try again anyway. That same faith is often what sustains them, allows them to persevere.”
“No. Nothing changes and believing it could make things even worse.”
“You want me to tell you what kind of God could have taken your family the way He did?”
Ben’s lips trembled. His mouth felt full of paste. “Yesterday, seeing my nephew, brought it all back, made it feel like that happened yesterday too.” He tried to take a deep breath, but failed and felt his throat begin to thicken, as if he had swallowed paste. “My family suffered, Father, they suffered horribly. It’s tough for me to believe in anything after that. And the truth is I don’t want to believe.”
“The problem is you don’t want anyone else to believe either.”
“Because it creates a false security. Be a good Christian and God will look out for you. . . . But Hedoesn’t, even if you are. It’s a lie, and if people don’t come around to realizing that, life will continue to hurt a lot more than it should.”
Father Mike stood there very calmly, then smiled. “Just as I told you yesterday. This is your walk in the darkness, Ben, and out of it will come a great light. You’ll see.”
“I’ve already been walking a long time, Father, and it just keeps getting darker.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 29
H
ershel Giott was looking grave when Danielle appeared before leaving for the night. Danielle thought at first he was ill, until she saw his eyes clearly when they turned upon her.
“Thank you for coming up, Pakad.”
“What’s wrong, Rav Nitzav?”
“Our strategy in dealing with Commander Baruch has backfired somewhat. His response to your reappearance at the crime scene in the Judean this morning was a formal letter of reprimand he insists be included in your file. ...”
“Let him. I have a response for him too.”
“You didn’t let me finish. He is also charging you with complicity in the theft of some recording disc by the Palestinian Kamal. Did you forget to tell me about that?”
Danielle flirted briefly with denying any knowledge of the disc, decided the lies, of omission and otherwise, had to stop here. “It wasn’t your concern.”
“And the Palestinian’s presence at the crime scene today is not my concern either?”
“I didn’t know he was going to be there.”
“According to Commander Baruch, you are working as Kamal’s liaison.” Giott’s tired eyes grew stern. “I warned you about the costs of associating with your Palestinian friend. I thought I had made myself clear.”
“Perhaps it was Commander Baruch you should have warned me about.”
“I thought I had done that too.”
They stared at each other, the silence nearly unbearable for Danielle. She slid a little closer to her mentor’s desk. “It’s you Baruch’s coming after, isn’t it?” she asked finally, realizing.
Giott cupped his face in his trembling hands. “These are difficult times, Pakad,” he said, words slightly muffled. “The last of us who saw the birth of our nation are nearing the end of our usefulness. That in itself would not bother me if the generation about to replace us had learned anything from our lessons. They want everything black and white. They don’t see the gray.”
“They accuse you of the very same thing.”
“We were that way in the beginning, all of us, because we had to be. Our survival depended on it then, just as continuing the illusion while learning to compromise permitted us to ultimately thrive.” Giott took his hands away from his face and looked up. “It is the arc of compromise that escapes Baruch and the others who would seek to wipe out much of what we have done. Is he after me, Pakad? Yes, I suppose he is, because of what I represent. To destroy that, though, he must also destroy those who have learned the lessons he has not.” Giott’s tired eyes bore into hers. “Like you.”
“Unless we destroy him first,” Danielle said, voice cracking through her parched mouth.
“Easier said than done.”
“Perhaps that American fortune hunter you sent down to my office can help us.”
“How?”
“He claims he knows why his countrymen were murdered in the Judean. If he’s right, and if we could solve this crime for National Police before Shin Bet has a chance to, then . . .”
“An unlikely and dangerous scenario, Pakad.”
“You didn’t let me finish, Rav Nitzav. If our investigation were to show that Shin Bet knew more all along than they were telling ...”
“We would have something to hold over Baruch’s head. But what makes you think such a thing?”
“An archaeological team with virtually nothing to show for five months work, for one thing. The fact that Baruch was keeping very close tabs on them, for another.”
“That video disc the commander spoke of?”
Danielle nodded. “Our proof.”
Giott’s face tightened as he considered the prospects. “A precarious game we are playing, Pakad.”
“We have nothing to lose, Rav Nitzav.”
* * * *
B
ack in her office, Danielle checked her voice mail and found a message from Isser Raskin, the forensics technician with whom she had left her rock.
“I’ve solved your mystery, Pakad, and you’re not going to believe it. . . .”
His excited voice trailed off and Danielle found herself pressing the receiver tighter against her ear.
“Anyway, Pakad, I found strong traces of hydrocarbons on that rock of yours, and if it really did come from the West Bank ... I’d better finish this in person. First I want to reconfirm these tests in an outside lab. Come see me first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ll fill you in.”
Danielle listened to the time stamp and checked her watch; she had missed Isser by only minutes, would have to wait until tomorrow to find out whatever it was he had uncovered about her rock.
She erased the message and hung up the phone very slowly.
* * * *
CHAPTER 30
I
t was dark by the time Ben left Father Mike’s after helping him with the rest of the paint job. Given the hour, the priest offered him a ride home, but Ben politely declined, looking forward to the exercise and the time alone.
He had started taking walks in Detroit after his family was slain. Walked long hours into the night when sleep refused to come or his dreams brought his family with them. He had moved into a
hotel immediately after the murders, and then a small furnished apartment that smelled of Lysol and other people’s memories. He found himself wanting to be anywhere other than that apartment. Sometimes he would walk so far and so heedlessly that he actually found himself lost. Other times he would walk himself into exhaustion so by the time he got back home, at least he’d be able to sleep.