A Walk in the Darkness - [Kamal & Barnea 03]

by Jon Land

  Ben dropped a second copy into the rabbi’s extended hand. “It makes for most interesting viewing.”

  Lev closed his hand around the copy, waited for Ben to continue.

  “The Americans found something in that cave, all right. It’s all there, on the disc, but they weren’t archaeologists.”

  Lev remained silent.

  “They weren’t archaeologists, Rabbi, they were geologists, and you knew it from the beginning, because you’ve been getting copies of the surveillance discs even before they reached Area Six. What were they up to, Rabbi? And why did you care?”

  “You are letting your imagination get the better of you, Inspector.”

  “It’s that disc that proves those Americans were digging for something other than relics, not my imagination. But, sorry to disappoint you, whatever they found in that cave was buried fifty-two years ago, not two thousand.”

  Lev’s head snapped forward. He felt blindly for Ben and clamped a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder. “Keep talking!”

  “Just before the start of the ‘48 War, a man stopped at a Palestinian village on the edge of the Judean Desert in search of a guide.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I found the guide.”

  Lev’s hand dug in deeper, his grasp tightening on Ben’s shoulder like a vise. “What did he tell you?”

  “The man buried a pack containing a box in a cave on the same site where the Americans were killed.”

  “They found it, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, they did; it’s recorded on that disc I just gave you.”

  “They removed it from the cave. . . .”

  “Yes.”

  The rabbi’s grip slackened and he began muttering in Hebrew, bowing his head low. “Is there any sign of this box?”

  “No.”

  “Then you must find this box, Inspector. Whatever it takes! At all costs.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because the contents of that box are as important to you as they are to me.”

  “But they’re also important to someone else, aren’t they? Someone who dispatches assassins carrying the mark of an upside-down red cross on their arms.”

  Lev turned back to the bema and the ark containing the ancient Torah scrolls set at its rear.

  “They’re the ones who killed my nephew and the rest of the Americans, aren’t they?” Ben continued. “They’re the reason why you’ve turned this settlement into a fortress, because they’re after the same thing you are.”

  “No,” replied Lev, his dead gaze still fixed on the ancient scrolls of the Jewish people, “they are committed to making sure we never see it, that no one ever sees it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the contents of that box would destroy their world, Inspector, and they can’t allow that.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 48

  B

  less me Father, for I have sinned. . . .”

  With these words, Gianni Lorenzo began the nightly ritual of feeding his predecessor in the set of rooms that had been specially appointed for his needs in the Swiss Guard barracks just inside St. Anne’s Gate. The old man would never eat until it was dark, relying on the sky above the central courtyard beyond his window to tell time since the concept of hours and minutes had long been lost to him. The same window afforded him a clear view of the small, private chapel reserved for use by the Swiss Guard. How many times had the old man gone there to pray, able to share his thoughts only with God? At least Gianni Lorenzo had the old man to confide in, although since his predecessor’s stroke their conversations had become increasingly one-sided until Lorenzo was not even sure the old man could hear him.

  “It has been three weeks now since my last confession,” Gianni Lorenzo said and raised a small piece of creamed chicken to his predecessor’s lips. “A thousand times I thought about going back to the desert to right the wrong I committed fifty-two years ago, but I never did and now it is too late.”

  A slither of chicken and trailing sauce dribbled down the old man’s chin. His tongue, pale and withered, emerged to try to swipe at it. Lorenzo wiped the excess away with a napkin.

  “And tonight we face the potential ruination of our entire way of life because of me. So I confess to you not only what I have done, but also what I am about to do. Those who have learned anything of the secret we determined to keep must die. I must not let last night’s failures deter us. The man and woman, and our other enemies, will not escape, cannot hide—this I pledge.”

  The old man made a gurgling sound low in his throat. His mouth opened and his lips flapped dryly together. The colonel realized he had inadvertently ceased the feeding and immediately dipped the fork into the bowl on the tray before him. The old man pursed his lips into a narrow slit, all the effort he could muster required to keep them that way.

  “The blood will be on my hands. But it will end here,” Gianni Lorenzo promised and eased another forkful of food toward his predecessor’s mouth.

  The old man’s lips trembled after he swallowed. His eyes widened and in that instant Lorenzo thought he might be about to speak. But the old man simply belched, hard enough to shift him in his chair.

  Gianni Lorenzo pried his predecessor’s shrunken, patchwork hands off the rails and took them in his, squeezing lightly. Even a gentle pressure drew a wince from the old man.

  “Holy Mary, mother of God, help us to pray as our fathers did. Help us to pray for the poor, wretched souls who know not why they must die before the next day is done.”

  * * * *

  M

  ordecai Lev tapped his way down the center aisle of his settlement’s synagogue. He smelled the fresh layer of varnish that had been applied to the rows of wooden pews that were identical to those in the synagogue at Kiryat Alba. There were more than were needed to accommodate those currently in residence, but all that was going to change soon enough.

  Lev sensed the presence of his visitor as he reached the front row. “Is that you, Commander? I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “I let myself in,” Moshe Baruch replied.

  “I’m sure you had good reason.”

  “I need to hear what you discussed with the Palestinian Kamal this afternoon.”

  “He has no idea of the truth,” Lev said, “if that’s what you are asking.” He tapped his way to the center of the front row and sat down next to Baruch. “I have him believing the missing scroll is all this is really about.”

  “Pakad Danielle Barhea has learned about the oil.”

  Lev tightened his hands on the cane’s handle. “And if she knows about the oil. . .”

  “That is all she knows, believe me. And she has been removed from the scene.”

  “To keep our secret safe of course, Commander.”

  “Just a few more days, Rabbi. That’s all it will take.”

  An ironic smile crossed Lev’s lips. “We’ve waited twenty-five hundred years, Commander. I suppose we can wait a little longer.”

  * * * *

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 49

  C

  ome on, wake up.”

  Danielle heard the voice at the same time she felt a series of sharp slaps to her face. She came slowly awake to the sounds of a deafening engine and felt a familiar flutter of motion in the pit of her stomach.

  A helicopter, she realized. But where am I? How did I get here?

  Disoriented, she fought to open her eyes, and when this failed reconstructed her thoughts back to . . .

  Lock on to a starting point. The last thing you remember. . . .

  It came back along with a dry, sandy feeling inside her mouth. Shoshanna Tavi and two Shin Bet goons had taken her hostage outside the medical building. A drive to a military airbase in the desert followed, where she and Captain Tavi boarded a jet.

  “Wake up, I said. Come on!”

  Danielle had received the first injection just before they took off, her senses dulled almost immediately, ev
en as she screamed at them that it might hurt her baby. They had stopped to refuel somewhere, and sometime after that had landed again to be transferred onto this helicopter.

  “Wake up, bitch.”

  Danielle finally pried her eyelids open and caught Shoshanna Tavi’s next slap in midair. “You made your point.”

  Tavi glared at her as Danielle let go of her hand. “You have shamed our country.”

  “Really? Am I guilty of kidnapping too?”

  “You sleep with a Palestinian, fully prepared now to bring his child into the world, and you accuse me ofanything.”

  “Carrying on affairs with public officials to further your own career? I’d say you’ve got plenty to answer for yourself.”

  Tavi fumed inwardly. “You are a disgrace, Pakad Barnea. I only wish you could have stayed in Israel, where a more fitting punishment could have been arranged.”

  “Then why not just kill me?”

  “I asked the same question, believe me,” Shoshanna Tavi said and turned away.

  “You knew the Americans were looking for oil in the Judean all along. But who was it Shin Bet couldn’t protect the Americans from?” Danielle challenged. “Who was it that killed them?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “But whoever it was killed Wynn too, didn’t they?”

  Shoshanna Tavi feigned disinterest but something kept her talking. “Word leaked out after we informed the Americans’ employer about what had happened. Wynn showed up to sniff around, looking to get rich by picking up where they left off.”

  “And was killed before he had a chance.”

  Tavi finally looked back at Danielle. “But not before he used you to help him get up to speed.”

  “They were waiting in my apartment for me the same night.”

  “Pity you didn’t go inside.”

  “So you wouldn’t have to be here.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And where are we going?”

  “A place where we won’t have to worry about you for a while,” said Shoshanna Tavi. “Make sure your seat belt’s fastened.”

  Danielle turned her head to follow Tavi’s gaze out the window. “Of course,” she muttered as the massive shape sharpened before her eyes, seeming to rise from the depths of the sea itself.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 50

  I

  t was after midnight when Ben hammered his fist against the front door of the small rectory next to Father Mike’s church.

  “I’m coming. Just a minute,” he heard a voice drawl sleepily.

  The door creaked open to reveal Father Mike in his bathrobe, his wiry hair sticking out to the sides. He looked at Ben and tried to smooth it down.

  “Little late for confession, isn’t it, my son?”

  “I need to talk to you,” Ben said, pushing past him.

  “Why don’t you come in?” Father Mike asked sarcastically.

  “Close the door.”

  “What?”

  “Close the door. Now! Lock it.”

  Father Mike slid the bolt into place and stuck his hands in his pockets. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Ben couldn’t stop moving, eyes as jittery as the rest of him. “I’ve been to see Lev again.”

  “Ah, the mad Jewish rabbi. . .”

  “You really believe he’s mad, Father?”

  “He’s a fanatic, Ben. Even the rest of Israel wants nothing to do with him.”

  “What about his Amudei Ha’aretz, the Pillars of the Land, waiting for the Messiah?”

  Father Mike shrugged. “They’re still waiting, aren’t they?”

  “So are we—so to speak, I mean.”

  “For the second coming.”

  Ben’s eyes looked like big dark marbles wedged in their sockets. “What if there was no first?”

  Father Mike craned his neck, made a show of checking his watch impatiently. “It’s too late for a theoretical discussion on theology.”

  “It may well be,” Ben said.

  * * * *

  W

  hat do you mean the contents of that box would destroy their world, Rabbi?”

  Lev had leaned on his cane and tried to stand up, but Ben had held him down with a hand planted on his arm.

  “Where to start...” Lev’s voice trailed off into a sigh.

  “What’s wrong with the beginning?” Ben asked him.

  The old rabbi worked his jaw nervously from side to side. “In 1948,” he said finally, “an archaeological team was working on a dig in Ephesus.”

  Ben nodded. “Go on.”

  “That team of twenty students was led by a famous linguist and scholar named Winston Daws. Daws believed he had found the final resting place of the great Jewish historian Flavius Josephus and was looking for proof in the form of lost scrolls and writings. He found a grave that contained a box, Inspector, just like the one I described to you in our first meeting.”

  Ben felt a slight chill, recalling the taped replay of his nephew carrying a similar box from the cave in the Judean Desert.

  “Daws opened it,” the blind man continued, “and found an ancient scroll stored inside, wrapped in some sort of animal skin. It was written in ancient Aramaic, and though remarkably well preserved, portions of the text had been lost to the ages.”

  “Like the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Ben interjected.

  “More than you realize,” Lev said knowingly. “Now, being an expert in ancient history, Daws was able to confirm the manuscript was actually written by Josephus. But even though he was a brilliant linguist, Daws had trouble translating the Aramaic. He had brought a young Jewish scholar along on the dig just for that reason, and with the scholar’s help Daws made a preliminary translation of much of the text’s early portions. In spite of the holes and gaps in the scroll, there was enough to tell this scholar he had uncovered something of infinitely greater impact than the Dead Sea Scrolls. Before they could go any further in their work, though, Daws and his entire team were brutally attacked; all of them killed, except for the scholar, who passed into anonymity and might have been better off dead.”

  Lev stopped and took a deep breath before finishing. “Because he was blinded.”

  * * * *

  T

  hey were sitting at Father Mike’s kitchen table now, the priest’s callused knuckles squeezed white around a cup of coffee. His face looked pale too, except for the red marks his fingers had left on his cheeks through the course of listening to Ben’s tale thus far.

  “Lev was part of Daws’s team,” Father Mike concluded, trying to sound indifferent. But a thin layer of sweat had appeared on his forehead, starting to thicken into beads. “The one survivor.”

  “Left for dead by the killers, unable to identify any of them. Twenty years later, after the Six-Day War, he became one of the founding members of the Amudei Ha’aretz and was there when they seized the land on which they currently reside outside Hebron. Kiryat Arba.”

  “So now Lev must want to finish the translation he started.”

  “With good reason,” said Ben.

  * * * *

  T

  he killers struck at night,” Rabbi Lev had continued in the synagogue. “I had walked out to the perimeter of the camp to relieve myself in our makeshift outhouse. “When I came out, the guards were already dead. I froze and saw the dark shapes of the killers moving about the camp in the spray of the floodlights. I turned to run and felt something like a kick to my skull. There was tremendous pain and everything before me went dark. But I still managed to crawl toward one of the trenches we had dug and dropped in. The dirt and the darkness must have camouflaged me, because they never checked to see if I was alive. I regained consciousness the next morning, thinking it was still dark, not realizing I was blind until I felt the hot sun on my face. Then I knew. I knew. . . . The authorities were already at the site. They heard my screams.”

  “Why didn’t they investigate?”

  “They did, but the investigation didn’t go an
ywhere. I hadn’t seen enough to help them, and the killers, well, it was as though they vanished into thin air.”