The woman had her eyes fixed on Nuri as they stepped into the room. He paused, then, “I believe everyone has met before.”
The woman did the polite thing, turning her attention to the people in the room. Her jaw dropped.
“David!”
“Amber!”
SIX
They spoke in unison. “What are you doing here?”
Then a pause.
Chambers and Amber turned to Ben-Judah. Chambers spoke for both of them. “Abram?”
He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked up on his toes. A moment later he shrugged. “Would you have come had I told you?”
Again in unison. “No!”
“Well, there ’tis. I need you both; I need you here, and this is too important to let something as silly as love lost keep us from our goal.”
“Silly?” Amber’s face reddened. “There’s nothing silly about this. You tricked me.”
“Nonsense, young lady. I did no such thing. I may have withheld a minor detail or two so as not to distract you, but that’s all I did.”
Chambers crossed his arms. “I think you did more than that.”
Again Abram shrugged. “Well, maybe I kept a few things from you, but I did so for good reason.”
“Like tricking us into showing up in the same room when we don’t want to be in the same country.” Amber’s gaze was pointed, and for a moment Chambers thought he could feel the barb.
This time, Abram looked pained. “Have you ever known me to play games with our discipline? What we do is too valuable. Archaeology in this land is unlike any other archaeology. I know I will sound like a foolish old man when I say biblical archaeology is the pinnacle of all scientific historical study. Perhaps that attitude is a little too superior for some, but what we do has more value than just uncovering ancient civilizations.”
“Well,” Nuri said, returning to his half-eaten cookie, “we can’t overlook the life-changing work of those who study, oh say, the Olmecs.”
“Can it, Nuri.”
Nuri raised his hands. “To borrow an American phrase, ‘Hey, I’m just sayin’.’ ”
Chambers drew a visual bead on him, like a sniper targeting his enemy. “Did you know about this?”
Nuri shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
When a stout man with a thick neck entered the room, Chambers took notice but paid him no attention. His attention was on Nuri. “You weasel. You knew all along. You helped set me up.”
“I just carried out the good professor’s wishes. Such is my respect for him.”
“Nuri, how could you do this to me?” Amber appeared to be getting angrier by the moment. She backed up a step, almost crashing into the room’s newest occupant.
“You know I love you, my dear, but you have unresolved issues with David. Professor Ben-Judah feels you would make a great member of the team. He trusts you. I trust you. David—well, that remains to be seen.”
“That’s it.” Chambers started for Nuri. “I’ve had my fill of you.”
“Enough!”
The voice seemed to shake the windows and was delivered with such authority that Chambers seized midstep.
The corners of the stout man’s mouth moved up a millimeter, and it chilled Chambers.
“David, my good friend, please stop. You are making a terrible mistake,” Ben-Judah pleaded.
“I don’t care. I will not tolerate being lied to.”
Nuri raised a finger. “Professor Ben-Judah is right. Unless I miss my guess, our new guest is Shin Bet.”
Chambers blinked several times. “Israel Security Agency?” He looked at the man in slacks and sports coat.
Nuri nodded. “Shin Bet, ISA, Shabak, choose your favorite name. My guess is he’s internal security, but why don’t you throw a punch his way and find out.”
Ben-Judah rounded the table and put a hand on Chambers’s shoulder. “Nuri is right, David. This is Hiram Landau. He works with ISA. The prime minister has been kind enough to send him our way.” He paused. “I apologize, David, and to you too, Amber. My goal was not to deceive you, but I didn’t want to give you a reason to say no until you’ve heard what I have to say. Then, if you feel you must still leave, I won’t stand in your way.”
Chambers looked at Amber. Man, she looked good, even with the red tinge of anger on her face. His heart did jumping jacks at the sight of her, and he hated it for doing so. “We’re here. I guess we might as well go the next few steps.” He waited for Amber to respond.
She lowered her head, bit her lip for a moment, then nodded. Chambers pulled back one of the chairs for Amber and she sat. He helped her scoot closer to the table, then walked to the point farthest away from her and took a seat. Her expression told him she got the message. The room iced over.
Ben-Judah conjured a smile, then set out the filled tea cups and, ever the dutiful host, made certain everyone had at least one of the filled cookies. When he finished, he filled one more cup. Someone else was expected.
Abram Ben-Judah set the cup at the head of the table, then sat in the chair immediately to the right. Chambers couldn’t imagine who deserved the seat of honor more than Abram.
After the confrontation a few minutes ago, the room grew as silent as a sepulcher. Nuri chewed another cookie. Amber stared at the grain in the historic table; Landau leaned back in his seat, his beefy arms crossed over a beefier chest; and Ben-Judah stared into the distance as if seeing what no one else could.
In the States, he rode in a modest limo. For him, a stretch limo was ostentatious. Truth was, he’d rather drive than be driven. He missed the days when he could, at will, leave his home and slip behind the wheel of one of his sports cars or, better yet, one of his collectables, his favorite being a copper-colored 1952 Allard J2X. It looked fast just sitting in his garage. It was too futuristic for midcentury America, and over six decades later, it still turned heads whenever it cruised the streets of Boston.
Those days were gone. He had made too many enemies, and the world had changed. Most likely he could take a long Sunday drive in full safety, but the security agency he paid an embarrassing amount of money to insisted that such frivolity was dangerous. After all, he had his family to think about—a half-dozen billion-dollar companies.
What good was being numbered with the top fifteen richest men in the world, and the top five in the United States, if he couldn’t enjoy an occasional drive in a car he paid three-quarters of a million dollars to obtain? Well, he decided, there were still a few things he could do. Change the world was one of them.
The “limo” that carted him from Tel Aviv into Jerusalem and up the road to Hebrew University looked nothing like the kind of vehicle twenty-first-century robber barons plied busy streets in. From the outside, the vehicle looked like the American Humvee, but unlike those bought at dealerships, this car came equipped with bulletproof glass, a hardened undercarriage shield to fend off improvised explosive devices, state-of-the-art communication, on-board oxygen in case of a gas attack, and several types of handguns. He had been trained to use the guns, but he despised them. He hated violence.
The thin driver was a former Navy SEAL with a half-dozen long-term deployments in Afghanistan and Iraq. He had served in other countries as well, places he never talked about. Next to him sat a former Army Ranger, and sharing the backseat was a chunk of a man who had spent many years with Israel’s Mossad.
The former SEAL touched his ear as he received a message from a tiny monitor. “Plaza looks clear.” His voice was soft—like molten steel is soft.
The driver nodded. “Three minutes.”
A car sped around them. Any other time, this would have been cause for alarm, but the passenger had been briefed. The American-made SUV sped ahead. A glance back told him another car had moved into the position of the previous vehicle. He sighed and wished for the days of his childhood.
“You can just drop me off at the curb.”
“I’m sorry, sir, it doesn’t work that way.”
“I
t was a joke.”
“Yes sir,” the SEAL said. “Very funny.”
“I don’t see you laughing.”
“Trust me, sir. I’m busting a gut on the inside.”
“I bet you are.”
Exactly three minutes later, the Humvee pulled to a stop in one of the university parking lots. He had no doubt that it was the parking lot closest to the Institute of Archaeology.
“Hold on,” the driver said.
No one moved.
As the only one in the vehicle without someone chattering in his ear, the man could only wait until he was told to move. He couldn’t open the door if he wanted to. The lock system that kept abductors out, kept him in. He waited in the armored womb.
“Go.” The driver pressed a button and the doors unlocked.
And John Trent exited the air-conditioned backseat and felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He lingered for a moment, eyes closed, face turned to the sky. A strong hand took his elbow. “This way, sir.”
Trent didn’t hesitate.
SEVEN
Chambers could hear his heart beat, feel it struggling to do its work an inch or so behind his breastbone. His face felt warm, as if the heating vents were turned on his skin. Not to be outdone, his stomach roiled with adrenaline and rage-heated acid. Normally a calm, reflective man, David was not given to outbursts of anger. He prided himself on his intellect and his cool, detached manner of analysis. Unchecked emotion was a road traveled by lesser minds, not a disciplined scientist. Something in his brain screamed, “Liar.” His unbidden self-evaluation was correct. He had known many objective scientists who became loudmouthed gasbags when others refused to take their work seriously or challenged some minutia of their logic. Many were driven by pride instead of curiosity. He saw himself as an intellectual cut from a different cloth. Today was proving him wrong, and he was beginning to hate himself for it. Lately his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.
Maybe Nuri, the perpetual burr under his saddle, had irritated him beyond any human endurance. Maybe he was suffering from travel fatigue. Maybe he was feeling guilty about returning to biblical archaeology so soon after leaving it all behind. It could be one or all of those things. Or it could be that Amber walked in on the arm of Nuri, smiling and giggling like a high school girl.
He told himself that was the least likely reason. The thing in his head with the single-word vocabulary repeated its mantra: “Liar.”
Ben-Judah sipped his tea. Amber continued to study the table as if trying to memorize the fingerprints. Nuri had given up on the cookies, and Hiram Landau had removed a small penknife from his pants pocket and was working at whatever rested beneath his fingernails.
The door to the conference room opened, and a man with blond hair cut close to the scalp entered. Chambers looked across the table and tensed. Something about the man said he was dangerous. Hiram had picked up the same vibe. He was on his feet and reaching beneath his sport coat. The visitor did the same, while raising his other hand.
A second man entered, and Hiram paused. “You lookin’ to get your man shot, Jasper?” Hearing Hiram speak a full sentence for the first time, Chambers detected a slight Jersey accent. He had ceased being surprised by such things after his first visit to Jerusalem. No doubt, Hiram was a transplant from the States.
The man he called Jasper was a third the size of the man who entered before him but looked twice as mean. “Still jumpy I see, Hiram. They have medication for that, you know.”
Chambers expected the conversation to turn angry, but instead Hiram laughed. “Everybody, this is Jasper … You’re still using the name Jasper, right?”
“For now.” The man shrugged and glanced around the room before opening the door wide. “It suits me.”
Hiram flashed a snide grin. “He’s with … another agency.”
Chambers got the idea and tried to will his heart back to an even rhythm. A glance at Nuri showed a man trying to look nonchalant even though he was about to pass out. Pulling in a deep breath, Chambers pressed back in his seat and hoped he didn’t look as shell-shocked as the others.
Jasper stepped aside, and a tall man in a white polo shirt, tan pants, and expensive-looking brown leather loafers walked in. He had seen the kind before. It was hard to forget a five-hundred-dollar pair of shoes. The man could have stepped from the glossy pages of a men’s magazine. He was trim, with a square chin, intelligent-looking blue eyes, flat belly, and—best Chambers could tell—a gym-toned body. He most likely owned his own gym. Gray painted the hair at his temples, and his face bore enough wrinkles to show the man was on the north side of fifty.
Ben-Judah stood and beamed, then rounded the table to take the man’s hand and shake it with enthusiasm. “So good to see you, Mr. Trent. Please come in. Come in. There’s a seat for you at the head of the table.” Ben-Judah swiveled to face the others. “Everyone, please meet our primary benefactor: Mr. John Trent of the United States.”
“Just Trent if you don’t mind.” He let Ben-Judah lead him to the head of the conference table. “I’m one of the last-name-first kind of guys. It’s the advantage of having two first names.” He sat and leaned back in his chair. Chambers could imagine the man sitting this way at board-of-directors meetings. He wondered if Trent demanded the head of the table. Trent nodded at the security men, and they stepped into the hall, then gently closed the door behind them.
Ben-Judah slipped into his seat, the two-hundred-watt smile still plastered to his face. “Mr. Trent has long been a supporter of biblical archaeology. He’s funded several digs for the Institute, as well as those from several universities. His generosity is legendary.”
Ben-Judah was not prone to overstatement or effusion, and he hadn’t surrendered to it now. Chambers had heard of the man and knew that some of his own research had been backed, silently and secretly, by Trent.
The group greeted the man with head nods and hellos.
“Allow me to make formal introductions,” Ben-Judah said.
“No need. I’m not one for formality.” Trent smiled in a way that Chambers found unsettling. “I already know this team.” He turned to Ben-Judah. “I know I’ve said this in private, but let me say it before the group: you have assembled the best of the best for this project. I am humbled to be in their presence.”
Chambers wasn’t sure what to make of the situation or the man. Archaeology was as dependent on donations from wealthy patrons as any science, maybe more so. Men like Trent made possible some of the greatest discoveries in the field. Some gave to gain fame and admiration, others in hope of financial return. Others gave from their coffers because they needed a tax write-off, and others wanted to see their names on the wing of some university building. What little Chambers knew of Trent—and it was precious little—suggested that the billionaire didn’t fit the mold. Trent, from what Chambers had heard at symposiums and around the Harvard archaeology facility, was in it for the knowledge. That made him a true patron.
Trent looked each person in the eyes, like a man who had been invited to hang out with Academy Award winners. He seemed as enthralled with the gathering as the others were with him. Chambers wasn’t easily impressed with a man, even if the man made more in an hour than he made in a year. The pesky voice in his head returned.
“How much do they know about me, Ben-Judah?”
The old man looked concerned. “I have told them nothing. Only that I had funding for the project.”
“I’m not accusing you, old friend, just trying to find out where we stand.” Trent addressed the others. “Let me give you a little background about me. Not much. I am a man who appreciates his privacy. It’s the reason I don’t grant interviews to the business magazines and newspapers, although I receive a dozen requests every week. Some of you know how the press can be.” He looked at Chambers. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Chambers?”
“I suppose so, although I’ve had very little trouble with them.”
“I’m sure you haven’t; I find them a distractio
n. That will lead to a statement I’ll make in a moment.”
He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. They looked like soft hands to David. “We are about to undertake a grand adventure, so it is only right that you know a little about me, especially since I know a great deal about you.”
He shifted in his seat. “I was born into a privileged family with the clichéd silver spoon in my mouth. I was rich the moment I entered this world. I went to the best of schools. That includes Harvard, Dr. Chambers.”
“That explains your winning ways.” Chambers cracked a crooked smile.
“It didn’t hurt me, that’s for sure.” He returned his attention to the others. “For the bulk of my adult life, I built on my father’s foundation. He made money in oil; I took it the next few steps, buying and revamping struggling companies in the same industry. Then I turned to pharmaceuticals—making them, that is. I also own several computer-related companies. Never mind which ones.”
The group chuckled politely.
“Long story short, I made more money than a man can spend. I also became bored with business. It took several years, but I’ve separated myself from the day-to-day workings of corporate life. I’ve hired good people. I keep an eye on things of course, but I spend most of my time giving my money to worthwhile causes. I’m especially interested in biblical archaeology, so I’ve funded quite a few digs, but this one will be where I invest my soul.”
An odd phrase. Chambers kept the opinion to himself.
Trent faced Ben-Judah again. “I assume you’ve stayed with our story?”
“I have, my friend.”
“Wait a minute.” Chambers leaned over the table. “Story? You mean we’re not here because of the Scroll?”
“Easy, Dr. Chambers.” Trent raised a hand. “You haven’t been misled.”
“Actually, I have.” Chambers glared at Ben-Judah but couldn’t maintain the scowl. His respect for the man quenched the heat of his anger.
“You say that because we didn’t tell you about Dr. Rodgers?”
The Scroll Page 6