The team walked through the expanse: Nuri and Amber first, Chambers following. Landau walked to the side, scanning the room, making eye contact with everyone looking their way. Chambers noticed several men and at least two women who looked too casual. He saw that Landau ignored them, focusing instead on the tourists and hotel employees. Chambers assumed the others were operatives. A bald man, in a suit one degree removed from a tuxedo, approached, smiling like a used-car salesman. Landau moved forward and took the lead in just a few strides. He greeted the man in Hebrew and held out his hand. The manager took it, then looked nonplussed when Landau didn’t let go. They spoke in soft tones. Landau must have liked what he heard because he released the man and turned to the group.
The man led them to one end of a long marble counter away from the other guests waiting to check in. In a few moments, the three archaeologists had electronic room keys and the profuse welcome of the day manager. “Your luggage has been delivered to your individual rooms. If you have any questions or special needs, please let me know. The senior management will take care of all matters personally. We shall be at your service twenty-four hours a day.”
As the manager recited their room numbers, Chambers felt a sense of shame over the relief he felt hearing that Nuri’s room number was different from Amber’s.
They rode an elevator to the twelfth floor. Chambers faced the matte-finish metal doors, thankful they were not reflective. He didn’t want to face anyone, not even their reflection. The tension seemed heavy enough to slow the elevator cab.
They stepped from the elevator into a wide lobby. It smelled of new carpet and fresh paint.
“Before you go to your rooms, just a couple of things.” Landau stood with his back near the far wall. “The locks on the doors of your rooms are tied to the hotel security system. Each time the door is opened, a record is made.” He pointed above his head where the wall and ceiling met. Chambers saw a small security camera. “There are cameras spaced throughout the corridor. One is directed on each of your doors. They send a wireless signal to a monitoring station I’ve had set up in the hotel. We will know anytime anyone moves through the halls or uses the elevator to this floor. You may have noticed that I used a card key in the elevator. No other guests are on this floor, nor can anyone without the right key even access the floor. Of course, hotel services will be allowed into the area, but we will know who they are and when they come and go. If you order room service, the hotel will notify me or one of my team. We will make sure that only an approved employee makes it to this floor. Clear so far?”
The three nodded.
“Professor Ben-Judah tells me that he may send people your way, but he’s promised to let me know first. Should someone show up at your door that you’re not expecting, wait for the password.”
“Which is?” Nuri asked.
“Shibboleth.”
Chambers chuckled. “Clever.” No one asked for an explanation. Shibboleth was a password used by the ancient Jews in the time of the judges to distinguish Ephraimites from the men of Gilead. The Ephraimites of the day could not utter the “sh” sound, just as some contemporary ethnic groups have trouble with English consonants. It became a way to distinguish the good guys from the bad.
“Yeah, well, I had to look the word up.” Landau moved from the elevator lobby into a wide corridor. “All the rooms up here are suites, so you’ll have a bedroom, a living room, and a small kitchen, although you won’t need it. There is a desk in each room, and you have full Internet access for general e-mail. Please do not give away your location or what you’re doing. Any message sent from the tablet PCs will be encrypted. You cannot transfer the material on the tablets to any other computer without the proper encryption codes.”
“So we are not to be trusted.” Nuri looked hurt.
“You we trust, Dr. Aumann. Others not so much. The limitation is meant to keep someone from wirelessly accessing your tablet PC and copying information or planting a virus. If you need outside consultation, say from some stateside university, you will need to talk to me. I will arrange for that to happen—assuming Professor Ben-Judah agrees.”
“Of course,” Amber said. She shifted from one foot to the other. Landau got the hint.
“Okay, I’m sure you all would like some time to rest and review the material on your tablets. You know your room numbers, so I won’t keep you any longer. Oh, the management has set aside a special area of the dining room for dinner tonight, should you decide to eat together. Otherwise, call for room service. Everything is paid for, including gratuity.
Well, until later.”
Amber wasted no time, turning and fast-stepping to her room. Nuri looked at Chambers and shrugged. Chambers walked away. Maybe a nap would put everything into new perspective.
His room was spacious and offered a view overlooking the Old City. The bed was wide enough to sleep six. The bathroom sported bronze fixtures, a shower, and a deep soaking tub. The living room had a well-padded sofa, a contemporary-looking coffee table, and a working table. A flat-screen television rested on a cherry-wood dresser. Next to it, someone had installed a small security monitor. Chambers could see the hallway just beyond his door. He had worked digs requiring security before, but this was shaping up to be a spy operation. He felt silly.
He also felt weary. Away from the scrutiny of the others, he allowed the hard-nosed facade to fall. The trip, hours with Nuri, the unexpected arrival of Amber, meeting John Trent, and the skulduggery surrounding the work ahead had let the air out of him. He sat on the bed with the intention of removing his shoes but made the mistake of reclining on the mattress.
“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger to drink?”
Nuri reached across the table in the dining room and laid a hand on Amber’s forearm. He smiled, but it came across as a sneer.
“No. Coffee is fine.”
“How about some wine? It will help you relax. Maybe a nice dessert wine.”
She pulled her arm away from Nuri and set her hands in her lap. “No thank you. I don’t care for alcohol.” He seemed disappointed. “I appreciate the offer.”
“I understand. Dealing with David can destroy an appetite for food or drink.” He looked at the vodka tonic sitting on the table. “If need be, I can drink for both of us. It will be a sacrifice, but I’m willing to offer myself for the mission.”
“You know that doesn’t impress me, don’t you? Drinking, I mean.”
Nuri shrugged. “To be honest, my dear, I’m drinking for me. Your David has gotten … what is the phrase? To burrow beneath the tissue?”
The question drew a smile. “Under the skin. David has gotten under your skin.”
“Ah, that’s it. My English is very good, but I have trouble with American expressions and colloquialisms.”
“Most clichés aren’t worth knowing anyway.” She picked up her cup and held it in her hands, drawing the heat from the coffee inside. The chill she felt had nothing to do with the temperature in the air-conditioned space. She looked around. It was too early for the evening meal, and the only patrons were doing what she was doing, sipping strong coffee, tea, or soda. A few sucked down more potent beverages.
“I missed most of the, um, conversation.” Nuri drummed his fingers on the tablecloth-clad table.
“It wasn’t a conversation. A conversation is civil. This was anything but that.”
“Did he attack you? Verbally, I mean?”
Amber looked around the room again, expecting the other patrons to be leaning her way, listening to every word. No one showed any indication of eavesdropping. “No. Not really. He doesn’t do that. He’s more subtle.”
Nuri’s eyebrow shot up. “He’s not subtle with me.”
“You do have a way of bringing out the best in a person.” She softened the statement with a smile.
He turned his palms up. “I am but a simple archaeologist who is very attracted to the woman across the table from him.”
Warmth ran up Amber’s chee
ks. “I suppose that was the most hurtful thing David said. He implied we’re more than good friends.”
Nuri blinked. “You mean we are not?”
“Nuri.” She stopped and set her cup down. “I don’t know what we are. You have been kind, loving, supportive, and always interesting. I felt empty when you had to fly to the States a few months ago. Not knowing when you’d return made me uneasy.”
“Here I am, thanks to the good Professor Ben-Judah. Maybe he would attend the wedding.”
Amber furrowed her brow. “Wedding? Whose wedding?”
“Ours, of course. You don’t know it yet, but you are falling madly in love with me. Who can blame you? My personality, my rugged good looks, my keen intelligence—”
“Your modesty.” Amber laughed.
“My one fault.”
The laughter felt good. For a moment, the heavy regret that clung to Amber lifted. “What am I to do with you, Nuri?”
This time both eyebrows rose. “I can make a few suggestions.”
Again Amber blushed.
“I’m sorry. My humor is too often … what’s the word?”
“Crude? Rude? Ribald?”
“You wound me.” He put on a pout, but Amber wasn’t buying it. “I will try to conform my teasing to your sensibilities. Tell me what troubles David so. What makes him so combative and hateful?”
She thought for a moment. Was this a conversation she wanted to have? Why not? Nuri was one of the few people who listened, who might understand. “He’s hurting.”
“Hurting? He is ill?”
“No. And your concern would appear more genuine if you didn’t ask that question with a smile. I mean that he’s hurting emotionally, spiritually.” She turned the cup on its saucer and stared at the dark fluid. It reflected the ceiling lights and her face—a face that looked drawn and tired.
“What hurt him?”
“His father. The loss of his mother.”
Nuri rubbed his chin as if hearing an interesting scientific problem. “Everyone experiences loss. I have lost a father, a mother, and two brothers. Why should David be any different?”
“It’s not just the loss of his mother.” She sighed. Talking about David this way made her uneasy, but she was betraying no secrets. Anyone who knew David well knew of his feelings about his father. “You should ask these questions of David.”
“David would never confide in me. I only ask because his behavior has such a negative impact on you; that, and I will be working with him for many weeks to come. Maybe I can be less annoying if I know what troubles him.”
Amber considered the statement. If revealing a little of David’s past would ameliorate the tension already present in the team, then telling a little of what she knew could be good for the project.
“There’s not much to tell, really. Do you know who David’s father is?”
Nuri shook his head, then stopped as if his neck had stopped working. “There was a Charles Chambers who worked in the field. A good archaeologist. They’re not related are they?”
Amber nodded. “He specialized in early Iron Age sea peoples, Philistines mostly. He was excellent with burial motifs. I only met him once. It was at the end of his career. He gave a lecture at UCLA, where I was doing some postdoc work. He wasn’t well then. He’s grown worse as time passed.”
“He’s ill?”
“Yes. I don’t know what ails him, but he looked frail then. When David and I were engaged, he mentioned his father’s illness but wouldn’t say any more. He hasn’t seen or spoken to his father in at least two or three years. I tried to convince him to mend the relationship, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It was the only time he ever snapped at me. Told me to mind my own business. I know the basics and that’s it.”
“He doesn’t seem to have a problem snapping at you now.”
Amber felt an expanding emptiness. “He’s changed. Once he was driven by faith, by love of the biblical narrative and the people who used to populate this land.” She rubbed her eyes as images of the past played on her brain. “He was passionate back then. For the work, I mean. He was always the first at the dig site and always the last to leave. He has a near photographic memory, you know. He may be the smartest man I’ve ever met.”
“Present company excluded, of course.”
Amber didn’t respond to the quip. “When David’s mother died, his father was still in the field and—”
“And David resents him for not being there.”
“Yes, but there are things that David doesn’t—”
“I suppose he has a right to be angry at his father. That does seem unnecessarily cruel.”
Amber tightened her jaw. She hated being interrupted. “If you say so.”
Nuri seemed immune to Amber’s pique; he sipped his drink. Silence filled the gap between them, interrupted by the laughter of an elderly couple across the room. Amber had noticed them earlier. They had the aura of two people who have been in love a very long time. Once she imagined that she and David would one day be like that couple, sitting in a coffee shop or restaurant reliving past adventures and talking about new ones.
That vision, however, was over. It had dissolved long ago.
“He turned his bitterness on you, didn’t he?”
The question jarred Amber from her reflection. “What? Yes, I suppose so.”
“You only suppose so?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I pushed too hard. I didn’t have all the information. I was just the new fiancée, a woman in love with love.”
“Pushed too hard? Nonsense. You were about to marry the man. You had a right to know the details of his life. He should not have shut you out.”
She wrapped her hands around the cup of coffee again. It was growing cold, like so many other things in her life. “It was more than that.
He …”
Nuri leaned over the table and cupped his hands around hers. “I’m not David, Amber. I am trustworthy to a fault. You know that. Say what’s on your mind. It helps to talk about such things.”
She had heard that before but harbored doubts about its accuracy. “He lost his faith. It’s why he gave up biblical archaeology. His mother’s death was lingering and painful. He told me he couldn’t worship a God who let His followers suffer so. His father is a deeply spiritual man but not a demonstrative one. David saw his reluctance to leave a dig even though his wife was dying as a betrayal and proof that faith doesn’t really change anyone.” Her eyes began to burn. She had lost not only the only man she had loved but also a fellow believer. That was the deepest wound of all.
“I see my insistence has upset you.” He patted her hands and sat back. “I apologize. I have added to your grief.”
“No, no, you’ve been a gentleman, a friend. You have a right to know why David is, well, the way he is these days.”
Nuri paused, then spoke softly. “You know I wish to be more than friends.”
The comment warmed Amber, but it also made her uncomfortable. It was good to be wanted, but she and Nuri were so different. Perhaps if she gave him a chance, let him in a little closer.
“Thank you, Nuri, but I think I’d better go review the material Ben-Judah gave us. I hate being behind in anything.” She stood.
“Don’t go. We have all evening. Maybe we can study together. It will be like our college days. You had study groups in America, right?”
The smile she wore was genuine. “Yes, but I always preferred to study alone. Sorry.” She turned, then stopped. Over her shoulder she said, “Thank you for listening.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
Amber walked to the elevator.
Nuri watched as Amber walked away, his eyes first fixed on her bouncing, swaying hair, then on the sway of her hips, then her legs. He smiled.
TEN
There was a knock on the door. Then another.
Chambers opened his eyes and blinked several times. The bed was not his; the smell of the room was different from home. His sleep-fogged mind
tried to sort through the information scattered around his brain. Clarity came a moment later. This wasn’t his condo. He was in Jerusalem. The day’s events seeped into his consciousness.
“Wow.” He rubbed his eyes. “I must have really been out.” He looked at his feet. He had slept with his shoes on.
More knocking, this time accompanied by a muffled voice. He couldn’t make out much, but he did hear his name. “Just a minute,” he shouted.
Pushing himself from the bed, he walked on uncertain legs from the bedroom into the adjoining living space, wagging his head from side to side to loosen the muscles in his neck. He started for the door, then stopped. Landau had sounded serious when he warned the team to exercise caution.
“Who is it?” He turned his eyes to the security monitor next to the television. A young man, clean shaven with short brown hair, stood outside the door looking at the video camera near the ceiling.
“Rubin. Joel Rubin. I’m one of Professor Ben-Judah’s graduate students.”
The voice came through the door, but a tinny version of it came over a small speaker on the monitor. Chambers found the volume knob and turned it up. “What do you want?”
“I’m your assistant.” The voice had a slight Irish or British accent. Chambers couldn’t tell which.
“I didn’t ask for an assistant.”
“I didn’t ask to be left in the hall talking to a door.”
Chambers chuckled. He had to admire the young man’s wit. “If I told you to go away, would you?”
“I’d rather spend the night in the corridor than tell the professor I failed to do my job.”
“Okay. You win, but I don’t want or need an assistant.” He moved to the door and opened it. The man stood in place, a tablet PC in his hand. He was also shaking his head. “What?”
“Mr. Landau said you’d do this.”
“Do what?”
“Open the door before asking for the password.” Rubin looked disappointed.
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