“You are making amends, David. I want you to open the tunnel as soon as possible. Will you do that?”
“Gladly.”
The phone on the side table rang. Ben-Judah answered, “Shalom.” He listened, then said to Chambers, “It’s John Trent. He says we should turn on the television.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Because history belongs to all people, not just the Jews.” Al-Malik spoke softly, almost contemplatively. He had been rehearsing for this interview. Anticipating questions. Planting prompts in his answers to trigger desirable questions in the mind of the questioner. He was planting something else. Key words would telegraph unspoken orders to his followers.
“Do you object to the advancement of science, Dr Al-Malik?”
Michael Mitchell, you are an idiot as well as an infidel. Al-Malik looked at the artificially blond, tanned, slim American reporter sitting in a chair on the other side of the small coffee shop table. The shop was empty. He had seen to that. Still, the smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air and clung to the walls. As the star overseas reporter for the world’s largest cable news station, Mitchell had followers around the world. He had covered breaking news in Pakistan, India, Sudan, and throughout his own country. Al-Malik seldom missed a broadcast, more for entertainment than hard facts.
“Of course not, Mr. Mitchell. Your questions show your Western-world bias. We Arabs do not object to science. In fact, our ancestors created what has become contemporary math and made early advancements in medicine. I object to science that is conducted in secret, on or near land rightfully owned by Arabs. We are the father to many branches of contemporary science. Arabs are not a backward people. I, myself, have earned a PhD in archaeology. I object to the Israelis digging up land as they search for artifacts they do not share with the world.”
“What kind of artifacts?”
Al-Malik couldn’t believe the question or the questioner. “I am sorry, Mr. Mitchell. I know to your ears my accent is thick. Perhaps I was unclear when I said the Israelis were keeping the artifacts secret.” He managed to sound sincere despite the fact he knew everything that had been found.
“Some might say that this is sour grapes, Dr. Al-Malik, that you’re jealous of their finds.”
“People are free to think as they wish, but they would be wrong. I, and many Arab leaders like me, believe that there is much to learn from our past. By that, I mean the past of the Arabs and the Jews and even ancient civilizations like the Canaanites, Hittites, Jebusites, and others who occupied this land before the Israelis.”
“So you believe they are being unfair to Arabs?”
“To the whole world, Mr. Mitchell.” Al-Malik swung his arms wide to emphasize his point, careful not to spill the untouched cup of coffee in front of him. “As they have done in the past, the Jews are showing that they believe they are more important than their neighbors, privileged above all others. This is offensive arrogance.”
“What do you want them to do, Dr. Al-Malik?”
“They should stop working in secret. They should reveal what they have found. They should make important artifacts available for study.”
“But isn’t it true that the work began just two months or so ago?” Mitchell glanced at the camera and for a moment Al-Malik thought the man was going to wink at his audience.
“No, plans and early work began long ago. Now they have a dozen teams digging in the wilderness and in the towns and cities all over this land, disturbing commerce and the lives of people who wish only to be allowed to go about their business.”
“Why do I think you believe there is more to their story?”
“Only you can answer that, Mr. Mitchell, but I would not be surprised if you are right. They are up to something, something that should cause not only Arabs to rise up in protest, but also the rest of the thinking world.”
“Thank you for your time and insights, Dr. Al-Malik.” Mitchell turned to the camera. “We have made repeated attempts to get a spokesman from the Israel Antiquities Authority and the Institute of Archaeology at Hebrew University here in Jerusalem to speak to us, but they have refused to return our calls. Perhaps Dr. Al-Malik is right; maybe something is being hidden. This is Michael Mitchell reporting from Jerusalem.”
It took great restraint for Al-Malik not to smile.
The report aired at 9:00 p.m. on the east coast of the United States. President Baker D. Meyers reached for the remote on the Queen Anne side table by the beige leather smoking chair in his office just off the bedroom he shared with his wife, Leah. He pushed the mute button. On his lap rested the first draft of a speech he was to give at UCLA in two days. A cold had sidelined his head of communications, and his staff had prepared the draft. It was good, but it still lacked something.
Alone in his private office, he found time to unwind and be creative. He seldom made it to the second floor residence wing before ten in the evening. Tonight he arrived a little over an hour early. His aides had told him that Michael Mitchell would be interviewing Dr. Al-Malik, and that was something that Meyers didn’t want to miss, so he brought his work to the residence. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.
With his own television silenced, he could hear the distant sounds of Leah’s set playing in the bedroom. It sounded like a cop show. He wondered when he last watched a television show that didn’t have to do with history or world events.
Meyers lifted the receiver of his phone and tapped a button connecting him to the office of his chief of staff, the only man who worked harder and longer than the president. He seldom left for home before eleven.
“Tony, did you catch the Al-Malik interview?”
At five foot seven, Anthony Cleese was shorter than the president by four inches, and vegetarian thin, but he had a mind that retained everything and could predict the political landscape months in advance.
“Yes sir. Let me guess. You want to know if Al-Malik was giving more than an interview.”
“Right as always. Let’s get info from CIA and NSA. I want to know if there’s chatter out there we should be concerned about.”
“Yes sir. I’ll push your security briefing back a few hours to give them time to get their ducks in a row.”
“Good idea. Let’s make it a lunch. Casual. Tuna sandwiches or something. That’ll give them the whole morning to shake the trees and see what falls out.”
“Yes sir. Will do.”
“Good. Then go home and hug your wife.”
“Yes sir.”
“Did you see the news last night?” Amber was seated in the private dining room in the hotel restaurant. They ate all their meals there since Landau kept it locked when not in use and frequently swept it for listening devices. Nuri sat next to her.
“Yeah, we saw it.” Chambers’s stomach cringed as soon as the words left his mouth.
“We?” Nuri cocked an eyebrow. “Who is ‘we’?”
“What? I can’t have a friend?” Amber’s eyes widened by a fraction.
Nuri smirked. “What kind of friend? Someone of the female persuasion?”
“Let it go, Nuri. Not everyone has an out-of-control libido.”
Taking a seat opposite the two, he set down a notebook with loose pages. Amber spoke. “You look horrible. Didn’t you sleep last night?”
“Some, and thank you for the compliment.” In truth, he had slept—at his desk. Ben-Judah’s new direction wasn’t a surprise, but the timing threw him; that and the Al-Malik interview. He couldn’t pin it down, but he had a bad feeling about what he heard. “We’re going to make a change in our search emphasis.”
“Oh, is that a fact.” Nuri seemed put out. “And why are we doing that?”
“Because it is what the professor would want if he were still calling the shots. We owe him this and much more.”
Nuri took a slow sip of coffee, then set his cup down. “I do not wish to sound unsympathetic, but the professor is gone.” He shot up a hand before Chambers could speak. “I loved the old man as much
as anyone, but unless you have become a medium channeling Ben-Judah’s departed spirit, then you cannot know what he would want.”
“He told me.” The three words landed like bombs. Amber tensed.
“And how did he do that?” Nuri pushed his cup away. “In a dream?”
“It was part of his recruitment speech to me. Besides, I’m worried about people getting the wrong idea about what we’re doing. Guys like Al-Malik are more than willing to paint us as treasure hunters. We need to find something more than gold and silver.”
“The temple items?” Amber said. She played innocent well.
“Yes. I’ve spent most of the night going over the translations again.” He removed several pieces of paper from his folder and gave a small packet to Amber and Nuri. “I’ve isolated those passages that refer to items used in temple worship. The first one is in column one, lines nine through twelve.” He glanced at the paper before him. He had compiled three columns, each with a different translation made by an expert in ancient language. The fourth column was his own rendition. Chambers chose to read his translation:
“Priestly garments and vessels of vows are buried in the hill of Kohlit. This is the full votive offerings of the seventh treasure. The second tenth is impure. The opening is located at the edge of the canal on its northern side, six cubits in the direction of the immersion bath.” He tapped the paper. “Then the line is followed by three Greek letters: chi, alpha, gamma. My guess is that these items are at the Essene site where the explosion took place. Remember the stairs ended at a wall. After the blast brought down the ceiling, we were unable to continue our work. I’m ordering the area cleared and shoring to be put in place. That will take a little time. They did some clearing to recover”—he looked away—”to recover the bodies of our team.”
Nuri shook his head. “It mentions an immersion bath. I take that to be a ritual cleansing reservoir. It also mentions an entry point at the northern side of a canal. We didn’t find a canal.”
“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t one there two thousand years ago.” Chambers rubbed his eyes. They stung with weariness. “A small canal could easily be covered over. Since the entrance to that site was buried, we can assume the ritual baths might also be covered over. Nuri, I want you to lead that team.”
“What about the other teams?” Amber asked.
“We let them continue. Finding the gold and silver from the treasury is still important. I want the three of us to focus on the priestly and temple artifacts. I don’t want the other teams to know what we’re doing. Keep things vague.”
“The team leaders have certainly read the Copper Scroll,” Nuri said. “They won’t have to do a lot of thinking to figure out that finding temple artifacts is part of the goal.”
Chambers nodded. “They already know that. They just don’t need the details of our work until we’re ready to bring them in. Security requires that we be discreet.”
“Now you sound like Landau.” Nuri picked up the paper.
Chambers ignored the dig. “Seven times 3Q15 mentions items related to the temple, but we can’t spread ourselves that thin. Besides, as with all things in the Copper Scroll, there is great mystery about what is meant by the place names and descriptions.”
“What about me?” Amber asked.
“I need your help on my search.”
“Oh, I see how it is.” Nuri seemed offended. “You’re just trying to get alone time with the love of my life.”
“I’m not the love of your life, Nuri.”
“Ouch. You injure me, dear lady.” He grabbed at his heart. “You know how I long for you to be my love.”
The words sat in Chambers’s stomach like marbles.
“You’re a sweetheart, Nuri. A lady likes to hear such things, but you’re not the love of my life, either.”
Chambers groaned. “As entertaining as it is to watch you make goo-goo eyes at each other, we have work to do.”
“What kind of work are you going to be doing?” Nuri patted Amber’s hand. It galled Chambers that she would allow it.
“I’m returning to an old friend.”
“Meaning?” Nuri said.
“Meaning, it’s time to get to work.” Chambers rose. “Amber, I would like to leave in an hour.”
“Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”
I had something sent to the room earlier—”
“Which one of you is Dr. David Chambers?”
The voice came from the door to the private room. A man with a dark complexion and a gray-black beard and wearing a suit walked in. Instinctively, Chambers moved toward the man to interpose his body between the interloper and Amber. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nuri still in his seat.
“Who are you?” Chambers noticed a second man enter with a small digital video camera that bore a small directional microphone. A flashing red light told Chambers the man was recording.
“Are you Dr. David Chambers?”
“This room is private. You need to leave.”
“Dr. Chambers, I’m with the media, and I have a few questions for you. What is it you and your team are looking for?”
“A way to get rid of you.” He started forward when a blur of a man appeared behind them. Before Chambers could fully understand what was happening, the man with the camera was back-pedaling.
“Take your hands off me,” the cameraman shouted.
Landau gave no indication of obeying the command. The cameraman exited the room faster than he entered. A second later, Landau was back in the dining room, face to face with the reporter. “I will say this once. Leave of your own accord, or I will make you leave.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s more of a promise.”
“You can’t treat the press this way.”
Landau put a hand on the man’s chest and began to push him back.
“You dare assault a member of the Jordanian media?”
Landau cocked his head. “I haven’t assaulted you. Yet.”
The reporter grabbed Landau’s hand and Chambers winced. He had had his own run-in with the man. For a moment, he pitied the reporter, but only for a moment.
“Dr. Chambers, what are you looking for? Why are you and your people tearing up the land? Is it treasure? Is it a scheme to bolster the Jewish position in Jerusalem and elsewhere?”
Another man appeared behind the reporter, a tall, ruggedly built member of Landau’s team. The reporter disappeared through the opening. Chambers could hear scuffling, loud complaining, and curses in Arabic.
Landau shut the door. For a moment as he looked at the others, fury filled his eyes, then it slowly waned. “I apologize. That should not have happened.”
“You’re right,” Nuri said. “How did it happen?”
“Three other men entered the hotel and went to the far end of the lobby. They started a ruckus. A fight really. While we were breaking them up, those two morons got by us.”
“The three men were decoys?” Amber stood. Chambers could see her hands shake.
“It appears so.”
Chambers shrugged. “At least they didn’t get anything to broadcast. I assume you’ve confiscated the camera.”
He shook his head. “The camera has a transmitter on it. I saw it when I yanked the cameraman out of his shoes. It broadcast what just happened to a van outside. I noticed the van when I arrived. I’ve got a feeling that the confrontation went out live to the van and was relayed to Jordanian television.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Chambers said. “I didn’t say anything they can use.”
Landau looked at Chambers as if studying someone too naive to know what is going on around him. “They got a shot of your faces.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Security exited the SUVs first and scanned the tourists walking near where the Antonia Fortress had been in Jesus’ day, now just north of the Muslim shrine, the Dome of the Rock. From the car window, Chambers could see the golden dome sitting atop the eight-sided structure. Blue, w
hite, and green tile decorated the upper half of each wall. Several men wearing Windbreakers and light coats strolled the tree-studded area just to the north. Tourists and locals moved along the concrete path that led through the peaceful-looking terrain.
“I wonder what it looked like back then,” Amber said.
“Back when? Jerusalem has a lot of ‘back thens.’ ”
“Back in the first century.” She gazed out the window.
“There was much less traffic and few tourists.” Chambers tried to keep the conversation light.
“My understanding is that old Jerusalem was crowded, especially during the holy days. It’s an awfully small city to be inundated by hundreds of thousands of pilgrims from around the land.”
“That’s why so many set up camp outside the Old City, spending days, even weeks in the Kidron Valley. The smaller villages would have been full too. Especially on the Day of Atonement.”
“That’s where you found the tunnel?” She nodded to the north end of the raised plaza.
“Yes, a few meters from the north retaining wall. It’s the location of the old Antonia Fortress, built to honor Mark Antony.”
“That’s the ground where Jesus first spilled His blood.” Amber spoke in a whisper.
“Are you forgetting Gethsemane. He sweat blood there.”
“Okay, technically you’re right. I meant, that was the place He was flogged by the Romans.”
“Except the four-tower building the Jewish historian Josephus describes is gone. So much has changed since then, but then why wouldn’t it? Everything changes over time.”
“Not everything, David. God remains the same, as does His love.”
Chambers glanced at the driver to see if he was listening. He gave no indication that he was, but how could he not? There were just the three of them in the vehicle. “I suppose. Look, Landau is coming back. It looks like we’re good to go.”
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