The moment the helicopter set down on the pad, Chambers started forward, but Landau stopped him. “Call me paranoid, but let’s just wait to see who our guests are.”
“Paranoid is fine with me,” Chambers backed up a step.
The blades of the transport chopper slowed, and the side door opened. A man in uniform emerged first, then a man in casual clothes. The third man caught Chambers’s attention. He wore a black hooded robe, and moved with less agility than the others. The distance kept Chambers from making an identification. The three walked toward the footpath leading up the side of the hill. The man in the hood seemed to know where he was going. At the foot of the path, the hooded person said something to the man in uniform. The soldier walked back to the aircraft.
“There’s something familiar about them,” David said. “The man in the hood … that couldn’t be …”
“That’s John Trent,” Amber said. “What’s he doing here?”
Chambers strained his eyes, and as the men started up the path, he realized she was correct. “The hooded man moves kinda like … No, it couldn’t be.”
“Who?” Nuri asked.
Chambers didn’t answer. He knew just by the man’s mannerisms who it was working his way up the slope. “If I told you, Nuri, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“I don’t think so. Some things have to be seen to be believed.”
They waited as the two men made the climb. Ten minutes later, the hooded man stepped into the tunnel and pushed back the hood.
“You’re alive!” Nuri took two steps back as if he had just met a ghost. “But … but … I don’t understand. I was told …”
“I am so sorry to have left you out of the loop, Dr. Aumann, but it had to be so.” Ben-Judah embraced the man. “I have no right to expect your forgiveness. Circumstances sometimes dictate our actions.”
“Professor. What if someone sees you?” Chambers was as puzzled as Nuri was stunned.
“I had to see what you have found. I cannot stay in my room forever. Not with so much going on.”
“I advised against it,” Trent said. “But he doesn’t listen to me.”
“Wait,” Amber said. “How did you know about our find? David is the only person I called.”
“Mr. Landau can explain as we walk. I must see what you have found. From the sound of it, it must be significant.”
“What about it, Landau?” Chambers said.
“No big deal. Your phones are monitored.”
“What? Our cell phones?”
“Hotel phones too. So is your Internet usage, e-mail. Pretty much everything. We can fix your position by your phones. Nothing new there. It’s been done for years. Cell phones have GPS built in for a reason.”
“Not to track people. This is outrageous,” Amber said. “You don’t trust us?”
“It has nothing to do with trust. Everyone’s phone is monitored,” Ben-Judah said. “It is the way it must be for many reasons, including your security. Now show me; show me what you’ve found.”
Chambers and Nuri helped the two men through the tight opening, then stood to the side. This, Chambers decided, was one of those moments that words could not improve.
The professor stood in the middle of the space, his eyes fixed on the gold table, the menorah, and the gold flasks. Ben-Judah shivered, then trembled.
“Professor?” Chambers moved to his side. Amber was a step behind. “Are you all right?”
Ben-Judah crumbled to his knees and sobbed.
“Professor, it’s okay, we’re here with you.” Amber knelt beside him. “What can we do?”
Ben-Judah leaned back on his heels, lifted his arms, turned his palms up, tilted his head back so much the tears ran down his face. His lips trembled but no words came. Then, in a clear voice, Abram Ben-Judah began to pray aloud in Hebrew.
Chambers moved away, to let a holy man do a holy work, and something inside of him warmed.
THIRTY-TWO
The day had been more than Chambers thought he could endure. He had awakened to the sight of hundreds of protesters outside the hotel; he’d done—at the prime minister’s request—a press conference he wasn’t and couldn’t be prepared for; he’d been called to one of the original dig sites where he saw things he had only read about, objects some had suggested were only myths; and all that had come on the heels of the previous day’s discovery of the Urim and Thummim. Were they the original stones? That would be debated for many years to come.
Odd that the scene that most moved him was his mentor on his knees, in the dirt of a concealed room that hadn’t seen the light of day in two hundred decades. The objects were the rarest of the rare, and evidence of the Bible’s historical accuracy, something he had long defended until he turned his back on his pending marriage, his love of biblical archaeology, his father, and God.
As he walked through the hotel lobby, glad that the police had peacefully put an end to the protests outside, Chambers wondered if a man like Ben-Judah could ever become so disappointed in life as to abandon all faith. He chastised himself for the thought. It would be easier to imagine the sea no longer sending waves to the shore or the stars ceasing to shine. Men like Ben-Judah did not have faith; faith had them. It was in the fiber of their being and grew with every beat of their hearts.
When Chambers had seen the legendary temple articles, they astounded him. His knees felt weak, his heart seized, and he knew he was viewing something any biblical archaeologist would give his life to see. Ben-Judah saw more. He saw the hand of God; he saw objects built at the specific behest of the Almighty. Chambers saw a career made; Ben-Judah saw a need to worship.
He crossed the ornate lobby, eyed two of Landau’s security men, who—in the absence of hotel tenants—looked conspicuous. Landau had trained him and the others to not acknowledge the security. It seemed silly to Chambers. The people who opposed them would not be fooled by such things.
Chambers, carrying the Bible from his hotel room, walked into the hotel bar. As it was most nights, the bar was empty. The dark space was punctuated with neon lights meant to lure patrons, but there were too few to make it profitable. He wondered if John Trent was footing the bill to keep the place open. He found his usual seat, the one in which he had drunk himself nearly under the table weeks before. These days, he consumed decaf coffee.
“Shalom, Dr. Chambers.” The bartender was one of three he had met in here. Tall and lanky, he had the look of a graduate student. His accent was German.
“Shalom, Michael. Staying busy?”
“No, but I have a book to keep me busy.”
“Ah, a scholar. What are you reading?”
He held up several comic books and waved them. “Food for the mind.”
Chambers laughed and scooted into “his” booth. “The usual, Michael.” He looked up as he spoke and saw the young man already pouring coffee into a mug.
A few moments later, Michael set down the cup and a plate with fruit pastry. “I saw you on the news today, Dr. Chambers.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll get over it.” I might not.
“I’m no expert, but that looked like a setup to me.”
“I could have handled it better. What’s the pastry for?”
“I told you. I saw you on television today. I thought you might like something sweet to end the day.”
“Thanks, Michael.”
The young man retreated behind the bar and opened one of his comics. Chambers sipped the coffee and opened the Bible. The simple act sent a chill through him. He had intended to read Exodus 25’s descriptions of the furnishings in the tabernacle, the predecessor to the first temple. Unlike Solomon’s temple, the tabernacle was portable, a collection of curtains and objects that could be erected by the wandering Hebrews. It would be centuries before those objects found a home in the temple King Solomon built for the Lord.
That had been his intention, but he could not focus on the passage. He didn’t need to read the verses. He knew the Bibl
e better than most preachers. It had been a spiritual guide, then an archaeological one. He knew the words; once he had known the Truth behind them.
The last thought made him pause. He used the past tense. Was that true? Was his spiritual life now to be thought of in the past tense? Had God abandoned him in his time of need, turned His back on the godly woman he called Mother? Had God so consumed his father that the man found his work more important than his family?
Or had he been a fool? Amber was no intellectual lightweight. She was brilliant but never sought the spotlight. Theirs was a competitive field. All of science was a competitive sport. There were several things every young scientist learned once the idealism wore off: no matter how great your discovery, many of your peers will dismiss it or challenge it, and if they can’t remove it, then they’ll try to make sure it’s swept under the carpet so as not to detract from their work. There were exceptions. Ben-Judah was the best of these, a man who cared only about the knowledge gained, not about the fame it brought.
A hot ache ate at the back of Chambers’s sternum. He was one of the former in that list. Make a significant find and ride it for all it was worth. Sure, add to the body of knowledge, but be sure to grab all the fame you can along the way.
When had that happened? His father hadn’t set that kind of example. Was that it? A response to the idea that his father loved his work more than he loved his wife, his son?
Chambers ran a hand over his eyes. He was used to analyzing data, facts, and historical clues, not himself. The former could be frustrating; the latter was pure pain. What had Amber said? “Your mother lied to your father?” It sounded like blasphemy when he heard it. No woman was brighter, more dedicated, more loving—except Amber. She was a natural beauty. He had never seen her look more gorgeous than earlier today as she stood in the stairway entry, dressed in dirty work clothes, hair mussed, and flashing her million-watt smile.
The sight made him smile, and he covered his mouth in case Michael saw it and thought he’d lost his mind.
He tasted the pastry, enjoying the burst of sweet as it contrasted the bitter of his coffee.
The Copper Scroll had been proven to be true. He and his team had recovered gold and silver as ingots, coins, and vessels. They unearthed some of the holiest items known in the Bible. Time and time again, the Bible showed itself to be true. He had known that his entire life. Why had he allowed himself to drift? It cost him his relationship with his father, with Amber, with his friends, and with his science.
“You are a world-class idiot, David.” He spoke softly.
“Did you say something, Dr. Chambers?”
Chambers looked up. “Just thinking out loud, Michael. Sorry.”
“No problem.” He went back to his comic book.
There—in Jerusalem, in a high-class hotel, in an empty bar—David Chambers made his apologies to God.
The staff of Prime Minister Nathan Ben Yakov often called him The Man Who Never Sleeps. It was an exaggeration, but not by much. He maintained two sets of aides, one for business hours, one for late nights. Key staff, however, could not be duplicated, especially those privy to state secrets. They just had to learn how to go without sleep.
As the clock passed into the wee hours, Yakov sat in the office of his private residence, Beit Aghion on Smolenskin Street—named after a Russian novelist who wrote in Hebrew—and studied the video and photos delivered by armed couriers earlier that day. He alternated between pure joy and abject terror. The Table of Shewbread, or as he preferred, The Table of Presence, was stunning even covered in dust, its gold dimmed. He lingered over the photos of the gems of the high priest’s breastpiece. If only the vestments, the ephod, the robes had been preserved, but that was too much of a miracle to ask. As it was, HaShem had blessed his nation with more than could be imagined.
Now he needed another miracle: protection for his nation. The protests in three cities were just the beginning. There would be more. Every security branch Israel had, as well as those of his country’s allies, were feeding him information, all of it bad news. Several Arab nations, the Russians, and the Iranians were planning to file complaints with the United Nations stating that a third temple would create unbearable stress in the region. Their assumption was the one made so many times through history, that the temple must be built where the Dome of the Rock now stands. If they extended themselves with a little research, then they’d know that other sites have been suggested by scholars. All of that was secondary, of course. One either loved Israel or hated it. There seemed to be no middle ground, no ambivalence, and the numbers on the “hate” side seemed to be growing.
He pushed aside the photos, pulled an intelligence brief to the center of the desk, and then read it for the tenth time. Iran, which had been ratcheting up its anti-Semitic rhetoric, had also been testing a new medium-range missile “for defensive purposes.” It was a missile that could easily reach Israel.
There had been a loud outcry from the United States, the United Kingdom, and many other countries, but such complaints never brought change. Iran had been spoiling for a fight for decades. All it needed was an excuse, and the sky would be full of death.
Yakov looked at his desk. The temple artifacts represented the best possible future: Israel, a holy nation. The intelligence reports represented the worst possible future: another war.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the high-back office chair. The cool leather felt good against his scalp, and he longed for the dark peace of sleep. Instead, he wondered if he should stop the search until things settled down. Perhaps they should move more slowly, deliberately. That would never work. John Trent was an impatient man, and the stone had already begun rolling down the hill. Somehow, the truth had become known.
Yakov had done everything he could to keep the State of Israel out of the search for temple treasures. The time would come when all would be revealed—his role in coordinating the effort, funneling money through John Trent, even his sending the hapless David Chambers to conduct a press conference he was ill equipped to handle. Anything to keep the appearance of separation.
The question he kept asking himself was whether it was prudent to bring this part of the world to the brink of war for the sake of rebuilding a temple torn down twice by invading armies.
He decided it was.
Chambers left a healthy tip on the table for Michael and returned to his room. Although he was a man of letters, his prayer had been simple, almost childlike. No voices came, no apparitions, no dreams, no visions. Just a sweet sense of peace. He was home.
The elevator took him to the twelfth floor. His only regret was that it was so late and Amber would be in bed. She and Nuri had returned to the hotel late, having supervised the crating and moving of the recently found artifacts.
“You look like fifty miles of bad road,” he had said.
“Sweet, just what every girl wants to hear.”
Chambers tried to backtrack, but Amber put an end to it with a smile, then excused herself.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m going to bed, assuming I don’t fall asleep in the elevator.”
That was hours ago. Now, as he exited the elevator cab, he wished that Amber were available. He had apologized to God; now he needed to apologize to her. He walked the empty corridor to his room and had started to insert his card key when a light several doors down caught his attention.
Amber’s room. The door was ajar.
That wasn’t like her. Maybe she and Nuri—he forced the thought from his mind. That was the old David. Amber deserved better. Again, he started to insert his card key, but curiosity stopped his hand. He placed the key in his pocket and walked down the hall to Amber’s room. Maybe she was up for a chat after all.
The door was barely open, just enough to let light escape into the hallway. He rapped a knuckle on the door. “Amber?”
Nothing.
“Amber, it’s David. Did you know your door is open?”
Still nothing. Maybe she had fallen asleep. He wasn’t certain what to do. He reached for the handle, intending to pull the door closed and return to his own room, but he stopped. He had no idea why. He just did.
He placed a finger on the door and pushed it open, calling her name again. He heard nothing. Not a radio, not the shower, nothing.
He walked in. The light was on in the small living room. So was the light in the bedroom. He felt like a Peeping Tom, but he wanted to make sure she was safe. The thought of seeing her peacefully sleeping brought warmth to his face.
Quietly, he stepped to the bedroom door and looked in.
What he saw sent a spear through his heart.
THIRTY-THREE
How could this happen, Landau? How?” Chambers paced his room. Landau had told him to wait for him there, but waiting only turned his fear into anger. “You’re supposed to be the security guru. You’re supposed to make sure we’re safe.”
“We’ve done everything we can—”
Chambers spun on his heel. “It wasn’t enough. She’s gone. Taken from a room you assured us was safe.”
“Dr. Chambers, I have a team investigating her room, the grounds, everything. We’ll find her.”
“Really? That’s a fact, is it? I’m just a lowly archaeologist, so I could be wrong about this, but wouldn’t it have made more sense to prevent the abduction in the first place?” Chambers clenched his teeth, then his fists, digging his knuckles into his eyes and fighting for control.
“You need to calm down, Dr. Chambers. This isn’t helping.”
“Calm down? Calm down?” Chambers sank to the sofa. “I just don’t know how this could happen. What about the video surveillance? What about your men? How did they get into her room? She would have checked the video monitor. None of this makes sense.”
The Scroll Page 27