by Roger Herst
She pulled her hand away and repositioned it on top of his, squeezing several times tenderly. "Thanks for having them look at my material, Iti. They didn't say I was stark raving mad or an academic fraud, did they?"
"Quite the contrary. Scholars are by nature cautious people who gave your material a good reading. Whether you believe it or not, you just cleared your first hurdle with flying colors."
***
Major Zabronski reported to Itamar on the results of a search in Jerusalem's police archive. Gabby had been right when remembering that among Tim's belongings were two Ziploc bags, one filled with green ash and other, carbonized stones. Nobody at the archive had thought to have these materials tested for Carbon-14. Itamar immediately ordered Shmuel Navid to compare them with what had been removed from the Negev site.
Zabronski further admitted that he had been treading water on the Qumran murder case. He seemed to be making progress, only to have run out of clues. In the past when that happened he would find himself thrashing about without a direction. But he had discovered in his years on the job that the more an investigator thrashes about, the more opportunities he creates, usually from unexpected sources. During the most recent period of lassitude, his first definitive clue came in an e-mail from Father Alexandro Spatus Xtixmo who had sent the visitor's roster from the Monastery of St. George. By bracketing January 7 through 11 as the dates for the looting of Cave XII, Zabronski focused on the visitor's roster from January 7 through the next four weeks. Two names immediately caught his attention: the Reverend Dr. Timothy Matternly from the University of Chicago, who arrived on January 8 and departed on February 3 and Father Benoit Matteau of the École Biblique et Archéologique Française, who arrived on February 2 and also departed on February 3.
Zabronski's fascination with archeology occasionally brought him into contact with Father Benoit, whom the police officer had always found to be personable and forthcoming, with unparalleled knowledge of early Christian history. There were few scholarly meetings in Israel or Jordan that he did not attend, frequently delivering papers and asking penetrating questions of his colleagues. Zabronski knew the priest understood Israel's antiquities laws and it was unthinkable that he would commit theft of government property. But the more Zabronski pondered Benoit's presence at St. George, the more he chided himself for his own pig-headed thinking. How foolish he had been in overlooking what he should have suspected long before.
That afternoon, the major ordered a search at the Motor Vehicle Department for cars licensed to the École in Bethlehem. It came as no surprise that the stolen Buick found in a Jerusalem garage undergoing a facelift had been reported missing on February 4. He immediately ordered Customs and Immigration to search its travel records between February 3 and March 15.
It took more than twenty-four hours for Customs to reply. Zabronski called Itamar immediately with the bad news. Father Benoit Matteau had left the country the day after he was reported to have departed the monastery. Even more suspicious, he had traveled to Rome on an executive jet licensed to the Vatican.
"And did he return?" Itamar snapped.
"On February 8. But not on the Vatican plane. He returned on El Al, Flight 54."
"Kos emah," Itamar said, swearing in Arabic, which he reserved for his angriest moments. "I'm sorry," he apologized to Zabronski, "This is not what I wanted to hear. How about his luggage? Don't the guys at Ben Gurion x-ray everything that leaves the country?"
"As far as I know, but that's not my department."
"Whose department is it?" "Port Security. I'll have them look into this."
It took the border police a half-day to confirm that Ben Gurion Security x-rays every piece of luggage leaving and entering the country and electronically records this information. When Zabronski finally reached a security officer with authority to investigate computer records at the airport, he said, "I want to know how many pieces of luggage Father Benoit Matteau took with him through Security on an executive jet on February 5 and how much they weighed."
"It will take time," the officer replied. "May I ask why this is so important?"
"You're entitled to ask, but the matter is confidential, so I'm not authorized to provide details. All I can say is it's urgent."
The security officer paused, as though he couldn't be expected to assign any of his overworked staff to search for records, especially when he was kept out of the loop.
Zabronski growled his displeasure. "I'm sure I can get the prime minister's office to put a fire under you guys. I understand how busy you fellas are, but, if you want, I'll start the ball rolling with the PM."
"That might not be necessary, as long as you send a formal requisition to me personally."
"Done. You'll have it within the hour. But start immediately. Time is absolutely critical. And while you're at it, can you tell me how many bags Father Benoit Matteau traveled with on February 8, El Al Flight 54 from Rome back to Tel Aviv? And how much they weighed?"
"We'll do our best."
"That's all I can ask," replied Zabronski, appreciative that Ben Gurion Security was now willing to help.
"Three pieces of luggage," the official reported when he called back near noon on the following day. "Our records show that Father Benoit Matteau submitted three suitcases at Customs. They all matched what we x-rayed before sending them on to a Gulfstream V executive jet. Weight? Each between thirteen and seventeen kilos."
"Oh, shit!" Zabronski exclaimed, immediately apologetic for letting his frustration invade his language.
"Sir?"
"Unfortunate for us. And how many pieces of luggage on El Al Flight 54 back to Tel Aviv?"
"The report says he had one bag. Fifteen kilos."
The bad news from Zabronski sent Itamar's mood cascading. Three suitcases going to Rome and only one returning confirmed his suspicion that the priest had taken more to Italy than he brought back. Both Zvi and Itamar were convinced that the elusive fragments Tim Matternly had scanned at the Monastery of St. George were in Benoit's luggage. They belonged to the State of Israel, but were now in Europe where they would be difficult to trace and even more difficult to claim as state property. If the Antiquities Authority managed to locate them, lawyers for their new owners would have a heyday preventing repossession by the government. The redeeming feature in this deplorable situation was that Tim Matternly had left Gabby and the Antiquities Authority with a good, if not full, digital record of what had been stolen.
Though Itamar agreed with Zabronski that it was probably too late, he moved quickly to obtain judicial authority to arrest Father Benoit for theft. The minister of culture was cautious about arresting a prominent priest with influential friends in the Vatican. But he was overruled by Deputy Prime Minister Zebulon Sonnenberg who expressed outrage that Father Benoit would smuggle artifacts out of a country that had graciously hosted him for four decades.
Zvi Zabronski insisted on being part of the team that headed from Jerusalem to Bethlehem to arrest Father Benoit because, while Itamar was dealing with Zebulon Sonnenberg, his department had traced the Uzi murder weapon to a gun dealer in Bethlehem and he now suspected Benoit knew something about the murders committed with this weapon. He wasn't prepared to issue a warrant based on inconclusive evidence. Still, he believed that the Antiquities Authority had a strong case for theft. If Itamar Arad was prepared to take the priest into custody, that was perfectly all right with him.
***
Father Donito Freezini met the police delegation in the library of the École Biblique. The moment he recognized Israeli police uniforms, he switched from Hebrew to Italian, flailing his arms and squealing like a puppy dog whose tail had just been stepped on. Itamar attempted to pacify the panicked priest with the modest Italian he knew, but the cleric refused to stop jabbering and listen. One of Itamar's staff solicited help from the receptionist.
She was a Christian Arab, nervous but composed. "No," she said, "I am very sorry, but Father Benoit is no longer dean of the École. Father Don
ito Freezini is now acting dean."
"Where is Father Benoit?" demanded Itamar.
"He didn't say where he was going. All I know is he took most of his possessions in several trunks."
"He's been in Bethlehem for nearly thirty years. Surely, you don't leave after all that time without giving someone your forwarding address."
"I'm sorry. I am very sorry. He left at night. One day he was in his office; the next, gone. Those of us who have been here for some time didn't even get a chance to say good-bye. No farewell party. No glass of wine. Nothing, absolutely nothing. I must confess it struck me as quite odd. A wonderful, kind man who advanced the goals of our École. Surely, we should have given him a farewell party. Some cake, or something like that."
Before leaving Bethlehem, the police searched Benoit's abandoned office and talked to neighbors. Two men went to the apartment the École maintained for the director's use and found it now reserved for Monsignor Patrick Flaraty, the newly appointed permanent director, who had not yet arrived from Ireland to take up his new duties. No one knew where Father Benoit had gone. The team was about to return to Jerusalem when the receptionist gave Major Zabronski the address of Father Benoit's driver.
The chauffeur lived two blocks north of the École. The team walked through narrow Bethlehem streets to the man's home. He was not there, but in a nearby café, playing shashbesh with fellow chauffeurs. No, he didn't know where Father Benoit was headed, but he had driven the Dominican priest to the Allenby Bridge and waved goodbye to him as he crossed on foot into the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. They had had to push two carts loaded with his baggage all the way across the bridge, then return with the empty carts back to the Israeli side.
***
Rav Schreiber's life nearly ended after yet another stroke. This time, his physicians agreed that he should no longer live at home, with or without nursing care. Instead, they sent him to a hospice for Orthodox men living out the remainder of their lives in a religious environment, with a resident rabbi conducting daily worship that few were healthy enough to participate in. During the second day in his new home, an additional TIA removed him from the world of the conscious. His doctors made no effort to revive him, now content to step aside and let God determine the time of his death.
There were strict conditions under which an unmarried woman could be alone with a man, even one in a coma. The door to Schreiber's ward was left open and a religious shomer, guard, sat in the corridor, reciting a volume of psalms. Gabby sat beside the rabbi's bed, thinking how fond she had become of him. And to some extent, she believed he had grown to respect her, though he had never said that in so many words. Since he was willing to let her continue what Tim had started, she took this to mean that he trusted her judgment.
She had witnessed his encyclopedic knowledge of ancient languages few mortals could match. Now she could not fend off the sadness that came from watching the Angel of Death rob posterity of this invaluable treasure. It would take a lifetime of dedicated study for a successor to accumulate the knowledge this man would soon take with him to the grave. While she sat alongside Schreiber's bed, no visitors came. Noticeably absent were his son from Ramat Gan and his daughter from New York. The loneliness of being passed over at the end of one's life seemed to her acutely cruel. She couldn't help thinking with some bitterness how, when a person's useful life is over, the healthy, strong and young often forget what they owe to their mentors.
She also admired the man's humility. For his labors, he wanted nothing, consistently rejecting the money she offered. Since the content of the fragments meant little to him, she struggled to understand his commitment to the project. Was it just an opportunity to use what he knew? Or was it out of loyalty to Tim? Or perhaps to her? Maybe, she thought, he shared her own curiosity about how God actually communicates with humans. Perhaps his commitment to ritual and study was not as uncompromising as he led others to believe. She never got a chance to share with him her feeling that it was not God who selected humans to be His mouthpieces, but willful individuals who by virtue of simple living and harsh training ordained themselves to be His messengers.
In her rabbinical days, Gabby had often said that no one should die alone and yet before her was an obedient Jew waiting to meet his Maker without family or friend. She glanced along the ward over several beds filled with dying men to observe the elderly religious guard seated near the door, his eyes buried in the psalms on his lap. It was taboo for her to touch Schreiber, yet she considered making an exception and breaking the silly rule. Judging the guard to be absorbed in his text, she surrendered to this urge and leaned far over Schreiber, planting her lips against his and holding firm, which proved to be a second too long. The guard lifted his eyes to catch what he considered to be a sacrilegious action and jumped up, dropping his sacred book to the floor and howling at her, his arms flailing. In defiance, Gabby maintained her position over the dying rabbi to touch his lips a final time. She fled from the ward a moment later, rather than explain her motivation to the unsympathetic hospice staff.
That evening, she reported to Itamar, "He's in a coma. I promised I would never reveal his name and I never will. Tim made the same pledge. Thanks for not pressuring me."
He could see in her eyes how the passing of this giant affected her. When she told him how she leaned forward to kiss the old man's lips, he wrapped her with his arms and whispered, "Some secrets are not worth knowing anyway."
She cuddled into his embrace and planted her lips against his neck, touching lightly, once, twice, then three and four times. He reciprocated by pressing his against hers and securing his arms tightly around her. Neither hid from the other how their bodies had begun to stir. In Itamar's arms, she asked herself if it was mourning for Tim that allowed her to open a new space in her heart for another man. Or was she falling in love with Itamar because, like herself, he knew how to lose a lover? Maybe, she concluded, a little of both.
As she waited for the rabbi to leave his earthbound yeshiva and enter the Yeshiva shel-Maalah, the Heavenly Academy, a sense of life's inexorable flow captured her. Even the irreplaceable Rav Zechariah Schreiber must give way to a future generation of scholars.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Because Itamar wanted Zvi Zabronski with him in Rome, he paid for his travel with funds from the Antiquities Authority. For an audience with the Pope's Secretary of State, Donaldo Cardinal Fornenti, he believed it was essential to have someone thoroughly familiar with the evidence against Father Benoit Matteau on the charges of theft of state property and the less-well-established case of conspiracy to murder Timothy Matternly. Equally important, he feared that less confident Israeli officials might succumb to the aura of the papal fathers, whose discipline and pomp could easily dazzle men of weaker resolve. As a student of Jewish history, Zabronski harbored little love for the Roman Church, blaming it for engendering centuries of anti-Semitism. When it came to talking with the Holy Father's senior lieutenant, Itamar calculated that old-fashioned Jewish chutzpah would serve the police officer far better than polite deference.
At the Vatican, Donaldo Cardinal Fornenti's adjutant kept Itamar and Zabronski waiting for more than ninety minutes in a cramped, stuffy antechamber before finally escorting them to the secretary of state's office, a cavernous, over-decorated, baroque room with walls displaying numerous photographs of the papal plenipotentiary and his distinguished foreign visitors.
The cardinal met Itamar and Zabronski just inside the office door with open arms and welcoming words, as if they were familiar friends making a social call. A good head shorter than the Israelis, he made up for his lack of stature with a bellowing tenor voice. He wore a black gown with gold embroidery and a crimson skullcap that clung to a completely bald head by nothing more than gravity.
The cardinal sat his visitors beside his immaculately neat mahogany desk before returning to his chair where two stone-faced aides stood like robots behind him with notepads at the ready. "Yes, yes," he mumbled in English as they settled
down and Itamar organized a file of papers on his lap. "I have read about your agency, Dr. Arad. We receive extensive reports on excavations in the Holy Land. Vatican scholars study your periodicals carefully. Since I found you on my appointment calendar, I'm curious to learn why you have requested this meeting." A plastic smile preceded his next remark: "Now I'm sure you'll let me know."
Itamar sensed the cardinal's dissemblance, certain that he knew precisely why this meeting had been requested. The Israeli ambassador to the Vatican had briefed Itamar of Fornenti's passion for archeology, and there was little chance he was unaware of stolen fragments from Qumran. Itamar chose to end diplomatic niceties by getting right to the point. "Your representative from Bethlehem has no doubt informed you of a new cave at Qumran."
The cardinal's eyes narrowed on Itamar and didn't flinch.
"Near the Dead Sea, a new cave was discovered filled with ancient artifacts. Unfortunately, it was looted before my government learned about it. A great embarrassment, as you can imagine."
"Yes, I would think so," the papal minister said. "Such events are not uncommon in government. I must confess that, on matters of archeology, the Vatican is usually playing catch-up. We must rely upon the press for our information and I have read nothing about this. I certainly hope you're not here to accuse the Church of theft."
Before the meeting, Itamar and Zabronski learned that Cardinal Fornenti had a reputation for charming those who quarreled with the Holy See, and they were determined not to be moved. "Your Excellency," Itamar continued, "we know that documents looted from the Qumran cave were brought to the Vatican. The government of Israel regards all archeological artifacts discovered in the Jewish homeland to be state property. The Holy See must return these documents immediately to their legal owner."
The cleric dropped his chin and tilted his head, peering at his visitors through rimless glasses. "Of course, what you suggest cannot be true. May I inquire about the exact nature of the documents you claim are in Church possession?"