Hannah and the Magic Eye

by Tyler Enfield

  Professor Weisman was shocked and dismayed, and Hannah explained how Henri’s home had been ransacked by the Cancellarii.

  “The Cancellarii, really?” Professor Weisman seemed surprised. “Why would you think the Cancellarii are involved?”

  “Because Henri told me so.”

  “Oh?”

  “In a journal. I found a special journal.”

  Professor Weisman leaned forward. “You say Henri gave you a journal?”

  Hannah nodded. “I was hoping you could tell me about the Cancellarii. I can’t find any information online.”

  “And you won’t,” replied Weisman. “Few people have even heard of it.”

  “But you have. What do you know?”

  “No more than what Henri has shared, from one colleague to another. I am no expert, but your family appears to be quite deeply connected to the court of Napoleon Bonaparte. So too are the Cancellarii. You see, when your great ancestor, Julien Dubuisson, left France to hunt for the lost treasure of King Solomon’s temple—”

  “King Solomon’s temple?” Hannah interrupted. The lost treasure of King Solomon’s temple was one of Henri’s favorite topics. He raved about it.

  “Well, of course,” replied Weisman. “King Solomon’s treasure is what Napoleon sent Julien to find.”

  If this was true, Hannah knew this wasn’t just any treasure. “Solomon’s temple was supposedly covered in gold. Every inch of it. And silver too.”

  “How much is it worth?” asked Clooney. “A million dollars?”

  Professor Weisman considered the question. “The price of gold is always changing. Still, I’ve heard estimates placing the treasure at… oh… somewhere around fifty-six billion dollars.”

  Clooney’s jaw dropped. “Did you say billion?”

  “Dollars, yes. Fifty-six billion, or so I’ve heard. It’s the largest unrecovered treasure in the history of the world.”

  Hannah felt a pit in her belly. Fifty-six. Billion. Dollars. No wonder the Cancellarii were so eager to find it. For that much gold, greedy men would do anything. Hurt anyone. Suddenly Hannah had a new and dreadful appreciation for the stakes.

  Professor Weisman continued, “When Julien Dubuisson failed to return to France and furthermore failed to send treasure, there were some among Napoleon’s court who believed France had been cheated.”

  “Cheated? But he sent a map!” argued Hannah, feeling protective of her family name.

  “True. But a map no one could read. Except of course for our dear Henri, if what he told me is accurate. Nevertheless, some of Napoleon’s court felt France was entitled to Solomon’s treasure so long as they possessed the map. They formed a group, a small society of members with one purpose in mind: the recovery of King Solomon’s treasure. This society took their name from the chancellors of justice in ancient Rome, calling themselves the Cancellarii. And they have spent the last two hundred years chasing clues in search of

  their treasure.”

  “So there are two maps then,” said Hannah. “The Cancellarii’s and then Henri’s.”

  “A copy was made, yes. One copy stayed within the Dubuisson family when they fled to Belgium. The other remained with the Cancellarii. But unfortunately for the Cancellarii, their map remains encoded, while only Henri knows the secret to deciphering it.”

  “That would explain the kidnapping,” said Hannah. “When the Cancellarii could not find Henri’s map in his apartment, they took Henri instead, so he could decipher their

  own map.”

  “You are a sharp girl,” said Weisman. “Sharp as ever. I trust you understand the danger this puts you in?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “One more thing,” added Weisman. “This Inspector. This Andrepont you spoke of. I fear your suspicions are correct. Stay clear of Andrepont at all costs. He may even be their Grand Chancellor.”

  “Grand Chancellor?”

  “The present leader of the Cancellarii. His position within the Israeli police force would only add to their power. Their ability to gather and track information will be immense.”

  Hannah took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do, and there was no time to waste.

  “Thank you Professor Weisman. I must go now.”

  “Go? But where to, Hannah? You are too young to

  be alone.”

  “I am not alone. I have my friend, George Clooney.”

  Weisman gave Clooney a doubtful look. “Listen, I have a better idea. There is room for both of you in my home. Stay with me until this mess is resolved. Perhaps we can even look at this journal together and see if there is something we can do.”

  “But Professor Weisman,” said Hannah. “There is no time to lose. Every moment I am safe in your home is a moment I could be searching for Henri.”

  “I insist, dear. And that is final. Henri would want it this way. Besides—”

  At that moment, Professor Weisman’s phone rang. She picked up the receiver but did not speak at once, staring back and forth between Hannah and Clooney. She listened for all of ten seconds and then said, “Right now? I’m in the middle of something very important. What? Why can’t Jurowitz take care of it? Oh, for heaven’s sake, I will be right there.”

  She hung up, looking distinctly frazzled.

  “I apologize,” said Weisman, attempting to compose herself. “There is a matter I must attend to. Make yourselves comfortable and I will be back shortly. Then we can get the two of you properly settled in.”

  Professor Weisman hurried from the office. A moment after shutting the door, Hannah heard the distinct sound of a key locking the door from the outside.

  Hannah rushed for the door. “She locked us in!” she yelled.

  “Your professor friend is very serious about keeping

  you safe.”

  “What about the window?”

  “Too high,” said Clooney. “We’re five stories up.”

  Upon hearing this, Hannah herself looked up and found herself gazing at the drop-ceiling. Like most offices, the ceiling wasn’t solid, but instead made of several light-weight interlocking tiles, all resting in an aluminum frame.

  “The desk!” said Hannah, getting behind it and pushing. “Help me push the desk against the door.”

  “But why? Aren’t we trying to get out?”

  “Just help me.”

  Together they pushed the desk against the door and then Hannah climbed atop it. She reached up for the ceiling, and though she was closer, she still could not reach it. “Give me a hand,” she said.

  Clooney locked his fingers together and hefted Hannah up. She pushed against the ceiling tile and tossed it aside, peeking her head into the space above. It was dark, but she could see that the office wall did not extend higher than the drop ceiling. She could squirm through the ceiling space and over the wall, dropping into the hall on the far side.

  “I found a way out,” she said, “Just follow me.” Together they crawled up and over. Removing yet another tile, they descended into the hall and were now free of the office and racing for the elevator.

  On the ride down, Clooney said, “The professor seems to really care about you. Won’t she be worried that you have disappeared?”

  “That can’t be helped,” said Hannah. “We have a treasure to find, and the clock is ticking. There is one problem though.”

  “What is that?”

  “The first point on the map. It’s not in Jerusalem. It’s at the Dead Sea.”

  “You still have money?” asked Clooney.

  “Some, yes.”

  “Then leave it to me,” said Clooney. “I’ll get us on a bus.”

  As they exited the front doors of the university, Hannah noticed a security guard whisper into his radio. When they reached the lawn, she checked her shoulder and saw the guard watching her and Clooney.

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sp; “Did you notice that security guard?” asked Hannah once they reached the street and were out of sight.

  “I did,” said Clooney, stepping directly into traffic. Both lanes of cars screeched to a halt and honked their horns as Clooney led Hannah across the street. “And I did not like it. Come, let’s hurry. The bus station is nearby.”

  The station was busy. Buses idled beside the curb, waiting for departure. As Hannah and Clooney walked along the pavement, looking for the correct bus, Hannah noticed the young Palestinian man on the motorcycle, the same one she had seen at the airport. He slowly patrolled the parking lot, looking left and right. How could the Cancellarii have been tipped off so quickly?

  Without a moment to lose, Hannah shoved Clooney through the open doors of the nearest bus. Before he could even ask why, the doors shut with a bang and the bus lurched forward and departed the station.

  “That was him,” she breathed. “The man on the motorcycle I told you about.”

  Clooney peeked out the window and saw the man ride past the bus, still searching for Hannah.

  “Where is this bus going?” he asked the driver.

  “Masada,” replied the driver.

  “We’re in luck,” said Clooney. “The Dead Sea is on the way.”

  They purchased their tickets and took their seats near the back of the bus. She plugged her phone into the socket near the floor. The bus was crowded with tourists from every part of the world, with a few Palestinians mixed in. They were all headed to the ancient ruins of Masada, a popular destination for visitors.

  But Hannah and Clooney would be jumping off early. The Dead Sea was only an hour from Jerusalem. Henri had once taken her there, and she thought it was perhaps the most unusual place she had ever been. The desert surrounding the Dead Sea was the lowest point of dry land on earth. The landscape was bleak and moonlike. And the seawater was so dense with salt, it was nearly impossible for swimmers to sink. Tourists read newspapers as they floated on their backs, bobbing atop the water as though upon inflatable rafts.

  Fifteen minutes into their bus ride, they were already entering the desert. The landscape looked peeled, like someone had rolled back the earth’s crust, revealing a raw, reddish skin beneath. No trees grew and very few bushes. Rugged hills and even mountains rose in the distance.

  Hannah said, “Will your parents be worried about you? Or wonder where you are?”

  Clooney waved the thought away. “I live with my uncle. All he cares about is his coffee stall and making money. Money, money, money. As long as I don’t create trouble, he does not care if I come or go.”

  Hannah wondered about Clooney’s parents and where they were. Was his father gone, like hers? She waited for Clooney to say more, but he didn’t, and though she wanted to ask about a thousand questions, she bit her lip and inquired no more.

  They passed a road sign for ‘Masada, 62 km.’ Then another sign for ‘The Pillar of Salt, 47 km.’ Hannah was just beginning to settle into the ride, watching the desert fly by as she gazed out the window, when she heard the grinding of gears. The bus began to slow. Startled, she sat upright to peek through the front window and saw a military checkpoint up ahead. Israeli soldiers with machine guns had set up a blockade to inspect passing vehicles.

  “Oh no,” said Clooney. “This is not good.”

  Hannah had encountered many such checkpoints throughout her travels in the past. It was a hair-raising experience for anyone to be questioned and sometimes frisked by soldiers with machine guns. The first time, she had felt frightened and confused, and she had many questions for Henri. She remembers how Henri had smiled, placing his hand atop hers as he explained.

  “My dear Hannah,” he said. “Throughout history our people have been hurt many times. So we built a country strong enough to keep us safe, to stop others from hurting us again. Some people say these checkpoints protect our people. Others say they do more harm than good. The important thing, my dear, is to face them with the intrepid spirit of the explorer. You are an archaeologist! There is no room for fear in our profession.”

  So Hannah had grown accustomed to the long delays. She would generally keep her nose buried in a book, paying little attention as the guards searched through one car after another. But today was different. Were the soldiers in league with the police and therefore carrying a photograph of her and Clooney? It was impossible to say where the Cancellarii’s power began and ended. As they approached the blockade, Hannah’s pulse pounded in her ears.

  She turned to Clooney, and he was white with fright. “Ideas?” he said.

  “We go out the window,” she said.

  “The window? Are you crazy?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe. But we have to, we have no choice.”

  Hannah clicked the latches on the window and opened it. A blast of hot wind poured in, ruffling her hair. The bus was nearly at the checkpoint. She stuffed her phone into her backpack and shoved her backpack out the window. She climbed out after and dropped to the ground as the bus rolled to a halt. Clooney’s feet slapped the asphalt beside her, and she snatched up the backpack and dashed for the bushes beside the road.

  “Do you think anyone saw us?” she asked.

  “Just every single person on the bus,” said Clooney.

  “Right. At least the soldiers with machine guns were too busy to—”

  “Hey!” called one of the soldiers, pointing in their direction.

  “Run!” yelled Clooney, and the children darted away, half-sprinting, half-tumbling into a low gulch beside the road. They scampered to another set of bushes, further from the checkpoint, and from there slunk down beside a large boulder, catching their breath as they hid from view.

  “Do you think they can see us?” whispered Hannah.

  Clooney brought a finger to his lips.

  They could hear soldiers swatting through bushes above. They could hear the crackle of the soldiers’ radios. One was speaking now.

  “What are they saying?” asked Clooney.

  Hannah’s face went white. “They say they’re coming down the gulch. They’re coming right for us!”

  Clooney removed his slingshot, showing it to Hannah.

  “No!” she hissed. “They have guns!”

  He shook his head, pointing silently to another set of bushes, roughly fifty meters away. Clooney loaded his slingshot with a stone and fired it at the bushes. It landed with a loud clunk among the rocks, and the soldiers glanced that way and then took up a run in that direction.

  “It worked!” said Hannah. “They’re leaving!”

  Clooney grabbed Hannah’s wrist and they hurried away, crouching low to stay hidden as they crept from bush to bush in the opposite direction of the soldiers. Ten minutes later they were alone in the desert, walking the base of an enormous red bluff. No road and no soldiers in sight. They may as well have been the only people on earth for the desolation of the place.

  They paused for a breather in the shade of the bluff and Hannah unzipped her backpack. She handed Clooney a can of coke and a slightly crushed packet of airplane pretzels.

  As they shared the snack, Clooney said, “The desert goes for miles. We’ll never find the Dead Sea.”

  Hannah removed a compass from her backpack.

  “You have a compass?” said Clooney with amazement.

  “Of course,” said Hannah, digging out her illustrated book on historic sites and opening it to a two-page spread showing a detailed map.

  “This way,” she said, pointing directly into the desert. She slipped the compass into the front pocket of her dress.

  “And an umbrella?” said Clooney as she pulled it from her pack. She clicked a button on the handle and a bright red dome popped open above her head.

  “You will thank me,” she assured him. “Henri always says an umbrella is an archaeologist’s second most important tool.”

&
nbsp; But Clooney refused to take shade beneath the umbrella, insisting it was un-heroic for a hero to accept such help from a sad French girl in distress.

  “I am not French. I am from Belgium. I am not distressed because I have come prepared for the wilderness, whereas you are better suited for the dancehall. And I am not sad. In fact I am looking forward to our adventure.”

  Three hours later, they sat exhausted in the shade of a lone acacia tree. Since leaving the road, it was the first and only tree they had seen. They had finished their second can of coke and were still thirsty. Hannah’s skin felt hot to the touch, and if her compass readings were correct, they were still several miles from the sea.

  They finished off the pretzels, and Hannah handed Clooney a packet of handwipes.

  He looked at the handwipes. “What don’t you have in your backpack?”

  She smiled. “Henri always taught me to be prepared. A good archaeologist never knows where the next great find is hiding and what you will need to find it.”

  “What else do you have in there?”

  She began rummaging within the pack. “Not much. A book. Plus the journal. Let’s see, a bit of rope. A pocketknife. Some money of course. My passport. Some pens. And my camera.”

  “You have a camera! You must take a picture of me!”

  Clooney stood immediately and struck a pose against the trunk of the acacia, sliding his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose. He looked ridiculous. Hannah snapped the photo, just to make him happy, and showed it to him.

  He gazed at the image, his eyes clouded with longing. “I should not be here in the desert. I should be in Hollywood making films. Look at that face. Have you ever seen such

  a face?”

  But Hannah was now distracted by something moving in the distance. She pointed into the desert. “Do you see that?” she asked. Far away, three black shapes wobbled in the heat waves. As the three shapes drew nearer, they became recognizable.

  “I think they are camels,” said Clooney.

  The camels plodded slowly but steadily toward them, heading directly for the acacia tree just as Hannah and Clooney had, the only shaded cover for miles.