Temple: The Prophecy of the Hidden Treasure (Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries Book 7)

by Bill Thompson

  Anguished, he turned off the phone. Everything in his life had been shattered the moment he walked away. It was good that Brian was going to the authorities. Now it was the only way to ensure the treasure’s safety. He dabbed away a tear as he thought of that truly monumental hoard and the role in its unveiling that he deserved but would never have. Abdel only had himself to blame that Brian alone would reap the benefits of a documentary presentation. There was no question the TV show would happen. In exchange for Brian's revealing the location, the government would be only too pleased to grant him exclusive rights to show it to the world. After that, the priceless relics of Isaiah would end up in some museum.

  Unless Tariq got there first.

  _____

  "He's in Macedonia, Leader!"

  In hopes of collecting a million-euro ransom, people sympathetic to al Qaeda in a dozen countries were feverishly making inquiries. Two things had emerged – Abdel had traveled by train from Athens to Skopje two days before, and he had activated his cellphone yesterday for a brief time.

  Tariq sent his best soldiers to the Macedonia capital and they scoured the city. They discovered the hotel where he had stayed, but that was all they found. Generous bribes sprinkled around gave them access to air and rail manifests, but there was no listing for Abdel Malouf. There were video cameras in places, but it was nothing like the security found in major Western airports and train stations. It would take weeks to get the grainy black-and-white videotapes and they would provide nothing useful. For now, he had escaped, but Tariq vowed that the search for the traitor would never end.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The porter examined Constantin Stefos’s ticket and directed him to the first-class section.

  "Where's the bar car?"

  He offered to fetch a drink and bring it to Constantin’s compartment as soon as the train left the station, but he wanted it now. Until the last few weeks he hadn't been much of a drinker, but now alcohol was the only thing that soothed his rattled nerves. It was a hundred and fifty miles to the Bulgarian border. That was where the first test of his new passport would happen – and if things went wrong, it would be the last.

  "I'll go there myself," he snapped, then softened his words, deciding not to call attention to himself. "It's been a long afternoon and I've worked up quite a thirst."

  The porter laughed and said he understood. He pointed Constantin in the right direction and turned to the next passenger in line. He dropped his backpack in his compartment, went to the bar and purchased a bottle of Greek wine. Back in his cabin, he poured a glass as the train began to move out of the station, gradually picking up speed as it moved through the capital. Soon they were passing through green fields, well on their way to Bulgaria. As he sipped his wine, he crushed the cellphone under his shoe. He opened the window, finding the fresh air cool and invigorating, and tossed pieces of the phone out every so often as the train click-clacked northwest. He estimated he had about two hours before he reached the border and he wanted all evidence of his phone gone by then.

  Before long the train began decelerating and finally it came to a complete stop. He could see a platform with a different flag on each side, presumably one Macedonian and the other Bulgarian. There was an announcement in two languages he didn't recognize and then in English. This was the border and inspectors would now pass through the train to examine documents.

  He was slightly more inebriated than he'd have preferred, but thankfully downing three-fourths of the wine in his bottle had calmed his anxiety. There was a quick knock and the door slid open. A man in a uniform said something.

  Constantin replied, "English?"

  "Documents, please." He glanced at the passport and said more words Constantin didn't understand.

  "English?" he asked again.

  "You carry a Greek passport but do not speak Greek?" the officer asked.

  Damn! He hadn't thought about that little issue. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

  "I am Greek by birth," he stammered as he created a story on the fly. "I was born there and I maintain a residence in Greece, but I have always lived in the UK. My parents ... they emigrated there before I was born and ..."

  The inspector raised a hand. "Enough," he said affably. "It just seemed odd at first." He handed the passport over, wished Constantin a pleasant journey and left.

  He poured the last of the bottle into his glass and tossed it back in one gulp. His heart was beating as if it would pop from his chest and now he was sweating copiously. He waited anxiously until he felt the train lurch forward. Within moments, the border was behind him and he was in the European Union!

  "Sir, sir, we have arrived."

  Constantin jerked his head up, coming out of his alcohol-induced slumber as the conductor touched his shoulder. "Sorry. I must have fallen asleep," he mumbled.

  The porter looked at the empty wine bottle on the table by his passenger's seat and understood what had happened. He helped the inebriated passenger off the train and told him where the taxi stand was. Constantin had planned on arriving in Sofia sober, buying a burner cellphone, and researching and selecting a hotel, but he was in no condition to do any of those things now. He walked outside, saw a hotel across the street and went straight to it. Twenty minutes later he was sound asleep on top of the bedcovers, still fully clothed.

  He woke around two a.m. with a throbbing headache. He'd never experienced a hangover before, but this novice drinker, who had consumed a 750 ml bottle of wine without eating anything, had a doozy. He made it to the toilet before he vomited, although in his condition he wouldn't have cared either way. He took two ibuprofens, stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers. He visited the toilet twice more, but he finally managed to fall asleep.

  After a shower and a shave the next morning, he felt a little better. He was ravenous, although he wasn't sure what he should put in his stomach. He remembered almost nothing about the hotel he was in, so he went to the lobby, hoping to find a dining room. He was in luck and he ordered coffee, bacon, eggs and toast. When the coffee arrived, the smell of it caused something to rumble in his stomach, so he switched to milk instead. That did the trick and soon he felt considerably better.

  He hazily recalled the episode with the border inspector and realized he had to come up with a good story about why this Greek didn't speak Greek. He didn't really recall what he'd said on the train, but the tale he ultimately concocted was close to the earlier one and believable. He'd been to London many times and he could toss out names of streets and areas of town well enough to pass as a resident.

  He bought a cellphone with prepaid minutes and went to an Internet café to search the web for a hotel. The one he was in was decent enough, but just in case someone came looking, he didn't want to be staying adjacent to the train station. He found a nice small one and tried to book a reservation online, but without plastic, he couldn't. He'd torn up all his cards back in Athens and was living strictly on cash now, which was fine for a lot of things but almost impossible for airline tickets and accommodations. Decent hotels required a credit or debit card. It would be simple to get one – he already had bank accounts in the EU – but the logistics were an issue.

  He walked to the new hotel and explained to the desk clerk that he'd misplaced his wallet, but fortunately he'd kept his cash separate from his cards. He rented a room for four days and paid in cash. He was required to put up an extra thousand euros just in case anything went wrong, and that was fine. He promised to provide his card as soon as a replacement could be sent to the hotel by his bank.

  Back at the Internet café, he chatted online with a representative of the bank in Geneva where a fictitious corporation maintained an account stuffed with euros.

  He answered a series of security questions, entered a password and ordered a debit card for a new corporate officer named Constantin Stefos. The card carried a daily limit of ten thousand euros, which he knew would be more than sufficient. The card would be shipped to his hotel by
overnight courier, and he would be back in business.

  Everything went perfectly. On the fourth morning he checked out, took a taxi to the airport and boarded a flight to London. He was anxious when he stepped up to the passport control booth, but his papers got nothing but a quick inspection. As the plane flew across Europe, Constantin Stefos prepared himself for the new life ahead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Brian was on the phone with the director of the Israel Antiquities Authority. Although they hadn't met, several years ago Dr. Rebecca Kohl had been cited as an authority about the Dead Sea Scrolls in one of Brian's documentaries. A woman in her late thirties with a master's degree in Middle Eastern history from the University of Chicago and a PhD in archaeology from Cambridge, she was an internationally recognized authority on the subjects over which she was now in charge. Brian had considered her appointment a remarkable coup for the government – she could have made far more in the private sector – but she supplemented her income by writing. Her four books on Israel and its ancient cultures were used in classrooms at universities worldwide, but her real fame and fortune had come from two novels that had been published in the last couple of years.

  The most widely known was the first book, a story about a young Jewish girl caught in the Six-Day War. The other was popular among mystery and thriller readers. It was set in biblical times and followed an archaeologist who wanted to demonstrate that the prophecies of Isaiah were literally true. Brian felt that was a perfect lead-in to his reason for today's phone call. He had been deliberately cryptic when he requested a telephone meeting, but given his stature in the world of antiquities, she had been only too happy to speak with him.

  "Do you recall the words of Isaiah 45:3?" he asked when the pleasantries had been dispensed with.

  "Of course, but rather than generalizing, let me grab my Hebrew Bible." Dr. Kohl took the book from her desk, thumbed through it and read the verse aloud first in Hebrew, then in English. "And I will give you treasures of darkness and riches hidden in secret places, in order that you know that I am the Lord who calls you by your name, the Holy One of Israel."

  She paused and he could feel the smile on her face in the words she said next. "That sounds like something you'd be interested in, Mr. Sadler. I think I've seen every one of your amazing documentaries and I must say you and your production team know how to captivate an audience. The shows are fascinating and the thing I appreciate is the depths to which you go to avoid sensationalism. I can respect the opinions of others, even as farfetched as aliens building the pyramids of Giza, but you have a way of weaving legends into facts that make yours legitimate documentaries even a pragmatic archaeologist like myself can appreciate. But back to your call. What about the words of Isaiah brings you to me?"

  Explaining the need for background, Brian told her what had happened since his arrival in Israel. He said that Abdel had shown him a cave in Beth Shean National Park and he explained what was in it. He told her about the men who had abducted Abdel and then brought him back. He added that he had been kidnapped, although he thought that had to do with his friendship with President Harrison.

  "Abdel's disappeared," he continued, dismissing his own involvement in the situation as not relevant. "He took me to the cavern, and until he went missing, I respected that it was his site to reveal. But now I'm afraid he's dead. I'm calling to urge you to put guards at the cave. Other people know about it and the treasure may already have been stolen. You must move quickly."

  She posed question after question, revealing both her intrigue about the discovery and her deep concern for the safety of the artifacts. "If I may be so inquisitive," she asked when he was finished, "what was your reason for coming to Israel in the first place? I know you have a burning desire to protect the things that reveal ancient history, but are you looking for a documentary out of all this?"

  He explained that originally the trip had merely been about a visit to the Holy Land with his wife, and of course the auction of the Canaan wedding cup.

  "Ah, yes, I recall that now," she replied. "I was the one that allowed that piece to go under the gavel. It was a beauty, wasn't it?"

  Yes, he agreed, telling her he regretted losing it, but that those things happened in his business.

  "After Abdel showed me the cavern, my reasons for staying in Israel changed. My wife returned to the States, but I've been here ever since. I'm interested in producing a show, but I also believe the relics must not leave Israel. With your help, I'd like to be the one to show the world that Isaiah's prophecies are true. For that – or even without it – I'm willing to show you where the site is. That's more important than anything: regardless if I get anything out of this, you must protect these treasures."

  "I'm going to start the process immediately," she agreed. "Can you go with me to Beth Shean this afternoon?"

  "I don't see how. I'm in Athens and I'm persona non grata with your prime minister. I doubt he'll let me back into the country." He briefly explained why.

  "Book an afternoon flight to Haifa," she instructed. "I'll handle the PM. Call me when you know your arrival time and I'll meet you there."

  He eagerly accepted, hopeful that things might finally come to fruition. He told her about the situation with Tariq and advised he needed security in Israel. No problem, she assured him.

  _____

  Nicole listened in silence as her husband explained that instead of coming home from Athens as he'd promised, he was planning to go back to Israel this afternoon. At least he'd been assigned a security officer for protection – that gave her a sense of relief for the first time in all this craziness. He had gotten out of harm’s way, and he was safely in the European Union. Unlike anywhere in Israel right now, he could simply board a plane in Athens and fly to the United States. The danger appeared to be behind him but now he was going back into the middle of it. How could he?

  She understood that he wanted to lead the archaeologist to the cave. She understood how much this meant to his career and him personally, and she understood that Brian was on the scent again. He asked for her blessing, but she refused to go that far. She could have demanded he drop this crazy quest – and maybe he would have – but she still couldn't bring herself to do it. What she wanted – what she hoped and prayed for – was that he’d make that decision himself.

  "Are you angry with me?" he asked when she told him flippantly to go off and get himself killed if he wanted to.

  "Angry isn’t the word for it. Angry is how I feel when you don't put the toilet seat down for the hundredth time or you forget my birthday. I'm terrified, Brian. I know how much this means to you and God knows I understand why you want to do it, but for as long as I live, I don't think I will ever see things from your perspective. Your mind has the power to let adventure block reason. Even though you've had problem after problem in the past, you convince yourself things will be different this time. Everything will be okay, and the risk of ... whatever the risk is, death or whatever ... is worth it because of the excitement. To answer your question, no, I'm not mad. I’m livid, to be perfectly honest, and any sane person would feel the same way. It’s insane, irrational, unreasonable and totally bizarre how you twist reality. I just want my husband. That's all I want. I love you but I hate this part of you. Go do it, Brian. Just get it over with."

  "I promise everything will be all right –"

  She sniffled, "Stop it. Don't say that, because the words mean nothing. I may sound like a broken record, but so do you. Just come home."

  She hung up, leaving him with swirling thoughts of regret and shame. He loved that woman more than he loved the life he was living to the hilt, and he knew the right thing to do. He should become a real husband, settle down with a wife who loved him the same way, and run the immensely successful business that would allow them financial freedom for the rest of their lives.

  After this, he promised himself. After this I'll stop. He reflected that his words sounded like those of an addict.

 
_____

  The security guard he’d hired stayed with him until Brian went through the security area. His plane left on time, and just after four p.m. he walked to the immigration desk in International Arrivals at the Haifa Airport. Dr. Kohl had assured him everything would be fine, but he couldn't help wondering if he might be detained. When the man stamped his passport and handed it back without a word, he knew she'd fulfilled her promise.

  He passed through the green line and went out to the sidewalk where a mob waiting for arriving passengers stood in the blazing heat. He saw an attractive woman wearing a Tilley jungle hat over her jet-black hair and holding a sign with his name. As he waved, she and a young lady in a skirt and blue blazer walked over.

  "Welcome back," she said with a sincere smile. "I'm Rebecca Kohl. Let's dispense with the formalities. You're Brian; I'm Becky, and this is Elisabeth. She works in the security detail in my building. She's also a soldier in the Israeli army and I'm told she's a crack marksman!" The girl smiled and offered her hand.

  A sedan was waiting at the curb. Elisabeth went in front as they climbed into the backseat for the hour-long drive to Beth Shean.

  "I've arranged for armed soldiers to be at the site by the end of the day," she advised. "You and I can instruct them how best to stand guard, and they'll be on hand around the clock for as long as we need them."

  They arrived at the national park entrance and Brian showed the driver the road that led past the ancient city and up the hill. They left the driver and Brian led the two women along the path, down the rope and to the entrance.

  "This is it," he said quietly. "I hope to God everything is still here."

  "As do I," she replied enthusiastically. "I can hardly wait to see it!"

  She handed them flashlights as they entered the tunnel. They shuffled through the narrow passageway, and when they emerged into the cavern, he saw the same glint of gold that had captivated him before.