The Deadly Scrolls, page 11
She turned and headed away from the entrance.
32
CAVE 3 WAS ONLY A two-kilometer walk from the parking lot. The hard, cracked marlstone surface was full of dips and crevices; boulders strewn everywhere. Cave 3 was among the most northern of the Qumran caves, located between a broad wadi and the Rijm al-Asbah, “the Rock of the Thumb,” about one kilometer further north. By the time Maya reached the cave entrance, her white blouse was plastered against her back, soaked with sweat.
As she approached the limestone cliffs, she noticed a slanting outcrop of brown rock topped with scrub grass. Several meters below the grass was an irregular opening, partially blocked by a large boulder. She peered into the inky mouth of the cave. The entrance appeared too small to admit an adult.
Posted a few yards away was a dented metal sign that read: “Danger. Unstable ground. No admittance except by permit.” The sign was written in Hebrew, English, and Arabic.
Bending low, Maya stepped carefully over piles of rubble and entered the darkness. She shone her Maglite toward the back of the cave. The bright beam was quickly swallowed up by the gloom.
“Stanley! Stanley Lowenthal!”
Her cries echoed off the pitted walls.
“Who’s there?” The reply was faint, the last syllable echoing before dying.
“Agent Maya Rimon! Israeli Intelligence!”
“Be careful as you approach the entrance,” the disembodied voice called out from the darkness. “Most of the ceiling there has collapsed.”
Carefully, Maya stepped inside the cave. She found herself standing in a large open space with a low ceiling. She waited patiently until a figure emerged from one of the dark recesses in the back wall. In the beam of her flashlight, Stanley Lowenthal’s shock of white hair gleamed like bone under fluorescent light. Maya noted that today, he wore only a single scarab ring. In contrast to the natty suit and bowtie he’d sported at the conference reception, he now wore the standard archaeologist’s outfit—khaki shorts and a khaki shirt with many pockets, ribbed white socks, and laced boots. Around his neck dangled an expensive Nikon with a zoom lens. On the narrow bridge of his nose perched horn-rimmed glasses, which glinted in the flashlight’s glare.
“Cave 3,” he said, delivering the words as though addressing a large audience. He swept a wrinkled hand across the cavernous space. “Where the Copper Scroll was first discovered in 1952. Unlike the other caves, they found nothing here dating before the first century of the Common Era. No sectarian scrolls. Only a rusted javelin. Some think this cave might have been a hideout for the Zealots fleeing the Romans.”
Adam Lowenthal now stepped out of the shadows, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling of the branch tunnel. He wore denim cut-offs, stained around the groin. Emblazoned in large black type across the front of his frayed tee shirt were the words: “Beware Geeks Bearing Gifts!” On his feet were dusty sandals. In place of the brown fedora, he wore a black baseball cap.
“Just getting some last pictures for my book,” said the older Lowenthal. “My definitive work on the Copper Scroll.”
He removed a small square of light blue flannel from his back pocket and wiped off the lenses of his glasses. Then, he carefully set them back on his nose and looped the thick brown plastic temples behind his ears. He folded up the square of cloth and returned it to his pocket.
“As I told you on the phone, Miss Rimon, I have no information regarding Boaz Goldmayer’s murder. I told the Jerusalem police everything I know. This conversation is a waste of time.”
“Let me be the judge of that, professor.”
Stanley sighed, then shook his head.
“My son and I have nothing to hide.” The professor’s speech revealed the hint of an Oxbridge accent. “What is it you wish to know?”
From her shoulder bag, Maya withdrew a sleek silver object, which she placed on a flat stone outcrop to her left.
“With your permission,” she said, flicking a switch on the mini-recorder. “It’s too dark in here for me to take notes.”
“And here I thought you had unlimited talents, Miss Rimon.”
Lowenthal’s bright teeth, mostly his own even at eighty-five, sparkled in the artificial light. He tipped his head waggishly at Maya, animating the white curl in the center of his forehead. Then, he winked at her.
“So, shall we begin?”
Although Maya had not been looking forward to this interview, she nonetheless found herself captivated by the elder Lowenthal’s charm. Not that she was taken in. From her online research, she’d learned that Stanley had been born to poor Russian Jewish immigrants in Detroit. His accent was all affectation. Yet the old professor drew her under his spell. His blue eyes were clear and penetrating. He was rumored to have been quite a Lothario in his younger days. Some said he was still chasing skirts.
“Boaz Goldmayer didn’t think much of your theories, did he, professor?”
“I’m not the only scholar who challenged Goldmayer!” The old man’s British accent now collapsed into a broad Midwestern twang. “I still don’t understand why so many respectable journals published his articles—but rejected mine. And why was he invited to deliver this year’s conference keynote? The man needed to be put in his place!”
“Dad!”
Adam suddenly snapped out of his fixation with the cave’s pitted walls. He flicked his head toward Maya.
“The truth is,” said the senior Lowenthal, his voice moderating. The toothy grin was back. “I didn’t take Boaz’s scholarship seriously enough to consider sabotaging his work. If I were even capable of doing such a thing.”
“You may not be capable,” said Maya, pivoting now to face Adam, “but what about your son? I hear he’s quite gifted. Yale Law, isn’t it? A Ph.D. in philosophy. And an IT genius.”
“What is your point, young lady?” Stanley’s voice regained its earlier tartness. “What are you accusing us of?”
Maya picked up the mini-recorder and clicked it off.
“We’re done here.” She dropped the mini-recorder into her shoulder bag. “Please don’t make any plans to leave Jerusalem over the next few days. I may have more questions.”
Abruptly, she spun around and began picking her way out of the narrow mouth of the cave.
“Mind where you step!” Stanley yelled from inside the cave. “There’s wild hemlock growing near the entrance. The leaves with the purple speckles. Toxic to the skin. I told Adam to rope off that area. I guess he forgot.”
Once outside, Maya quickly located the deadly plants and made sure to steer clear of them. When she glanced up, the searing mid-afternoon light momentarily blinded her. She fumbled in her bag for her sunglasses. Through the filtered lenses, the landscape looked like photos she’d seen of Mars. Desiccated plains and rubble.
Suddenly, she noticed a second cave close by. Though she knew most scholars disputed the presence of copper oxide around Qumran, why not take a look? If the ancient Jews, who’d lived in the Dead Sea settlement, had hidden the Copper Scroll in Cave 3, wouldn’t they have fabricated the copper sheets there, using a local source?
She knew it was a long shot.
She began walking toward the cave.
33
MOMENTS BEFORE MAYA EXITED CAVE 3, a tall man arrived at the entrance to this second cave, sweating from his arduous climb. The brim of his dark baseball cap partially shielded his face from the brutal sun. He looked down at the small piece of crumpled paper in his palm and re-read the cryptic words:
In the underground passage that is in Sehab north of Kochalit, with its opening to the north, and which has tombs at its entrance.
He’d come here because his partner had suggested that he search near the place where the Copper Scroll had first been found. There was an ancient cemetery nearby. And this particular cave faced north.
But what about the specific places named in the decrypted file—Sehab, Kochalit? None of these places appeared on any modern map. Were they here or someplace else?
O Lord, the tall man prayed, let this be where the Treasure Scroll lies!
He stared into the small, dark cavity yawning in front of him. He took a step inside. The cavernous space was cool. But it smelled funny. Like ancient mold and decay. He stepped back into the bright sunshine.
Of course, that young coding geek had no clue about the real secrets hidden in Goldmayer’s files. Neither did his own partner, who had insisted on managing the decryption operation alone. The tall man knew that the man was only in it for the money. What a fool he’d been to put his fate in that ungodly man’s hands! But what choice did he have? His partner was an expert on antique scrolls and claimed to know about ancient codes. And his insatiable greed certainly kept him motivated and focused. But what was that man’s aspiration compared to his own! Well, he would make good use of this heathen Midas until he no longer needed him. Then, he’d throw him to the Israeli wolves. Kill two birds with one stone.
A cascade of falling pebbles drew the tall man back to the present. He looked up to see an ibex perched on a rocky ledge just over his head. The animal looked at him quizzically, then shook its curved horns and scampered up over the top of the escarpment. More rock debris spilled down in its wake, littering the cave entrance with dark scree.
Suddenly, he heard loud voices coming from Cave 3. It was too far away to make out the words. He poked his head out and squinted in that direction. He saw a petite young woman emerging from the cliffside cave a short distance off. She began walking at a brisk trot. Heading directly toward him!
He quickly ducked back into the cave and was instantly swallowed up by darkness.
When he stuck his head out moments later, he saw her standing about a hundred meters off. In one hand, she held a Maglite; in the other, a small black notebook. She faced away from him, staring back at Cave 3.
He needed to act quickly. If she caught sight of him, it would ruin everything!
While the woman was busy scribbling in her notebook, he pulled his baseball cap low over his enormous brow, slipped out of the cave, and edged along the cliff ridge until he found a rock large enough for his purpose. He dragged the heavy rock back to the cave. The shelf over the entrance was narrow, but it would have to do. Carefully, he positioned the rock so that it balanced precariously over the opening. From his backpack, he withdrew a length of thin nylon rope. Then, he searched until he found a small oblong stone. He wrapped the rope several times around it, then wedged the stone behind the larger rock. He threaded the blue rope along the outside perimeter of the cave entrance, obscuring its presence with crumbled stone and dirt. Hastily, he laid down a trip-wire of rope, brushing sand over it. Then, walking backwards, he carefully let out the rope until he found an outcropping that he could hide behind. Gently, he drew the rope taut. Then, he crouched down to wait.
The woman approached the cave but stopped a short distance from the entrance. She shone her bright light into the darkness and peered inside. But she did not enter the cave. What was holding her back?
Suddenly, he heard a scratching sound.
It was the ibex, coming toward the cave from the opposite direction. It deftly maneuvered along a knife-edge of rock. Its graceful body, blocking the setting sun, was outlined in an aura of white light.
The woman laughed out loud.
The sudden sound startled the ibex. It leapt forward. Its bony hoof caught on the hidden rope, bringing the animal to its knees in the sandy shingle. Shoved by the stone wedge, the large rock tumbled down, landing on the ibex and crushing it. Blood spurted from several wounds in the animal’s soft brown hide. One of its horns broke off and rolled, coming to rest near the woman’s feet.
She knelt down beside the bleeding ibex, but there was nothing she could do. The creature’s black eyes quickly clouded over and stared up at her. The skin above one of its hoofs was lacerated by a tight coil of nylon rope. Flies began gathering around the torn hide.
She stood up. Her face turned toward him.
He was out of time. He could not risk discovery.
He dashed out from behind his hiding place and began to run. A fusillade of pebbles shot out behind him. He fought hard to keep his balance as he slid and stumbled down the steep slope. His lungs screamed for air. He did not stop until he reached the parking lot at the front gate.
And never once did he look back.
34
IT WAS CLOSE TO 5:00 p.m. by the time Maya returned to Jerusalem from Qumran. She fought her way through the clogged city streets. Traffic crawled at a snail’s pace along Emek Refa’im. In the space of four short blocks, she witnessed two fender benders. In neither case did any of the drivers stop to assess the damage to their vehicles or call the police. Instead, they cursed at each other through open windows, then tore away with a screech of tires.
When traffic ground to a halt, her mind flashed back for a moment to the caves at Qumran. That poor ibex felled by a falling stone. The tall man with the dark baseball cap running away across the rubbled plain. Who was he? A treasure-hunter raiding the caves for souvenirs? Someone hiding from the law or from some enemy? He had moved too fast for her to get a bead on him.
At last she arrived at the underground garage near her office. She walked to the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant around the corner and bolted down a falafel, washing it down with bitter coffee. She walked through the front door of Service Headquarters just as Roni Qattawi and Arik Ophir, the Minister of Internal Security, were on their way out for dinner.
Roni eyed Maya’s sweat-soaked blouse and dusty sandals.
“Been out catching desperados, I see.”
Maya grunted, then grinned sheepishly. “You’ve been watching too much American TV, Roni.”
Roni chuckled.
As always, Maya tried to keep her gaze trained on the top of her boss’s head, above the unnerving port-wine birthmark that stained his left cheek. She now noticed that Roni’s forehead was rapidly gaining ground on his receding hairline. He’d be completely bald in a few years.
“So, any promising leads?”
“Not yet. Still following up on some hunches.”
Roni snorted and jabbed his forefinger at her.
“You and your damn hunches! I’ve warned you, Maya! Stop chasing after wild conspiracy theories. They’re a waste of resources. Keep it simple. Just follow the evidence. Like I always tell new recruits—Occam’s Razor.”
Arik Ophir chortled. The minister was a large, fleshy man, with bloodshot eyes and a bulbous cauliflower nose. He and Maya’s father, Moti, had crossed swords for years. That was probably why Ophir had promoted Roni to head the agency over his more senior colleague. After all the years Moti had given his beloved Service, they’d unceremoniously stabbed him in the back and sent him packing into forced retirement.
“You know, you look very sexy, drenched in sweat.” Roni ran his eyes up and down Maya’s trim frame. “A regular Amazon.”
Ophir guffawed and punched Roni in the shoulder. The latter raised his thick eyebrows and ogled Maya down his sharp wedge of a nose.
Maya smiled at the two men, refusing to snap up the bait. Suddenly, she slapped her thigh in mock dismay and shot a trigger finger at her boss.
“I almost forgot! I have a new riddle for you, Roni. I know how much you like to show off that sharp wit of yours.”
Maya winked at the minister and turned to face her boss.
“What does a male secret agent use for birth control?”
Roni eyed her suspiciously, his right brow cocked over one dark eye. The burly minister shrugged, his grin drooping, provisional.
“His personality!”
Roni guffawed. He raised his cigarette, vised between two fingers, to his receding hairline and saluted.
“Touché, Rimon! But watch the mouth. There are limits to my patience.”
Roni’s thin lips curled into a disdainful smile.
She bowed her head in mock deference. “Sir.”
Chuckling, Maya swept past the two men, heading toward her office. As she brushed by Roni, he patted her buttocks with his open palm. She brusquely slapped his hand away. Ophir laughed. He gave Roni a soft punch to the shoulder.
Both men raised their hands in a mock salute, then exited the building.
Cursing under her breath, Maya entered her eight by eight office and slammed the door. She quickly changed out of her sweaty clothes into a fresh set she kept hanging on pegs attached to one wall. She kept her back to the closed door, not bothering to lower the white mini-blinds.
How tired she’d grown of Roni! It hadn’t always been this way. When she’d first started at the Service, she had found him attractive and clever. When he’d come on to her after a few weeks, she was thrilled by his deep, gravelly voice, which purred like a stalking cat’s. His dark Egyptian features and sinewy muscles were so different from Rafi’s soft, pale body. But she soon came to find his sexual attentions boorish, even somewhat menacing. The more she fended him off, the more aggressive he became. She finally had no choice but to tell him to fuck off and leave her alone.
That’s when the unrelenting teasing had begun. The sexist jokes, the sly insults, the sexual innuendos. It had gotten worse over the past year. She noticed that he’d also begun drinking late in the day. His voice slurred over the intercom. But she wouldn’t probe. Unless he crossed the line. Every one of them carried pekels on their back.
Still buttoning up her blouse, Maya eyed the stack of manila folders piling up in her inbox. She expelled a loud gust of breath, then breathed in slowly. She flopped into her swivel chair and stared for a few moments at the black screen of her monitor. Then, she pressed “escape” to wake up the computer and logged on. Dozens of new emails crammed her inbox, most of them cc’s from colleagues here or at other government agencies. She quickly scrolled through the news feeds to see if any crises were brewing. Only the usual: Several Hamas rockets had been launched this morning from Gaza toward Ashkelon, but had been successfully intercepted by Iron Dome. A Palestinian had stabbed a Jewish settler in the Territories. The suspect was still at large. An anti-Israel vote had taken place in the UN Security Council, sponsored jointly by Syria and Russia. New security measures were being proposed in the Knesset to crack down on suspected Arab terrorists inside the Green Line. A typical day in the Arab world’s crosshairs.
