F Paul Wilson - Novel 03 (19 page)

           
 
"All right," she said.
"Lift."

           
 
And as she lifted, a knifepoint of doubt
pierced Carrie for an instant: So light! Almost as if she were hollow. And so
stiff.

           
 
She brushed the misgivings away. The Virgin
was small, and God had preserved her flesh. That was why she was so light and
stiff.

           
 
Carefully they backed up, cradling the Virgin
in their arms, then knelt and gently placed her on the blankets.

           
 
"Stiff as a board," Dan said.
"You know, Carrie, I really think—"

           
 
Carrie knew what he was going to say and she
didn't want to hear it.

           
 
"Please, Dan. Let's just wrap her up and
move her out as we agreed."

           
 
He stared at her a moment, then shrugged.
"Okay."

           
 
Dan seemed to have had a change of heart
overnight. Last night he'd been dead set against her plan to bring the Virgin
back to
New
York
,
yet this morning he seemed all for it. But not because he'd suddenly become a
believer in the authenticity of their discovery. He was still locked into his
Doubting Thomas role.

           
 
The Virgin's unnatural lightness and rigidity,
plus Dan's continuing doubts, only fanned her desire to move the Virgin to a
safer hiding place. Even if she fell into the hands of people with the best
intentions, they'd want to examine her, test her to verify her authenticity.
They'd scan her, take samples of her hair, skin scrapings, biopsy her, maybe
even—God forbid—autopsy her.

           
 
No way, Carrie thought as she folded the
blankets over the Virgin, wrapping her rigid form in multiple flannel layers.
No way.

           
 
Dan helped her tie the blankets in place with
the heavy twine they'd bought in En Gedi. They tied her around the shoulders,
waist, thighs, and knees. With Carrie leading the way, slipping through the
little tunnel first and guiding their precious bundle after her, they moved the
Virgin into the front chamber, then through the opening at the top of the cave
mouth onto the rock pile.

           
Squinting in the brightness of the
midmorning sun, they carried her to the far edge of the mini-plateau atop the
tav.

           
 
"I didn't realize she was this
light," Dan said, "and that gives me an idea on how we can increase
our safety factor here."

           
 
"Who's safety?"

           
 
"Our prize's."

           
 
Carrie couldn't get over the change in Dan's
attitude.

           
 
"I'm all ears," she said.

           
 
Dan's voice echoed down from atop the
tav
rock.

           
 
"Ready?"

           
 
Carrie shielded her eyes with her hand and
looked up. Dan was a silhouette against the bright blue of the sky, standing on
the
tav's
overhang thousands of feet
directly above, waving to her. She answered with a broad wave of her own.

           
 
"Go ahead!"

           
 
As Carrie saw the snugly tied-and-wrapped
bundle slip over the edge of the lip and start its slow descent toward her, she
became unaccountably afraid. Everything was set— she'd moved the Explorer under
the lip just as Dan had suggested, and here she was, ready to guide the Virgin
into the vehicle when she was lowered to within reach—but she could not escape
the feeling that something was about to go wrong.

           
 
She should have stayed up top with Dan. Two
sets of hands up there were better than one. He'd tied the heavier rope to the
cords around the Virgin while she'd made her way to the bottom. What if he
hadn't tied the knots securely enough? What if the rope slipped out of his
hands as he was lowering her?

           
 
What if he dropped her on purpose, hoping
she'd smash into a thousand pieces to prove that he'd been right all along?

           
 
Carrie reigned in her stampeding thoughts. How
could she even think such a thing? She was sure it hadn't crossed Dan's mind.

           
 
Then why had it crossed hers?

           
 
Maybe she was losing perspective. It was the
heat, the distance from home, the isolation of the desert ... it was the
epiphany of standing before the Mother of God and then cradling her remains in
her arms.

           
 
So much had happened in the past twenty-four
hours and the cumulative effect was . . . overwhelming.

           
 
She shook herself and concentrated on the blue
of the descending bundle, twisting and swaying on its slowly lengthening
tether. Dan was out of sight beyond the lip. She lifted her arms, waiting. Soon
it was just above her, and then she had a grip on two of the binding cords. As
it continued its descent she swung it around and guided it feet first toward
the open rear door of the Explorer.

           
 
And then it was done. The Virgin was off the
tav
and safely at rest in the back of
their car.

           
Dan must have noticed the sudden
slack. His voice drifted down from overhead.

           
 
"Everything okay down there?"

           
She waved without looking up. Her
eyes were fixed on the blanket-wrapped bundle lying before her. She still
didn't know what she'd do with the Virgin once she got her to New York; she
simply knew she had to keep her near.

           
 
She spoke softly. "Perfect."

           
 
"Heads up!" Dan called from above.

           
 
She glanced up and saw the remaining length of
the rope stretched out in the air, coiling like a collapsing spring as it fell
to earth.

           
 
"I'm on my way," he said.

           
 
Fifteen minutes later he arrived, lugging the
lamp and the flashlights. He quickly unloaded them into the back of the
Explorer.

           
 
Carrie said, "What about the rope?"

           
 
"We'll leave it. Can't fly it back to the
States anyway."

           
 
"How about that other cave? Didn't you
say you wanted to take a look in it before we leave?"

           
 
He stared across the canyon a moment, then
shook his head.

           
 
"Maybe some other time."

           
 
"Other time? When will there be another
time?"

           
 
"Probably never. But I think I've had
enough of this place for now. I'd like to be out of here."

           
 
Carrie nodded. She had the same feeling. She
didn't know why, but she had an urge to put this place behind them as quickly
as possible.

           
 
As Kesev cruised down Route 90 he saw a black,
truck-like vehicle pull onto the highway about half a mile ahead and accelerate
toward him in the northbound lane. No roads around here, at least nothing
paved. Whoever was driving must have been roaming the hills and desert. Nothing
unusual about that. Off-road exploring was popular with tourists these days,
which was why the rental companies in the Central and South districts did such
a brisk business in four-wheel-drive vehicles. But what bothered Kesev was
where
the truck had come onto the
highway.

           
 
Right where Kesev always turned off.

           
 
He gave it a good going over as it passed:
black Ford Explorer, dust caked, man driving, woman in the rear seat, Eldan
Rent-A-Car sticker on the back bumper. He made a mental note of the license
plate.

           
 
When he made his usual turnoff and saw the
still settling dust trailing west toward the hills, he stopped his Jeep and
jotted the license plate number in the notepad he always carried.

           
 
Just in case.

           
 
Then he gunned the Jeep toward the uplands.

           
 
He had a bad feeling about this.

           
 
That bad feeling worsened as he spotted
patches of rutted earth and tire tracks here and there along the path toward
the
Resting
Place
. Never, in all the times he'd been back and forth, had he encountered a
single tire track this far into the Wilderness. Not even his own from previous
trips.
Sharav,
the incessant desert
wind, saw to that, scouring the land clean of all traces of human passage,
usually overnight.

           
 
Which meant these were fresh tracks. But who'd
made them? The couple in that Explorer? Or somebody else— somebody who even now
might be desecrating the
Resting Place
.

           
 
Despite the Jeep's efficient air-conditioning,
Kesev began to sweat. He upped his speed past the safety limit into the
reckless zone. He didn't care. Something was wrong here.

           
 
He ground his teeth and cursed himself for not
leaving last night.

           
 
Finally the
tav
rock hove into view. No other vehicle in sight, but that
brought no relief—he was following a double set of tire tracks. Two vehicles?
Or a single vehicle arriving and departing?

           
 
He swung around the front of the
tav
and let out a low moan as he spotted
the lengthy coil of rope tangled under the overhang.

           
 
"Lord in Heaven," he whispered,
"don't let this be!
Please
don't
let this be!"

           
 
Fear knotted around his heart as he gunned the
Jeep into the canyon and slowed to a halt at the base of the path to the top.
Without bothering to turn off the engine, he leapt out and scampered up the
ledge as fast as he dared, muttering and crying out as he climbed.

           
 
"Never should have left here!" . . .
Please, God! Let her still be there! . .
.
"What was I thinking?" . . .
Dear Lord, if she is still there I swear I will never leave this place
again. Not even for food! . . .
"Should have moved back after the
scroll was stolen, should have foreseen this!" . . .
Please hear me, Lord, and have mercy on a fool!

           
 
The instant Kesev's head cleared the top of
the plateau, his eyes darted to the mouth of the
Resting Place
. At first glance the barricade of rocks
appeared undisturbed and he slumped forward onto the ledge, gasping, nearly
sobbing in relief. But as he rose to his feet to send up a fervent prayer of
thanks, he spotted the dark crescent atop the barricade—an opening into the
Resting Place
. The sight of it drove a blade of panic
into his throat. "No!"

           
 
He broke into a dead run, clambered up the
rocks, and all but dived headfirst into the opening. Enough light streamed
through the opening to guide his way to the tunnel. He scrambled through to the
second chamber. Stygian darkness here. Kesev's heart was a mailed fist pounding
against the inner wall of his ribs as he felt his way across the chamber to the
niche where the Mother's bier had been set. His fingers found the edge, then
hesitated of their own accord, as if afraid to proceed any further, afraid to
find the niche empty.