Outside Eden (10 page)

Harper put down her trowel, reached over and took it. ‘Here, let me try.’ The shovel was standard military issue. Harper flipped it open and handed it back.

Lynne kept talking. ‘The thing is, the messages Travis has found are directly from the Lord, and nobody else has ever read them.’

Harper couldn’t take much more of Lynne’s chatter. She tried to focus on the earth, on digging. On the heat. On what Hank might be doing, or Chloe. On anything other than Lynne’s voice.

‘I don’t blame you for not believing me. Like I said, I was skeptical, too, until I saw him reveal God’s words.’

Harper put down her trowel, picked up her screen, started straining earth into a bucket. Stifled the urge to tell Lynne to shut up.

‘See, no one ever saw them before because the Lord’s words are buried in text. They go diagonally, backwards, vertically – in all directions within certain sections of the Bible. But hearing them . . . It’s like the Lord was talking with Himself about this or that and leaving Himself reminder notes inside the Bible. Like He was intending to revisit and revise His thoughts. And, out of all mankind, Travis is the one who found it’

‘Lynne.’ Harper was sweating with exertion. She couldn’t listen to any more drivel. ‘Are you going to do any work today?’

‘Of course.’ Lynne set the shovel down. Picked up a trowel instead. Began digging. Harper looked into the pit, saw no evidence of relics. No shards. No glass.

‘I know I’m boring you, Harper, but I can’t help feeling blessed to be here, serving with Travis. He’s shown me the purpose of my life. He’s revealed what the Lord intends for our church and guided us onto God’s path.’

Harper tightened her jaw, fantasized about decking Lynne. If she were unconscious, she’d be quiet and Harper could dig in peace. Instead of knocking her out, though, Harper interrupted. ‘Lynne. Please. Can we talk about something besides religion?’

‘Sure.’ Lynne shifted positions, grinning. ‘How about men?’

Harper let out a breath, relieved. ‘Fine. What about them?’

‘Tell me about your husband.’

She pictured Hank. ‘He’s great.’

‘Handsome?’

Harper pictured broad shoulders, dark eyes. ‘Yup.’ She examined a pebble too big for the screen.

‘Peter’s not great looking. He’s like a seven. Wouldn’t you say?’

No, Harper wouldn’t say.

‘We’ve been together forever. Since we were sixteen. We’ve had our troubles, maybe because we never dated around, I don’t know. But Pastor Travis saved our marriage.’

Oh Lord. Did every topic lead to Ramsey Travis?

‘Pastor showed us that we’re bound through vows before God, and that even though we each have individual work to do for the Lord, we also have a shared purpose as one united being.’

As one being? Really? Harper wiped sweat off her forehead, thought of Hank. She and he were certainly not one being. In fact, they were very separate, distinct beings, and she liked it that way. Again, she saw his dark eyes. His bare chest. His muscled thighs. She clutched her trowel.

Lynne was finally quiet, looking across the site; Harper followed her gaze and saw Peter and Lowell working together. Beyond them, Ramsey Travis was digging with a woman in a blue straw hat. A new partner?

‘I’ve never known anyone like Ramsey.’ Lynne sounded dreamy. ‘He’s so giving and genuinely brilliant . . .’

Harper wondered if the praise would attract the Evil Eye. Maybe she should say Kenahara. But she didn’t. She simply continued working. Digging and sifting dirt. She had eight more days there. Eight more days of listening to Lynne? No, she couldn’t do it. She’d lose it; she’d snap. Harper had to assert herself. Had to insist that they not talk about religion or Bible codes that only Ramsey Travis could read. The man was just a fraud. Maybe not as sinister as David Koresh or Jim Jones, but a fake just the same.

Feigning a headache for the rest of the morning, Harper managed to quiet Lynne and concentrate on cutting a deeper layer into the ditch. And when, near noon, Dr Hadar stopped by to ask her to join him and Dr Ben Haim for lunch, Harper nearly leapt with joy.

Lunch was pre-packed turkey sandwiches at the dig trailer amid students bustling in and out. But neither the food nor the traffic mattered; Harper savored the chance to spend time alone with the leaders of the dig.

‘Do you mind it?’ Dr Hadar talked with his mouth full. ‘The . . . how do you call it?’ He said a word or two in Hebrew to Dr Ben Haim.

‘Grunt work,’ Dr Ben Haim translated.

Harper assured them that, no, she didn’t. In fact, she tended to lose track of time while digging, absorbed in the rhythm of physical work.

‘Well, actually, we hope there will be more than digging soon. We think the first real finds should show up any time now.’

They went on about their expectations that the ruins of a third-century town should be discovered shortly. A church and mosaics had already been discovered on the old prison grounds in 2005.

‘We’ll take you to see it. The mosaic is fifty-four square meters, and it’s inscribed with three dedications. One to a Roman officer; one to a woman, and another to “the God Jesus Christ”.’

Harper had read about the mosaic. ‘I saw photos of it. It’s medallion shaped with two fish in the center?’

‘Yes. Exquisitely beautiful and intricate. And almost pristine.’ Dr Hadar’s eyes sparkled.

‘And here at Megiddo South, they’ve found so far the oldest Christian church in Israel.’

‘And where there’s a church, there are worshippers.’

‘So we expect to find outlying structures from that same time. As we go deeper, there should also be Roman era ruins.’ They spoke in tandem, almost finishing each other’s sentences. Dr Ben Haim reached for a water bottle. Took a drink.

Dr Hadar finished his thought. ‘Like an army camp. And a Jewish settlement.’

‘But for right now,’ Dr Ben Haim leaned forward, elbows on his knees, ‘the exciting part for us is to discover more Christian ruins. Think about it: the third century. Not much is known about that early period . . .’

Their excitement was palpable. And contagious. Harper doubted that she’d still be at the site when they unearthed significant structures. But she couldn’t help picturing the buried ruins waiting to be uncovered.

A student came over with a question that required attention, and lunch finished abruptly. Harper thanked them and stepped out of the trailer, expecting to work with Lynne for another half hour. But as she headed back to section thirteen, she saw Lynne with a bunch of people gathered in the parking lot where the bus was to pick them up. What were they doing? Why had they finished work early? She walked closer, recognizing the rising timbre of Ramsey Travis’s voice emerging from the center of the group. The man was holding a church meeting, preaching, right there in the middle of the dig.

Their heads were bowed. Harper stood beside a trailer where she could watch without being noticed.

‘We all know the signs. We’ve studied them, read them. We know that they are all in place. First: false prophets. Matthew twenty-three, verse five: “For many will come in my name . . . and will mislead many.” We’ve seen this come to pass, haven’t we? Those who want to lead, who claim to have direct lines to God, when all they want is to amass fortunes and gain worldly power.’

The group nodded, answered, ‘Yes.’

Ramsey went on. ‘Second: wars. Matthew twenty-four, verse six: “And you will be hearing of wars and rumors of wars; see that you are not frightened, for those things must take place” Anybody hear of Iraq? Of Afghanistan? Syria? Iran?’

The crowd responded.

‘Tell me if I’m crazy. Because I hear about wars and I hear rumors of wars. I see our nation’s armies going off to fight multiple wars. I hear about war all over Africa. Uprisings in the Middle East. Threats of war with North Korea and Iran.’

Again, the group responded, ‘That’s right.’ And, ‘For sure.’

Pastor Travis paused to make eye contact with a few of his followers. ‘Third: famine and earthquakes. Matthew twenty-four, verse seven: “For nation will rise up against nation . . . and in various places there will be famines and earthquakes.” Every day, we read about poverty and children starving. There’s a worldwide shortage of food. Isn’t that what famine is? Besides that, we’re having the strongest earthquakes in history – literally hundreds in any given two-week period. Consider this, friends. Between 1890 and 1900, there was one recorded earthquake – only one. And not just one in California or even in America. One in the
whole world
.’

The group murmured with enthusiasm. Shook their heads. Someone said, ‘Praise God.’

A gaggle of Dr Ben Haim’s students walked by, discussing something in Hebrew, drowning out the pastor’s voice. Harper smiled at them, said, ‘Hi.’ Pretended to be waiting for the bus, not eavesdropping. But as soon as they passed, she tuned in again.

‘“. . . you will be hated by all nations on account of my name.”’

Pastor Travis looked from one face to another. ‘Tribulations “on account of my name”? We all know what this means. Christians are under attack these days all over the world. You name it: China. Sudan. North Korea. Russia. Any and all Muslim nations. Even in our own country – we’re under attack by those who want to control the schools, the courts, the laws. Make no mistake, it’s happened exactly as predicted in Matthew.’

The group’s agreements were loud, agitated.

‘But wait, I’m not finished. Matthew twenty-three, verse fourteen: “And the gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in the whole world”’ He paused, lowering his voice. ‘Let me ask you. Is the Gospel preached on television, radio, the internet? Are there missionaries all over the globe? Is the Bible translated into many languages? Has this sign shown itself?’

Voices cried, ‘Yes.’ Someone called out, ‘Thank you, Jesus.’

‘Yes, Lord.’

‘For sure.’

‘It’s the truth.’

The group was alive, vibrating, chanting their responses and swaying in rhythm with Pastor Travis’s voice, which rose above theirs, compelling them on.

He stopped, waiting for the group to quiet down, dropping his pitch. ‘We see the prophecy all around us. In corporate greed and government corruption. In cities of crime and brutality. In neon signs that proclaim our sinful and godless natures, in secular education that leads to promiscuity and false values, in the embracement of homosexuality and the environmental movement—’

Once again, his voice rose, throbbing with vibrato; the group was shouting, raising their hands. Cheering. Chanting, ‘Amen,’ and, ‘Praise God.’

The bus rumbled into the parking lot, past the lookout tower of the old Megiddo prison, spouting exhaust fumes.

Pastor Travis motioned for quiet. ‘We have to adjourn until this evening. But I promise you that I’ve read and understood God’s code, and with the council, I will help all of you to comply with his word. For now, my friends, let us join hands here in Megiddo, the place where He in His wisdom has led us for His purpose, and let us pray.’

Harper watched them reach for each other’s hands, saw Lynne look around. Felt a jolt as their eyes met.

‘Our Father in heaven . . .’ Travis began.

Harper felt her face heat up as if she’d been caught spying. She looked away, scooting across the parking lot and onto the bus as the voices called out: ‘Your kingdom come, your will be done . . .’

Taking a seat in the back of the bus, she closed her fingers around her
hamsa
, reflexively completing the sentence: ‘On earth as it is in Heaven.’

It was a cult. It had to be.

Harper eyed the church members as they climbed onto the bus, looking for wild eyes or dazed expressions. But she saw none. They looked sweaty, a little grimy. They joked with each other, talked about their appetites. Smiled, greeted the driver. Didn’t behave like cult members. Not that she knew how cult members behaved.

‘How was lunch?’ Lynne walked all the way to the back of the bus, plopped into the seat beside her. ‘Tell me – what’d they serve?’ She opened her backpack, took out a wipe, rubbed her face with it. ‘Want one?’ She offered one to Harper, who declined, and leaned back in her seat, let out a breath. ‘I’m starved, so, tell me. What’d you have?’

‘Sandwiches.’

‘Just sandwiches? I thought it was going to be a big deal.’

‘Well, it was. Spending time with them was—’

‘What kind of sandwiches?’

Really? What kind? ‘Turkey.’

Lynne raised her eyebrows. ‘Yeah? No wine or anything? Any potato salad?’

No wine. No potato salad. Not even pickles. ‘But it was fascinating to hear about the dig. They think we’ll find structures soon.’

‘Good. Because so far, all we got is dirt. Dirt, dirt and more dirt. I feel like it’s under my skin. At night, I dream about dirt. Mountains of it.’

Harper smiled. ‘So you’re having dirty dreams.’

‘Seriously. I thought by now we’d at least have found some escape tunnels. You know, from when the place was a prison. But nothing.’ Lynne shrugged. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll find things or we won’t. Either way is fine.’

Really? Harper couldn’t imagine being so indifferent.

The bus started up, headed out of the parking lot onto the road.

Harper couldn’t help asking: ‘So if you don’t care about finding stuff, why did you come on a dig?’

Lynne looked blank. ‘What?’

‘You said you didn’t care about finding anything.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m here because it’s God’s will that I should be here – that all of us should be.’ She paused. ‘Whatever happens in this place will happen because God has declared it. We are just His agents.’

Wow. ‘So if we find ruins, it’s because God willed it?’

Lynne frowned. ‘Sure. That, too.’

That, too?

‘Don’t you know your Bible, Harper?’

Harper had gone to Sunday school as a child, but her teenage years had been spent with her alcoholic, desperate-not-to-be-single mom, and all structure – including visits to church – had disappeared. Then came college and ROTC, the Army, the war and grad school. Bible study hadn’t been a priority.

‘Some.’

‘Then you should know the significance of this place. Haven’t you heard of Armageddon?’