The Second Messiah (21 page)

A magnifying glass lay nearby. It looked as if the parchments were being studied for some kind of comparison. Jack’s heart beat faster as he eagerly moved closer. All the parchments appeared to be written in Aramaic. He didn’t waste time reading the complete texts but scanned them.

His heart sank. None was his Qumran scroll.

He turned back to the desk and the pinewood box lying on top. It was fitted with a pair of sturdy-looking metal clamps to keep it securely shut. A lab microscope, a desk lamp, and an ivory-handled magnifying glass lay next to the box.

A slim pile of notes and papers were stacked on the desk. Jack flicked through them and frowned. Some of the papers had what looked like jotted combinations of Aramaic words and letters, some of
them
scratched out, as if the writer had been trying to decipher words. Jack shuffled through more pages. On one he found a legible sentence, written in English:

When the messiah’s corpse was removed from the cross, it was placed in a tomb in the burial caves outside Dora, on the road to Caesarea
.

The sentence jolted Jack. His pulse raced. He didn’t understand the words’ significance but knew he had stumbled upon something remarkable. He read the sentence again to be certain he’d read it correctly. Then he checked the next page and found a pen-and-ink drawing—it was embellished with vivid, dramatic images of animals, monsters, and sylphs.

He frowned again. Something about the drawing looked familiar. He racked his mind but couldn’t put a finger on it. Jack slid open one of the desk drawers. Inside was a jumble of pens and pencils, rubber erasers, and paper clips. He pulled open another drawer and discovered bottles of different colored inks, from black to purple, and copper brown. He eased shut the drawers, his attention drawn back to the pinewood box. Looking closely, he noticed it had a hinged lid. He fiddled with the clamps, pressing hard on one until it snapped open. His curiosity aroused, he snapped open the second clamp.

Very carefully, he touched his hand to the lid and lifted it back.

Inside the box lay the Qumran scroll.

Well I’ll be darned
. Jack felt his heart race.
I’ve found it
.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to unravel and protect the ancient parchment, placing it in a two-layer sandwich of what looked like foot-square plastic or Perspex sheets. At the very bottom was a layer of straw. The plastic sheets were held in place by spring clips. Unrolled, the sepia-colored scroll was less than a foot long.

Portions of the parchment were worn and eaten with holes but most of it appeared to be in legible condition. He noticed something
odd
. Two sharp lines cut about an inch into the top right edge of the scroll, as if someone had attempted to slice away small portions of the parchment with a knife or scissors, then changed their mind.

Despite the cuts, none of the inked words in that part of the parchment appeared missing. Jack switched on the table lamp and the scroll’s coppery sepia tones came alive.

He could hardly contain his excitement. His mind was on fire; his palms felt sweaty. He lifted the magnifier from the desk and held it in focus over the parchment. The words in the first paragraph leapt out at him:
Yeshua HaMeshiah
.

With his excitement came a stab of fear. He knew he could be disturbed at any minute. He urgently tried to figure what to do next. A thought came to him and he replaced the magnifier and fumbled for his cell phone.

He flicked on the built-in camera and pointed it down. The screen blinked and came alive with the image on the desk in front of him. Aiming the lens at the scroll, he directed the desk lamp to neutralize the glare. When he got the distance just right, it allowed him to read a portion of the scroll with a crisp enough image.

He managed to shoot off seven photographs before he heard footsteps beyond the far door. He had a powerful instinct to grab the scroll and run but he suppressed it. Instead, he took out his notebook and pen, flicked off the desk light, and slowly lifted the clips at the edge that held the Perspex in place …

A little later Jack heard the door creak open and Novara appeared. He looked as surprised as Jack. “What are you doing in here?” the priest demanded.

Jack plucked down a book as he stood in front of one of the bookshelves. “I thought I heard footsteps. You took so long I came to look for you. Why?”

Novara let the door close behind him and raised his hand. He clutched a deadly-looking steel-blue automatic pistol. “Move away from the shelves, Mr. Cane, and do exactly as I tell you.”

“Did you hear that?”

Josuf rose from the table. “Hear what, madame?”

“It sounded like footsteps.” Yasmin heard a noise beyond the door and it opened suddenly. At the sight of Jack standing there, she let out a breath and said, “You had us worried for a minute. What’s the matter?”

They both saw Father Novara appear in the doorway, armed with a pistol. He pushed Jack into the room and closed the door after him.

Yasmin, alarmed, took a step back. “What—what’s going on?”

Novara brandished the pistol. “Sit still and be quiet. Otherwise I’m liable to kill you all.”

NORTH OF EL LEJA

SYRIA

8:45
P.M.

THE BLACK HAWK
powered through the darkness. The dull chopping of the blades seemed to throb in unison with Lela’s pounding heartbeat.

Ari said, “This chopper’s got a FLIR system fitted to its belly—that’s forward-looking infrared to you and me. Along with telemetry units, they’ll help the pilot get a precise fix on our contact’s ground transmission.”

“Who are the people meeting us?”

“A couple of Mossad’s agents working out of Damascus. They’ll make sure we don’t get lost.”

The helicopter banked sharply, its speed slowing. Saul said, “Approaching target now, better ready yourselves.”

Lela, wearing the jeans and top Ari had given her, grabbed the bag at her feet containing the hijab gown. Nervous excitement fluttered in her stomach. Staring out the window she saw total darkness as the chopper leveled out again.

Ari reached for his bag. “Forget the window view and take a look into the cockpit. Near the center of the console you’ll see a small TV with a green screen. That’s for the passive thermal imaging equipment fitted to the chopper’s belly. It’s scanning the road and the immediate area for any human activity. With any luck, you ought to see our welcoming committee.”

The Black Hawk began to hover, its nose swinging gently left and right in a sweeping motion. Lela peered into the cockpit, past Saul
and
the busy crew. She noticed a miniature TV in the center console, the screen filled with thermal images in different shades of luminous green and black. Lela could make out the vague shapes of what looked like a car and a human figure standing near the vehicle, the image shot from a high angle.

“You see that? Our contact,” Saul told them, smiling. “The wonders of modern technology.”

“Target directly below,” the pilot called out, maneuvering the joystick as the Black Hawk descended. Moments later the chopper’s struts hit the ground with a gentle bump. Saul yanked open the door and a blast of warm desert air swirled into the cabin.

Lela felt a wave of anxiety as the dispatcher ushered them out. “Go, move it, quick as you can.”

Ari jumped out first and then held out a hand to her. Lela jumped and her feet hit a hard tarmac road. She followed Ari out under the whirling helicopter blades. A car waited in the vastness of the empty desert. A woman stood by the vehicle, waving at them.

Behind Lela, the Black Hawk was already lifting off again. It rose into the air and sped toward another Black Hawk hovering two hundred yards away, its lights extinguished. The two aircraft powered away, their dull chopping noise fading into darkness.

Lela and Ari reached the woman. She waited beside a gray Volvo station wagon. She appeared young and wore an Arab hijab, a coil of cheap bangles dangling from one of her wrists. Ari exchanged words with her, then the woman said to Lela, “I’m Rasha. Come, we have no time to lose.”

The Volvo’s rear door was already open and she ushered them inside.

Lela climbed in first, followed by Ari, who shut the door as the woman jumped into the passenger seat. A middle-aged Arab sat behind the wheel. He wore an immaculate suit and shirt, and he offered his hand and grinned. “I’m Uday.”

Lela noticed that the driver clutched what looked like a palm-sized transmitter, which he’d used to guide down the Black Hawk. He stuffed
the
transmitter into his pocket, started the Volvo’s engine, but left the headlights off .

“I’d say welcome to Syria, my friends, a wonderful country, except it’s a one-party police state that really stinks. Better fasten your seat belts, from here on we may have a bumpy ride ahead of us.”

ST. PAUL’S MONASTERY

MALOULA

SYRIA

8:46
P.M.

AT LEAST THIRTY
minutes had passed, the heat in the small room oppressive. Jack wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “What’s going on, Novara? Maybe it’s time you explained why a man of the cloth is threatening us with a gun.”

Novara’s grip tightened on the pistol as he turned toward the door, and they all heard the sound of a car approaching. “You won’t have to wait much longer to have your question answered.”

The engine noise came closer, then idled for a few seconds and died. Novara took the bunch of keys from his belt and opened the door. “Escape is impossible. The door is locked and I have the only key. I’ll be back with someone who wants to meet you.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.” Novara stepped out, closing the door, then a key rattled in the lock and he was gone.

Jack moved over to the door and heard Novara’s footsteps fade. “It sounds as if he’s heading in the direction of the main gate.”

Yasmin joined him. “Do you think it’s Pasha who’s arrived?”

“Who knows? But I saw the scroll.”

“Where?”
Yasmin said, as she and Josuf stared at Jack.

“In a room upstairs. From the looks of things Father Novara’s been working on it. Give me a hand trying to open the door, Josuf.”

Jack turned the door handle and tried pulling. When that didn’t succeed, he and Josuf took turns heaving their shoulders against the wood but it didn’t budge or splinter.

“It’s rock solid. We need something to try to lever it open.” Jack grabbed the oil lamp and scoured the room but he saw nothing, the chair legs too flimsy and the table legs too thick to wedge into the doorjamb.

“Wait, listen,” Yasmin said.

Footsteps sounded out in the courtyard. Jack replaced the lamp as a key rattled in the lock and the door was pushed open. Novara appeared, the gun still in his hand. Behind him stood two men.

One was gray-bearded, in his fifties with dark, restless eyes. He wore a crumpled Panama hat, pale linen suit, and a silk cravat. His left hand was badly scarred and looked withered and twisted. In his other hand he clutched a polished walking cane.