The Second Messiah (8 page)

“I guess I may as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.”

She giggled. “I know I told Uncle Donald to rest but I couldn’t get to sleep. You?”

Jack took a swig of the chilled Heineken. “I’m still on a high since our discovery. I wanted to take a little exercise to help me unwind.”

“Me too. You seem miles away. What are you thinking about, Jack?”

“Honest?” He looked out at the view. “Twenty years ago when I was nineteen my father worked on a dig not far from here, and I sometimes sat on a hill much like this, with a pretty girl by my side. Her name was Lela Raul.” Jack nodded toward the horizon. “She used to live in an Israeli settlement, over there. Her father was a local police sergeant.”

“Do you know what became of her?”

“It was a long time ago, Yasmin. But the last I heard she was a cop, like her father, though they’re long gone from the settlement.”

“I heard you went to visit the place where your parents died. Is that what got you thinking about the past?”

“Probably.”

Yasmin put down her beer, touched his arm a moment. “Your friend Buddy’s always spoken very highly of your parents. And my uncle Donald does too. You must miss them?”

“There were only the three of us. I guess we were extremely close.”

Yasmin bit her lip and her lipstick glistened. “I saw you come up here and thought I’d join you. I hope you don’t mind. Or maybe I’m intruding on your thoughts?”

Mind?
The sight of her only added to Jack’s elation. He could smell her subtle perfume. He glanced at her exquisite skin, golden in the dawn light. She was one of the few women on the dig who bothered with her appearance. Two of the females on the excavation were Orthodox Jews and wore long, modest dresses while digging.

The other women, students and college grads of various nationalities, none of them afraid of wielding a shovel, forgot about makeup and wore loose clothes and scruffy old work boots. But somehow Yasmin always managed to look good even after they had spent the day cave-crawling and scooping dirt out with
gufas
, homemade rubber buckets made out of half tires. She was a magnet for men’s attention.

Jack said, “To tell the truth, I’m glad to have the company.”

“Has Donald finally gone to bed?”

“I hope so. But he was still up when I left him.”

Yasmin smiled, put a hand out, and touched his arm. “You must be thrilled. Donald said that for centuries archaeologists have been searching for concrete proof of Christ’s life, with no success. He said that’s why Christians placed great significance on things like the Turin Shroud and relics from the cross. But he’s got a gut feeling that the scroll may turn out to be a groundbreaking historical document. How do you feel?”

Jack was aware that her hand lingered on his arm. “As if all my lottery numbers have come up.”

Yasmin reached into her pocket, took out a wristband made of leather and polished steel, holding it in her palm. “I hope this doesn’t seem too juvenile, but this is for you.”

“What is it?”

“Something silly I bought in a Jerusalem market. They inscribe them to order. Read what it says.”

In the dawn light, Jack could just make out the wristband’s indented letters:
ARCHAEOLOGY ROCKS
. He put down his beer, slipped the band on his wrist, and smiled. “It’ll remind me of you. Thanks, Yasmin.”

She patted his arm playfully. “Hey, I’m not playing the dig groupie just because you’re the man of the moment. But I wanted to say that I think you deserve whatever fame and lecture tours come your way after this.” She leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. “I really mean that. You work so hard.”

Jack put a hand to his face, felt the ghost of her lips. “Now I really do feel like I’ve won the lottery.”

Yasmin giggled and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Jack thought,
She’s over ten years younger than me. Or does it really matter?
He wanted her to kiss him again and knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. There had been women over the years, some that mattered, and some that didn’t. None of them yet the right one. He didn’t honestly know if Yasmin Green could ever be that, but he had been a long time without female company, and he hungered for the softness of a woman’s touch. But then a thought struck him.

“You’ve gone very quiet. Are you okay?” Yasmin asked.

“Did Buddy Savage put you up to this? The dawn visit. The kiss.”

“Buddy? Why on earth would you say that?”

“He’s a prankster. Sometimes he’ll dare people to do things for a joke. Once in a Mexican bar during a Mayan dig he got me drunk and tried to shave off my eyebrows.”

She laughed. “You and Buddy are close?”

“At times he sounds like he’s my old man. That’s when I call him Pops.”

She reached out and took his hand between her palms. Then she bit her lip and said quietly, “No one put me up to it, Jack. I can prove it.”

She leaned in close and kissed him on the mouth. Jack felt the sensual press of her lips. His pulse raced, and then Yasmin drew away,
smiling
. “Convinced now? I like you, Jack Cane. If that’s okay with you.”

“Can I be honest? I sensed something between us in your uncle’s tent. When I left, I was hoping you’d still be awake, that we’d meet and talk. But Donald seems a little overprotective.”

Yasmin traced a finger across his lips, kissed his mouth softly, her voice husky. “Who cares about Donald?” Yasmin picked up the Heineken cans, stood, and winked at him. “You’ve made a tired girl very happy, Mr. Cane. But it’s time we both slept.”

Jack rose to his feet. “Will you tuck me in, or is that asking too much on a first date?”

“You just never know your luck. Watch your step on the way down.”

Jack felt her soft, slim fingers mesh with his and it felt good. He dusted his Chinos but before he started down the slope after Yasmin he suddenly saw Josuf, the chief Bedouin digger, scrambling up the rocks, clutching the hem of his gown. “Mr. Cane, Mr. Cane—I have been looking everywhere for you.”

Jack and Yasmin waited until Josuf reached them.

The man’s cheeks were puff ed after the climb, his chest heaving. “Please—Mr. Cane, you both must come with me. Something terrible has happened.”

The Bedouin went to clutch at his arm to drag him, but Jack said, “Calm down, Josuf. What the heck’s so important?”

Josuf’s words came tumbling. “It’s Professor Green, Mr. Cane. He’s been murdered and the scroll is gone.”

QUMRAN

ISRAEL

THE BELL HELICOPTER
with Israeli police markings descended with a swirl of dust as it came in to land.

As the swish of the blades died, Inspector Lela Raul climbed out of the passenger seat. She was in her late thirties with chocolate brown eyes, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail.

She noticed a group of journalists gathered nearby, a couple of TV camera crews among them, all of them being herded back by the police.

Three police Fords were parked a short distance away and half a dozen officers from the local police station stood around, chatting and smoking cigarettes. Lela Raul walked toward them, slipping on a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. A herd of Bedu goats grazed on a distant slope and all around her were parched cliffs and craggy hills.

A second later an Israeli Air Force F-18 screamed up the valley, then shot skyward and climbed like a bullet, sending out a shock wave followed by a massive clap of thunder. It scattered the distant goats and echoed through the surrounding Dead Sea cliffs. Air patrols were common this close to the Jordanian border.

Lela looked back toward the journalists and camera crews. She saw that one of the policemen talking with them was a plump sergeant with a beer gut. He had a pencil clenched between his teeth and a notebook in his hand. He peeled away from the crowd, took the pencil from his mouth, and tipped his cap respectfully. “Inspector Raul, thanks for coming.”

“Sergeant Mosberg. I see the media jackals are already picking over the carcass.”

Mosberg smiled. “Bad news is always good news for some. There’s a lot of interest, even a few foreign correspondents drove out from Jerusalem. Murder and archaeology don’t often go together, I guess. The body’s over there, in the nearest tent.”

A hundred yards across the landscape, Lela saw a collection of canvas walk-in tents. Two policemen stood guard outside the nearest. Off to the right, two SUVs and a blue Opel passenger van were parked beside a pair of temporary portable cabin buildings and toilets, a row of shovels and picks stacked against one of the walls. Lela saw a group of civilians of mixed ages standing outside one of the cabins, watching her arrival.

Mosberg said, “In case you’re wondering, they’re all part of the archaeological team. You probably know our forensic pathologist, Yad Hershel. He’s almost finished his examination. Are you familiar with this area, Inspector?”

Lela nodded. “I think you could say that. I lived in a nearby kibbutz and grew up trudging these hills. Tell me about the victim.”

“Your chief didn’t tell you?”

“Most of it, but I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

Mosberg took a pipe from his pocket. He cupped his hands, lit the pipe with a cheap plastic lighter, and took a couple of puff s. “The stiff’s an American professor named Donald Green. He was the director in charge of this archaeological dig.”

Lela followed the sergeant as he walked toward the tents. “How did he die?”

“A little before six
A.M.
he was found with a knife buried in his chest.”

Lela asked, “Anyone’s knife in particular?”

“Turns out it belonged to one of his fellow crew, an American named Jack Cane. He claims he loaned it to Green when the professor was examining an artifact that Cane discovered.”

Lela raised her eyes. “What kind of artifact?”

Mosberg pointed across the valley. “He found a leather scroll contained in a clay vase right over there, near the bottom of the cliffs, to the south of the dig location known as Area A. Qumran is sectioned into areas. The campsite is in Area B3, for example.”

Lela nodded. “I know what you’re talking about. Continue.”

“It seems when Green found out about Cane’s find, the professor was so excited he almost wet himself. He reckoned it was an important discovery. First century
A.D.
Lots of scrolls have been found in this area. All the Dead Sea stuff that caused so much controversy over the years. It seems that this newly discovered scroll may be a major find, or so Cane is suggesting.”

“How come?”

“I think he can best tell you that himself, Inspector. I’m no expert, so I don’t know what the fuss is about.”

As Lela and Mosberg approached the civilians standing outside the portable toilets, Lela scanned their faces. “Is Jack Cane our killer?”

“That’s where it gets murky. He claims not. He says that at about twenty minutes before six
A.M.
he left Green alive and went to climb that rise over there to the east of the camp to see the sunrise. Green’s own niece, Yasmin, says that she joined Cane on the slope, at about six. She says that she saw her uncle still alive just over twenty minutes earlier, still studying the scroll Cane found.”