‘Teach him not to blow up,’ replied another.
And that’s why they handed the case over to the CIA, which had use for a raw talent such as his. In order to talk to the boy, they woke up an agent who, in 1994, had fallen from grace inside the Company, a mature Air Force chaplain with experience in psychology.
When the sleepy Fowler entered the interrogation room early that morning and told Albert he had a choice between spending time behind bars or doing six hours of work a week for the Government, the boy was so happy he broke down and cried.
Being babysitter to this boy genius was imposed on Fowler as a punishment, but for him it was a gift. In time the two forged an unbreakable friendship based on mutual admiration, which in the case of Albert entailed embracing the Catholic faith and eventually entering the seminary. After he was ordained a priest, Albert continued to cooperate with the CIA sporadically, but, like Fowler, he did so on behalf of the Holy Alliance, the Vatican’s intelligence service. From the start, Albert had got used to receiving calls from Fowler in the middle of the night, which was, in part, pay-back for that night in 1994 when they had first met.
‘Hello, Anthony.’
‘Albert, I need a favour.’
‘Don’t you ever call during regular hours?’
‘Watch therefore for ye know not what hour—’
‘Don’t piss me off, Anthony,’ said the young priest, walking to the refrigerator. ‘I’m exhausted, so talk fast. Are you in Jordan already?’
‘Do you know of a security outfit that has a logo of a red owl with its wings spread?’
Albert poured himself a glass of cold milk and went back to the bedroom.
‘Are you joking? That’s Netcatch’s logo. Those guys were the new gurus for the Company. They won a good chunk of the CIA’s intelligence contracts for the Department of Islamic Terrorism. They also did consultancy for several private American firms.’
‘Why are you referring to them in the past tense, Albert?’
‘The Company issued an internal bulletin a few hours ago. Yesterday a terrorist group blew up Netcatch’s offices in Washington and wiped out the entire staff. The media knows nothing about it. The whole thing’s being passed off as a gas explosion. The Company has been getting a lot of flak for all the anti-terrorist work they’ve contracted to private outfits. A job like this is going to make them look vulnerable.’
‘Any survivors?’
‘Only one, someone named Orville Watson, the CEO and owner. After the attack, Watson told the agents he didn’t need protection from the CIA, then split. The chiefs at Langley are pretty angry with the jerk who let him get away. Finding Watson and putting him under protective custody is a priority.’
Fowler was silent for a minute. Albert was used to his friend’s long pauses and waited.
‘Listen, Albert,’ Fowler continued, ‘we’re in a mess and Watson knows something. You have to find him before the CIA does. His life is in danger. And what’s worse, so is ours.’
26
ON THE WAY TO THE EXCAVATION
AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN
Wednesday, 12 July 2006. 4:15 p.m.
It would be a stretch of the imagination to call the ribbon of hard earth that the expedition convoy was travelling along a road. Viewed from one of the cliffs that dominated the desolate landscape, the eight vehicles must have seemed like nothing more than dusty anomalies. The journey from Aqaba to the excavation site was a little more than a hundred miles, but it took the convoy five hours due to the irregularity of the terrain coupled with the dust and sand thrown up in the wake of each successive vehicle, resulting in zero visibility for the drivers who followed.
At the head of the convoy were two all-purpose Hummer H3s, each containing four passengers. Painted white, with the open red hand of Kayn Industries emblazoned on the doors, these vehicles were part of a limited series built specifically to contend with the harshest conditions on earth.
‘It’s one hell of a truck,’ said Tommy Eichberg at the wheel of the second H3, to a bored Andrea. ‘I shouldn’t call it a truck. It’s a tank. It can go over a fifteen-inch wall, or climb a sixty-degree slope.’
‘I’m sure it costs more than my apartment,’ said the reporter. Unable to get any photos of the landscape because of the dust, she contented herself with some candid shots of Stowe Erling and David Pappas, who were seated behind her.
‘Almost three hundred thousand euros. As long as it has enough fuel, this machine can cope with anything.’
‘That’s why we brought the gasoline trucks, right?’ said David.
He was an olive-skinned young man, with a slightly flattened nose and a narrow forehead. Whenever he opened his eyes wide in surprise - something he did fairly often - his eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. Andrea liked him, in contrast to Stowe, who even though he was tall and attractive, with a neat ponytail, behaved liked something out of a self-help manual.
‘Of course, David,’ Stowe replied. ‘You shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to. Assertiveness, remember? That’s the key.’
‘You’re very sure of yourself when the professor’s not around, Stowe,’ David said, sounding slightly hurt. ‘This morning, when he was correcting your evaluations, you didn’t seem so assertive.’
Stowe raised his chin, making a ‘can you believe this?’ gesture to Andrea, who ignored him and busied herself changing the memory card of her camera. Each four-gigabyte card had room for 600 high-resolution photos. As soon as each card was full, Andrea transferred the pictures to a special portable hard disk that could store 12,000 stills and had a seven-inch LCD preview screen. She would have preferred to bring her laptop, but only Forrester’s team was allowed them on the expedition.
‘How much fuel do we have, Tommy?’ Andrea asked, turning towards the driver.
Eichberg stroked his moustache thoughtfully. Andrea was amused by how slowly he spoke, and the way he began every other sentence with a long ‘W-e-l-l-l-l-l-l’.
‘The two trucks behind us are carrying the supplies. Russian Kamaz, military. Hard as nails. The Russians tried them out in Afghanistan. Well . . . after that we have the tankers. The one with water is carrying 10,500 gallons. The one with the gasoline is a little smaller and has a little over 9,000 gallons.’
‘That’s a lot of fuel.’
‘Well, we’re going to be out here for weeks, and we need electricity.’
‘We can always fall back on the ship. You know . . . to send more supplies.’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen. Orders are that once we get to the camp, we’re incommunicado. No contact with the outside world, period.’
‘What if there’s an emergency?’ Andrea said nervously.
‘We’re pretty self-sufficient. We could survive for months on what we’ve brought, but the planning has taken every aspect into consideration. I know, because as official driver and mechanic, I was in charge of supervising the loading of all the vehicles. Dr Harel has a veritable hospital back there. And, well, if there’s anything more than a sprained ankle, we’re only forty-five miles away from the nearest town, Al Mudawwara.’
‘That’s a relief. How many people live there? Twelve?’
‘Did they teach you that attitude in your journalism classes?’ Stowe cut in from the back seat.
‘Yes, it’s called Sarcasm 101.’
‘I bet it was your best subject.’
Smart arse. I hope you suffer a stroke while you’re digging. Then let’s see what you think about getting sick in the middle of the Jordanian desert, thought Andrea, who had never got high marks in anything at school. Insulted, she maintained a dignified silence for a short while.
‘Welcome to Southern Jordan, my friends,’ Tommy said happily. ‘Home of the simoon. Population: zero.’
‘What’s a simoon, Tommy?’ Andrea said.
‘A giant sand storm. You have to see one to believe it. Right, we’re almost there.’
The H3 slowed down and the trucks bega
n to line up at the side of the road.
‘I think this is the turn-off,’ Tommy said, pointing to the GPS on the dashboard. We only have about two miles to go, but it’ll take us a while to cover the distance. These dunes are going to be tough on the trucks.’
When the dust began to settle, Andrea spied an enormous dune of rose-coloured sand. Behind it was Claw Canyon, the place, according to Forrester, where the Ark of the Covenant had lain hidden for over two thousand years. Small whirlwinds chased each other up the side of the dune, beckoning Andrea to join them.
‘Do you think I could walk the rest of the way? I’d like to take a few photos of the expedition as it arrives. I’ll get there before the trucks do, by the look of it.’
Tommy regarded her with concern. ‘Well, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Climbing that hill isn’t going to be easy. It’s cool inside the truck. Out there it’s 104 degrees.’
‘I’ll be careful. Anyway, we’ll stay in visual contact all the time. Nothing will happen to me.’
‘I don’t think you should do it, either, Ms Otero,’ said David Pappas.
‘Come on, Eichberg. Let her go. She’s a big girl,’ Stowe said, more for the fun of going against Pappas than to back up Andrea.
‘I’ll have to consult Mr Russell.’
‘Then go ahead.’
Against his better judgement Tommy grabbed the walkie-talkie.
Twenty minutes later Andrea was regretting her decision. Before beginning the climb to the top of the dune, she first had to descend some eighty feet from the road, and then stagger slowly up another 2,500 feet, the last fifty of which were at an incline of 25 degrees. The top of the dune seemed deceptively close; the sand, deceptively smooth.
Andrea had taken with her a backpack containing a large bottle of water. Before she had reached the top of the dune she had drunk every drop. She had a headache, even though she was wearing a hat, and her nose and throat hurt. She was wearing only a short-sleeved shirt, shorts and boots and despite the fact she had put on a high factor sunscreen before getting out of the Hummer, the skin on her arms was starting to sting.
Less than a half an hour and I’m ready for the burns unit. Let’s hope nothing goes wrong with the trucks or we’ll have to walk back, she thought.
That didn’t seem likely. Tommy personally drove each truck to the top of the dune, a task that required experience to avoid the risk of overturning the vehicle. First he took care of the two Kamaz supply trucks, leaving them parked on the hill just below the steepest part of the climb. Then he dealt with the two water trucks while the rest of his team watched from the shade of the H3s.
Meanwhile Andrea was observing the whole operation through her telephoto lens. Each time Tommy got out of a vehicle, he waved to the reporter at the top of the dune and Andrea returned the gesture. Tommy then took the H3s to the edge of the final ascent since he was going to use them to tow the heavier vehicles, which, despite their large wheels, did not have enough traction for such a steep sandy climb.
Andrea took a few photos of the first of the trucks as it made its way up to the summit. One of Dekker’s soldiers was now driving the all-terrain vehicle, which was connected to the Kamaz via a cable. She observed the enormous effort required to get the truck to the top of the dune but after it rolled past her, Andrea lost interest in the procedure. Instead, she turned her attention to Claw Canyon.
At first the huge rocky gorge looked no different to any other in the desert. Andrea could see two walls about 150 feet apart that stretched out into the distance then split off. On the way there, Eichberg had shown her an aerial photograph of their destination. The canyon looked like the triple talon of a giant hawk.
Both walls were 100 to 130 feet high. Andrea aimed her telephoto lens at the top of the rocky wall, searching for a higher vantage point she could use to shoot from.
That’s when she saw him.
It was only for a second. A man dressed in khaki, watching her.
Surprised, she looked up from the lens but the spot was too far away. She aimed the camera at the rim of the canyon once more.
Nothing.
Switching her position, she scanned the wall again, but it was useless. Whoever had seen her had quickly hidden himself, which was not a good sign. She tried to work out what to do.
The most intelligent thing would be to wait and discuss it with Fowler and Harel . . .
She went and stood in the shade of the first truck, which was shortly joined by the second. An hour later the whole expedition had arrived at the top of the dune and was ready to enter Claw Canyon.
27
MP3 File Recovered by the Jordanian Desert Police from Andrea Otero’s Digital Recorder after the Moses Expedition Disaster
Title, all caps. The Ark Recovered. No, wait, delete that. Title . . . Treasure in the Desert. No, that’s no good. I have to refer to the Ark in the title - that will sell papers. All right, let’s leave the title until I’ve finished writing the article. Lead sentence: To mention its name is to invoke one of the most prevalent myths of all humanity. The history of Western civilisation began with it, and today it is the object most coveted by archaeologists the world over. We are accompanying the Moses Expedition on its secret journey across the southern Jordanian desert into Claw Canyon, the place where almost two thousand years ago a group of faithful hid the Ark during the destruction of the second Temple of Solomon . . .
This is all too dry. I’d better write it out first. Let’s start with the Forrester interview . . . Fuck, that old guy gives me the creeps with his wheezing voice. They say it’s because of his illness. Note: Look up on the Internet how to spell pneumoconiosis.
QUESTION: Professor Forrester, the Ark of the Covenant has been firing the human imagination from time immemorial. To what do you attribute this interest?
ANSWER: Look, if you want me to give you an introduction, you don’t need to go round in circles and tell me what I already know. Just say what you want and I’ll talk.
Q: Do you give a lot of interviews?
A: Dozens. So you’re not going to ask me anything original, anything I haven’t already heard or answered before. If we had an Internet connection on the dig, I’d tell you to look some of them up and copy the answers.
Q: What’s the problem? Are you worried about repeating yourself?
A: I’m worried about wasting time. I’m seventy-seven years old. I’ve spent forty-three of those years searching for the Ark. It’s now or never.
Q: Well, I’m sure you’ve never answered like that before.
A: What is this? An originality contest?
Q: Professor, please. You’re an intelligent and passionate man. Why don’t you try to reach out to the public and transmit some of your passion to them?
A: (a brief pause) You want a master of ceremonies? I’ll do what I can.
Q: Thank you. The Ark . . . ?
A: The most powerful object in history. This is no mere coincidence, especially considering it was the beginning of Western Civilisation.
Q: Wouldn’t historians say that civilisation began in Ancient Greece?
A: Nonsense. Human beings spent thousands of years worshipping sooty stains in dark caves. Stains they called gods. Time went by and the stains changed in size, shape and colour, but they continued to be stains. We didn’t know about the existence of a single deity until it was revealed to Abraham only four thousand years ago. What do you know about Abraham, young lady?
Q: He’s the father of the Israelites.
A: Correct. And of the Arabs. Two apples that fell from the same tree, right next to one another. And straight away, the two little apples learned to hate each other.
Q: What has this to do with the Ark?
A: Five hundred years after God revealed himself to Abraham, the Almighty became sick and tired of the fact that people kept turning their backs on Him. When Moses led the Jews out of Egypt, God once again revealed Himself to His people. Only one hundred and forty-five miles from this spot. A
nd it was there that they signed a contract. On the one hand, humanity agrees to comply with ten simple clauses.
Q: The Ten Commandments.
A: On the other, God agrees to give man eternal life. It is the single most important moment in history - the moment at which life acquired its significance. Three thousand five hundred years later, every human being carries that contract somewhere in his consciousness. Some call it natural law, others dispute its existence or meaning and they’ll kill and die to defend their interpretation. But the moment Moses received the Tablets of the Law from the hands of God: that is when our civilisation began.
Q: And then Moses puts the tablets in the Ark of the Covenant.
A: Together with other objects. The Ark is the safe that holds the contract with God.
Q: Some say that the Ark has supernatural powers.
A: Nonsense. I’ll explain that to everyone tomorrow when we begin work.
Q: So you don’t believe in the supernatural nature of the Ark?
A: With all my heart. My mother read to me from the Bible even before I was born. My life has been dedicated to the Word of God, but that does not mean I’m not prepared to disprove any myths or superstitions.