The old man paused to take a sip of water. For a moment he no longer looked like a wrinkled, pompous puppet but seemed more human.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, you now know more of this story than most of the experts in the world. Nobody has figured out exactly how the manuscript was written. Nevertheless, it became quite famous when one part of it surfaced in 1952 in a cave in Palestine. It was among the 85,000 or so fragments of text that have been found in Qumran.’
‘Is this the famous Copper Scroll of Qumran?’ Dr Harel asked.
The archaeologist once again turned on the screen, which now displayed an image of the famous scroll: a curved plate of dark green metal covered in barely legible writing.
‘That is how it is referred to. Researchers were immediately struck by the unusual nature of the discovery, as much by the odd choice of writing material as by the inscriptions themselves - none of which could be properly deciphered. What remained clear from the start was that it was a list of treasure containing sixty-four items. The entries gave an idea of what would be found and where. For example, “At the bottom of the cave that is forty paces to the east of Achor Tower, dig three feet. There you will find six bars of gold.” But the directions were vague and the quantities described seemed so unreal - something like two hundred tons of gold and silver - that the “serious” researchers thought it had to be some kind of myth, a hoax or a joke.’
‘It seems a lot of effort for a joke,’ said Tommy Eichberg.
‘Exactly! Excellent, Mr Eichberg, excellent, especially for a driver,’ said Forrester, who seemed incapable of paying the slightest compliment without an accompanying insult. ‘In AD 70 there were no hardware stores. An enormous plate of ninety-nine per cent pure copper must have cost a great deal. Nobody would have chosen to write a piece of fiction on such a precious surface. There was a ray of hope. Item Number sixty-four was, according to the Qumran Scroll, “a text such as this, with instructions and a code for finding the objects described”.’
One of the soldiers raised his hand.
‘So this old guy, this Yermijacko . . .’
‘Yirməyahu.’
‘Whatever. The old guy cut the thing in two, and each part held the key to finding the other?’
‘And both had to be together in order to find the treasure. Without the second scroll there was no hope of figuring things out. But eight months ago, something happened . . .’
‘I’m sure your audience would prefer the shorter version, Dr,’ said Father Fowler with a smile.
The old archaeologist stared at Fowler for a few seconds. Andrea noticed that the professor seemed to be finding it difficult to continue and asked herself what on earth had happened between the two men.
‘Yes, of course. Well, suffice it to say that the second half of the scroll finally turned up, thanks to the efforts of the Vatican. It had been handed down from father to son as a sacred object. The duty of the family was to keep it safe until the appropriate time. What they did was hide it in a candle, but eventually even they lost track of what was inside.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. It was - how many? - seventy, eighty generations? It’s a miracle they continued the tradition of protecting the candle all that time,’ said someone sitting in front of Andrea. It was the administrator, Brian Hanley, she thought.
‘We Jews are a patient people,’ said Nuri Zayit, the cook. ‘We’ve been waiting for the Messiah for three thousand years.’
‘And you’re going to be waiting another three thousand,’ said one of Dekker’s soldiers. Loud bursts of laughter and slapping of hands accompanied the distasteful joke. But nobody else laughed. Because of the names, Andrea guessed that, with the exception of the hired guards, nearly all the members of the expedition were from a Jewish background. She could feel the tension in the room mounting.
‘Let’s continue,’ said Forrester, ignoring the soldiers’ ridicule. ‘Yes, it was a miracle. Have a look at it.’
One of the assistants brought over a wooden case about three feet long. Inside it, under protective glass, was a copper plate covered in Hebrew symbols. Everyone, including the soldiers, stared at the object and began commenting on it in low voices.
‘It looks almost new.’
‘Yes, the Copper Scroll of Qumran must be older. It’s not shiny and it’s cut into small strips.’
‘The Qumran Scroll appears to be more ancient because it was exposed to the air,’ the professor explained, ‘and it was cut into strips because the researchers couldn’t find any other way of opening it to read the contents. The second scroll was protected from oxidation by the wax covering it. That’s why the writing is as clear as the day it was written. Our own map of the treasure.’
‘So you’ve managed to decipher it?’
‘Once we had the second scroll, figuring out what the first one said was child’s play. What wasn’t easy was keeping the discovery quiet. Please don’t ask me details of the actual process because I’m not authorised to reveal any more, and besides, you wouldn’t understand it.’
‘So we’re going in search of a pile of gold? Isn’t that a little trite for such a pretentious expedition? Or for someone who’s got money coming out of his ears like Mr Kayn?’ asked Andrea.
‘Ms Otero, we’re not looking for a pile of gold. As a matter of fact, we’ve already discovered some.’
The old archaeologist signalled to one of his assistants, who spread a piece of black felt on the table and, with some effort, lifted a resplendent object onto it. It was the largest bar of gold Andrea had ever seen: the size of a man’s forearm but roughly shaped, it had probably been formed in some millennial foundry. Although its surface was studded with small craters, mounds and imperfections, it was very beautiful. Every eye in the room was glued to the object, and there were whistles of admiration.
‘Using the clues from the second scroll we discovered one of the hiding places described in the Copper Scroll of Qumran. That was in March this year, somewhere on the West Bank. There were six bars of gold like this one.’
‘How much is it worth?’
‘Around three hundred thousand dollars . . .’
The whistles turned into exclamations.
‘. . . but believe me, that’s nothing compared to the value of what we’re looking for: the most powerful object in the history of mankind.’
Forrester made a gesture and one of the assistants took the bar away, but left the black felt. The archaeologist took out a sheet of graph paper from a file and placed it where the gold bar had lain. Everyone leaned forward, intent on seeing what it was. They all recognised the object sketched on it immediately.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, you are the twenty-three people who have been chosen to recover the Ark of the Covenant.’
16
ABOARD THE BEHEMOTH
RED SEA
Tuesday, 11 July 2007. 7:17 p.m.
A ripple of amazement spread through the room. Everyone began to talk excitedly, and then badgered the archaeologist with questions.
‘Where is the Ark?’
‘What’s inside it . . .?’
‘How can we help . . .?’
Andrea was shocked by the assistants’ reactions as well as by her own. Those words, the Ark of the Covenant, had a magical ring that enhanced the archaeological importance of discovering an object over two thousand years old.
Not even an interview with Kayn could top this. Russell was right. If we find the Ark, it’ll be the scoop of the century. Proof of the existence of God . . .
Her breathing quickened. Suddenly she had hundreds of questions for Forrester, but she knew straight away that it would be pointless to ask. The old man had taken them to this point and now he was going to leave them there, begging for more.
A great way to get us to cooperate.
As if confirming Andrea’s theory, Forrester was looking at the group like the cat that had swallowed the canary. He gestured for them to be quiet.
‘That’s enough for today. I don
’t want to give you any more than your brains can assimilate. We’ll let you know the rest when it’s time. For now, I’m going to turn things over to—’
‘One last thing, Professor,’ Andrea interrupted him. You said there were twenty-three of us but I count only twenty-two. Who’s missing?’
Forrester turned and consulted with Russell, who nodded that he could go ahead.
‘Number twenty-three on the expedition is Mr Raymond Kayn.’
All conversation stopped.
‘What the hell does that mean?’ one of the hired soldiers asked.
‘It means that the boss is going on the expedition. As all of you know, he came on board a few hours ago and he’ll be travelling with us. Does that seem strange to you, Mr Torres?’
‘Jesus Christ, everybody says the old man’s crazy,’ Torres replied. ‘It’s hard enough protecting the sane ones, but the locos . . .’
Torres appeared to be from South America. He was short, thin, dark-skinned, and spoke English with a strong Latino accent.
‘Torres,’ said a voice behind him.
The soldier shrank back in his chair, but didn’t turn around. Dekker was obviously going to make sure his man didn’t continue to stick his foot in his mouth.
In the meantime Forrester had sat down and Jacob Russell had taken the floor. Andrea noticed there wasn’t a single wrinkle on his white jacket.
‘Good afternoon, everyone. I want to thank Professor Cecyl Forrester for his moving presentation. And on behalf of myself and Kayn Industries, I want to express my gratitude to all of you for being present. I don’t have much to add, except for two very important points. First, from this moment on, all communication with the outside world is strictly forbidden. This includes mobile phones, e-mail and verbal communication. Until we’ve accomplished our mission, this is your universe. You will understand in time why this measure is necessary to safeguard both the success of such a sensitive mission and our own security.’
There were a few whispered complaints, but they were half-hearted. Everyone already knew what Russell had told them because it had been specified in the lengthy contract each one had signed.
‘The second point is a great deal more unpleasant. A security consultancy has given us a report, not yet confirmed, that an Islamic terrorist group knows about our mission and is planning an attack.’
‘What . . .?’
‘. . . must be a hoax . . .’
‘. . . dangerous . . .’
Kayn’s assistant raised his arms to calm everyone down. He was evidently prepared for the avalanche of questions.
‘Don’t be alarmed. I just want you to be alert and not to run any unnecessary risks, much less tell anyone outside this group about our final destination. I don’t know how the leak could have happened but, believe me, we’re looking into it and will take appropriate action.’
‘Could it have come from inside the Jordanian government?’ Andrea asked. ‘A group like ours is bound to attract attention.’
‘As far as the Jordanian government is concerned, we’re a commercial expedition doing a preparatory study for a phosphates mine in the Al Mudawwara area of Jordan, close to the Saudi border. None of you will go through Customs, so don’t worry about your cover.’
‘I’m not worried about my cover, I’m worried about the terrorists,’ said Kyra Larsen, one of Professor Forrester’s assistants.
‘You needn’t worry about them as long as we’re here to protect you,’ flirted one of the soldiers.
‘The report isn’t confirmed, it’s only a rumour. And rumours can’t harm you,’ said Russell with a broad smile.
But confirmations can, thought Andrea.
The meeting was over a few minutes later. Russell, Dekker, Forrester and some of the others went to their cabins. At the door of the meeting room were two carts with sandwiches and drinks that some crew member had discreetly left there. Evidently, the expedition members were already being isolated from the crew.
Those who stayed behind in the room talked animatedly about the new information as they attacked the food. Andrea spoke at length with Dr Harel and Tommy Eichberg while she wolfed down roast beef sandwiches and a couple of beers.
‘I’m glad your appetite is back, Andrea.’
‘Thanks, Doc. Unfortunately, after each meal my lungs scream for nicotine.’
‘You’ll have to smoke on deck,’ said Tommy Eichberg. ‘Smoking inside the Behemoth is prohibited. As you know . . .’
‘Mr Kayn’s orders,’ all three chimed together, laughing.
‘Yes, yes, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in five minutes. I want to see if there’s anything stronger than beer on that cart.’
17
ABOARD THE BEHEMOTH
RED SEA
Tuesday, 11 July 2006. 9:41 p.m.
On deck it was already dark. Andrea emerged from the passageway and walked slowly towards the front of the ship. She could have kicked herself for not wearing a sweater. The temperature had dropped quite a bit and a cold wind was blowing her hair around and making her shiver.
She took a wrinkled pack of Camel cigarettes from one pocket of her jeans and a red lighter from another. It was nothing fancy, just a refillable one with flowers stamped on it, and had probably cost no more than seven euros in some department store, but it had been her first gift from Eva.
Due to the wind, it took her ten attempts before she lit her cigarette. But once she had succeeded it was heavenly. Since she had boarded the Behemoth she had found it almost impossible to smoke because of her seasickness, and not through lack of trying.
As she relished the sound of the bow cutting through the water, the young reporter searched her mind for anything she could remember about the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Copper Scroll of Qumran. There wasn’t much. Fortunately Professor Forrester’s assistants had promised to give her a crash course so that she could write more clearly about the importance of the discovery.
Andrea couldn’t believe her luck. The expedition was much better than she had imagined. Even if they didn’t succeed in finding the Ark, and Andrea felt certain they never would, her report on the second Copper Scroll and the discovery of part of the treasure would be enough to sell an article to any newspaper in the world.
The most sensible thing would be to find an agent to sell the entire story. I wonder if it would be better to sell it as an exclusive to one of the giants like National Geographic or the New York Times, or to make a lot of sales to smaller outlets. I’m sure that kind of money would release me from all my credit card debt, Andrea thought.
She took a last pull on her cigarette and went to the railing to throw it overboard. She trod carefully, recalling the incident that afternoon with low railing. As she raised her arm to toss the butt she saw a fleeting image of Dr Harel’s face reminding her that it was a bad thing to pollute the environment.
Wow, Andrea. There’s hope, even for someone like you. Imagine, doing the right thing when no one’s looking, she thought as she stubbed out the cigarette against the wall and put the butt in the back pocket of her jeans.
At that moment she felt someone grabbing her around the ankles and the world turned upside down. Her hands pawed the air trying to grab onto something, but with no success.
As she fell, she thought she could see a dark figure watching her from the railing.
A second later her body hit the water.
18
THE RED SEA
Tuesday, 11 July 2006. 9:43 p.m.
The first thing that Andrea felt was the cold water knifing through her extremities. She thrashed her arms around, trying to get back to the surface. It took her two seconds to realise that she didn’t know which way was up. The little air that she had in her lungs was running out. She let her breath out slowly to see which direction the bubbles travelled in, but in the total darkness it was useless. She was losing strength and her lungs were desperate for air. She knew that if she inhaled water she was dead. She gritted her teeth, swore not to o
pen her mouth and tried to think.
Fuck. It can’t be, not like this. It can’t end like this.
She moved her arms again, trusting that she was swimming towards the surface, when she felt something powerful pulling at her.
Suddenly her face was in the air again and she gasped. Someone was holding her up by the shoulder. Andrea tried to turn.
‘Easy does it! Breathe slowly!’ Father Fowler was yelling in her ear, trying to make himself heard above the roar of the ship’s propellers. Andrea was shocked to see how the force of the water was dragging them closer to the back of the ship. ‘Listen to me! Don’t turn yet or we’ll both die. Relax. Take off your shoes. Move your legs slowly. In fifteen seconds we’ll be in dead water from the ship’s wake. Then I’ll let you go. Swim away as hard as you can!’
Andrea used her feet to slip off her shoes, all the while staring at the churning grey foam that could suck them to their deaths. They were barely forty feet from the propellers. She suppressed the impulse to break loose from Fowler and move in the opposite direction. Her ear-drums were ringing, and the fifteen seconds seemed like forever.
‘Now!’ Fowler screamed.
Andrea felt the suction stop. She swam in the opposite direction to the propellers, away from their infernal drone. It was almost two minutes later when the priest, who had followed her closely, grabbed her arm.
‘We made it.’
The young reporter turned her eyes towards the ship. It was now quite far away and she could only see one of its sides, which was illuminated by several searchlights aimed at the water. They had started hunting for them.