F Paul Wilson - Novel 03

by Virgin (as Mary Elizabeth Murphy) (v2. 1)

  Kesev watched the morning news on TV while he sipped his coffee and considered the journey ahead of him. Oppressed by some nameless sense of urgency, he'd left Devorah's in the early morning hours, fighting the urge to jump into his car and drive into the Wilderness.

  Instead he'd driven home and attempted to sleep. Wasted hours. He'd had not a minute of slumber. He should have driven to the Resting Place. He'd have been there by now and all these vague fears would be allayed.

  He'd called into Shin Bet with an excuse about a family emergency that would keep him from the office all day, but he wondered if this trip was necessary. He'd be on the road all day, probably for nothing. Only eighty air miles, but three times that by car. And for what? To satisfy a nameless uneasiness?

  Idly he wondered if he could get a helicopter and do a quick fly-by, but immediately discarded the idea. He'd made a spectacle of himself back there in '91 during the Gulf War when he'd refused to leave the SCUD impact site until all the investigations had been completed. He'd actually camped out there until the last missile fragment had been removed and the final investigator had returned home. There'd been too many questions about his undue interest in that particular piece of nowhere. If he requested a copter now . . .

  He sighed and finished his coffee. Better get moving. He had a long drive ahead of him, and he'd know no peace until he'd assured himself that no one had disturbed the Resting Place in his absence.

  Absence . . . guilt twisted inside of him. He wasn't supposed to be away from the Resting Place. Ever. He'd promised to stay there and guard it.

  He shook off the guilt. How long could you sit around guarding a place that no one even knew existed?

  The Resting Place was as safe as it ever was, protected by the greatest, most steadfast guardian of all—the Midbar Jehuda.

  The Judean Wilderness

  Carrie held her breath going through the little passage to the second chamber. But then the beam flashed against the Blessed Mother and she let it out.

  "She's still here! Oh, thank God, Dan! She's still here!"

  "What did you expect?" Dan muttered as he crawled in behind her with the electric lantern. "Not as if we left her on a subway."

  She knew Dan was tired and irritable. Anyone seeing him stumbling around the guesthouse this morning would have thought he'd been drinking all night. Her own back ached and her eyes burned, but true to her word, Carrie had awakened him at first light this morning and had them on the road by the time the sun peeked over the Jordanian highlands on the far side of the Dead Sea. It glowed deep red in the rearview mirror as it crept up the flawless sky, stretching the Explorer's shadow far before them as they bounced and rolled into the hills.

  And now as she stood in the chamber, staring down once more at the woman she knew—knew—was the Mother of God, she felt as if her heart would burst inside her. She loved this woman—for all her quiet courage, for all the pain she must have suffered in silence. But the Virgin didn't look quite like what she'd expected. In her mind's eye she'd imagined finding a rosy-cheeked teenager, or at the very least a tall, beautiful woman in her early twenties, because that was the way Carrie had always seen her pictured. But when she thought about it, the Virgin probably had been average height for a Palestinian woman of two thousand years ago, and must have been pushing seventy when she died.

  Dizziness swept over Carrie as she was struck again by the full impact of what—whom—she had found. God had touched this woman as He touched no other human being. She'd carried the incarnation of His Son. And now she lay here, not two feet in front of Carrie.

  This is really her. This is the Mother of God.

  Until yesterday, the Blessed Virgin had been a statue, a painting, words in books. Now, looking at her aged face, her glossy, uncorrupted flesh, Carrie appreciated her as a woman. A human being. All those years, all those countless Hail Marys, and never once had Carrie realized that this Mary she'd prayed to as an intercessor had once been a flesh-and-blood human being. And that made all the suffering in Mary's life so much more real.

  And rising with the love was a fierce protective urge, almost frightening in its intensity.

  No one must touch her. No one must desecrate or defile her in any way. No one must use her for anything. Anything! The Church itself couldn't be trusted. Who knew what even the Vatican might do? She'd dreamed during the night of the Blessed Mother's remains on display in St. Peter's in Rome and it had sickened her.

  Mary had given enough already, and Carrie knew it was up to her to see to it that no one demanded any more of her.

  Dear Mother, whoever was left to guard you is long since dead and gone. I'll take care of you. I'll be your protector from now on.

  She unfolded the dark blue flannel blankets she had brought. Dan set the lantern down and helped her spread them out on the floor. The bright light cast their distorted shadows against the wall where the Virgin lay in her stony niche.

  "All right," she said when the blankets were right. "Help me move her out."

  She didn't want anyone else touching the Virgin, not even Dan, but she couldn't risk lifting her out of that niche on her own. God forbid she slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the floor.

  As Dan approached the Virgin's upper torso, Carrie waved him back.

  "I'll take this end. You take her feet."

  Her hands shook as she approached the Virgin. What was this going to be like, touching her? She hesitated a moment, then wriggled her fingers under the Virgin's cloak and cowl, slipping her hands under her neck and the small of her back. The fabric felt so clean, so new . . . how could this be two thousand years old?

  Unsettled, she glanced to her right. What did Dan think? But Dan stood there with his hands under the Virgin's knees and ankles, expressionless, waiting for her signal.

  She suddenly realized that things had changed since yesterday afternoon. Until then, Dan had been in charge. Sure, this trip had been her idea, but Dan had made all the flight arrangements, decided where to stay, what car to rent, while she'd done all the research. But here, in this chamber, in the presence of the Virgin, she was in charge.

  "All right," she said. "Lift."

  And as she lifted, a knifepoint of doubt pierced Carrie for an instant: So light! Almost as if she were hollow. And so stiff.

  She brushed the misgivings away. The Virgin was small, and God had preserved her flesh. That was why she was so light and stiff.

  Carefully they backed up, cradling the Virgin in their arms, then knelt and gently placed her on the blankets.

  "Stiff as a board," Dan said. "You know, Carrie, I really think—"

  Carrie knew what he was going to say and she didn't want to hear it.

  "Please, Dan. Let's just wrap her up and move her out as we agreed."

  He stared at her a moment, then shrugged. "Okay."

  Dan seemed to have had a change of heart overnight. Last night he'd been dead set against her plan to bring the Virgin back to New York, yet this morning he seemed all for it. But not because he'd suddenly become a believer in the authenticity of their discovery. He was still locked into his Doubting Thomas role.

  The Virgin's unnatural lightness and rigidity, plus Dan's continuing doubts, only fanned her desire to move the Virgin to a safer hiding place. Even if she fell into the hands of people with the best intentions, they'd want to examine her, test her to verify her authenticity. They'd scan her, take samples of her hair, skin scrapings, biopsy her, maybe even—God forbid—autopsy her.

  No way, Carrie thought as she folded the blankets over the Virgin, wrapping her rigid form in multiple flannel layers. No way.

  Dan helped her tie the blankets in place with the heavy twine they'd bought in En Gedi. They tied her around the shoulders, waist, thighs, and knees. With Carrie leading the way, slipping through the little tunnel first and guiding their precious bundle after her, they moved the Virgin into the front chamber, then through the opening at the top of the cave mouth onto the rock pile.

  Squ
inting in the brightness of the midmorning sun, they carried her to the far edge of the mini-plateau atop the tav.

  "I didn't realize she was this light," Dan said, "and that gives me an idea on how we can increase our safety factor here."

  "Who's safety?"

  "Our prize's."

  Carrie couldn't get over the change in Dan's attitude.

  "I'm all ears," she said.

  Dan's voice echoed down from atop the tav rock.

  "Ready?"

  Carrie shielded her eyes with her hand and looked up. Dan was a silhouette against the bright blue of the sky, standing on the tav's overhang thousands of feet directly above, waving to her. She answered with a broad wave of her own.

  "Go ahead!"

  As Carrie saw the snugly tied-and-wrapped bundle slip over the edge of the lip and start its slow descent toward her, she became unaccountably afraid. Everything was set— she'd moved the Explorer under the lip just as Dan had suggested, and here she was, ready to guide the Virgin into the vehicle when she was lowered to within reach—but she could not escape the feeling that something was about to go wrong.

  She should have stayed up top with Dan. Two sets of hands up there were better than one. He'd tied the heavier rope to the cords around the Virgin while she'd made her way to the bottom. What if he hadn't tied the knots securely enough? What if the rope slipped out of his hands as he was lowering her?

  What if he dropped her on purpose, hoping she'd smash into a thousand pieces to prove that he'd been right all along?

  Carrie reigned in her stampeding thoughts. How could she even think such a thing? She was sure it hadn't crossed Dan's mind.

  Then why had it crossed hers?

  Maybe she was losing perspective. It was the heat, the distance from home, the isolation of the desert ... it was the epiphany of standing before the Mother of God and then cradling her remains in her arms.

  So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours and the cumulative effect was . . . overwhelming.

  She shook herself and concentrated on the blue of the descending bundle, twisting and swaying on its slowly lengthening tether. Dan was out of sight beyond the lip. She lifted her arms, waiting. Soon it was just above her, and then she had a grip on two of the binding cords. As it continued its descent she swung it around and guided it feet first toward the open rear door of the Explorer.

  And then it was done. The Virgin was off the tav and safely at rest in the back of their car.

  Dan must have noticed the sudden slack. His voice drifted down from overhead.

  "Everything okay down there?"

  She waved without looking up. Her eyes were fixed on the blanket-wrapped bundle lying before her. She still didn't know what she'd do with the Virgin once she got her to New York; she simply knew she had to keep her near.

  She spoke softly. "Perfect."

  "Heads up!" Dan called from above.

  She glanced up and saw the remaining length of the rope stretched out in the air, coiling like a collapsing spring as it fell to earth.

  "I'm on my way," he said.

  Fifteen minutes later he arrived, lugging the lamp and the flashlights. He quickly unloaded them into the back of the Explorer.

  Carrie said, "What about the rope?"

  "We'll leave it. Can't fly it back to the States anyway."

  "How about that other cave? Didn't you say you wanted to take a look in it before we leave?"

  He stared across the canyon a moment, then shook his head.

  "Maybe some other time."

  "Other time? When will there be another time?"

  "Probably never. But I think I've had enough of this place for now. I'd like to be out of here."

  Carrie nodded. She had the same feeling. She didn't know why, but she had an urge to put this place behind them as quickly as possible.

  As Kesev cruised down Route 90 he saw a black, truck-like vehicle pull onto the highway about half a mile ahead and accelerate toward him in the northbound lane. No roads around here, at least nothing paved. Whoever was driving must have been roaming the hills and desert. Nothing unusual about that. Off-road exploring was popular with tourists these days, which was why the rental companies in the Central and South districts did such a brisk business in four-wheel-drive vehicles. But what bothered Kesev was where the truck had come onto the highway.

  Right where Kesev always turned off.

  He gave it a good going over as it passed: black Ford Explorer, dust caked, man driving, woman in the rear seat, Eldan Rent-A-Car sticker on the back bumper. He made a mental note of the license plate.

  When he made his usual turnoff and saw the still settling dust trailing west toward the hills, he stopped his Jeep and jotted the license plate number in the notepad he always carried.

  Just in case.

  Then he gunned the Jeep toward the uplands.

  He had a bad feeling about this.

  That bad feeling worsened as he spotted patches of rutted earth and tire tracks here and there along the path toward the Resting Place. Never, in all the times he'd been back and forth, had he encountered a single tire track this far into the Wilderness. Not even his own from previous trips. Sharav, the incessant desert wind, saw to that, scouring the land clean of all traces of human passage, usually overnight.

  Which meant these were fresh tracks. But who'd made them? The couple in that Explorer? Or somebody else— somebody who even now might be desecrating the Resting Place.

  Despite the Jeep's efficient air-conditioning, Kesev began to sweat. He upped his speed past the safety limit into the reckless zone. He didn't care. Something was wrong here.

  He ground his teeth and cursed himself for not leaving last night.

  Finally the tav rock hove into view. No other vehicle in sight, but that brought no relief—he was following a double set of tire tracks. Two vehicles? Or a single vehicle arriving and departing?

  He swung around the front of the tav and let out a low moan as he spotted the lengthy coil of rope tangled under the overhang.

  "Lord in Heaven," he whispered, "don't let this be! Please don't let this be!"

  Fear knotted around his heart as he gunned the Jeep into the canyon and slowed to a halt at the base of the path to the top. Without bothering to turn off the engine, he leapt out and scampered up the ledge as fast as he dared, muttering and crying out as he climbed.

  "Never should have left here!" . . . Please, God! Let her still be there! . . . "What was I thinking?" . . . Dear Lord, if she is still there I swear I will never leave this place again. Not even for food! . . . "Should have moved back after the scroll was stolen, should have foreseen this!" . . . Please hear me, Lord, and have mercy on a fool!

  The instant Kesev's head cleared the top of the plateau, his eyes darted to the mouth of the Resting Place. At first glance the barricade of rocks appeared undisturbed and he slumped forward onto the ledge, gasping, nearly sobbing in relief. But as he rose to his feet to send up a fervent prayer of thanks, he spotted the dark crescent atop the barricade—an opening into the Resting Place. The sight of it drove a blade of panic into his throat. "No!"

  He broke into a dead run, clambered up the rocks, and all but dived headfirst into the opening. Enough light streamed through the opening to guide his way to the tunnel. He scrambled through to the second chamber. Stygian darkness here. Kesev's heart was a mailed fist pounding against the inner wall of his ribs as he felt his way across the chamber to the niche where the Mother's bier had been set. His fingers found the edge, then hesitated of their own accord, as if afraid to proceed any further, afraid to find the niche empty.

  He forced them forward—

  Empty!

  "No!"

  Sobbing, he dropped to his knees and crawled around on the stone floor, running his hands over every inch of its craggy surface, choking in the clouds of dust he raised, all in the futile hope that she might still be here.

  But she was not. The Mother was gone. The Resting Place had been vandalized
and the Mother stolen.

  Tearing at his beard, Kesev staggered to his feet and screamed as the blackness surrounding him seeped into his despairing soul.

  "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

  For an eternal moment he stood there, impotent, utterly lost, devoid of the most tenuous hope, frozen, incapable of thought . . .

  And then he remembered the car he'd seen turning onto Route 90 earlier . . . the black Explorer.

  Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe there was still a chance. He had no honor to salvage, and no hope of redemption, but if he could retrieve the Mother and return her to the Resting Place, he could continue his task as her guardian.

  Hope . . . like a cold spring bubbling up in the heart of a desert . . . but he dared do little more than wet his lips.

  All the way back to the highway, Kesev fixed the image of the Explorer in his mind, trying to remember whatever details he could about the driver and passenger. They'd been shadows, identifiable as male and female and little more. When he screeched onto Route 90 again, he floored the accelerator, pushing the Jeep to 150 kilometers an hour in the open stretches, ready to flash his Shin Bet ID at any highway cop who tried to slow him down.

  He found a public phone on the outskirts of Jerusalem and learned from information that Eldan had a car rental office in the Jerusalem Hilton.

  Hoped edged a trifle higher.

  He located the Eldan desk in the spacious lobby of the tower portion of the Hilton. The pert brunette there wore a name tag that said CHAYA in English. Kesev made sure she was properly impressed by his Shin Bet ID, then he handed her the sheet from his notepad with the number of the Explorer's license plate.

  "Did you rent a Ford Explorer with this plate out of here?"

  "Explorer, you say?" She tapped a few instructions into the terminal before her. A few beeps later, Chaya smiled. "Yes, sir. To an American. Carolyn Ferris. Out of New York."

  What luck! Found them on the first try. Then again, if you were going to explore the area around the Dead Sea, Jerusalem was the ideal base.

  "Have they returned the car yet?"

  She shook her head. "Not yet."

  "When's it due back?"