Zane listened as Rachael talked. He couldn’t imagine the loss, pain, or insecurity one must feel in losing a parent at such a young age—but talking about the memories seemed to bring her joy.
Rachael continued, smiling. “Just recently my father told me of a time when they had to call a plumber. Abba and Ima had been married for a couple of years at that time. He was at work, and Ima was at home when the plumber, Mario, arrived to unstop our kitchen sink. When my dad retold it, he couldn’t help but laugh. Mario was a handsome Italian with a reputation for being quite a ladies’ man in town. This they only learned later. He showed up at the door, and when my mother answered, he kind of lost his head over her. Now, looking back at my mother with the eyes of a woman, I can only imagine what that hot-blooded Italian must have thought. She was a little taller than me, with incredible good looks and a figure to go with them. Anyway, Mario immediately started shining up to Ima with his eyes and body language. He couldn’t put two words together in an intelligent manner.”
Zane’s laughter interrupted her story. “I bet that would have been funny to see,” he said.
Her eyes shining, Rachael continued, “With Mario trying to get out a ‘Good morning, ma’am’ between his incredulous stare and unabashed admiration, my mother just stuck out her hand and said, ‘Good morning, Mr. Moretti, thank you for coming.’ Mario, practically drooling by this time, took my mother’s hand to shake. Well, her handshake was not quite what he expected! She shook his hand and squeezed until the blood started to drain from poor Mario’s face. In the few seconds it took to get his attention and his mind back on track, Mario Moretti knew my ima was no ordinary woman. Releasing his hand, she asked him to come in and take a look at her kitchen sink. Mario’s juvenile antics were immediately replaced with professional respect.”
Rachael laughed. “Poor Mario somehow managed to unstop their sink with one hand. Only later did they learn that she had broken one of the bones in his hand. For the next nine years, Mario was my parents’ plumber. Abba said that while Mario still had the reputation for being a ladies’ man, he never again acted in an inappropriate manner around my mother. At her funeral, Mario Moretti came uninvited at the very end to pay his respects. He laid flowers on my mother’s casket. He came up to my father when the funeral was over and said, ‘Mr. Neumann, I am so sorry. Your wife was an exceptional woman, a good woman, a strong woman, a beautiful woman. A type of woman few men ever have the privilege of meeting in life. You have my sincerest condolences.’ Abba said that tough macho Italian had wet eyes when he turned away and left.”
They talked pleasantly, Zane asking about the wildlife and places they passed. Eventually, Rachael said, “You know, she and my dad met at a dig. She was an American college student and my father an Israeli studying to be an archeologist. She was a Christian and he Jewish. My father said that despite all the reasonable advice of both their parents, they got married and neither of them ever regretted it. Looking back, he says it wasn’t the wisest decision they could have made, but they were happy. He gives most of the credit to her . . . he says she never beat him with her Christianity, but with gentle love always showed by her actions what it meant for her to be a Christian.
“In a way, I guess, that is probably part of the reason I love archeology so much. I share my mother’s faith as a believer in Yeshua, the Messiah, and her love of searching for evidence which proves the accuracy of the biblical records. Though my father does accept the historical Yeshua—or Jesus, as most Christians know him—he does not accept him as the Son of God or the promised Messiah. Every piece of evidence we find that shows the truth of the Gospel accounts adds that much more credibility to the message. I pray every day that in some way my work, my life, will be a tool that our Father in heaven will use to change the hearts of men and women such as my father.”
Rachael looked over at Zane to read in his face a sincere expression of warmth and comprehension.
He replied, “I think I understand part of what you feel. My interest in archeology was born out of events that happened in tenth grade. That year, my parents sent me to a camp in northern Arizona. I bunked with two other boys, David and Sam. David and I both lived in Tucson, and Sam lived about one hour from us in Patagonia. The fourth day, a warm summer day in July, our lives were set upon an unexpected course. Gary, the camp leader, told us we were in for a surprise. Driving several miles away, we parked and made our way up a narrow, well-worn path to the face of a cliff. Gary told us that today we would learn about sport climbing.
“After some instruction in proper safety and etiquette, we watched as Gary hiked around the side of the cliff to a worn trail and made his way to the top of the ninety-foot cliff. He threaded his rope through the anchor points at the top and then, rappelling down the cliff, joined us again at the bottom.
“Sam, an obvious natural, was the first to try. He climbed the rough limestone wall with little trouble and even less thought. When he made it to the top, his shouts of jubilation could be heard for miles around. Gary let several other boys climb; then it was David’s turn.” Zane laughed, remembering the scene clearly. “David surveyed that cliff like a general about to wage a military campaign. Once satisfied, he secured the rope to his harness and calmly and confidently conquered the limestone face. After he came down, it was my turn.
“With some trepidation, I looked the cliff over. Trying not to show too much hesitation, I slowly made my way up the rough limestone cliff. About halfway up, I began to forget myself. I liked the rough feel of the cold rock under my fingers. I liked the way it made me feel alive. It felt good to shift my weight from one hand or foot to the other and feel the muscles in my body respond even though all my instincts were screaming for me to stop. I had never been much of a risk taker, but there was something about climbing that rock which stirred an unknown side of me. When I finally reached the top, my legs were shaking so badly I had to sit down for several minutes. That day, I realized I’d gotten as much satisfaction from being able to control my fear as I had from climbing that ninety feet of limestone.
“Those three hours of climbing began a pastime for the three of us that has lasted to this day. We spent all of our spare time looking for and climbing new routes. But it wasn’t just the sport. Climbing that summer was the catalyst for a friendship that changed all our lives. We spent the last two years of high school climbing anything and everything we could throw a rope on. What little money we earned, we spent on harnesses, ropes, carabiners, quick draws, and other gear. As high school drew to a close, we asked our parents if we could spend summer break on a climbing expedition. They agreed, so the three of us piled into David’s old pickup truck and traveled all over the western United States, climbing just about every day. It was the greatest adventure of our lives up to that point.”
Rachael’s eyes reflected Zane’s happy memories as she spoke.
“What an adventure, just the three of you exploring and climbing for a whole summer. Sounds wonderful!”
“It was wonderful. It was something the three of us will always remember.”
“But how did climbing bring you here to Israel?”
Zane smiled as he continued. ““When I got out of high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I really didn’t want to go to college. I loved climbing and wanted to travel around the world seeing and doing things. I have never been one who wanted to sit behind a desk. I love to work with my hands and feel the pain and satisfaction of effort and accomplishment. So I traveled the world and finally ended up in Israel climbing the Manara Cliffs. There I found some amazing biblical artifacts, and I knew right then that this was what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be part of those who were bringing back the history of our past, especially the history of the past relating to biblical events and people. After that discovery, I returned home and went to college, and there I’ve been for the past four years. I come back to Israel every chance I get to volunteer at various digs. Hopefully, someday I will be able to expl
ore the mysteries of the past full-time. But first I have to finish college. Right now, I am content with just volunteering.”
Rachael had a gleam in her eyes as she replied, “Don’t you just love each new discovery that brings back a little bit of the past? Even a shard of a clay pot or a man-made brick for a wall is thrilling. They make you wonder about the people who used them. About the events of their lives and the lessons they learned. What they looked like or how they acted. About the influence they had on those around them and the impact they had on the history of the world. Yesterday, finding that piece of stone which some man carved so long ago, I had to think about the tenuous nature of our life on this earth. Someone thousands of years ago sweated and labored over that stone to impart the name of a man and his father. Yesterday we found it, and it spoke to us from the distant past. Those few words have set in motion a chain of events that we don’t even know the outcome of. It’s sobering for me to realize our actions today have a similar impact on those around us. And like the inscription we found, they may speak in some way to those of the future.”
A little wistfully Rachael asked, “What about your parents, what do they do?”
“My parents, Stephen and Hope own a local plant nursery. Their love of plants and all things growing was second only to their love of God and their children. I have an older sister, Sarah, and a younger brother, Michael. Our parents homeschooled all three of us because they wanted to instill in us a set of principles and values not found in a secular setting. Just as they provided their plants with an ideal growing environment, they provided their children with the love, direction, and discipline they thought necessary to raise children who would honor their Creator.”
“Sounds like you have wonderful parents Zane.”
“Yes, they are great. As I get older I am realizing just how special they really are.”
Pointing at the mountain ahead, Rachael said, “There’s our destination. Those rough scaly cliffs have quite a history. They are about seven hundred feet higher than the Galilee. There are cliff dwellings there which the Jewish historian Josephus says the Hasmonaeans used. He recorded that the Romans finally subdued the rebels hiding there, throwing many of them to their deaths off the cliffs.”
They walked on in pleasant conversation until they reached the cliffs.
“You want to hike around to the top?” Zane asked.
“Sure. There’s a trail up ahead that will take us there.”
Once up on top, they sat enjoying the view. It was eleven-thirty, and both of them were hungry. Opening their backpacks, they ate a simple lunch and rested.
When Zane had finished eating, he asked cautiously, “Have you been climbing lately?”
She smiled ruefully. “No, not since the accident. I sort of got out of the habit. And frankly, I am still a little shaken by what happened.”
Zane did not pursue the question further. Hopefully she would get over it, but he knew many people could not. He wouldn’t ask her, then, to belay him while he climbed.
“Well, you want to explore for a while before we head back?” Zane asked.
“Sure, let’s check the area out.”
Together they climbed steep hills and clambered over rocks, never heading into areas which required them to do any real climbing. Zane saw several good prospects for future climbs. He recorded them with the Climbing-Quest app Sam had made for him. After an hour and a half, Zane suggested they head back. They reached the dig at four p.m., and stopping at Rachael’s tent, Zane said, “I thank you for the pleasant day and the companionship. I really enjoyed it. I’ll be leaving later this evening, so I guess I’d better say good-bye now.”
Rachael looked a little at a loss for words, but she replied, “I enjoyed the day as well. Haven’t talked so much in a long time. Thank you for listening. Frankly, I am not looking forward to you leaving.”
She grinned. “We don’t have any volunteers for a few days. I’ll have to take over the girl-barrow.”
Smiling, Zane replied, “Well, you’ll have your work cut out for you then.” Sticking out his hand, he said with some regret, “Good-bye, then. I hope the dig goes well over the summer. It would be terrific if you found additional artifacts to confirm your Matthew theory.”
Shaking his hand in her strong clasp, she replied, “Take care of yourself, Zane Harrison. We will likely be here all summer, so if you want to come back, we would be glad to have you again.”
With a final good-bye, they parted. Zane headed back up to his campsite, packed his gear, and stowed it in his car. Then, walking once more down to the campsite, he sat on the rock and waited for the sunset. When it had finally set in the western sky with a splendid display of color, Zane walked back to his car with a sigh. Starting it up, he headed back to Tel Aviv and the long airplane ride home.
Chapter 52
Tel Aviv, Israel
Marcus Nayat and his team had rented a vacant building on the same side of the street and two lots up from the bakery—and they were watching. Right now, Marcus had a team excavating a tunnel to the city sewer main. He intended to install his own electromagnet. That done, he would be able to capture the capsules before they reached the bakery. He would then insert a tracking device on each new flash drive. Once their tracking device was in place, they would return the modified capsules to the baker’s electromagnetic snare.
So far, the bakery had received three more capsules. His surveillance team had just texted him that a new one had been snared thirty minutes ago. Hopefully, in three more weeks they would be able to regularly intercept the capsules on their journey.
Over the past few weeks they had learned that the baker turned on the magnet twice a week—once on Sunday and once on Wednesday night. He left it on from eleven p.m. until four a.m. They had also learned the leaden capsules were enclosed in some sort of water-soluble, semi-metallic shell. After just an hour or two, it completely dissolved and only the capsule remained. Clever bastards, whoever had come up with this idea. The holy grail in intelligence was anonymity. No dead drops or electronic messages to track, no person-to-person contact, just flush the message down the loo. The collectors of the capsules, like the baker, almost certainly didn’t know where or who the capsules came from. Even if he was caught, he wouldn’t be able to tell them anything.
Shaking his head again, Marcus thought how much luck was involved in finding this network. If it hadn’t been for someone flushing steel wool down the toilet just when the baker was out of town, they might never have found out. What were the chances of that? Was it really luck? Well, what else could it be? Just a confluence of events that had broken their way in just the right order and at precisely the right time.
Shrugging, he said out loud, “Not much different from how they say we evolved. Just a cosmic roulette wheel—sometimes you hit pay dirt and other times . . .” He laughed. “Well, there are still monkeys.” Timing was everything.
Laughing again, Marcus said to himself, “Since when did you become a philosopher, Marco?”
* * *
Several days later, Darius received an envelope which had been delivered to his Dubai Trade Center PO box. Opening the envelope, he took the lead-encased capsule to a nearby utility closet. There, he opened the capsule and reattached a USB connector to the end of the flash drive. Taking the drive back to his office, he inserted it into his computer. After decoding the message, he read the brief note:
Capernaum dig progressing well. Major New Testament era artifact found. Possibly the house of the biblical Matthew, also known as Levi ben Cheleph. Will advise when more information becomes available.
The rest of the note gave a brief update of several other digs. None seemed to offer any great potential, but you never knew. He could wait. He had been searching for evidence of the secret for over a decade. He knew he was getting closer to the truth, but he was not there yet.
Darius pulled out the flash drive and placed it into his pocket. He would dispose of this later. Turning his attention to his re
ports, he saw that everything was still going according to plan. He was happy the Order and their minions had not made any overt moves to stop his efforts. He knew the events in New York had to have hurt them terribly. His attack had come out of left field, and blaming it on Iran had been a masterstroke. The fools—if they thought it was bad now, a few months from now they would be looking back at today with fond memories. They would probably leave him alone for now, as long as he kept getting deeper in debt. Once he was sufficiently indebted, they would begin to apply the pressure. He laughed coldly. If they waited much longer, it would be too late to stop him.
Alexandra was making incredible progress getting their machines in place and producing clean water for the poor of the world. She had done more for the planet’s impoverished in the last seven months than the United Nations had done in its entire existence. Darius knew this would be causing some serious repercussions. He knew as well as anyone that there were incredibly powerful vested interests in keeping the third world poor and chaotic. After all, as his own people had learned over the course of the past hundred years, the New World Order did not want any strong, independent nations protecting their own natural resources. Looking out over the waters of the Persian Gulf toward his homeland, he whispered to no one but the walls of his office, “The Age of Aquarius is here, and I will have my revenge.”
Chapter 53
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
Dylan Gallos was concerned. He had never questioned Darius’s actions or leadership, but what Darius was doing now made absolutely no sense—in fact, it was suicidal. He was burdening AES with so much debt and leverage that he was putting the company in a very vulnerable position. Dylan knew eventually the predators on Wall Street would realize their advantage and mercilessly pursue it. Based on his current private model, they had about five more months until AES was in an untenable position. Darius was worth trillions of dollars—he could have financed many of these transactions with his own money. Sure, he couldn’t sell all his shares at once, but given enough time, Dylan could have sold many of Darius’s shares and raised the money he wanted.
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