‘Hello, Kyra,’ Eichberg greeted her. He sounded tired. ‘Have you seen Hanley? He was supposed to take over from me.’
‘He’s below trying to rig up some electric lights. Soon we won’t be able to see anything in here.’
They had dug almost twenty-five feet into the side of the mountain, and by two o’clock in the afternoon the daylight no longer reached the back of the tunnel, making it nearly impossible to work. Eichberg cursed out loud.
‘Am I going to have to keep shovelling like this for another hour? Bullshit,’ he said, throwing his spade down.
‘Don’t go, Tommy. If you leave, Frick can’t continue either.’
‘Well, you take over, Kyra. I have to take a piss.’
Without another word, he left.
Kyra looked at the ground. Shovelling earth on to the conveyor was a horrible job. You were constantly bending down, you had to do everything quickly, and keep an eye on the arm of the excavator to make sure it didn’t hit you. But she didn’t want to imagine what the professor would say if they took a break for an hour. He’d blame her, as usual. Kyra was secretly convinced that Forester hated her.
Maybe he resented my involvement with Stowe Erling. Maybe he would like to have been in Stowe’s place. Dirty old man. I wish you were in his place right now, she thought as she bent down to pick up the shovel.
‘Look out back there!’
Frick had reversed the excavator a little and the cabin almost slammed into Kyra’s head.
‘Be careful!’
‘I warned you, beautiful. I’m sorry.’
Kyra made a face at the machine because it was impossible to get angry with Frick. The big-boned operator was vile-tempered, cursed constantly, and farted while he worked. He was a human being in every sense of the word, a real person. Kyra appreciated that most of all, especially when she compared him to the pale imitations of life that were Forrester’s assistants.
The Ass-kissers’ Club, Stowe called them. He had wanted nothing to do with them.
She began to shovel debris onto the conveyor belt. In a little while they’d have to add another section to the belt as the tunnel went deeper into the mountain.
‘Hey, Gordon, Ezra! Quit shoring up and bring another section for the conveyor, please.’
Gordon Durwin and Ezra Levine mechanically obeyed her command. Like everyone else, they felt they had already reached the limits of their endurance.
As useless as tits on a frog, as my grandfather would’ve said. But we’re so close; I can taste the hors d’oeuvres at the welcoming reception in the Jerusalem museum. One more shovelful and I’ll be keeping all the journalists at bay. Another shovelful and Mr I’m-working-late-with-my-secretary will have to look up to me for once. I swear to God.
Durwin and Levine were carrying another section for the conveyor. The machinery was made up of a dozen flat sausages about a foot and a half long, connected by an electrical cable. They were no more than rollers with a strong plastic band around them, but they displaced a large quantity of material per hour.
Kyra dug her shovel in one more time, just so the two men would have to hold the heavy conveyor section a little longer. The shovel made a loud, metallic, clanking sound.
For a second, an image of a freshly opened tomb flashed through Kyra’s brain.
After that the ground tilted. Kyra lost her balance and Durwin and Levine tripped, losing their hold on the section, which fell against Kyra’s head. The young woman screamed, but it was not a scream of terror. It was a scream of surprise and fear.
The ground moved again. The two men disappeared from Kyra’s side like two children sledding down a hill. Perhaps they shouted, but she didn’t hear them, nor did she hear the huge chunks of earth splitting off from the walls and hitting the ground with a dull thud. Nor did she feel the sharp rock that fell from the ceiling and left her temple a bloody mess; nor hear the crumpling metal of the mini-excavator, which went crashing down from the platform and hit rocks thirty feet below.
Kyra wasn’t aware of anything because her five senses were focused on her fingertips, or, more precisely, on the four and a half inches of cable that she was using to help her cling on to the conveyor module, which had fallen almost parallel to the edge of the precipice.
She tried to kick her legs to find a hold but it was useless. Her arms were on the edge of the chasm and the ground was beginning to cede under her weight. The sweat on her hands meant Kyra couldn’t hold on and the four and a half inches of cable became three and a half. Another slip, another pull of gravity, and now there were barely two inches of cable left.
In one of those weird tricks of the human mind, Kyra cursed having made Durwin and Levine wait a little longer than necessary. If they had left the section lying against the tunnel wall the cable wouldn’t have got caught up under the conveyor’s steel rollers.
Finally, the cable disappeared and Kyra fell into the darkness.
63
THE EXCAVATION
AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN
Tuesday, 18 July 2006. 2:07 p.m.
‘Several people are dead.’
‘Who?’
‘Larsen, Durwin, Levine and Frick.’
‘Shit no, not Levine. They pulled him out alive.’
‘The doctor’s up there.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m fucking telling you.’
‘What happened? Another bomb?’
‘It was a cave-in. Nothing mysterious.’
‘It was sabotage, I swear. Sabotage.’
A circle of pained faces gathered around the platform. There was anxious whispering as Pappas came out of the entrance to the tunnel, followed by Professor Forrester. Behind them were the Gottlieb brothers who, due to their skill at abseiling, had been appointed by Dekker to rescue any possible survivors.
The German twins were carrying out the first body on a stretcher covered by a blanket.
‘It’s Durwin; I recognise his boots.’
The professor approached the group.
‘There’s been a collapse due to a natural cavity in the earth that we hadn’t reckoned with. The speed at which we dug the tunnel didn’t allow us to…’ He stopped, unable to continue.
I guess that’s the closest he’ll come to admitting a mistake, thought Andrea as she stood in the middle of the group. She had her camera in her hand, ready to take photos, but when she found out what had happened she put the lens cap back on.
The twins carefully laid the body on the ground, then slid the stretcher from under it and went back to the tunnel.
An hour later, the bodies of the three archaeologists and the operator were lying near the edge of the platform. The last one out was Levine. It had taken twenty minutes longer to get him out of the tunnel. Although he was the only one who had survived the initial fall, Dr Harel could do nothing for him.
‘He suffered too much internal damage,’ she whispered to Andrea once she’d emerged. The doctor’s face and arms were covered with dirt. ‘I would have preferred…’
‘Don’t say any more,’ Andrea said, squeezing her hand furtively. She let go of it to cover her head with her cap, as did the rest of the group. The only ones who didn’t follow the Jewish custom were the soldiers, perhaps out of ignorance.
The silence was absolute. A warm breeze drifted over from the cliffs. Suddenly the silence was broken by a voice that sounded deeply perturbed. Andrea turned her head and couldn’t believe her eyes.
The voice belonged to Russell. He was walking behind Raymond Kayn, and they were no more than a hundred feet from the platform.
The billionaire was advancing towards them barefoot, his shoulders stooped and his arms crossed. His assistant followed, his face like thunder. He quietened down when he realised that the others could hear him. It was obvious that seeing Kayn there, outside his tent, made Russell extremely nervous.
Slowly everybody turned to watch the two figures approaching. Aside from Andrea and Dekker, Forrester was the only ot
her spectator to have seen Raymond Kayn in person. And that had happened only once, during a long tense meeting at Kayn Tower, when Forrester had agreed to the strange demands of his new boss without thinking twice. Of course, the reward for accepting had been huge.
As was the cost. It was lying there on the ground, covered by blankets.
Kayn stopped a dozen feet from them, a shaking, hesitant old man, his head bearing a yarmulke as white as the rest of his clothing. Out in the open his thinness and slight stature made him look even frailer, but, despite this, Andrea found herself fighting the urge to kneel. She perceived how the attitude of the people around him changed, as though they were affected by some invisible magnetic field. Brian Hanley, who was less than three feet from her, began to shift his weight from one foot to the other. David Pappas bowed his head, and even Fowler’s eyes seemed oddly bright. The priest stood off to one side of the group, slightly apart from the others.
‘My dear friends, I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself. My name is Raymond Kayn,’ the old man said, his clear voice belying his fragile appearance.
Some of those present nodded, but the old man didn’t notice and continued speaking.
‘I regret that we had to meet for the first time under such terrible circumstances, and I’d like to ask that we join in prayer.’ He lowered his eyes, bowed his head, and recited, ‘El maley rachamim shochen bam’romim hamtzey menuchah nechonah al kanfey haschechinah bema’alot kedoshim ute’horim kezohar harakia me’irim umazhirim lenishmat. [8] Amen.’
Everyone repeated the Amen.
Strangely, Andrea felt better, even though she did not understand what she had heard, nor was it part of her childhood faith. An empty, lonely silence hung over the group for a few moments until Dr Harel spoke up.
‘Should we return home, sir?’ She extended her arms in a gesture of silent supplication.
‘We shall now comply with the halaká [9] and bury our brothers,’ Kayn replied. His tone was calm and reasonable, in contrast to Doc’s hoarse exhaustion. ‘Afterwards, we’ll rest for a few hours and then continue our work. We cannot allow the sacrifice of these heroes to be in vain.’
Having said this, Kayn returned to his tent, followed by Russell.
Andrea looked around and saw nothing but agreement on the faces of the others.
‘I can’t believe these people are buying this shit,’ she whispered to Harel. ‘He didn’t even come near us. He stood several yards away, as if we were suffering from the plague or were going to do something to him.’
‘We aren’t the ones he was afraid of.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Harel didn’t answer.
But the direction of her gaze did not escape Andrea, nor the look of complicity that passed between the doctor and Fowler. The priest nodded.
If it wasn’t us, then who was it?
64
Document Recovered from the e-mail Account of Kharouf Waadi, used as a Letter Box for Communications Between Terrorists Belonging to the Syrian Cell
Brothers, the chosen moment has arrived. Huqan has asked that you prepare yourselves for tomorrow. A local source will provide you with the necessary equipment. Your trip will take you by car from Syria to Amman, where Ahmed will give you more instructions. K.
Salaam Aleikum. I only wanted to remind you before departure of the words of Al Tabrizi, which have always served as an inspiration to me. I hope that you will draw similar comfort in them prior to setting out on your mission. W
‘God’s messenger said: a martyr has six privileges before God. He pardons your sins on shedding the first drop of your blood; He delivers you to a place in paradise, redeeming you from the torments of the grave; He offers you salvation from the terror of hell and sets upon your head a crown of glory, each ruby of which is worth more than the entire world and all that exists within it; He will wed you to seventy-two houris with the blackest eyes; and He will accept your intercession on behalf of seventy-two of your kin.’
Thank you, W. Today my wife blessed me and bid me goodbye with a smile on her lips. She said to me: ‘From the day I met you I knew that you were made for martyrdom. Today is the happiest day of my life.’ Blessed be Allah for having bequeathed me someone like her. D
Blessings upon you, D. O
Isn’t your soul filled to bursting? Would that we could share it with someone, shout it to the four winds. D
I too would like to share it, but I do not feel your euphoria. I find myself strangely at peace. This is my final message, since I leave in a few hours with my two brothers for our appointment in Amman. W
I share W’s sense of peace. Euphoria is understandable but dangerous. In a moral sense, because it is the daughter of pride. In a tactical sense, because it can cause you to commit mistakes. You should purify your thoughts, D. When you find yourself in the desert you’ll have to wait many hours in the hot sun for Huqan’s signal. Your euphoria could quickly turn to desperation. Search for the things that will fill you with serenity. O
What would you recommend? D
Think of the martyrs who have gone before us. Our struggle, the struggle of the umma, is composed of small steps. The brothers who slaughtered the infidels in Madrid achieved one small step. The brothers who destroyed the Twin Towers achieved ten such steps. Our mission signifies a thousand steps. It aims to bring the invaders to their knees forever. Do you realise? Your life, your blood, will bring about an end that no other brother can even aspire to. Imagine an ancient king who has led a virtuous life multiplying his seed in an enormous harem, defeating his enemies, expanding his kingdom in the name of God. He can look around himself with the satisfaction of someone who has fulfilled his duty. That is how you should feel. Take refuge in that thought and transmit it to the warriors you will take with you to Jordan. P
I’ve meditated for many hours on what you told me, O, and I am thankful. My spirit is different, my state of mind closer to God. The only thing that still causes me distress is that these will be our last messages to each other, and that, although we will triumph, our next meeting will be in another life. I’ve learned so much from you and have passed on that knowledge to the others.
Until forever, brother. Salaam Aleikum.
65
THE EXCAVATION
AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN
Wednesday, 19 July 2006. 11:34 a.m.
Hanging from the ceiling in a harness twenty-five feet above the ground in the same place where four people had lost their lives the day before, Andrea couldn’t help feeling more alive than she ever had in her life. She couldn’t deny that the imminent possibility of death excited her and in a strange way it obliged her to waken from a dream she had been stuck in for the last ten years.
Suddenly questions about who you hate more, your father for being a homophobic bigot or your mother for being the stingiest person in the world, begin to fade before questions like, ‘Is this rope going to hold my weight?’
Andrea, who had never learned to abseil, asked that she be lowered to the bottom of the cave slowly, partly through fear and partly because she wanted to try out different camera angles for her shots.
‘C’mon, guys. Slow down. I have a good one,’ she yelled, leaning back her head and looking up at Brian Hanley and Tommy Eichberg, who were lowering her with the aid of a hoist.
The rope stopped moving.
Below her lay the wreck of the excavator, like a toy smashed by an angry child. Part of the arm stuck out at a strange angle and there was still dried blood on the shattered windscreen. Andrea pointed her camera away from the scene.
I hate blood, hate it.
Even her lack of professional ethics had limits. She focused on the bottom of the cave, but just as she was about to push the shutter she began to spin on the rope.
‘Can you make it stop? I can’t focus.’
‘Miss, you’re not made of feathers, you know?’ Brian Hanley shouted down to her.
‘I think it’s better that we k
eep lowering you,’ Tommy added.
‘What’s the matter? I only weigh eight and a half stone – can’t you deal with that? You seem a lot stronger,’ Andrea said, always knowing how to manipulate men.
‘She weighs a lot more than eight stone,’ complained Hanley in a low voice.
‘I heard that,’ said Andrea, pretending to be insulted.
She was so excited by the experience that it was impossible for her to be angry with Hanley. The electrician had done such a great job in lighting the cave that she didn’t even need to use the flash on her camera. Opening up the lens more allowed her to get great shots of the final stage of the dig.
I can’t believe it. We’re a step away from the greatest discovery of all time, and the photo that’ll appear on every front page will be mine!
The reporter observed the inside of the cave closely for the first time. David Pappas had calculated that they needed to build a diagonal tunnel down towards the presumed location of the Ark, but the route – in the most abrupt manner possible – had come across a natural chasm in the earth that bordered the canyon wall.
‘Imagine the walls of the canyon thirty million years ago,’ Pappas had explained the day before, drawing a small sketch in his notebook. Back then there was water in this area, which is what created the canyon. When the climate changed, the rock walls began to wear away, producing this terrain of compacted earth and rocks that surrounds the canyon walls like a giant coating, sealing off the type of cave that we hit on by chance. Unfortunately, my mistake cost several lives. If I’d checked to make sure the ground was solid on the floor of the tunnel…’
Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition Page 24
