“I now pronounce us husband and wife…may we become one…fulfill our promises. And what God has joined, let no one–oh, dear God, Yani–divide…”
And they were both naked, and Jaime no longer cared where they were, or the size of the space, or how long they might be there.
January 27, 2007, 1:14 p.m.
(2 hours, 44 minutes since end of auction)
Judean wilderness west of the Dead Sea
Israel
* * *
Jaime lay, with her head on her husband’s shoulder, in darkness that would never become light. There was less oxygen. It was getting harder to breathe. She was content with this fact. At one point she’d feared it might take them days to die. She would much rather go quickly–or, at least, lose consciousness quickly.
“Can you tell me about the box?” she asked, gently. “As Op 1, I assume you knew much more than I did as Op 3, especially given that Op 3 was such a late arrival. But,” she said truthfully, “if you’re not supposed to discuss it, that’s all right. It doesn’t really matter now.”
“Ah, but I’m glad you asked.”
“I assume you gave it to Safia, in hopes she could get it back to camp, back to Op 2, who is still there?”
“No, I gave it to Safia because the mission was not really about the box.”
What?
“Two thousand years ago, there were numerous groups of people–religious and otherwise, who found shelter in the caves here in the wilderness outside Jerusalem. Some, like the Essenes, established entire communities. Others had hermit caves, or way stations, or simply shelters. The gardeners had such caves, which were used as libraries, meeting places, places of contemplation and refuge, and as drop points for Messengers. This is one such cave. This one, through severe wind- and dust storms, as well as a political climate that had made it dangerous to come for several years, had been lost. For nearly two thousand years.”
Jaime said, “That would explain the way the walls were painted–it was beautiful. It must have been an important cave.”
Yani was talking softly, breathing shallowly, trying not to use too much oxygen as he spoke. “Yes, I’m glad we got to see it before it collapsed. In those days, objects left for Messengers were put in a specific kind of box–like the one currently at auction. Records in Eden said that a drop-off was supposed to have been made here, but the windstorms hit before the next Messenger was able to come for it.
“So you see, although the age of the box and the jewels encrusted on it make it valuable to the Terris world at large, the true value is in what the box may have contained.”
“But the Hajj had it for years. Certainly he would have found anything that was inside?” Jaime asked.
“Ancient Messenger boxes were built with a false bottom. You have to know where it is, and how to unlatch it.”
“This one had–?”
“Yes.”
“And while Safia was climbing up, you–?”
“Yes.”
“And was there–?”
“Yes. Which reminds me. We’ll probably want to put our clothes back on.”
“Why?”
“We both have locator devices, my love. Operatives will have to wait until the hoopla over the day’s events die down, but once they feel it’s safe to spend time digging up the site, they’ll come for the contents of the box. Our devices will act as a locator for it. So, officially, our mission was a success.” What went without saying was that no one could save their lives, even if they arrived immediately, with digging equipment. The cave-in was too severe, the rock too unstable. It wasn’t even a possibility.
Yani kissed her again, deeply, and said, “Whether we get dressed or not is up to us.” There was a smile in his voice as he added, “It depends on what kind of legend we want to leave behind.”
“I don’t care if everyone knows that I love you…or what we did in our final hours.”
“I don’t, either,” said Yani. “However, I do know the guys…I know the Operatives who will probably be sent out here to find it…and us.”
“I’m getting dressed,” said Jaime.
“Me, too,” agreed Yani.
As they took turns helping each other reclothe, Jaime said, “Wait–hadn’t you been visiting this tribe for years? Hadn’t you seen the box, had time to check it?”
“Over the years, I’d heard Omar–the Hajj–talk about his magical box, but I’d never seen it. I assumed it was an antiquity found in a cave like that of the Essenes. In fact, we Integrators all assumed it came from one of the caves where they found the Dead Sea Scrolls, that the reason he didn’t sell it was that he knew the Jordanian government had given exclusive rights of search in that area to the Ta’amireh, so if the Hajj had shown it to anyone outside the tribe, he’d be forced to relinquish it. The chances that he’d found a Messenger box, and yet hadn’t disclosed the location of the cave where he’d found it, or any of the other riches therein, seemed too improbable.”
“So it was still there, inside the box? Whatever had been hidden for Messenger pickup and delivery to Eden? Did you get a look at it? Any idea of what it is?”
“I have hopes,” said Yani. “The Messenger who had next been sent to go to this cave had been told the papers in the box had come from a gardener named Yacov.”
“Wait–,” Jaime breathed excitedly. “You mean the Yacov? The gardener who spent time with Jesus?”
“Then you’ve heard about him?”
“Yes. Andrea told me that other gardeners, other Integrators, who heard Jesus during his time in the Terris world said that he had private conversations with a gardener named Yacov. That they were able to talk of things that Terris dwellers couldn’t yet understand.”
“Legend has it that Yacov was so well liked by those nearest Jesus that when Mary came to Jesus’ tomb, it made sense that she thought Yacov was there.”
Jaime added, “So when the Gospel of John says Mary assumed it was ‘the gardener’…?”
“Apparently that’s how Yacov was known. And yes, he may have ended up with his own Scripture reference. Anyway, Yacov thought it of utmost importance to share the content of his conversations with others. Although he himself felt called to go on living in the Terris world, he wrote down his conversations to send back into Eden.”
“Yani–you really think this might be the box that contains what Yacov wrote?”
“Whatever was there was in protective layers of a papyrus sealant, and then in an airtight bag, which will only be opened back in Eden. But the weight and size of the bag leads me to believe that the contents are written sheaves. And this is the cave in which they were to be left.”
“That would be wonderful,” Jaime breathed. “Can I touch it?”
Yani kissed her forehead, and handed her the bag. It was larger than she expected, and in an outer fabric that felt like velvet.
Jaime handed it back. “Here,” she said.
“You can hold it,” Yani replied. “It’s fine if you have it when they find us.”
“Ah,” she said, “but you’re Sword 23. You should be the one who died retrieving the gardener gospel. It’s more than enough for me simply to be here with you.”
They both fell silent.
And in the stillness that should have been absolute, they heard a scraping sound.
January 27, 2007, 1:14 p.m.
(2 hours, 44 minutes since end of auction)
Judean wilderness west of the Dead Sea
Israel
* * *
Frank McMillan had requested a small helicopter, a Little Bird, to take him out into the wilderness. However, he needed it immediately–“two weeks ago yesterday”–and all that was available on such short notice was a big old Black Hawk. But it, along with its three-person crew, had been commandeered and loaned to him, as a CIA member of the Geneva Terrorism Task Force, by the Israeli Army.
This particular crew was all male: pilot, copilot, crew chief. In the short time they had to get to know Frank McMilla
n, none of them liked him at all. He was arrogant, demanding, and dismissive.
Since he was CIA and terrorism was involved, the crew knew not to ask questions. But he’d told them he was looking for a middle-aged man, dressed in Bedouin robes, who was out in the middle of the wilderness. McMillan had planted a disk on the man, so it wouldn’t be hard to find him.
However, when they got to their destination, things started going awry. First, McMillan insisted that they make a hard landing on a plateau that didn’t look substantial enough for the size of the craft. And it wasn’t.
Second, instead of dealing with a deadly adversary dressed in Bedouin robes, McMillan found and attacked a couple of real-life Bedouin kids. Took a box a little girl was holding, and then aimed his damn Beretta at her, planning to kill her for no reason. No reason at all.
Avi Turrow, the crew chief, was shocked by McMillan’s wanton cruelty. Not that Turrow had a particularly soft spot for Bedouin–he understood the problem they posed as well as anyone–but he had a ten-year-old daughter himself. And his little girl also had piercing blue eyes.
Turrow was glad the teenage boy had defended himself and the girl, who was most likely his sister. As far as Avi was concerned, McMillan had lost his footing and plunged to his death.
As crew chief, Avi was the only one who had seen what Frank McMillan had done with the box he’d taken from the child. He’d set it down just inside the open door of the Black Hawk.
As they began to take off, with the ground crumbling beneath them, Avi had a split-second decision to make. As far as he knew, their mission had been about finding terrorists, not stealing from children. He had no idea what this box was, except that it meant a lot to the little girl. And if it got out that an Israeli Army helicopter was involved in trying to murder and steal from Bedouin children, it would easily turn into a national incident.
So as the pilot and copilot concentrated on saving the extremely expensive helicopter–as well as their own lives–Avi picked up the box and gently tossed it out of the chopper to the surprised girl. His aim was good, as were her reflexes.
She caught it, and looked up. Avi gave a brusque wave to the child.
And then they were gone.
January 27, 2007, 1:18 p.m.
(2 hours, 48 minutes since end of auction)
Judean wilderness west of the Dead Sea
Israel
* * *
Safia stood, momentarily stunned by the chain of events that had left her alive, the unknown assassin killed by Tarif, and the box back in her possession.
Then she sobered up and got moving.
When the helicopter initially approached, the horses had been smart enough to take off down the path Safia had ridden up, and which the two strangers and Tarif had ridden up behind her.
As the ground crumbled beneath their feet, Safia grabbed Tarif and ran for the same path. It led between the plateau they’d just been standing on and another to the immediate south. Fortunately, since the cave-in was caused by a helicopter and not an earthquake, the plateau next to it stood firm. The path between the two was filling with debris, but the boy and the girl fled down it with maximum speed, preceding most of the damage as it tumbled down behind them.
Even after the path took a hard left turn and falling debris no longer followed them, they continued running. Finally, her legs tired and her mouth filled with the taste of sandstone, Safia stopped, and fell back gratefully against the rock wall behind her.
Tarif threw himself against the wall as well. As she began to catch her breath, Safia turned and looked at her cousin, where he stood gasping beside her. Something seemed wrong. As she studied him more closely, she saw what it was.
He was crying.
“What? What is it?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
He looked away from her then, embarrassed to be caught in such an unmanly pursuit.
“What is it?” Safia asked again, frightened by this turn of events. “Are you badly hurt?”
Tarif shook his head. Safia tentatively went to stand in front of him. She took his hand in both of hers. He pulled it back, but she took it again.
“Tell me,” she said.
He waited until he had control of his voice. “I killed a man,” he said.
Safia hadn’t expected this depth of emotion. She somehow thought that since men were handed shabriya at a young age they…just did things like that.
“You saved my life,” she said.
“For that, I’m glad,” he said.
Together they stood until the largest part of the collapse seemed to be over.
Tarif looked at the dirt beneath their feet. “The horses came this way,” he said.
“They’re likely down in the ravine,” Safia said. “The cave–do you think it’s ruined? Do you think it’s all crushed?”
“What cave?” asked Tarif.
“The treasure cave. The Hajj’s treasure cave. The helicopter landed on its roof.”
“Then yes, it must be gone.”
“But–there were people in it,” said Safia. “They were there with me. They helped me get out.”
“What are you talking about? Safia, tell me what’s going on! Why do you have the box? Who was that man? Why did he try to kill you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who that man was. He was probably trying to find the cave. I was going to tell you about the cave, Tarif. I was going to bring you here. Now they’ve wrecked it. And Ahmet and his sister–I’m afraid they’ve been crushed.”
“Ahmet and his sister? How did they get here?”
Safia stood up and looked back toward the path. “Wait. There is one other way in. It was like a secret escape tunnel. I went through it once to see where it came out. But it’s uncomfortable and long.”
“It’s back there, where everything is caved in?”
“It goes back there. But it starts over here, to the side. As I said, it’s very long and dark. But we’ve got to see if it’s still there. They could still be alive!”
“Safia. I don’t want to disappoint you, but I don’t think anybody is still alive in there.”
“I’ve got to find out. Come on.”
Together they left the path and climbed through a V made by the rocks that no one would ever likely try to squeeze through. When they got to the place, which was hidden behind a scraggly old tree and several large rocks, Tarif said, “How did you find this?”
“I found the other end that started in the cave. This is where it came out.”
He peered inside. “This part of the tunnel is still intact. But it’s awfully small.”
“I know,” said Safia. “But we’ve got to try!”
“Do you want me to go?” he asked, expecting her to staunchly stand up for her own right to try to save them.
“All right,” she said simply.
“You want me to go?”
“Yes, if you’d like.”
As he looked at the small tunnel running into the dark earth, he knew he wouldn’t like, but if they had saved his Safia, he would do it.
“Stay there,” he instructed her sharply. “In case someone needs to go for help, it must be you.”
“Be careful,” Safia said, and her mouth moved in a silent prayer.
January 27, 2007, 1:28 p.m.
(2 hours, 58 minutes since end of auction)
Judean wilderness west of the Dead Sea
Israel
* * *
The scraping sound had gotten consistently louder for several minutes. It stopped then for a moment, and turned into tapping.
“Hello,” Yani said, in Arabic. “Can you hear us?”
“Yes,” said a male voice. “Are you in the cave?”
“What’s left of it. Where are you?”
“I’ve come down a long, narrow tunnel, but it’s ended. There’s wood in front of me. Are you anywhere near wood?”
Jaime could feel Yani moving his arms past her in the dark. “I think so,” he said. Then, to Jaime, also in Arabi
c, “Is that a plank of wood behind your back?”
“Yes,” she said. “It feels that way.”
“We’re by the plank of wood. Is there any way to move it?”
“I can’t really see,” said the new male voice. “But it seems like a very long, thick plank, and the earth has collapsed on either end of it.”
“Jaime, love, switch places with me,” Yani murmured to her in English.
She could tell he was feeling the length of the wood. “It’s wedged in tight, and I don’t think we’re going to be able to clear the length of it on either side,” Yani said more loudly, again in Arabic.
“I can’t, either,” said the other person.
“Our only hope is to break it,” said Yani. “But there’s not much room in here to get a good kick.”
“And I don’t have room to turn around,” said the voice from the other side. “I can go for help.”
Yani whispered to Jaime, “I’m not sure we have enough air to make it if he goes for help and comes back–plus, then whoever finds us finds the pouch. I’m going to have to try to break through the board from in here. But that is going to use up our oxygen faster. If I’m not successful, I’ll really be…not successful.”
Jaime almost wished the intruder hadn’t found them. She had been centered, calm, and ready. Now, if they didn’t make it, it would feel like a failure–adrenaline flowing, hearts pounding, gasping for breath.
But of course, now that they were found, they had to try.
“Go for it,” she said.
“Now I am going to ask you to wedge yourself in a corner,” he said. “I’ll try to get a good angle to kick. The wood is very thick, obviously meant to be moved to access the emergency tunnel. Our only hope is that its age has made it weaker.” Then he said, more loudly to whoever was outside, “Move back. I’m going to try to kick through.”
“I will,” said the voice.
Treasure of Eden Page 23
