by Adam Palmer
“Because I need to pack all my shoes,” said Romy, smiling sweetly.
Romy was very much a girlie girl and by the age of four she had already become intensely fashion-conscious — definitely her mother’s daughter. While the twins had always asked for toys whenever presents were due, Romy had developed a taste for shoes and a mature sense of fashion. One of her favourite questions to her mother was: “do these shoes go with this dress?”
Although a long way short of Imelda Marcos’s record, Romy had built up a sizeable collection of footwear, enhanced by the fact that she tended to outgrow them quickly but had a profound aversion to actually throwing them away. Not content with merely owning them, she insisted on taking them with her on this unexpected holiday to Israel.
The Sassons had decided that they could not afford to hang around as sitting ducks to these lunatics who were trying to harm them. Julia’s parents in Jerusalem had invited them to stay with them for the summer, and although it would be a bit crowded, they decided to accept.
It had not been an easy decision. After the attack, Nat and Julia had sat down and thought long and hard about it. The problem was that they didn’t actually know how long it would be before whoever was doing it was caught. They knew that it had something to do with Daniel’s predicament, but precisely what was unclear. And they also had no inkling of how long Daniel’s current situation would persist. But they couldn’t stay in Israel past the end of the school holidays. That would be completely impractical.
On the other hand there was a possibility that the situation might be resolved before school resumed in September. And although Nat couldn’t afford to take time off work, he could stay in contact with them via the internet and know that they were safe. That would be a weight of his mind and at least it would give them some breathing room.
Against that, the police had offered them police protection and assured them that they could protect the children against any further abduction attempts. They did not think it had been a murder attempt. The way the driver had almost hit them as he lurched forward, was merely a sign of his ineptitude, as proven by the fact that he had acted alone. The fact that it was a lone attacker, was in some way reassuring, according to the police. It implied that he had limited capacity to obtain assistance.
On the other hand they conceded that the attack on the police van carrying Daniel had been the work of career criminals. Indeed the two who were shot by the unknown man on the motorbike were themselves known to the police as violent thugs.
“Ready,” Shir announced, arriving in the living room with her suitcase.
“Me too,” echoed May, lugging her case along.
“Romy!” Julia shouted out to her youngest in the other room. “Are you ready?”
“Not yet. I’m still arranging my shoes. I don’t want them to get damaged. You know how the people at the airport throw suitcases about without caring what’s inside.”
Julia smiled.
Where on earth did she get that from?
Then Julia remembered that it was something she had said when they got back from America.
Kids! They remember everything — especially the things you want them to forget!
“Hurry up Romy. Or the nice policeman will go without us.”
The police had agreed to give them a lift to the airport and stay with them until they were safely airside. Romy had taken a shine to one of the young policeman. So it was no surprise when, seconds later, Romy appeared in the living room, struggling to drag her suitcase behind her.
Julia smiled again. The incentive had worked.
The police kept a vigilant eye out for anyone around them as Nat loaded up the people carrier and Julia strapped the children in — one of the female Community Support Officers even helping with the seat belts. But they were only on the look out for actual threats. A man innocently sitting in his car down the road was not a threat. And in any case, he drove off while the Sassons were still getting ready.
For his part, the man in the car had seen enough. The sight of the suitcases alone told Sam Morgan that they were going to the airport. He guessed that it was Heathrow and he figured he even knew where they were flying to.
Chapter 48
The man was standing somewhere in the centre of the motorway service station, holding one of those sturdy cardboard tubes of the type that retailers sometimes use for posters and wall maps. He was looking around in every direction but the right one. Sarit had pointed him out and then moved off, circling round him, to let Daniel approach him alone from behind. If this was a trap, she wanted to be free to spring Daniel from it.
“Professor Hynds I presume.”
The professor spun round.
“Daniel Klein!” he said with enthusiasm. “We meet at last. And please… call me Ted.”
“And call me Daniel.”
The Emeritus Professor of Archaeology from Cambridge extended a large hand which Daniel shook. The firm grip was reassuring to Daniel. He had always taken it as a sign of honesty and he made sure to make his grip similarly firm to give equal reassurance to the professor.
“So,” said Ted amiably, “I understand you have something to tell me?”
“And you said you’d also made an interesting discovery.”
“Yes indeed.” Ted looked around. “Shall we get something to eat? I’m not hungry myself, I got here early and had something to eat while I was waiting, but if you want something.”
“Er, no. I’d rather we kept on the move. As you know, the authorities are still looking for me. It’s a long story, but for now let’s just say I want to avoid staying in one place for too long.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“We can along the motorway and talk.”
Ted thought about the practicalities of the situation.
“But we’ll still have to get back here don’t we? I mean I assume you came here by car too.”
“I hired a car. Let’s take mine and I’ll drop you off back here at the end.”
“Okay.”
They started walking towards the exit and the open air car park.
“Just as a matter of interest, how did you manage to hire a car? I mean you’re name would’ve set off alarm bells wouldn’t it?”
“I had a friend do it for me.”
As he walked past Sarit, she gave him a nod to indicate that she had not spotted any surveillance. They walked out, and the professor held the door open for the attractive redhead behind him, not realizing who she was. While Daniel led Ted to the car, he knew that Sarit was still looking around for signs of a possible police presence ready to swoop in. Only when they reached the car, did Sarit close the gap and manoeuvre round the pair of them to get to the driver’s seat.
Ted did a double take at this, prompting a smile from Daniel’s face.
“Oh Professor Hynds — I mean Ted — may I introduce you to my partner in crime, Sarah Smith. Miss Smith, Professor Hynds”
“Please… call me Ted said the professor smiling and again offered his hand. But when “Sarah” responded, he did not shake her hand in a firm grip, nor indeed shake it at all. Instead he raised her hand towards his lips, bowed from the waist and kissed the hand, like a medieval knight acting out a scene of courtly love.
Daniel was unsure of how Sarit was going to take it, but was relieved when she smiled and nodded politely at the professor.
“Sari — Sarah will drive. That way we can talk.”
Sarah got into the driver’s seat. Daniel and Ted sat at the back. As Sarit was manoeuvring the car back onto the M11, Daniel decided to kick-start the flagging conversation.
“So who’s going first?”
“Oh you lead. I’ll follow.”
“So the fibres in the dead man’s hand tend to confirm the authenticity of the document,” Ted was saying, nodding enthusiastically at what Daniel had told him so far.
“Yes… although they haven’t actually been carbon dated.”
“Are they going to do so?”
“Well I asked my lawyer to suggest it to the police. But I don’t know if they will. I mean it may be of interest to us but it doesn’t exactly help to either incriminate me or eliminate me from their inquiries, so I’m not sure how much importance they’ll attach to it.”
“If nothing else, it’ll tell them for certain if this parchment is an authentic historical artefact.”
“Yes. Anyway, I’m now beginning to think it is. It’s hard to see how all this could be happening over one of Martin Costa’s forgeries.”
“You said, you had some information about the content?”
“Oh yes.”
Daniel explained about the digital image enhancement — omitting any reference to the Mossad — the script and language and to his translation of it.
“A marriage certificate?”
“Yes.”
“This really is absolutely incredible. I mean a Jewish marriage certificate in England dating back to the Romano-British period is absolutely… well it’s incredible! Unprecedented!”
“The thing is that there is quite a famous character in Jewish history called Simon Bar Giora, and although the name Simon was a very common Jewish name at the time, Bar Giora was somewhat less common.”
“The name sounds familiar.”
“He was one of the leaders of the first Jewish revolt against Rome, in 66.”
Daniel filled Ted in on the details, as he had with Sarit.
“And you think this really was the same man?”
“It seems very unlikely that he would have gone to Britain. There’s no obvious reason why he would have done. On the other hand, as I was telling Sarit, we know very little about him.”
“Telling who?”
Daniel blushed as he heard sniggering from the driver’s seat.
“Okay, you got me there.”
“I won’t pry,” said Ted. “But regarding travelling from Judea to Roman Britain, remember that both Britain and Judea were parts of the Roman empire. And the Romans did encourage trade between different parts of their empire. That was one of the main reasons for having an empire.”
“But I thought the trade was supposed to be for the benefit of Rome.”
“As long as they got their cut, they didn’t mind the locals making a profit too. It kept the natives docile and made them all the more servile to Rome.”
“But Bar Giora wasn’t a merchant, Ted. He was a soldier — or at least a rebel leader.”
“Maybe he started off as a disgruntled merchant who became a rebel. The thing I don’t understand is who did he marry? It’s unlikely that he would have brought his betrothed with him to Britain while travelling for trade purposes.”
“Well it’s hard to read actual names, especially names that are not normally written in Hebrew script, because the Hebrew alphabet doesn’t use vowels. But the name of the woman appeared to be something like Lanevshiah which isn’t exactly an ancient Jewish name that I recognize. And her father was called something like Farashotagesh, which sounds vaguely Persian.”
Ted thought about this for a while.
“I was going to say, it’s more likely that he married a local girl. If he felt strongly about it, and if he was wealthy, her father might have agreed to her converting to Judaism in exchange for a high bride price.”
“The trouble is that in Jewish marriages, the bride price was a kind of promise in the event of divorce. A sort of ancient prenuptial agreement. But then again, if he was a wealthy man generally, then maybe mammon and love would have overcome religious objections. Did the ancient Britons have strong objections to religious conversion?”
“No not really. They were pagans like the Romans and they followed the general pagan tradition of worshipping the local Gods — often even finding equivalence between their Gods and other people’s Gods. But the problem is those names don’t sound too much like iron age British names… or Roman names.”
“The ketuba was signed by two witnesses. One of them had a Jewish sounding name — presumably a member of Bar Giora’s entourage.”
“Who was that?”
“Barach.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“It sounds like the Hebrew word Baruch meaning blessed. I suppose it could be considered like the name Benedict. But if it was Baruch, it would have had a Hebrew letter vav to serve as a placeholder for the oo vowel.”
“Wait a minute,” said Sarit, from in front of them. “What was that Hebrew name again?”
“Well the name on the ketuba looked like Barach, which in modern Hebrew would mean ‘he ran away’.”
“Now I remember!” said Sarit excitedly. “I thought it sounded familiar. There’s a character called Barach in the Ulster Cycle of Irish mythology.”
“Of course!” Ted exclaimed. “I thought I recognized your accent!”
“What’s the Ulster Cycle?” asked Daniel.
Sarit spoke again.
“It’s a collection of myths and tales dating from around the seventh century but set round about the time of Jesus. Barach was a Druid priest who advised Conchobar Mac Nessa, the greatest king of Ulster. The story goes that Barach saw the sky getting dark and interpreted it as an omen telling of the death of Christ. And when he told this to Conchobar the king was overwhelmed with grief.”
“That’s right,” said Ted. “You certainly know your Celtic legends. I think there was something about him hacking at a tree in grief and anger until an old wound from his head started bleeding again and he died. That’s Conchobar I mean, not Barach.”
“Well presumably this is all just coincidence,” said Daniel.
“Oh yes,” said Ted. “I don’t think anyone’s suggesting the legends were true. They were originally oral pagan legends, but by the time they were transcribed, they’d probably been edited somewhat by monks to bring them into line with Christian beliefs. But the point is that the name Barach could be a local name. It doesn’t have to be this…”
“Baruch,” Daniel added.
“Okay but you said there were two witnesses.”
“Well the other was a name was very easy to read. It’s a name of Hellenic origin, but it was a name that was found in several members of Herod’s family. Aristobulos.”
Daniel was expecting some comment from Ted in response to this — expecting anything but the reaction that he actually got. For when Daniel said the name, he noticed that the look on Ted’s face was one of shock — the man was absolutely shaken to the core.
Chapter 49
“Why can’t we go through there?” asked Shir.
She was pointing to a bank of machines at the far right end of passport control where people were just placing their right hands and then walking through. Julia thought about how to explain it to an eight-year-old.
“It’s a special machine that can read people’s hand prints.”
“What do you mean ‘reading’ them?”
“It can tell who they are by their handprint. And if it recognizes them, it lets them through automatically, so they don’t have to stand in the queue like us.”
The queue was long and didn’t seem to be moving, so as usual the girls were getting impatient.
“So why can’t we use it?”
“Because it’s only for Israelis.”
“That’s not fair,” said May.
“In order to use it, you have to register with them beforehand and they can only register people who live in Israel.”
Romy was pointing in another direction.
“Then why can’t we stand in that line over there?”
Julia looked round, wondering if she had indeed missed the chance to stand in a shorter queue. Of course the problem was you could never really tell. You could join what looked like the shortest queue only to discover that another queue was moving faster. In fact in Julia’s experience, that was usually the case.
“That’s a queue for Israelis only too.”
“But why can’t they use the machine? Then we could stand in that line?”
“Because not all Israelis have registered to use the machine. And if they haven’t registered, then it hasn’t got their records.”
The discussion fizzled out, but the twins and Romy kept looking over at the hand-scanner wistfully, as if wishing that they too could use it. Julia relied on the scanner to keep them distracted and pre-occupied while the queue crawled slowly forward. She knew that it would be another long wait at the baggage reclaim, but she remembered that the carousel had held the girls spellbound at LAX on their way to Disneyland and she assumed — translation: hoped — that it would be the same here in Ben Gurion Airport.
It was over an hour later that she passed through customs with the suitcase on a trolley and the girls on the suitcases, having relegated airport safety rules to obscurity. By that stage her mother, Helen, was going frantic with worry, as Julia had forgotten to switch her mobile phone back on after the flight. When the Sasson’s finally emerged groundside, it was Shir and May who spotted their grandmother first, followed a second later by Romy. But it was Romy who tugged at her mother’s arm and pointed to alert her.
“Julia,” said Helen with a smile. She wanted to embrace her daughter, but it was hard to when she was being swarmed by the equally loving embrace of her granddaughters. When she finally extricated herself from the zealous affections of the happy threesome, Helen and Julia exchanged a quick hug before Helen exerted her matriarchal authority to restore some discipline to the situation.
“All right girls,” she said firmly, “to the car.”
This produced a quickly scramble back to the luggage trolley which very nearly degenerated into a three-way fight. But Helen made short shrift of this.
“Cut it out girls! No you can’t ride the trolley. You’ll have to learn to walk. You’re not babies.”
Coming from their grandmother, this seemed to work.
It was a long walk to the car, especially in the humid heat. The airport town of Lod was on the coastal strip and on hot days, with the humidity from the sea, it could feel like a sauna. To Helen this was nothing, but neither Julia nor the little ones were used to it. Still, they were troopers and none of them wanted to wilt or succumb to complaining before the others did. Soon they were in the car on the way to Jerusalem, with the air conditioning turned up to high.
