by Dan Sofer
The manager sighed. “I’ll be there right away. And next time use the phone. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He gargled Listerine and spat into the basin. He donned a new dress shirt, his uniform suit jacket, and tie in front of the full-length mirror. He paused at the door and sent a longing glance at the television.
A well-preserved, petite woman waited at the hotel desk, her hand on the counter, as alert as a terrier. The hangdog man at her side was the husband. Both wore serious expressions.
“Yes, madam?” said the manager in English. He applied his welcoming smile. “How may I assist you?”
“My son is missing,” the woman said, with the irritation of one who has had to repeat the words countless times. “He was staying with us at your hotel.”
Your hotel.
She meant trouble.
Guests never ceased to amaze the manager. They ordered freely from the pool restaurant but always reacted with surprise to the checkout bill. They let their kids roam wild and, when their precious progeny stubbed a toe, they blamed the hotel management.
Sometimes he felt like a schoolmaster.
The woman’s blond hair stuck out like long, thin daggers.
He adjusted his expression to concern laced with polite skepticism.
“And how old is your son, madam?”
“Thirty.”
“Oh.” This would be simpler than he thought. He may still make the end of Jerry Springer.
“He was supposed to meet us for tennis at eleven. That was nine hours ago.”
“And when did you see him last?”
“He was last seen at breakfast.”
“You were not with him?”
“Friends of ours saw him at breakfast this morning,” she said. “He was with two young women.”
Her tone indicated her disapproval for the girls and implied that the manager was somehow responsible.
The manager hid his smile beneath the well-practiced veneer of cheerful hospitality.
“Could that explain his disappearance? He is no doubt an independent young man. Perhaps he made plans with his new friends and forgot to tell you?”
The woman’s face reddened and her mouth gave a twist.
Her husband cleared his throat. “We don’t think so.” He lowered his voice. “You see”—he glanced at the nametag—”Muhammad, the friends who saw David are the parents of his girlfriend, practically his fiancée. They’re also staying here.”
“Ah, I see.” Muhammad forced his lips together.
Step aside, Jerry Springer.
“Well?” the woman demanded. Her manicured fingernails rapped the marble countertop. “What are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do?”
“Yes. Before I call the police.”
He thought of the whisky bottle in his drawer and coughed.
“There is no need for the police, madam. Not until twenty-four hours have passed. Only then will your son be considered a Missing Person.”
“But what if he’s been abducted?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Kidnapped,” she said. “By terrorists.”
She gave him a meaningful look. By terrorists she had meant Arabs.
He took no offense. His brother-in-law, Id, was a card-carrying member of Hamas. After transporting a trunkload of explosive belts across the Green Line, he had won full board and lodging at an Israeli prison. Muhammad didn’t hold it against the authorities. At least in prison Id had earned a B.A. in International Relations via the Open University.
He steered the conversation toward more practical measures.
“Have you checked his room?”
“The door is locked and his phone is off.”
“I see.”
Muhammad had a theory about the boy’s disappearance.
“Your last name, madam?”
“Schwarz.”
He tapped the computer keyboard. He found the room number for David Schwarz and configured an electronic key card.
“This way, madam,” he said. “I think we can… put this mystery to bed.”
Sometimes, Muhammad thought, I really love this job.
***
Jay shadowed the white Subaru down the dark valley road. The Teacher had completed the puzzle. Only time separated the Sons of Light from their treasure. Jay’s treasure. Jay’s destiny.
Pity that John was going to miss the historic moment. Teacher knows best. Jay wished he could ride with the Teacher instead of his fellow Sons of Light.
“We should have left her at the Yachad,” King David, or the Harper as Jay preferred to think of him, said. He had moped in the passenger seat the whole way.
In the rearview mirror, King Solomon wore his ridiculous cowboy hat and stared out the window. Beside him sat the girl, her wrists taped, her eyes lowered, resigned to their company.
“She has no business coming along,” the Harper whined.
“Shut ya gate,” Jay said.
The road was quiet. A few cars passed in the opposite direction, their headlights like fiery eyes in the night. One car followed far behind.
“It could be dangerous.”
“I’m the only danger you should worry about right now, so shut it. Remember your vow of silence.”
That shut him up. For three whole seconds.
“Ooh-ooh,” he said. “I’m so scared.”
“Goodo.”
“One day you’ll regret talking to me like that.”
Jay let it slide. Don’t let him ruin the moment. He had tried forgiveness, turning the other cheek. A second slap didn’t sting any less. When the Teacher revealed Jay’s true colors, Jay would change the rules.
Not long now.
“Cheer up,” Jay said. “She can help us dig.”
“Very funny. Your future queen isn’t going to dig holes.”
Future queen?
Where did the Harper get his loony ideas? He made a mediocre foot soldier. Now he was starting to annoy. Good thing Jay had brought the girl. That would keep the Harper on his best behavior.
The Harper turned in his seat. “Don’t worry,” he told the girl. “You won’t do any digging. When I’m king again, and you’re my queen, you’ll have servants and castles. You won’t have to lift a finger, unless it’s to flip Jay off.”
“Whoa,” Jay said. “What did you say?”
The Harper straightened. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“When you’re king? When you’re king?”
Jay strangled the rubber steering wheel.
“I told you you shouldn’t talk like that to me. I’ll remember.”
Jay was not letting that slide. “Why do you think you’ll be king?”
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you. I have to be invisible. Until the time is right.”
Invisible.
The Teacher’s word.
Jay swore quietly.
He felt like stopping the van and braining the ning-nong on the sidewalk, but the Subaru hurtled on and he had no idea where it led.
“Just keep quiet and do your job,” he said. He ran his tongue over his incisors and pumped the accelerator. And when the time comes, he thought, when you least expect it, I’ll do mine.
***
Dave pressed his ear to the iron door of the holding cell.
Silence.
“They’ve gone,” he said.
He had heard two engines start up and drive off.
He lowered his body to a bed and held his head in his hands.
“Where are they taking her?” Ruchama said. The question was on all their minds.
Dave had seen the hurt in Mandy’s eyes as she had left the room. It no longer mattered whether she was his First Coupling or Second, or whether the Foundation Stone had magical powers. Even if Dave could save her from her kidnappers, the result remained the same.
Dave had lost her.
Forever.
He would marry Shira. Within a decade, he would turn into his
father. He didn’t want that. Not after he had tasted a life with Mandy.
All his days, he’d chased the dream of perfection only to attain nothing.
“This is all your fault,” Shani said.
“I know.”
“You really screwed things up.”
He nodded, his face still buried in his hands.
“You made every possible mistake.”
Ruchama exhaled the contents of her lungs. “And she still loves you.”
The words took a moment to sink in.
Dave raised his head.
“What did you say?”
“You’re to blame,” Shani said.
“I got that bit.” He turned to Ruchama. “What did you say?”
Ruchama looked from Dave to Shani and back.
“She still loves you,” she said. “Don’t you see?”
The four words kept Dave above water.
“She does?”
He turned to Shani. Of all people, Shan would not bullshit him.
Her jaw tensed. “She’ll get over it.”
That was all he needed.
Warmth spread through his body.
“Well, don’t just sit there hugging your arms,” Ruchama said. “Do something.”
Dave sprang to his feet.
Mandy loved him. She needed him, now more than ever. He had to get out of the cell.
He sized up the room. The window was too high and small to squeeze through.
Think, Dave, think!
Prisoners escaped all the time. Dave needed a sharp implement, a large poster of Audrey Hepburn, and six months.
He had none of those.
But if the house was deserted, he didn’t need them.
He walked to the end of the cell and flattened his back against the wall. He had never kicked down a door before.
There’s a first time for everything, Dave.
He bolted across the room and threw his full weight at the iron door. Pain needled through his shoulder and he crumpled to the floor. He got up and caressed his injured arm.
The iron door hadn’t budged.
He studied the keypad beside the door.
“I don’t suppose you know the code or part of it.”
“It has six digits,” Shani said.
Six digits. Ten keys. Dave did a quick calculation.
“That’s a million possible combinations.”
What the hell.
Dave entered one through six. An angry red light flared. He tried the reverse. Six ones. Six sixes. Odd numbers. Even numbers. Prime numbers. Fibonacci.
The red light blinked.
He needed more data.
“What do we know about these guys?” he said.
“Nut cases,” Shani said. “One thinks he’s King David. The meanie thinks he’s Jesus Christ. They run a cult called the Sons of Light.”
Dave tried all sixes, sevens, and eights. He tried six-thirteen and twelve, and combinations of the two.
“What else?”
“That’s it,” Shani said. “What do they want with the scroll jars?”
“The Copper Scroll. The jars were discovered in the same cave as the Copper Scroll, a list of buried treasures worth a billion dollars.”
Shani whistled.
“Each jar has an inscription with three letters: Tsadi. Dalet. Qof.”
“Zedek,” Shani said.
“Is that the code?” Ruchama asked.
“What do you mean?” Dave said.
“You know,” Shani said. “Gematria.”
Gematria. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
Each letter of the Hebrew alphabet had a symbolic numeric value. Bible commentaries wove reams of esoteric conclusions based on these number games.
It was worth a shot.
He thought aloud.
“Tsadi is ninety. Plus four for Dalet and Qof is a hundred. One hundred ninety-four.”
He entered one-nine-four twice.
The red light blinked again.
“Dammit.”
“Break it open. Hold the wires together,” Ruchama suggested.
“That could put the damn thing out of order,” Shani said. “And we’ll be stuck here for a lot longer.”
The voice of Kermit the Frog echoed in Dave’s brain.
Break this for me, Dave.
The keypad expanded until it seemed to fill his mind. He felt the pull of destiny. His years of hi-tech experience were part of a cosmic plan that converged on this moment.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “I test software for a living. Bugs always slip into products. Maybe we can open it even without the combination.”
Shani mulled this over. “Like a back door?”
“Exactly.”
He flexed his fingers. He rubbed them together.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Don’t let me down.”
Then he shoved his fingers into the keypad. He wriggled them and moved them around, pressing keys together.
Dave prayed. He made a wish. He held his breath.
The little red light flared once more and went dark.
“There goes that,” Shani said.
Ruchama dropped to her knees. “We’re never going to get out. We’re going to die here.”
“No one’s going to die here, Roo. They can’t keep us in here forever.”
“Oh, yeah? What about those kids they kept in a basement for thirty years?” Ruchama inhaled sharply. “It’s just as well. No one will marry me anyway.”
“Roo—”
“I’m fat and ugly.”
Shani joined her friend on the floor. “Don’t say that. Every pot has a lid.”
“Maybe I’m a frying pan!” Ruchama wailed.
Shani shot Dave an urgent look that was both a plea and a threat.
He knelt on one knee. “You’ll be OK, Ruchama. Look at me. I thought I had dated every single Jewish girl in the world. I had just turned thirty. I was hopeless. Then, out of nowhere, I met Mandy and everything changed. She didn’t match my grocery list. In some ways she was the opposite of what I thought I wanted. But she made me feel alive and loved. And it scared the crap out of me. So I messed it up. And here I am.”
Dave doubted that his words had consoled her, but she stopped crying. Shani stared at him, her mouth slightly open.
Behind him, the door beeped six times and the bolts shifted.
John frowned at them from the doorway. So, Dave thought, the house wasn’t empty, after all. John had probably come over to tell them to keep it down.
Instead, he said, “Come on, you lot.” He indicated for them to follow with a flick of his head.
“Where are we going?”
The brown man shrugged. “Wherever you like,” he said. “I won’t stop you.”
***
The van sped through the night.
Mandy sat in the back, her hands and mouth covered in tape. Occasionally, the headlights of a passing car lit the interior and faded.
The Sons of Light had traded their cloaks for jeans and T-shirts. King Solomon filled the two seats beside her, his breaths deep and slow. Damian and Jay sat in the front. Vaguely she heard them argue.
She didn’t care.
Dave had a girlfriend. He went away with her for the weekend. He’d met her parents.
How long had he led this double life? How had she been so blind?
Mandy was glad to be out of the prison house, and to put some space between her and Dave.
Better to have loved and lost, they said. She was not convinced. Even if you wanted to die? Even if you could never love again?
The Teacher’s car made a sharp right and they followed. The road climbed and leveled out. Then the vehicles stopped. A gate blocked the way. The sign read Qumran.
Jay got out. He opened the back of the van, rummaged among the tools, and walked to the gate carrying a double-handed chain cutter.
A metal chain clinked and the gates swung open.
He returned to the driver’s seat and
the convoy plowed on. The circular parking lot was empty except for a single white hatchback.
Dave’s car.
The car had featured prominently in their relationship. Dates started and ended in that car. It had witnessed their endless talk of dreams and plans. The back seat had played a key part in Mandy’s fantasies. The scent of the upholstery and purr of the engine were forever bound to Dave.
Tonight, in the abandoned parking lot, the car looked alone and lost.
Jay parked beside the Teacher’s car at the edge of the clump of low, dark buildings.
The men got out.
King David opened the door at the back of the van.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”
He helped her out of the van.
Flashlights sprung to life and danced over the terrain.
The Teacher strode ahead. He wore a deerstalker on his head, loose trousers, and a button-down shirt. He held a shoulder bag close to his side. He bypassed the buildings and sidewalk, and struck out into the wilderness.
Sol followed wearing an oversized cowboy hat and shouldering a heavy-looking black duffel bag.
Jay strapped a second bag to his back, then shined a light in Mandy’s eyes. He gestured with a steel shovel.
“After you, chook,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”
Mandy kept up with Damian.
A thin sickle moon hung in the sky. The air was dry and still. She could run but she wouldn’t get far. Rocks and crevices waited to trip her up or send her off hidden cliffs. Jay followed close behind, metal shovel at the ready. And Mandy had no energy for an escape.
The Teacher stepped over a low wall of old square rocks. Damian helped her over, no easy task in a denim skirt and with her hands tied.
The crumbling foundations of houses and rooms emerged in the gloom. People had lived here once. Now only ruins marked the spot.
The Teacher turned from the structures and stepped down a gentle slope. The field before them filled with row upon neat row of low stone mounds, the work of a hundred giant gophers.
The Teacher paused to consult a folded piece of paper with his flashlight.
Was he lost?
What in God’s name did he expect to find in this wilderness desolation?
The Teacher directed a beam of light over the mound at the end of a row and marched on. The Sons of Light followed.
“Here.” He panted quietly. “This is it.”
