The Nabatean Secret

by J C Ryan

  Carter’s head was inclined, the better to hear the much shorter Dr. Sachs. Mackenzie saw Carter jerk in apparent surprise and then bend to speak urgently to Sachs. She broke into a jog to catch up.

  “Oh, there you are, Mackenzie. Dr. Sachs just told me something very interesting. He’s seen the dolphin pentagon before.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ve just asked him where.”

  Fully expecting Sachs to say he saw it in Matera, Carter gave another surprised jolt when instead Sachs answered, “On Crete. I was working on a dig in Petras, just east of the modern Cretan town of Siteia. Beautiful area, situated on top of a small plateau that overlooks the sea north of Crete.” Sachs raved on about the dig on Crete for several more moments, but Carter heard little of it.

  His mind had seized on the similarity in the names of the places. Petra, in Jordan, Petras, on Crete. The Greek word, Πέτρα, Petra, meant “rock”, and Πετράς, Petras, was its plural. Was it merely a coincidence, a naming of a place for its features? Or was there a deeper connection?

  “What do you think the similarity in names means, Dr. Sachs? Given that the same symbol is found in both places?” Carter asked. The other members of the party had started listening closely when they heard Sachs say the name, but they let Carter do the talking.

  Sachs shrugged. “Could just be that both places are rocky. But because of the symbol, maybe not.” He snapped his fingers. “Maybe it’s the ancient equivalent of a company logo! We know the Nabateans were great international traders. Perhaps they left their mark wherever they traveled.”

  “Maybe,” Carter answered, drawing the word out. He decided not to mention he’d seen the symbol in Matera also. “Do you have any pictures of the Cretan symbol?”

  “Probably. If you’re ready to go back to camp, I could look on my laptop or the backup drive.”

  “Sure. I think we’ve seen what we needed to here.”

  They strolled to camp, as the sun felt warmer than the air temperature of around seventy-five degrees. When Sachs headed for his tent to get the laptop, Carter’s crew gathered around him.

  “What now?” Mackenzie asked, voicing the question on all their minds.

  “Any of you ever been to Crete?” Carter quipped.

  Sachs was back in minutes and showed Carter and the others the pictures from his time on Crete, including a few of the dolphin pentagon. He offered to transfer them to Carter’s laptop, and Carter gladly accepted.

  For the rest of the day, until it was time for the evening meal, Carter asked Sachs what he thought happened to the Nabateans, why they would have ceded their beautiful city to the Romans, and other questions about Petra.

  Sachs thrived under Carter’s interest. He was mindful of Friedman’s instructions not to ask too many questions, but as it turned out, Carter and his beautiful wife were far too interested in what he thought to even explore what questions he’d ask if he were permitted.

  Had Sachs known that the vaguely familiar-looking American was the famous Professor Carter Devereux, he’d have had questions in plenty. Fortunately, the minor disguise of the makeup held up, and he couldn’t place the face.

  Late in the afternoon, Carter told Sachs with feigned regret they’d decided to visit the Petras site, as it sounded very interesting and he’d never been there. Instead of staying near Petra for another day, they’d make their departure in the morning.

  Sachs, though a bit disappointed, was gracious. “In that case, we must have the Middle Eastern feast which I planned for tomorrow night this evening.” He excused himself to talk with the camp chef.

  That evening, the group was treated to an array of delicious Middle Eastern fare. Carter and Mackenzie liked it very much, and several of the others who’d done tours in the Middle East during their military days were reminded of the flavors they’d enjoyed back in the day.

  Carter remarked the only thing missing from the dinner was belly dancers, and while the bodyguards enthusiastically agreed, Mackenzie made her opinion known with a sharp elbow to his ribs.

  Chapter 56 - Who were your visitors?

  May 4

  For the second morning in a row, the group rose early, this time to return to Queen Alia International Airport near the capital. Reluctantly, because no such arrangements had been made for Crete, they returned their weapons to Sachs, who concealed them inside the van.

  Dylan and his men were on edge because they’d have no guns on Crete. The side trip left no time to arrange for them. They’d be doubly watchful there, and if trouble arose, they’d have to rely on hand-to-hand combat, unless they acquired knives. Dylan thought ruefully of the adage never take a knife to a gunfight.

  He also pointed out to Carter they didn’t have visas, either. Carter assured him that would be no problem, as US citizens were permitted to visit Greece for up to ninety days without one for tourist or business purposes.

  “What about for spy purposes?” Dylan muttered out of earshot of Sachs, who was bowing over Mackenzie’s hand in farewell.

  “For that, I’m afraid there are no visas issued anyway,” Carter assured him unhelpfully.

  They bade Sachs goodbye with thanks and saw him on his way before boarding the plane.

  Sachs returned to camp to find it overrun with scowling Arab men. “How can I help you gentlemen?” he asked. He’d learned a mild demeanor went a long way toward more comfortable relations with the people of his host country.

  “Who were your visitors? What did they want? What did you show them?”

  Sachs was very glad he’d followed Ben Friedman’s instructions to the letter by not being inquisitive with his visitors.

  “Why, they were tourists, wanting an archaeologist’s view of the city of Petra. I showed them everything, of course.”

  “What did they ask to see?”

  “Everything. Of course, they didn’t stay long. But I showed them all the important buildings, and the gentleman and I had a very pleasant discourse regarding what happened to the original inhabitants. I believe he was a wealthy hobbyist.”

  “Why did they contact you? Did you know them before they came here?” the leader asked.

  Sachs continued to give mild answers, as if this interrogation were nothing out of the ordinary. “No, no. They were referred to me by a friend in Jerusalem, Ben Friedman.”

  “He’s a travel agent?”

  “No, he’s an international merchant, dealing in Israeli technology products. He only told me they were friends of his.” To prove he was speaking the truth, Sachs offered to show them the emails from Friedman, but he had to read the emails to them as they were written in Hebrew. The Arabs spat on the ground when they saw it but had Sachs read and translate it.

  What he didn’t tell them about was his face-to-face meeting with Friedman in Amman on a supply run. Nor did he tell them about the 9-millimeter weapons hidden in the panel of his van.

  Still unsatisfied, the Arab leader then asked, “Where did they say they were going?”

  “They said they were going to Crete for a few days to visit a few sites connected with Greek mythology and the Minoan civilization.” Sachs began sweating in the sun and mopped his brow with a clean, white handkerchief. Was this questioning never going to end?

  “And after that? Where will they go next?”

  “Gentlemen, I’m not aware of their itinerary. I do believe I heard the lady say she wanted to spend some time in London on their way back to America. They’re from LA.”

  The leader handed him a card written in Arabic. “Call me at this number if you hear from them again, or if they want to come back, or if you remember anything important.”

  “Of course,” Sachs agreed.

  When they left, he sagged in relief. His calm and poise must have convinced them he was telling the truth. Baruch Hashem!

  That night, from Amman, the leader of the Arab men sent a report to his superior, whom he’d never met. It was a standard report about seven Americans who visited Petra and stayed for two nights. T
here didn’t seem to be anything threatening about them or the reason for their visit.

  To the report, he attached photos of the visitors taken with hidden cameras within the city of Petra. He didn’t know what his superiors were on the lookout for, but the more than 460,000 visitors to Petra each year all had their pictures taken clandestinely.

  It was his full-time job to keep a database of visitors and match names to faces by means of facial recognition software. In the ten years he’d been running the operation, there’d never been a mismatch between the face and a name, for those faces it recognized. But he knew the software was only successful in recognizing about forty percent of the faces.

  Out in the desert, everyone wore dark glasses and wide brimmed hats. That made it very difficult to recognize faces at all, much less with certainty.

  Chapter 57 - The dolphin pentagon of Petras

  May 4

  Carter, Mackenzie, and Dylan’s team arrived at Heraklion International Airport, nicknamed “Nikos Kazantzakis”, a little over an hour after taking off from Amman. The primary airport on the island of Crete, and second-busiest in the country after Athens International, was still eighty miles from their destination.

  Carter’s Greek was good enough to get them a van. He quipped he knew just enough of the language to stay out of trouble, order coffee and food, but nothing more.

  They drove straight to Siteia and stopped for some lunch before continuing to the Petras site. Fortunately, they found someone who spoke Italian—in which Carter was fluent— among the diggers, and she was able to point them toward the area where they’d find the dolphin petroglyph.

  Once they found it, they proceeded as they’d done in Petra, taking plenty of pictures of the dolphin pentagon and establishing an exact GPS coordinate, but mixing those activities in with other sightseeing activities to avoid exposing their true interest.

  Although Carter wasn’t an expert on Minoan civilization, he knew enough to keep up a running tour lecture for the benefit of anyone who might be listening and interested in what they were up to. As he spoke, he reflected that this site was much older than the Petra site and possibly even older than Matera.

  The Minoan civilization was from the Aegean Bronze Age. It flourished on the island of Crete and other Aegean islands from approximately 3650 to 1400 BC, belonging to a period of Greek history before both the Mycenaean civilization and Ancient Greece. It was the first of its kind in Europe.

  Late in the afternoon, they drove back to Heraklion and booked into the Aquila Atlantis.

  “Isn’t this a bit above our budget limit?” Dylan asked, looking around at the lobby of the five-star hotel.

  “Bill doesn’t have any problem if I kick in a little to get us some nice digs,” Carter answered. “After making her camp out for two nights in Jordan, I’d like to put Mackenzie in something a bit more comfortable. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” said Dylan. “Do they have room service?”

  Carter had already zoned out, thinking about the dolphin pentagons. The one at Petras was an exact replica of the one in Petra, or perhaps it was the other way around. His memory told him the one in Matera was also the same. He still planned to get to Matera to confirm it.

  “Earth to Carter,” Dylan said, interrupting Carter’s thoughts. “Room service?”

  “Oh, let’s eat together. It will take Mackenzie at least an hour to get the dust off her and get ready. Let’s meet in the restaurant at eight.”

  After a nice Mediterranean dinner in the hotel restaurant, Carter spent some time minutely examining the photos of the two petroglyphs and looking for clues. In the end, he admitted to Mackenzie that Sachs’ idea of an ancient company logo could very well be a possibility.

  “It’s no crazier than anything else I’ve come up with,” he remarked. “But I still wonder if it could have something to do with the library.”

  “I thought you said the library must have been moved from Petra to Matera,” Mackenzie remarked.

  “It’s all conjecture, really. Not even strong enough to call a theory. They could just as easily have moved it from Petra to Petras, and then to Matera, or the other way around. We won’t know until we explore all the areas. Maybe it doesn’t even have anything to do with the library.”

  “That would be a bummer,” Mackenzie mused. “Carter, why a pentagon of dolphins?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why five? Why not a hexagon, or octagon? For that matter, why not a dodecahedron? For the 12 sons of Ishmael?”

  “That’s a lot of dolphins to carve,” he answered. But as he answered, he was also thinking. She has a point. A dodecagon, with 12 sides. Or maybe it wasn’t Ishmael’s children, but Nebajoth’s.

  “Mackie, I don’t know how you do it. You always seem to ask just the right question to get me thinking. Listen—we know from the Book of Jasher that Nebajoth had three sons, Mayon, Mend, and Send. But no one ever mentions his daughters. Maybe he had a couple? Women didn’t count for much in those days,” he added, ducking as he said it.

  His instincts were correct. Mackenzie hurled a pillow at him, but she laughed as she said, “They didn’t have redheads among them, that’s why.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you use that to mesmerize or intimidate men we want to put one over on,” Carter joked. He ducked again as a second pillow flew his way. “But back to the pentagon. It could be that it represents all of Nebajoth’s children, not just his sons. But I’m not sure how that will help us find the library.”

  After a minute, he spoke again. “I’ll tell you what bugs me. Why dolphins? These people were desert dwellers—for millennia, before they suddenly took to the sea and became a power among merchants. Doesn’t it seem strange that a desert nation would become a seafaring nation?

  “Did the dolphins only become significant to them when they started sailing the seas, or were they important before that for some reason?”

  “Could we ask Merrybeth about that?” Mackenzie asked.

  “It would be nice if we could. But how would we explain to her what we’re looking for? Even more problematic is the fact that we can’t show our faces at the Alboran Sea dig. Remember, we’re still in hiding.”

  “Well, it would certainly have been handy to get some help from our dolphin friends — Merrybeth and her pod.” Mackenzie sighed.

  “Maybe we’ll think of a way,” Carter said, kissing Mackenzie on the forehead. “Let’s get some sleep. We have another early morning ahead of us.”

  “Hand me those pillows, love,” Mackenzie wheedled.

  “Oh, no. You threw them you pick them up—” Carter’s words were cut off as his pillows came sailing through the air. “Okay, I’ll pick them up!” he said, laughing.

  Chapter 58 - Welcome to the Basilicata

  May 5

  They were back on their original schedule as they breakfasted quickly and then flew from Heraklion to Bari, where the closest airport to Matera was located. Bill had arranged for them to be met by a CIA undercover agent, an Italian native by the name of Piero Rossi. His cover was a small tourist guide company with a few minibuses and drivers.

  Carter had to smile when the flamboyant Italian introduced himself. “Welcome to the Basilicata.”

  Though accented, his English was perfect, and so were his continental manners, as he bowed and kissed Mackenzie’s hand. That was happening a little too often for Carter’s taste, but he thought he’d better tolerate it. Mackenzie was eating it up.

  His smile, though, was for a different reason. Carter’s Italian was much better than his Greek, and he therefore knew that the surname, Rossi, meant red. One of the most common surnames in Italy, it derived from the notion of a person with red hair or reddish skin. However, Piero had dark black hair, a neatly trimmed black beard with no hint of red, deep brown eyes, and olive skin. The red hair of his ancestors must have been a recessive trait.

  Carter was wondering if Piero envied Mackenzie’s red hair, which was more befitting
of his surname.

  Dylan, on the other hand, was openly staring at the loud Italian. Dressed up as he was in the most expensive tailormade jeans, dress shirt, Gucci leather jacket, and Forzieri, handcrafted leather, cap-toe, dress shoes—looking as if he just stepped off the catwalk of a fashion show in Milan—he was hardly Dylan’s idea of “undercover”.

  Next to him, they looked like hillbillies in their faded jeans, T-shirts, and baseball caps, even though the T-shirts showed off sculpted muscles. In fact, they’d have to change those to carry anything remotely resembling a weapon, but he appreciated the looks he was getting from some of the Italian girls. Liu would understand, he hoped.

  Still, he wondered what Bill Griffin was thinking when he organized this bozo. They were supposed to draw as little attention as possible. But then slowly he became aware that everyone in the arrivals hall was dressed in similar fashion, and they were just as loud and boisterous.

  Shit. We’re the standouts. He couldn’t see how he and his men were going to fit in, as they were used to blending into the woodwork, not being loud and flashy like their guide.

  Piero gave every indication he was quite excited to see them. He took them to his ten-seater van, marked with his tour company’s logo Rossi’s Italian Indulgence on both side panels.

  Rossi didn’t have complete instructions yet. Bill had only told him to meet the group at the Bari airport, and he’d get further instructions from the group. He was to be at their disposal for the next six to seven days.

  Once in the van, Dylan handed him Bill’s written instructions.

  Without opening the envelope, Rossi placed it in the inside pocket of his expensive leather jacket and said, “Coffee first.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Carter and Mackenzie made small talk with Piero as Dylan and his crew exchanged questioning looks.