The Alexandria Link

by Steve Berry

  He’d been wrong.

  About everything.

  Carefully he again paged through the weighty volume open on the table. Three such tomes had been waiting when he’d arrived. The Guardian who’d visited him six months back had been standing at the entrance, a broad grin on his chapped face.

  Never had Ben-Gurion dreamed that such a place of learning existed, and he was grateful that his curiosity had allowed him to amass the courage for the quest.

  “Where did all this come from?” he’d asked on entering.

  “The hearts and minds of men and women.”

  A riddle but also a truth, and the philosopher within him understood.

  “Ben-Gurion told that story in 1973, days before he died,” Jonah said. “Some say he was delirious. Others that his mind had wandered. But whatever he may have actually learned at that library, he kept to himself. One fact is clear, though. Ben-Gurion’s politics and philosophy changed dramatically after 1965. He was less militant, more conciliatory. He called for concessions to the Arabs. Most attributed that to advancing age, but the Mossad thought there was more. So much that Ben-Gurion actually became suspect. That’s why he was never allowed a political comeback. Can you imagine? The father of Israel kept at bay.”

  “Who’s this Guardian?”

  Jonah shrugged. “The files are quiet. But for those four who received visits—somehow the Mossad learned about each one and acted swiftly. Whoever it is, Israel doesn’t want anyone talking to them.”

  “So your colleagues plan to eliminate Haddad?”

  Jonah nodded. “As we speak.”

  He’d heard enough, so he slid from the booth.

  “What of my payment?” Jonah quickly asked.

  He slipped an envelope from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “That should bring our account current. Let us know when there’s more to tell.”

  Jonah pocketed the bribe. “You’ll be the first.”

  He watched as his contact stood and headed not for the front door, but toward an alcove where restrooms were located. He decided this was as good an opportunity as any, so he followed.

  At the bathroom door, he hesitated.

  The restaurant was half filled, ill lit, and noisy, the table occupants self-absorbed, buzzing with talk in several languages.

  He entered, locked the door, and quickly surveyed the scene. Two stalls, a sink, and a mirror, amber light from incandescent fixtures. Jonah occupied the first stall, the other was empty. Sabre grabbed a handful of paper towels and waited for the toilet to flush, then withdrew a knife from his pocket.

  Jonah stepped from the stall, zipping his pants.

  Sabre whirled and plunged the knife into the man’s chest, twisting upward, then with his other hand clamped paper towels over the wound. He watched as the Israeli’s eyes first filled with shock, then went blank. He kept the towels in place as he withdrew the blade.

  Jonah sank to the floor.

  He retrieved the envelope from the man’s pocket, then swiped the metal on Jonah’s trousers. Quickly he grasped the dead man’s arms and dragged the bleeding body into the stall, propping the corpse on the toilet.

  He then closed the stall door and left.

  Outside, Sabre followed a guide who was steering a walking tour to the town’s rathaus. The older woman pointed to the ancient city hall and spoke about Rothenburg’s long history.

  He hesitated and listened. Bells clanged for four PM.

  “If you’ll look up at the clock, watch the two bull’s-eye windows to the right and left of the face.”

  Everyone turned as the panels swung open. A surmounted mechanical man appeared and drained a tankard of wine while another figure looked on. The guide droned about the historical significance. Cameras clicked. Camcorders whined. The event lasted about two minutes. As Sabre strolled away, he caught a glimpse of one tourist, a man, who deftly angled a lens away from the clock tower and focused on his retreat.

  He smiled.

  Exposure was always a risk when betrayal became a way of life. Luckily, he’d learned all he needed to know from Jonah, which explained why that liability had been permanently suppressed. But the Israelis were now aware of Jonah’s contact. The Blue Chair seemed not to care and had specifically instructed him to provide a “good show.”

  Which he’d done.

  For the Israelis and for Alfred Hermann.

  TWENTY-THREE

  LONDON

  2:30 PM

  MALONE WAITED FOR GEORGE HADDAD TO FINISH EXPLAINING. His old friend was hedging.

  “I wrote a paper six years ago,” Haddad said. “It dealt with a theory I had been working on, one that concerns how the Old Testament was originally translated from Old Hebrew.”

  Haddad told them about the Septuagint, crafted from the third to the first centuries BCE, the oldest and most complete rendition of the Old Testament into Greek, translated at the Library of Alexandria. Then he described the Codex Sinaiticus, a fourth-century CE manuscript of the Old and New Testaments used by later scholars to confirm other biblical texts, even though no one knew whether it was correct. And the Vulgate, completed about the same time by St. Jerome, the first translation from Hebrew directly to Latin, major revisions to which occurred in the sixteenth, eighteenth, and twentieth centuries.

  “Even Martin Luther,” Haddad said, “tinkered with the Vulgate, removing parts for his Lutheran faith. The whole meaning of that translation is muddled. A great many minds have altered its message.

  “The King James Bible. Many think it presents original words, but it was created in the seventeenth century from a translation of the Vulgate into English. Those translators never saw the original Hebrew, and if they had, it’s unlikely they could have understood it. Cotton, the Bible as we know it today is five linguistic removes from the first one ever written. The King James Bible proclaims itself authorized and original. But that does not mean genuine, authentic, or even true.”

  “Are there any Hebrew Bibles?” Pam asked.

  Haddad nodded. “The oldest surviving one is the Aleppo Codex, saved from destruction in Syria in 1948. But that’s a tenth-century CE manuscript, produced nearly two thousand years after the original text from who-knows-what.”

  Malone had seen that manuscript’s crisp, cream-colored parchment, with faded brown ink, in Jerusalem’s Jewish National Library.

  “In my article,” Haddad said, “I hypothesized how certain manuscripts could help resolve these questions. We know that the Old Testament was studied by ancient philosophers at the Library of Alexandria. Men who actually understood Old Hebrew. We also know they wrote about their thoughts. There are references to these works, quotations and passages, in surviving manuscripts, but unfortunately the original texts are gone. Further, there may well be ancient Jewish texts—we know the library accumulated many of those. Mass destruction of Jewish writings became common later in history, especially Old Testaments in Hebrew. The Inquisition alone burned twelve thousand copies of the Talmud. Studying just one of those could prove decisive to resolving any doubts.”

  “What does it matter?” Pam asked.

  “It matters a great deal,” Haddad said. “Especially if it’s wrong.”

  “In what way?” Malone asked, becoming impatient.

  “Moses parting the Red Sea. The Exodus. Genesis. David and Solomon. Since the eighteenth century archaeologists have dug in the Holy Land with a vengeance—all to prove that the Bible is historical fact. Yet not one shred of physical evidence has been unearthed that confirms anything in the Old Testament. Exodus is a good example. Supposedly thousands of Israelites trekked across the Sinai Peninsula. They camped at locations specifically identified in the Bible, locations that can still be found today. But not a shard of pottery, not a bracelet, not anything has ever been found from that time period to confirm Exodus. This same evidentiary void is present when archaeology has tried to corroborate other biblical events. Don’t you think that odd? Wouldn’t there be some remnant of at least one inc
ident depicted in the Old Testament still lying in the earth somewhere?”

  Malone knew that Haddad, like many people, bought into the Bible only so much as history. That school of thought believed there was some truth there, but not much. Malone, too, possessed doubts. From his own reading he’d come to the conclusion that those who defended the narrative as history formed their conclusions far more from theological than from scientific considerations.

  But still, so what?

  “George, you’ve said all this before, and I agree with you. I need to know what’s so important that your life is at stake?”

  Haddad rose from the table and led them to where the maps adorned the walls. “I’ve spent the past five years collecting these. It hasn’t been easy. I’m ashamed to say, I actually had to steal a few.”

  “From where?” Pam asked.

  “Libraries, mainly. Most don’t allow photocopying of rare books. And besides, you lose details in a copy, and it’s the details that matter.”

  Haddad stepped to a map that depicted the modern state of Israel. “When the land was carved out in 1948 and the Zionists given their supposed portion, there was much talk about the Abrahamic covenant. God’s word that this region—” Haddad pressed his finger onto the map. “—this precise land, was supposedly Abraham’s.”

  Malone noted the boundaries.

  “Being able to understand Old Hebrew has given me some insight. Maybe too much. About thirty years ago I noticed something interesting. But to appreciate that revelation, it’s important to appreciate Abraham.”

  Malone was familiar with the story.

  “Genesis,” Haddad said, “records an event that profoundly affected world history. It may well be the most important day in all human history.”

  Malone listened as Haddad spoke of Abram, who traveled from Mesopotamia to Canaan, wandering among the population, faithfully following God’s commands. His wife, Sarai, remained barren and eventually suggested that Abram couple with her favorite handmaiden, an Egyptian slave named Hagar, who’d stayed with them since the clan’s expulsion from Egypt by the pharaoh.

  “The birth of Ishmael,” Haddad said, “Abram’s first son, from Hagar, becomes critical in the seventh century CE, when a new religion formed in Arabia. Islam. The Koran calls Ishmael an apostle and a prophet. He was most acceptable in the sight of his Lord. Abram’s name appears in twenty-five of the one hundred fourteen chapters of the Koran. To this day Ibrahim and Isma’il are common first names for Muslims. The Koran itself commands Muslims to follow the religion of Abraham.”

  “He was not a Jew nor yet a Christian; but he was true in faith and he joined not gods with God.”

  “Good, Cotton, I see you’ve studied your Koran since we last talked.”

  He smiled. “I gave it a reading or two. Fascinating stuff.”

  “The Koran makes clear that Abraham and Isma’il raised the foundation of the House.”

  “The Kaaba,” Pam said. “Islam’s holiest shrine.”

  Malone was impressed. “When did you learn about Islam?”

  “I didn’t. But I watch the History Channel.”

  He caught her grin.

  “The Kaaba is in Mecca. Adult Muslims have to make a pilgrimage there. Problem is, when they gather each year so many people come that several hundred are trampled to death. That’s in the news all the time.”

  “The Arabs, particularly Muslim Arabs, trace their heritage to Ishmael,” Haddad said.

  Malone knew what came next. Thirteen years after the birth of Ishmael, Abram was told by God that he would be father to a multitude of nations. First he was ordered to change his name to Abraham and Sarai’s to Sarah. Then God announced that Sarah would give birth to a son. Neither Sarah nor Abraham believed God, but within a year Isaac was born.

  “The day of that birth may well be the most important day in human history,” Haddad said. “Everything changed after that. The Bible and the Koran differ on many points relative to Abram. Each recounts a separate tale. But according to the Bible, the Lord told Abraham that all the land surrounding him, the land of Canaan, would belong to Abraham and his heir, Isaac.”

  Malone knew the rest. God reappeared to Isaac’s son Jacob and repeated the promise of the land, saying that through Jacob would come a people to whom the land of Canaan would everlastingly belong. Jacob was told to change his name to Israel. Jacob’s twelve sons evolved into separate tribes, held together by the covenant between God and Abraham, and they each established their own families, becoming the twelve tribes of Israel.

  “Abraham is the father of all three of the world’s main religions,” Haddad said. “Islam, Judaism, and Christianity trace their roots to him, though the story of his life differs in each. The entire conflict in the Middle East, which has endured for thousands of years, is simply a debate over which account is correct, which religion has the divine right to the land. The Arabs through Ishmael. The Jews from Isaac. The Christians by Christ.”

  Malone recalled the Bible and said, “The Lord had said to Abram: Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you. I will make your name great and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”

  “You say the words with conviction,” Pam said.

  “They have meaning,” Haddad said. “Jews believe they are what grant them exclusive ownership of Palestine. I’ve spent most of my adult life studying the Bible. It’s an amazing book. And what separates it from all other epic tales is simple. Nothing mystical or magical. Instead, human responsibility is its focus.”

  “Do you believe?” Pam asked.

  Haddad shook his head. “In religion? No. I’ve seen its manipulation too clearly. In God? That’s another matter. But I’ve seen His neglect. I was born a Muslim. My father was Muslim, as was his. After the war in 1948, though, something overtook me. That’s when the Bible became my passion. I wanted to read it in its original form. To know what it truly meant.”

  “Why do the Israelis want you dead?” Malone asked.

  “They are the descendants of Abraham. The ones God said He would bless—their enemies the ones He would curse. Millions have died through the centuries, thousands over the past fifty years, simply to prove those words. Recently, Cotton, I was embroiled in a debate. A particularly arrogant man in a local pub told me that Israel possessed the absolute right to exist. He gave me six reasons, which hinged separately on archaeology, history, practicality, humanity, defense, and, to him the most important, entitlement.” Haddad paused. “Entitlement, Cotton. Biblical entitlement. The Abrahamic covenant. God’s land given to the people of Israel, proclaimed in all its glory in the words of Genesis.”

  Malone waited.

  “What if we have it all wrong?” Haddad glared at the map of Israel alongside another map of Saudi Arabia.

  “Do go on,” a new voice said.

  They all turned.

  Standing in the front doorway was a short man with glasses and a fading hairline. Beside him was a woman, midthirties, small and compact, dark complexion. Both held sound-suppressed weapons. Malone immediately registered the make and model of the guns and knew who these two worked for.

  Israel.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  WASHINGTON, DC

  9:50 AM

  STEPHANIE FINISHED HER BREAKFAST AND SIGNALED THE waiter for the check. She sat in a restaurant near Dupont Circle, not far from her hotel. The entire Magellan Billet had been mobilized and seven of her twelve lawyers were now directly assisting her. The murder of Lee Durant had provided them all with motivation, but there were risks associated with her efforts. Other intelligence agencies would quickly learn what she was doing, which meant Larry Daley would not be far behind. To hell with them. Malone needed her, and she wasn’t about to let him down. Again.

  She paid the bill and signaled a taxi tha
t, fifteen minutes later, deposited her on 17th Street adjacent to the National Mall. The day was bright and sunny, and the woman she’d called two hours ago occupied a shaded bench not far from the World War II Memorial. She was a leggy blonde, strong-bodied, with, Stephanie knew, a shrewdness that demanded she be handled with caution. Stephanie had known Heather Dixon for nearly a decade. Carrying a married surname from a short-lived relationship, Dixon was an Israeli citizen attached to the Washington mission, part of the Mossad’s North American contingent. They’d worked together, and against each other, which was par for the course when it came to the Israelis. Stephanie was hoping today would be a friendly venture.

  “Good to see you,” she said as she sat.

  Dixon was dressed stylishly, as always, in brown-and-gold glen plaid pants, a white oxford shirt, and a black bouclé vest.

  “You sounded concerned on the phone.”

  “I am. I need to know about your government’s interest in George Haddad.”

  The vacuous stare of an intelligence officer faded from Dixon’s attractive face. “You’ve been busy.”

  “As have your people. Lots of chatter about Haddad the past few days.” She was actually at a disadvantage, because Lee Durant had been her contact point with the Israelis, and he hadn’t had a chance to report all of what he’d learned.

  “What’s the American interest?” Dixon asked.

  “Five years ago one of my agents almost died because of Haddad.”

  “And then you hid the Palestinian away. Kept him all to yourself. And didn’t bother to tell your ally.”

  Now they were getting to the meat of the coconut. “And you didn’t bother to tell us that you’d tried to blow the man up, along with my agent.”

  “That, I know nothing about. Way out of the loop. But I do know that Haddad has surfaced, and we want him.”

  “As do we.”

  “What’s so important on your end?”

  She couldn’t decide if Dixon was fishing or stalling.