Virgin (3 page)

This is wonderful, he thought. Our family will be rich, and
Nabil and I will be famous.

He saw the hand of Allah in this, rewarding him for his daily
prayers, his fasting, and his strict observance of Holy Days. He turned and
faced south, toward Mecca, and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Then he
looked at the moon, thanking Allah for making it full tonight.

But the prayer choked in his throat and he nearly dropped the
treasure in his arms when he noticed a figure standing atop the far cliff they
had skirted to reach this canyon. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, it
seemed to be watching him. For a moment he was transfixed with fear, then he
heard Nabil behind him. He turned to see his brother stepping over the rubble
before the cave mouth.

"Nabil!"

His brother
looked up and stumbled, but caught himself before he fell.

"What
is
it?" he said between his teeth.

"Up on the
cliff . . ." Achmed turned to look and saw that the upper edge of the
cliff was now empty. The sentinel figure had vanished.

"What?"
Nabil said, the irritation mounting in his tone. "Finish what you
begin!"

"Nothing."

"Then why
are you standing there like a blind camel? Move! We'll take these back to the
donkey then search the cave for more."

They had just
reached the donkey and were laying their treasures in the sand when Achmed
heard something. He lifted his head and listened. A low hum. No. . . a
pulsating
thrum.

"Tayya'ra!"
he cried.

Nabil leapt
into motion.

"Quickly!
The scrolls! Bundle them up!"

They pulled the
blankets they had brought, wrapped the urns in them, then slung them over the
donkey's back.

"Let's
go!"

"What
about the metal?" Achmed cried.

"Forget
the metal! We have a far greater treasure! But if the Israelis find us, they'll
steal it! Hurry!"

With Nabil
pulling from the front and Achmed again switching from behind, they drove the
donkey down the bank and across the wadi. As they slipped around the leading
edge of the outcrop, the sound of the helicopter grew louder.

"It could
be anywhere down there," the copilot said.

Kesev stared
below, watching the bright beam of the searchlight lance the darkness and dance
along the peaks, plateaus, and crevasses that dominated this area of the
Wilderness. They had been running a crisscrossing search pattern for thirty
minutes now.

"Keep
going," he said.

"I think
we can be pretty sure no one was hurt by this thing," the pilot said after
a few more minutes of searching. "Maybe we'd better put this off, come
back when it's light and--"

"Keep
going," Kesev said. He was getting the lay of the land now. "Follow
this canyon south."

Out of the
corner of his eye he saw the pilot and copilot exchange glances and discreet
shrugs, but neither challenged his authority.

The canyon
widened below them, and then the search beam picked up white wisps trailing
through the air.

"Smoke!"
the copilot cried.

"Turn off
the search beam," Kesev said.

As soon as the
beam died, tiny flickers of light became visible on the canyon floor.

"Down
there," Kesev said. "It exploded on the canyon floor."

He released a
soft sigh of relief. A glance to his left at the top of the east wall of the
canyon reassured him that the Resting Place was untouched.

Close, he
thought. Too close.

And then he
remembered that the canyon floor had its own secrets.

"Let's
have the light again," he said. "See if we can find the point of impact."

It took less
than a minute.

"There!"
the copilot said. "At two o'clock. Looks like it took out part of the
cliff wall too."

Kesev went
rigid in the seat. The SCUD crater was right where the cave had been---still
was.
Had
the explosion--?

"Take us
down."

"Sir,
we've accomplished our objective," the pilot said. "We've found the
impact sight and determined that there's been no personal injury or property
damage, so--"

"Land this
thing now," Kesev said softly, just loud enough to be heard over the
engine noise, "or you'll spend the rest of your career working a broom
handle instead of that joystick."

The pilot
turned. For a heartbeat or two he stared at Kesev from within the confines of
his flight helmet, then took the copter down.

As soon as the
wheels touched earth, Kesev was out of his harness. He pulled off his flack
jacket--he didn't need it, had only worn it because of regulations--and reached
for the hatch handle.

"Stay here
and train the search beam on the crater," Kesev said. "This will only
take a minute."

He opened the
hatch and ran in a crouch through the hurricane from the whirling blades,
following the path of the search beam. He cursed as he neared the crater for he
saw that the cave had been exposed by the blast. What abysmal luck!

On the other
hand, how fortunate that he'd obeyed his instincts and come along to check this
out personally. As a result, he was first on the scene. He could prevent this
minor mishap from escalating into a catastrophe. He skirted the edge of the
crater and stepped over the rocks tumbled before the cave mouth. Whoever was
working the search beam back in the copter was doing a good job keeping it
trained on him. The cave lit up before him.

That was when
he noticed the footprints.

Panic clamped
his heart in an icy fist as his gaze ranged wildly about the cave.

Empty. But in the dust on the floor . . . sandal-prints . . . two
sets . . . one larger than the other ... the old chair--reduced to dust . . .
the urns . . .

The urns! Gone!
No, not completely. Fragments from one of the urns lay scattered in the dust.

How could this be? How could a pair of thieves have come and gone
so soon? So swiftly? It wasn't possible!

And yet the
fresh footprints and the missing urns reminded him that it was indeed possible.

The urns . . . what had been in them? It had been so long, he
could barely remember. Had there been anything of value? Old shekels? He didn't
care about losing little bits of gold or silver. What he did mind was word of
the find getting out and causing archeological interest to center on this
place. That could be extremely dangerous.

But
what
had
he put in those urns? He prayed it was nothing that might reveal the secret of
this place. He racked his brain for the memory. It was there, just out of
reach. It--

The scroll!

Dear Lord, he'd
left the scroll in one of those urns!

Kesev staggered
in a circle, his breath rasping, his heart beating wildly against the inner
surface of his sternum as his vision blurred and lights danced in his vision.

He had to get
it back! If it fell into the hands of someone who could translate it--

He leapt from
the cave and ran back to the helicopter.

"Give me a
flashlight! A canteen too." When the copilot handed them out, Kesev jerked
a thumb skyward. "Return to base. I'm staying here."

"That's
not necessary, sir," the pilot said. "The inspection team will be
here at first light and--"

"Someone's already beat us here. Probably picking up
scrap metal. I'll stay on and make sure they don't come back and disturb
anything else."

Kesev was back
outside, stepping clear of the blades and waving them off. He couldn't see them
inside the cabin, but he was sure the two airmen were shrugging and saying, If
the crazy little man from Shin Bet wants to stay in
the middle of nowhere until morning, let him.

Kesev watched
the copter rise, bank, and roar away into the night. As the swirling dust
settled on and about him, Kesev stood statue still among the stunted olive
trees and listened . . . for anything. For any hint of movement that might lead
him toward the thieves. But all he heard was the ringing aftermath of the
helicopter's roar. His hearing would be of little value for the next quarter
hour or so.

He walked back
to the cave. He had to look again, had to be sure he'd seen those footprints,
be absolutely certain the urns were gone.

He searched the
cave inch by inch, poking the flashbeam into every nook, corner, crack, and
crevice. And as he searched he pounded the remaining furniture to rotted
splinters; the same with the remnants of bedding against the rear wall; he
systematically shattered anything that might hint that the cave had ever been
inhabited by a human being. He took the crumbled remnants of the furniture and
pulverized them under his heels, then he kicked and scattered the resultant
powder, mixing it with the fine dust that layered the floor.

Satisfied that
he'd made the cave as uninteresting as possible, he pocketed the broken
fragments of urn, then went outside and cried silently to the sinking eye of
the moon.

Why? Why has
this happened?

Kesev did not
wait for an answer. Instead he headed across the field toward the east wall of
the canyon.

One more place
left to check.

He knew the
way. He hadn't been up to the ledge in a long, long while, but his feet had
trod the hidden path so many times over the years of his life that they carried
him along now with no conscious effort.

He reached the
top of the cliff and stood on the broad ledge, breathing hard. He'd grown soft
in many ways., He coughed and sipped from the canteen. So dry out here. The
membranes inside of his nostrils felt as if they were ready to crack and peel
like old paint. In the old days he wouldn't

have noticed, but he'd grown soft living so near the sea all these
years in Tel Aviv.

He hurried to
the mound of rocks that covered the entrance to the Resting Place. They
remained undisturbed, as he'd expected. Still, relief flooded through him.

This was holy
ground. Kesev had vowed to protect it. He would gladly die--more than gladly--to
preserve its secret.

But his relief
was short lived. The secret of the Resting Place lay within the coils of the
stolen scroll. Its theft could have disastrous consequences.

He drifted to
the edge of the ledge and stared down the sheer three-hundred-foot drop to the
canyon's shadowed floor. In the old days, at least for someone who didn't know
the torturous little path to the top, this sort of climb would daunt all but
the most foolhardy adventurer. Nowadays, with modern climbing techniques--or
helicopters, for those with deeper pockets--such a precipice offered but a
momentary obstacle.

He turned and
stared east, across the lengthening shadows behind the foothills that sloped
down to the mirror surface of the Dead Sea. He hurled the urn fragments into
the air and knew he'd never hear the clatter of their impact with the rocks so
far below. The Resting Place was safe up here, hidden from the casual observer
as well as the determined searcher . . .

Unless . . .

Unless a
searcher had something to guide him.

Where are you?
he thought as he searched the craggy Wilderness spread out below. Where have
you thieving bastards hidden yourselves? You can't stay hidden forever. I'd be
searching for you now if I weren't afraid to leave this place unattended. But
I'll find you eventually. Sooner or later you'll have to show yourselves.
Eventually you have to slither out from under your rock to sell what you've stolen
from me. And then I'll have you. Then you'll wish you'd never laid eyes on that
scroll.

The scroll . .
. how much did it tell? How detailed were its descriptions of the area? If only
he could remember. So
long since he'd last
read it. Kesev squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples, trying to massage
the hidden information from the reluctant crevices of his brain.

Was the scroll even legible any longer?