Virgin Page 14

  Hal had known exactly what he meant and gave him a name and a telephone number in Tel Aviv. He’d said he was very interested and wanted to see this artifact when it reached the states. Dan had thanked him and hung up.

  Yeah. Thanks a lot, Hal.

  Nothing was working out the way he’d hoped. He’d expected Hal to tell him to forget it—no way to get something that size past the inspectors. Instead of no way, it was no problem.

  Damn!

  Carrie had remained in a sort of semi-dream state. What little conversation she’d initiated had been whispers of “Can you believe it? Can you believe we’ve actually found her?” as they stocked up on twine, blankets, work gloves, a pry bar, a lantern, and hundreds of feet of rope.

  And now, beside him in bed, after a long silence …

  “I’ve been thinking …”

  “Great.” Dan dragged himself back from the borderlands of sleep. “Does that mean you’re giving up this ca-ca idea of bringing that corpse home?”

  “Please don’t refer to her so coarsely. Please?”

  “Okay. Just for your sake. Not because I believe it.”

  “Thank you. Now tell me: Who do you think wrote the scroll?”

  “A clever, phony bastard.”

  “All right,” she said with exaggerated patience. “Let’s humor Sister Carrie and assume that the scroll is genuine. Who wrote it?”

  “We’ve been over this already. A Pharisee. An educated man.”

  “But what of that passage where he says ‘I do not fear killing. I have killed before, slipping through the crowds in Jerusalem, stabbing with my knife. And I fear not damnation. Indeed, I am already thrice-damned.’ That doesn’t sound like a Pharisee.”

  “What’d you do, memorize that translation?”

  “No. But I’ve read it a few times.”

  More than a few, Dan bet.

  He said, “Some of the upper-class Israelites, a few Pharisees among them, got involved with the anti-Roman rebels, some with the zealots. These were a rough bunch of guys, sort of the Israelite equivalent of the IRA. They mounted guerrilla attacks, they murdered collaborators and informants and generally did whatever they could to incite revolt. These were the guys who gathered at Masada after the fall of Jerusalem. They held out for three years, then all 950 of them chose to die rather than surrender to the Roman siege. This scroll writer is patterned after that sort of zealot.”

  “He was a pretty tough cookie then.”

  “Extremely. Not the kind you’d want to cross.”

  “I wonder what happened to him?”

  “He’s probably hanging around, laughing up his three-striped sleeve, waiting for someone to chase the wild goose he created.”

  He regretted the words immediately, but he was tired, dammit.

  Carrie yanked the sheet angrily and turned onto her side, her back to him.

  “Good night, Dan. Get some sleep. We’re out of here at dawn.”

  “Good night, Carrie.”

  But exhausted as he was, thoughts of the forger kept sleep at bay. And the more Dan thought about how this slimy bastard had sucked Carrie in, making her believe all this nonsense, the more he wanted to get back at him.

  And removing that corpse or whatever it was from its cave was the perfect way.

  Then it wouldn’t matter who came searching for the secret atop the tav rock—the New York Times, the Star, or even a mission from Vatican itself—all they’d find was an empty cave. The tomb is empty! There’d be no turmoil, no orthodox confusion, no Catechismal chaos. And the forger would be left scratching his head, wondering where his clever little prop had disappeared to.

  Dan smiled into the darkness. Two can play this game, Mr. Forger.

  Tomorrow Carrie would have enthusiastic help in her efforts to smuggle the forger’s prop out of Israel.

  After that, Dan would have plenty of time to coax her back to her senses. If he could. He was more than a little worried about Carrie’s mental state. She seemed to be drifting into some religious fantasy realm. He sensed some strange chemistry between her and that body that he could not begin to comprehend. A switch had been thrown inside her, but what circuits had been activated?

  Maybe it all went back to her childhood. Maybe it was all tied up in the abuse by her father. Little Carrie had been a virgin and no one had protected her; now here she was with what she believed to be the Virgin Mary and the grown-up Carrie was going to become the protector.

  More parlor psychoanalysis. But perhaps it gave some clue as to why this artifact was so important to her.

  Too important, perhaps.

  And that frightened him. How would she react when it finally became clear—as it must eventually—that the body she thought belonged to the Blessed Virgin was a hoax? What if she cracked?

  Whatever happened, he’d be there for her.

  But what if he couldn’t bring her back?

  He stared into the darkness and wished Hal had brought him another sort of gift from the Holy Land. Anything but that damned scroll.

  Tel Aviv

  Kesev watched the morning news on TV while he sipped his coffee and considered the journey ahead of him. Oppressed by some nameless sense of urgency, he’d left Devorah’s in the early morning hours, fighting the urge to jump into his car and drive into the Wilderness.

  Instead he’d driven home and attempted to sleep. Wasted hours. He’d had not a minute of slumber. He should have driven to the Resting Place. He’d have been there by now and all these vague fears would be allayed.

  He’d called into Shin Bet with an excuse about a family emergency that would keep him from the office all day, but he wondered if this trip were even necessary. He’d be on the road all day, probably for nothing. Only 80 air miles, but three times that by car. And for what? To satisfy a nameless uneasiness?

  Idly, he wondered if he could get a helicopter and do a quick fly-by, but immediately discarded the idea. He’d made a spectacle of himself back there in ‘91 during the Gulf War when he’d refused to leave the SCUD impact site until all the investigations had been completed. He’d actually camped out there until the last missile fragment had been removed and the final investigator had returned home. There’d been too many questions about his undue interest in that particular piece of nowhere. If he requested a copter now …

  He sighed and finished his coffee. Better get moving. He had a long drive ahead of him, and he’d know no peace until he’d reassured himself.

  Absence … guilt twisted inside of him. He wasn’t supposed to be away from the Resting Place. Ever. He’d promised to stay there and guard it.

  He shook off the guilt. How long could you sit around guarding a place that no one even knew existed?

  The Resting Place was as safe as it ever was, protected by the greatest, most steadfast guardian of all—the Midbar Yehuda.

  The Judean Wilderness

  Carrie held her breath going through the little passage to the second chamber. But then the beam flashed against the Blessed Mother and she let it out.

  “She’s still here! Oh, thank God, Dan! She’s still here!”

  “What did you expect?” Dan muttered as he crawled in behind her with the electric lantern. “Not as if we left her on a subway.”

  She knew Dan was tired and irritable. Anyone seeing him stumbling around the guest house this morning would have thought he’d been drinking all night. Her own back ached and her eyes burned, but true to her word, Carrie had awakened him at first light this morning and had them on the road by the time the sun peeked over the Jordanian highlands on the far side of the Dead Sea. It had glowed deep red in the rearview mirror as it crept up the flawless sky, stretching the Explorer’s shadow far before them as they bounced and rolled into the hills.

  And now as she stood in the chamber, staring down once more at the woman she knew—kn
ew—was the Mother of God, she felt as if her heart would burst inside her. She loved this woman—for all her quiet courage, for all the pain she must have suffered in silence. But the Virgin didn’t look quite like what she’d expected. In her mind’s eye she’d imagined finding a rosy-cheeked teenager, or at the very least a tall, beautiful woman in her early twenties, because that was the way Carrie had always seen her pictured. But when she thought about it, the Virgin probably had been average height for a Palestinian woman of two thousand years ago, and must have been pushing seventy when she died.

  Dizziness swept over Carrie as she was struck again by the full impact of what—who—she had found. God had touched this woman as He had touched no other human being. She’d carried the incarnation of His Son. And now she lay here, not two feet in front of Carrie.

  This is really her. This is the Mother of God.

  Until yesterday, the Blessed Virgin had been a statue, a painting, words in books. Now, looking at her aged face, her glossy, uncorrupted flesh, Carrie appreciated her as a woman. A human being. All those years, all those countless Hail Marys, and never once had Carrie realized that this Mary she’d prayed to as an intercessor had once been a flesh-and-blood human being. That made all the suffering in Mary’s life so much more real.

  And rising with the love came a fierce protective urge, almost frightening in its intensity.

  No one must touch her. No one must desecrate or defile her in any way. No one must use her for anything. Anything! The Church itself couldn’t be trusted. Who knew what even the Vatican might do? She’d dreamed during the night of the Blessed Mother’s remains on display in St. Peter’s in Rome and it had sickened her.

  Mary had given enough already, and Carrie knew it was up to her to see to it that no one demanded any more of her.

  Dear Mother, whoever was left to guard you is long since dead and gone. I’ll take care of you. I’ll be your protector from now on.

  She unfolded the dark blue flannel blankets she had brought. Dan set the lantern down and helped her spread them out on the floor. The bright light cast their distorted shadows against the wall where the Virgin lay in her stony niche.

  “All right,” she said when the blankets were right. “Help me move her out.”

  She didn’t want anyone else touching the Virgin, not even Dan, but she couldn’t risk lifting her out of that niche on her own. God forbid she slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the floor.

  As Dan approached the Virgin’s upper torso, Carrie waved him back.

  “I’ll take this end. You take her feet.”

  Her hands shook as she approached the Virgin. What was this going to be like, touching her? She hesitated a moment, then wriggled her fingers under the Virgin’s cloak and cowl, slipping her hands under her neck and the small of her back. The fabric felt so clean, so new … how could this be two thousand years old?

  Unsettled, she glanced to her right. What did Dan think? But Dan stood there with his hands under the Virgin’s knees and ankles, expressionless, waiting for her signal.

  She suddenly realized that things had changed since yesterday afternoon. Until then, Dan had been in charge. Sure, this trip had been her idea, but Dan had made all the flight arrangements, decided where to stay, what car to rent, while she’d done all the research. But here, in this chamber, in the presence of the Virgin, she was in charge.

  “All right,” she said. “Lift.”

  And as she lifted, a knifepoint of doubt pierced Carrie for an instant: So light! Almost as if she were hollow. And so stiff.

  She brushed the misgivings away. The Virgin was small, and God had preserved her flesh. That was why she was so light and stiff.

  Carefully they backed up, cradling the Virgin in their arms, then knelt and gently placed her on the blankets.

  “Stiff as a board,” Dan said. “You know, Carrie, I really think—”

  Carrie knew what he was going to say and she didn’t want to hear it.

  “Please, Dan. Let’s just wrap her up and move her out as we agreed.”

  He stared at her a moment, then shrugged. “Okay.”

  Dan seemed to have had a change of heart overnight. Last night he’d been dead set against her plan to bring the Virgin back to New York, yet this morning he seemed all for it. But not because he’d suddenly become a believer in the authenticity of their discovery. He was still locked into his Doubting Thomas role.

  The Virgin’s unnatural lightness and rigidity, plus Dan’s continuing doubts, only fanned her desire to move the Virgin to a safer hiding place. Even if she fell into the hands of people with the best intentions, they’d want to examine her, test her to verify her authenticity. They’d scan her, take samples of her hair, skin scrapings, biopsy her, maybe even—God forbid—autopsy her.

  No way, Carrie thought as she folded the blankets over the Virgin, wrapping her rigid form in multiple flannel layers. No way.

  Dan helped her tie the blankets in place with the heavy twine they’d bought in En Gedi. They tied her around the shoulders, waist, thighs, and knees. With Carrie leading the way, slipping through the little tunnel first and guiding their precious bundle after her, they moved the Virgin into the front chamber, then through the opening at the top of the cave mouth onto the rock pile.

  Squinting in the brightness of the mid-morning sun, they carried her to the far edge of the mini-plateau atop the tav.

  “I didn’t realize she was this light,” Dan said, “and that gives me an idea on how we can increase our safety factor here.”

  “Who’s safety?”

  “Our prize’s.”

  Carrie couldn’t get over the change in Dan’s attitude.

  “I’m all ears.”

  Dan’s voice echoed down from atop the tav rock.

  “Ready?”

  Carrie shielded her eyes with her hand and looked up. Dan was a silhouette against the bright blue of the sky, standing on the tav’s overhang directly above, waving to her. She answered with a broad wave of her own.

  “Go ahead!”

  As Carrie saw the snugly tied-and-wrapped bundle slip over the edge of the lip and start its slow descent toward her, she became unaccountably afraid. Everything was set—she’d moved the Explorer under the lip just as Dan had suggested, and here she was, ready to guide the Virgin into the vehicle when she was lowered to within reach—but she could not escape the feeling that something was about to go wrong.

  She should have stayed with Dan. Two sets of hands up there were better than one. He’d tied the heavier rope to the cords around the Virgin while she’d made her way to the bottom. What if he hadn’t tied the knots securely enough? What if the rope slipped out of his hands as he was lowering her?

  What if he dropped her on purpose, hoping she’d smash into a thousand pieces to prove that he’d been right all along?

  Carrie reigned in her stampeding thoughts. How could she even think such a thing? She was sure it hadn’t crossed Dan’s mind.

  Then why had it crossed hers?

  Maybe she was losing perspective. It was the heat, the distance from home, the isolation of the desert … it was the epiphany of standing before the Mother of God and then cradling her remains in her arms.

  So much had happened in the past 24 hours and the cumulative effect was … overwhelming.

  She shook herself and concentrated on the blue of the descending bundle, twisting and swaying on its slowly lengthening tether. Dan was out of sight beyond the lip. She lifted her arms, waiting. Soon it was just above her, and then she had a grip on two of the binding cords. As it continued its descent she swung it around and guided it feet first toward the open rear door of the Explorer.

  And then it was done. The Virgin was off the tav and safely at rest in the back of their car.

  Dan must have noticed the sudden slack. His voice drifted down from overhead.

 
“Everything okay down there?”

  She waved without looking up. Her eyes were fixed on the blanket-wrapped bundle lying before her. She still didn’t know what she’d do with the Virgin once she got her to New York; she simply knew she had to keep her near.

  She spoke softly. “Perfect.”

  “Heads up!” Dan called from above.

  She glanced up and saw the remaining length of the rope stretched out in the air, coiling like a collapsing spring as it fell to earth.

  “I’m on my way,” he said.

  Fifteen minutes later he arrived, lugging the lamp and the flashlights. He quickly loaded them into the back of the Explorer.

  Carrie said, “What about the rope?”

  “We’ll leave it. Can’t fly it back to the States anyway.”

  “How about that other cave? Didn’t you say you wanted to take a look in it before we leave?”

  He stared across the canyon a moment, then shook his head.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Other time? When will there be another time?’

  “Probably never. But I think I’ve had enough of this place for now. I’d like to be out of here.”

  Carrie nodded. She had the same feeling. She didn’t know why, but she had an urge to put this place behind them as quickly as possible.

  As Kesev cruised down Route 90 he saw a black, truck-like vehicle pull onto the highway about half a mile ahead and accelerate toward him in the northbound lane. No roads around here, at least nothing paved. Whoever was driving must have been roaming the hills and desert. Nothing unusual about that. Off-road exploring was popular with tourists these days, which was why the rental companies in the Central and South districts did such a brisk business in four-wheel drive vehicles. But what bothered Kesev was where the truck had come onto the highway.

  Right where Kesev always turned off.

  He gave it a good going over as it passed: black Ford Explorer, dust caked, man driving, woman in the rear seat, Eldan Rent-A-Car sticker on the back bumper. He made a mental note of the license plate.

  When he made his usual turn off and saw the still settling dust trailing west toward the hills, he stopped his Jeep and jotted the license plate number in the notepad he always carried.