“Thank you, Father, for an interesting tour,” interrupted Ava, glaring daggers at Paul. “I know you have many responsibilities, and we wouldn’t want to monopolize your valuable time.”
“Don’t think of it, my child,” the monk said. “I’m happy to explain the history of this beautiful, holy site. And Paul, the St. Anthony your mother petitions when she’s lost something is a different St. Anthony, St. Anthony of Padua. Nevertheless,” he said, “I’m glad he helped you find what you needed.”
Simon had difficulty breathing under the desert sun. Blood flowed from his wounds. It dripped off his body and stained the ancient sand. DeMaj knew a lung was punctured. Delirious, he teetered on the brink of death. An hour passed. As he slipped into unconsciousness, shadows flickered across his field of vision. He saw his mother’s face, beautiful and young, before the years of poverty and hashish took their toll. In the distance a gentle voice spoke a language he almost recognized. Someone touched his hand. An angel? Beyond pain, Simon managed a small smile. “Who would have guessed,” he wondered, “that I would go to heaven?”
“Paul,” Ava said, “don’t mention the jars to anyone. You said yourself that DeMaj bribed the police. We don’t know who else he may have corrupted.”
“Oh, the monks are cool.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“No, really. The cops already came here once looking for me. Father Bessarion refused to answer questions or let them inside. The monks are the only ones I trust. Except you, I mean.”
“That’s good. I’m glad we can trust the monks, but it sounds as though we’re endangering them by staying. What’s your exit plan?”
“I’ve given that some thought. We shouldn’t take the truck. It’s in terrible shape after my midnight drive. The suspension is shot, and I might have bent an axle. Plus, I bet Simon’s men are watching for it.”
Ava nodded.
“And obviously we can’t go on foot.”
“I agree.”
“So I think we should take the bus.”
“Pardon me?”
“Bessarion said a religious group will arrive this afternoon. They’ll pray at the monastery for a few hours and then return via bus to Cairo. We could buy seats on that bus.”
“Won’t we be spotted?”
“Maybe, but this morning I borrowed some traditional garb for us. We’ll get all wrapped up and cover our faces. They won’t expect us to be dressed like Coptic pilgrims. We just might slip through.”
Ava thought it over. “I guess it’s worth a try,” she conceded. “We can’t stay here forever.”
“Cool. We’ll chance it.” He grinned. “That leaves only one issue to resolve.”
“Yes?”
“What we do about the jars.”
“The moment we hit Cairo, I’ll contact Dr. Zahi Hawass. He’s someone I trust. We met at Harvard years ago, although I’m sure he won’t remember. Anyway, we’ll report DeMaj for trafficking in stolen artifacts, not to mention murder.”
“No, I mean what do we do with the jars? Do you think they’re safe here?”
Ava inhaled deeply. Then she closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and with great discipline kept her tone steady. “Paul, listen very carefully. Are you telling me that, right now, you’re in possession of the lost jars of Cana?”
“Yes. I suppose so. I sort of borrowed them… temporarily. It was either that, or let Simon take them. That’s why I stole his truck. The jars were already loaded into super-high-tech, indestructible titanium canisters. When I saw those poor people get killed, I jumped in the truck and split.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this last night?”
“See, I didn’t tell you because even though you were exhausted, I knew you’d freak. You history nuts get worked up when anyone mentions the jars. I saw the way your eyes bugged out when I described examining them. You looked a little, I don’t know, hungry, but also excited—”
“Paul,” Ava interrupted, “where are the jars now?”
“I hid them in a cave. It’s less than three kilometers from here—”
Ava insisted they go immediately.
Sheik Ahmed sat in his bunker, thinking. He expected an important call. One of his bodyguards entered and handed him a special phone reserved for calls from the master. Ahmed then gestured for the guard to leave. He spoke into the phone and in a respectful voice he said in Arabic: “I am your servant, great one.”
The master had no time for pleasantries. He required an update on the mission.
“The Frenchman lost the jars. He paid with his life. My soldiers say his American aide stole them. He’s hiding with a woman. We will find them soon.”
“Find them and kill them,” said the master.
Chapter 5
Paul took Ava up a rocky trail into the mountains. They climbed for an hour, following the course of a dry streambed until they came to a wide ravine. The cave’s mouth adjoined the wadi, but two overhanging boulders shielded it from view, making the entrance almost invisible.
“A decent hiding place,” Ava thought, although a careful search of the area would likely result in its detection. Paul hid the jars here three days ago. How long until Simon’s minions found them? Ava wiped her brow and watched Paul descend into the gulch, seemingly unencumbered by the thirty-six kilos of gear in his backpack. Secretly, she was grateful he’d insisted on carrying her equipment. She’d argued and called him sexist, but he had remained firm. When he reached up to help her down from the rocks, Ava smiled. Paul could be an obnoxious, unreconstructed paternalist, she thought, but he was helpful on a hike.
He removed a gas lantern from his pack, lit it, and ventured into the cavern. Ava followed.
“Check this out,” he said, playing the light over a smooth section of the cave’s interior. Ancient graffiti became visible. Ava could see words painted and carved into the surface. “Can you decipher it?” Paul said.
She translated: “Here it overtook me… that I fell down for thirst. I was parched, my throat burned. I cried ‘This is the taste of death.’”
“Creepy!”
“Don’t joke, Paul. Someone might have died here.”
“Nah. There’s a spring only five hundred meters away. I’m sure he was fine. Here they are!”
He directed the light into the cave’s deepest recess. It reflected off something metallic.
Ava gasped.
Within his island stronghold, the master was confident. Over the course of many years, he’d learned that no complex plan conforms perfectly to expectations. To succeed, a commander must adapt to circumstances. Hence, Ahmed’s update presented no cause for alarm. Regardless of the unforeseen developments, the sheik would complete his mission soon, dashing the order’s last hope. He smiled, knowing victory was within reach.
Roderigo noted his boss’s expression. “News from Egypt?”
The master gestured ambivalently. “A few trivial inconveniences, but the plan continues as scheduled.”
“Are you concerned about the woman? The translator?”
“Not at all. Our agents report that she’s a bookish academic, mere prattle without practice. Ahmed will eliminate her, and our American cell will tie up the loose ends.”
Hands on her hips, Ava circled the ultramodern titanium-and-acrylic canisters and scrutinized them from all angles. Paul helped Ava unpack her things and showed her how to release the artifacts from the protective canisters. He lifted the jars and described how he and Simon had carefully removed each lid and found the jars to be empty.
Her eyes never left the artifacts. “Of course, I’ve every confidence in Simon’s mental acuity as well as that of his archaeological team,” she said. “Lord knows, they’re the best brains money can buy. Still, I’m not sure it adds up.”