As he hit the gas, he shouted, “I quit! Do you hear me, Simon? I quit! You’ll never get the jars, and you can go to hell!”
Furious, scared, and alone, Paul sped into the dark, empty desert.
Halfway across the Atlantic, Ava tired of solving sudokus and resumed her research. Cross-referencing “hidden meaning” with “gospels,” “Jesus,” and “Lost Jars of Cana,” she found an article among her files.
Much controversy exists over what (if anything) the sacred jars represent. One theory is that they stand for the early Christian geographic divisions, and the leftover wine represents the Temple. Thus, as the wine is sealed in the jars, so the ancient Temple is superseded by the Christian churches. The importance of the jars’ number is clear. In the Old Testament, the number 7 signifies wholeness and completeness. A week has 7 days. On the 7th day, God rested because his work was finished. There are 6 jars because Jesus himself is the 7th. Christ placed significance on the leftovers from these miracles, whether collected in baskets or in jars. When asked by his disciples what to do, he chides: “Having ears, hear ye not? Do ye not remember? How is it that ye do not understand?” (Mark 8:18–21)
Ava deleted that article. She had no tolerance for mysticism or numerology. She refined her search terms. To her great amusement, under “legend + Cana + wedding + jars,” she found a 2012 article cowritten by none other than Dr. Ron Bagelton. Ava couldn’t resist giving it a look.
The first miracle occurred at a marriage feast, often considered the wedding of Mary and John the Apostle, but a suppressed, older version of the legend reveals that the wedding was between Mary Magdalene and Jesus himself.
She rolled her eyes. Naturally, the unscrupulous Bagelton would exploit the supposed proof that Jesus had been married. Ava recalled the buzz around Harvard when Professor Karen King unveiled a business card — size papyrus fragment purporting to quote Jesus mentioning a wife. The gullible U.S. media went wild. Fortunately, sober-minded journals exercised more caution. The Harvard Theological Review postponed publication of Dr. King’s article, citing the need for further research. In Italy, the Vatican’s L’Osservatore Romano declared the fragment a “very modern forgery.” Faced with the growing consensus among scholars that she’d been victimized by a hoax, Dr. King conceded the existence of doubts about the fragment’s authenticity, accepted the need for additional testing, and agreed to revise her paper. Bagelton’s article, unencumbered by any mention of the dispute, continued.
The Secret Gospel of Mark relates the story of Jesus in Capernaum, where Jesus says: “Happy are those invited to the wedding feast of the Lamb. Write down the true words of God. The one alone shall be chaste [fruitless]. Only two together behold [contain] the truth.” Later, Jesus explains why Romans cannot yet comprehend his message: “They listen, but do not understand, because their minds are dull. They have stopped-up ears. If you have ears, listen to what the Spirit says to the people!”
Ava skipped a few paragraphs, then read on.
In Revelation 5:2, St. John writes: “Who is worthy to break the seals and unlock the message?” This passage has never been deciphered. The interpretation might be similar to cryptic writings of Greek mysticism. There have been attempts throughout history to decode a biblical instruction set for creating a mystic diagram, taking the gematria of the passage into account.
Gematria? Ava laughed out loud. “Give me a break,” she thought. “How does a man like Bagelton still have an academic career?” She moved on to the next article. On the whole, it provided more history and less baloney, but it concluded:
Some scholars interpret these stories as factual events, prodding fanatics and treasure hunters to seek the relics mentioned in the biblical text. The legendary lost jars of Cana, said by John to have been used when Christ converted water to wine, are rumored to contain an unreadable prophecy predicting the ultimate apocalypse and providing the subtext for the warnings in Revelation against the coming Antichrist.
“Great,” thought Ava, closing her laptop. “The end of the world.”
Simon sat in his tent and fumed. Savage winds jostled the tent posts, rocking a kerosene lantern to and fro. Each pendular swing cast fearsome shadows across the sandy floor, sometimes lighting and sometimes obscuring Simon’s face. He cursed. Events had overtaken them. The recovery mission had devolved into disaster, and now the situation was spiraling out of control. He tried Paul’s phone again. No answer. DeMaj fought to maintain his composure. Pouring another cup of coffee, he wondered: Where would the young American go? What would he think? And what of the girl, the ancient-languages expert? She must arrive in Sana’a soon. Did she know anything? Would she be difficult? As the sirocco clawed the taut canvas, Simon plotted his next move. Reluctantly, he unlocked his phone and dialed Sheik Ahmed’s number.
Chapter 3
Surrounded by dramatic mountains of basalt, Sana’a has been inhabited for at least twenty-five hundred years. According to legend, it was founded by Noah’s son Shem after the Great Flood. Ava remembered Sana’a had been conquered by the Mamelukes in 1517 and again by the Ottomans under Sulieman the Magnificent. Fortunately, neither conquest resulted in the historic citadel’s destruction.
The plane landed and Ava breezed through customs. Mildly disappointed to find no welcoming committee, she waited as fellow passengers greeted friends, family, and business associates. Eventually, only Ava and a man remained at the gate. She regarded him furtively. His features had a distinctively vulpine aspect. Ava didn’t recognize him from the plane. He must be waiting for someone, but she was the only passenger left. Was he waiting for her? She tried to ask him, but when she approached, he retreated into the airport crowd. With a shrug, Ava hoisted her backpack and trekked to baggage claim.
Twenty minutes later she’d recovered her gigantic suitcase from the carousel. There was still no sign of Paul. She rested her bags on a bench of polished chrome and black vinyl and sat down to wait. After all, she reasoned, why should she hurry? They were paying her two thousand dollars a day. Almost ten minutes passed before her natural impatience gained the upper hand. Ava unlocked her phone and attempted to check her voice mail but she didn’t get service in Yemen.
Then she remembered Gabe’s satphone. It should work anywhere. Kneeling, she opened her suitcase and began searching through its contents. At that moment she caught a chilling reflection in the chrome of the bench. Ava froze. It was the man from the gate. Concealed behind a pillar, he was watching her.
As terror gripped her, Ava struggled to remain calm. She told herself there was nothing to fear. He was probably just a lonely guy who watched women in airports. She shut her suitcase, stood, and began dragging her bags toward the exit. As she neared the automatic glass doors, she again looked at her reflection. Was anyone behind her? She wasn’t sure. Then she saw him. He was following her out of the building. Heart pounding, Ava started to sweat. She tried to hurry, but the heavy suitcase anchored her in place. With all her might, Ava jerked it onto her hip, somehow curled her fingers beneath it, and jogged out the door. Yelling apologies in Arabic, she pushed to the front of the taxi line and threw herself into a waiting cab.
“Hotel,” she demanded. “Hurry!” The driver dropped his newspaper and turned the ignition. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Ava glanced back through the rear window. Her pursuer had disappeared.