In the Beginning: Mars Origin "I" Series Book I (6 page)

I took a warm bath and drifted into a deep
sleep. The hotel phone’s ring roused me. I slipped and almost fell trying to
get out of the tub to answer it. Dripping wet, I fell back onto the bed happy
to hear Mase and my kids’ voice. We chatted for much longer than we should have
since it was long distance. But I didn’t mind because I actually missed them. I
rolled over after hanging up the phone and fell back asleep, naked with wet
hair. It was the most pleasant, most calming sleep I had had in months.

I woke up about five without the aid of an
alarm clock. I felt good and was excited about being in Jerusalem. I hopped up
to get ready for my day with my new crazy companion. I wondered what the day
with him was going to be like. Waking at the crack of dawn and going touring at
six in the morning, whoever heard of such a thing?

After getting ready, I waited until
exactly six o’clock. I knew he would be there. I opened the door and there he
stood. I started to laugh. This guy was something else. He carried a red, plaid
throw over his arm and a small basket. No telling what he was up to.

We rode down on the elevator in silence.
Other than hotel staff, there was not one other soul stirring at this hour.
When we got outside the city was just as quiet, and it was so peaceful. I
inhaled the air.

“No car?” I asked.

“No,” he answered and said nothing else.

“We’re walking?” I asked as he took my arm
and guided me down the street.

“Yes, we will walk for a while, if that is
all right with you.” He said it as more of a statement than a question

“Whatever you say.”

It was still gray out and the air was
moist, I could smell the newness of the day.

“There is something that you must see,” he
spoke without me asking a question, and headed off the paved sidewalk to a dirt
road that started up a hill behind the hotel.

We climbed the hill and walked for about
five minutes. Ghazi stopped at a place that he seemed to know and spread out
the blanket.

“This is the Mount of Olives,” he
announced and gestured for me to sit. He pointed out across the hilltop, and
there, up over the horizon, came the sun. It was riveting. It was like sitting
in front of my French doors with God riding on the rays, only this was on a
grand scale, it was majestic. God’s presence was illuminating. I could feel God
put his arms around me and lift up my soul, pulling it toward heaven with the
glowing orange-colored sun as it rose in the sky. The sun replaced the gray
sky, enveloping it in golden light. I could feel the light take me over.

When I looked down from the sky, Ghazi had
set out muffins that he had brought and some kind of chocolate flavored coffee.
I don’t really drink coffee but I love chocolate.

We sat there for an hour or so and talked.
I wouldn’t have ever thought that Ghazi could carry on a conversation for that
long, but he proved to be an interesting man.

After the sunrise we walked down Jericho
Road to the Garden of Gethsemane. The garden is filled with ancient olive
trees, some more than 1,500 years old. I walked among the history. It was so
different from digging it up. The olive trees are beautiful. They are
evergreen, with beautiful silvery green foliage, gnarled trucks and tiny white
blossoms. Ghazi was very quiet now. And even with the city waking up and people
coming out, everything around me felt quiet. I felt all the misery I had felt
over the past few months dissipate.

“There is one more place we must see
before lunch,” he finally spoke.

I smiled at him. Today I would follow
without complaining. We walked down Ophel Road, through the Dung Gate of the
Old City, which was enclosed by a forty-foot, 400-year-old wall, to the Ophel
Archaeological Garden. I had been to this place before. Here was where I had
got my first taste of Biblical archaeology. While standing in this place, you
are transported back 3,000 years to the Books of Kings and Isaiah. It was here
that King David built his palace and Solomon built his House of the Cedars of
Lebanon. I had worked here on excavations, but today I saw it differently. I
was really enjoying myself.

We had lunch at the
Cinematheque Café
across the Hinnon Valley from the Old City walls. The menu was a potpourri of
ethnic foods and entrée choices. I am, however, definitely not one to
experiment with different foods. I am such a picky eater, whenever I go to
another county I usually stick to chicken. No too many surprises in chicken. I’d
rather not take chances with eating something I saw in the exotic section of
the zoo. After lunch Ghazi announced it was time to go to the University.

“We must get there before the tour group
returns,” he explained. We got a taxi over to the University and once inside,
Ghazi led me up a set of back stairs to the second floor.

“We will only go into the rooms that are
locked,” he said and flashed that mischievous smile again. “You try that side
of the hall,” he pointed to the doors on the other side of the hallway, “and I
will try this side.”

“What if it is someone’s office?” I asked
as I turned the knob to the first door.

“No one has maintained offices on this end
of the floor since two years ago. It is completely unoccupied. We will be
safe.”

The tractable trait that I first notice
seemed to disappear, I liked this man. He was so different from yesterday.

Ghazi found the first locked room. It was
Room 207.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

“Psst,” Ghazi got my attention and pointed
to the locked door. He beckoned for me to come over.

“We will go in here.” He produced a set of
keys from his pocket and began trying to open the door.

“How many sets of keys do you have in that
pocket?” I asked amused remembering how he had produced my hotel room key from
that same pocket.

“One must always be prepared,” he
answered.

We went into the room. The shades were
drawn. It was dark and smelled musty. The bookshelves in the room were bare and
there were a few papers on the desk. Ghazi looked at me.

“Nothing here, we will try the next one,”
he instructed. He closed the door and locked it back.

The next room I found. It was a corner
office, Rm. 204.

When we unlocked and opened the door, it
looked as if it was presently occupied. It was bright and airy. A cool breeze
streamed in through the half-opened window and sunlight bathed the room.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be in here,” I suggested.

“Nonsense,” he flashed a smile to reassure
me. “It is all right.”

I was probably going to end up in jail or
get deported by fraternizing with this guy. But I was having fun and was glad I
decided to hang out with him.

The room’s décor was sparse, two file
cabinets, a large desk with a lamp, an old swivel desk chair that squeaked when
I sat in it, and a coat rack, all looking as if they belonged in the 1940s.
Bookcases lined the walls with several dozen books scattered on the shelves.
Papers were stacked neatly on the desk as if someone had just stop writing and
was called away momentarily. I watched Ghazi go over to the first file cabinet.
Pulling on it, he found it was locked. I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

“Not to fear,” he said, taking out the key
ring and without much effort, finding a key that fit the lock.

I smiled. I got up and went over to look
in the cabinet. There were several bound notebooks inside the drawer. I reached
inside, grabbed one, opened it up and found it was a journal. I laid it aside
and picked up another one. It was just like the other one.

“Here, help me bring some of these over to
the desk.” I walked over and sat at the desk and began to read one of the
journals.

“What is it?” Ghazi asked.

“Journals. I think they belonged to the
first interpreters of the Dead Sea Scrolls.” I flipped through the pages of the
book. “The entries were made in the late forties.” I read a couple of pages and
grinned up at Ghazi, “This is great. These are day-by-day descriptions of what
happened during the initial translation process. Personal observations.”
Excitement filled my voice. “Maybe we could find out what took them so long to
make the Scrolls public.” Ghazi came, leaned down and inspected the journal.

“This is good?” he asked.

“Well, it’s very interesting. Yes, I think
it’s good. Go and see what else is in the cabinet.”

While Ghazi searched through the other
drawers of the file cabinet, I flipped through the pages of a journal written
by a Dr. Samuel Yeoman. I vaguely recalled the name. I think he was the first
Editor-in-Chief on the Scroll translations. This was as much fun as excavating
a site, but less dirty. These journals were fifty years old.

I was so engrossed in reading the diary
that the small grunt coming from the doorway made me jump. Dr. Margulies stood
there with his hand on the doorknob.

“Hello Dr. Margulies,” I said. Ghazi
immediately stopped going through the cabinets and stood at attention.

“Oh, I see you two are getting along
better,” he said, smiling as he walked over to the desk where I sat.

“Why aren’t you on the tour with the other
attendees? Didn’t you want to see the caves?” Dr. Margulies questioned me as he
looked around the room.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I was walking down the hall and I noticed
the door opened to this office, which was unusual.” Dr. Margulies looked from
Ghazi to me, to the journals sitting on the desk in front of me, then back over
to me. “What are you two doing?”

“We didn’t expect anyone to be around. We
thought we had hid ourselves pretty well,” I said skirting the question.

“Nothing is hidden from the trained eye,”
he said, his mantra for all of his students on being adequately prepared to
work in the field.

He studied us suspiciously. I figured I
should explain.

“These are very interesting, Dr.
Margulies, have a look at them.” I slid the journal I had been reading across
the desk for him to see.

“What is it, Dr. Dickerson?” I knew he was
being formal because he was scolding me for snooping. But finding these
journals made me forget all about my illegal activities.

“These appear to be the original diaries
of some of the first interpreters of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” I explained.

“Really?” That seemed to pique his
interest. “Let me have a look at that.” He reached in his inside jacket pocket
and retrieved a pair of reading glasses, turned the journal around to face him
and leafed through the pages, stopping intermittently to read an entry on a
page. He went through a few of the journals.

“This is very interesting.” The exact
words I had said earlier. “Perhaps I could have a chance to look at these at
length,” he said, closing the journal and patting it with his fingertips. He
looked at the two of us over the rim of his glasses, “With the proper
permission of course.” On his way out of the room, he paused at the door, put
his glasses back in his pocket, and turned the knob on the door. He glanced
back over at us.

“I thought these doors were locked? How
did you get in here?” Ghazi and I looked at each other and then we both looked
at Dr. Margulies. With the guilt on our faces obvious, he shook his head, and
pulled the door closed as he walked out.

“Do you think he is angry with us?” Ghazi
asked

“Don’t worry, Dr. Margulies wasn’t angry
with us. It’ll be fine.” It was my turn to reassure him.

I guess we should have left after Dr.
Margulies found us but I was too intrigued with our find. I knew that Dr.
Margulies wouldn’t tell anyone that we were here, and I figured I could justify
my felonious acts as in the interest of science.

All this history right here in my hands.
How could I put it down? The elite group of scholars that translated the
Scrolls had been so secretive, and here were their secrets, or at least one
person’s, all written down for me to see. I decided that we should stay to look
over more of the journals and books. It was the scientific thing to do. So, I
sat quietly and continued to peruse the journals as Ghazi went through the
remaining drawers and brought out more journals and put up the ones I had
finished.

“So, Dr. Dickerson, you find these things
interesting?” Ghazi asked as he brought over a few journals from the last
drawer in the cabinet. He didn’t seem nervous any longer.

“Yes, I do Ghazi.” I smiled at him. “And,
thank you for bringing me here.”

“And have you had a good day today?”

“Yes. I had a great day. Thanks.” He was
quite pleased with himself. He smiled that smile that showed all his teeth as
he returned some of the journals I had finished reading to the cabinet.

“I see the tour bus is returning,” he said
suddenly. He was looking out of the large window that was adjacent to the desk.
“Perhaps we should leave now.” He moved quickly, trying to get things back in
order and us out so as not to get caught.

He picked up the other journals that were
on the desk. I started to close the one that I was reading and something caught
my eye. It was an entry dated October 22, 1949. October 22, that’s my mother’s
birthday, she would have been about nineteen years old. Then my eye caught the
word ‘destroy.’ I read the entire entry. I couldn’t believe what I read.