The Sacred Blood (12 page)

The council members barked their support.

“We must avoid drastic action,” Muhammad delicately pleaded as he rose to his feet and placed a hand flat on the table. “Hostility will only cost innocent lives,” he said, patting the hand twice. “Has this not been proven time and time again?”

Rebuking shouts drowned him out. Ghalib once again intervened to settle them down. Then he jabbed a spindly finger toward Muhammad and commanded, “Sit down!”

Muhammad’s firm expression withered into despair. He threw his hands up in surrender. “I cannot support this . . .” He made to leave the room.

Ghalib’s right hand sliced the air like an ax blade. “I am not finished!” he roared, nostrils flaring.

Muhammad froze and turned back to him.

“Jews have no place here!” Ghalib held up a balled fist and swung it like a hammer. “This is a truth that cannot be questioned! Be assured that our response to recent events will be swift and concise. And our voice must be one. It is evident that your disgraceful words are solely your own and will not poison our ears. Therefore, your services are no longer required by this council. Now go, and don’t come back.” His hand chopped an arc to the door. “And let me remind you that anything you say outside these walls will have very serious consequences.” His face twisted. “Very serious indeed.”

Glaring eyes bored into Muhammad like needles in a pincushion as he slunk out of the room.

The room erupted again, the men boisterously voicing their approval of Ghalib’s fervent patriotism.

19.

Qumran

By the time Amit steered the Land Rover off Kaliah-Sedom (Highway 90) and up the drive leading to an empty parking lot, the sun was setting over the hills of Jordan, making the Dead Sea glow amber and sapphire. He claimed the spot closest to the planted palm grove bordering the tiny makeshift oasis that was Qumran’s visitors’ center.

“Isn’t this romantic,” Jules said. “We have the place all to ourselves.”

“Too bad I didn’t bring some wine.”

“Always a step behind,” she teased, shaking her head.

He grinned tightly, knowing she wouldn’t be saying this after he’d shown her what he’d found up in the hills.

They both hopped out.

Amit circled to the Land Rover’s rear and lifted the hatch to retrieve some provisions.

Meanwhile, Jules took a few seconds to admire the picturesque sea with its white mineral-crusted shore, the stark umber hills jutting up into the amethyst glow spreading into the sky above.

The Land Rover locked with a quick flash of lights and a tiny chirp as Amit pocketed his keys. He came to her side holding flashlights and a black rucksack.

“God, it’s so beautiful,” Jules said.

“Sure is. And smell that?” He breathed through his nostrils, long and steady—the distinctive aroma of clay, potash, and bromine.

She sampled it too, her thin nose flaring at the sides.

“That’s history . . . the Bible; what keeps me coming back,” he said.

“Smells a bit like a swimming pool,” she said in a snooty French accent, “but whatever floats your ark.”

“You’re ruthless.” Shaking his head, he handed her a light.

He led her up some paved steps past the squat gift shop and ticket center, out back to the gravel trails leading to the sheer cliffs that formed a continuous wall to the north and south. To their left were the excavated ruins—mainly foundations—of the village the Essenes had inhabited up until the first century. Not far beyond them was a deep gorge extending from the sea to a huge mineral-coated crevasse cut into the cliffs by the winters’ flash flood runoff. They were headed to a zigzag path running up it.

“How far up?” she asked, eyeing the towering cliffs.

“Pretty far,” he flatly replied.

“Fabulous,” she huffed.

Peppered around a sliver of a crescent moon, winking stars were starting to break through the darkening sky as Amit led Jules to the ladder set beneath the cave opening.

Drenched in sweat and complaining incessantly about the buzzing flies, Jules was razzing him about how they were going to make it back down the cliff in the dark. She was still upset that some spots had required them to climb over boulders.

“The hike down is much less challenging,” he said, stretching the truth. Despite her complaints, he knew the payoff was certain. He flicked on the flashlight and pointed it up at the opening.

As Jules craned her neck back, her flashlight lit up the tight curves where her sweat-soaked white T-shirt clung to her chest. The opening was another climb, but nothing like the clamber up the gorge. When her gaze snapped back to Amit, she caught him quickly diverting his bashful eyes from her raised nipples. “I’d hate to think you dragged me up here to look at my tits.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and squeezed her breasts together, to make matters worse for the Israeli.

His face went red. “I was just . . . just . . .” Then he decided that his attraction didn’t require an apology. “It’s hard not to stare, that’s all. Take it as a compliment.”

“Compliment taken.” She actually blushed. “Now can we get moving?” She waved for him to get up the ladder.

The episode had taken away his fear of climbing, because he stepped off the ladder and into the cave without care. He snuck another forbidden peek when he clasped her hand and helped her up.

“We’re heading all the way in,” he informed her, his voice taking on a professional air. “Watch your footing. It gets a bit dodgy in spots.”

“Lead the way so I can check out your ass,” she quipped.

“Enjoy the show,” he said, and began the steady climb up the tight passage.

“Double feature,” she said, shining the light on his rump.

The tricky tunnel forced Jules to concentrate for the remainder of the climb. When Amit spilled out into a wide hewn chamber, she wasn’t quite sensing the magic.

“You okay?” he asked, making his way to a light pole.

“Oui.”
She ran her flashlight over a bunch of bricks arranged neatly on the floor. It was when the work light went on that she saw the wide opening in the rear wall. She moved closer.

“Hands and knees for this one. But it’s only a couple meters.” He could see some agitation building in her skeptical gaze.

Amit took the lead again, shuffling along on all fours into the rear chamber. When he stood, he immediately went for a second pole light close to the opening. The room came to life as Jules clambered in and got to her feet.

For a few seconds she said nothing as she paced the perimeter of the square chamber, skipping a corner where equipment and tools were heaped, pausing in spots to run her fingers along the hash marks cut into the stone walls. “Who
made
this?” she finally asked.

“I’m almost positive it was the Essenes.”

“Ah, the Essenes,” she incredulously replied. “Our scroll-writing friends again. A busy bunch, weren’t they?”

And he hadn’t even shown her just how busy they’d been. “Those bricks you saw on the ground out there”—he pointed to the passage—“had sealed the opening and were covered in earth and clay so no one would ever find this place.”

“Okay. So let’s say they carved this room.” Downplaying the significance, she shrugged. “So? Why?” But she could tell by the shit-eating grin on the Israeli’s face that he knew more—lots more. “And I’m still not seeing the glyph.”

“The good stuff is down below,” he promised, pacing over to the toolboxes placed around the opening in the floor to prevent anyone from falling in. With Jules watching over his shoulder, he slid some of the stuff aside to access the steps. “Why don’t you go first?” he said to her.

A tentative pause. Then she took a step closer and angled her flashlight downward. “Sure.”

Amit’s widening grin pinched his goatee at the corners. Now she was doing a lousy job of suppressing her excitement. “Careful on the steps.”

Jules kept her right hand on the wall as she made her way down, fingertips rising and falling over countless other hash marks. Her hiking boots squeaked on the smooth treads. At the base of the steps, she made some room for Amit to stand beside her.

While she stood frozen in place, mouth agape, Amit reached over to turn on another pole light that sucked out the darkness from the spacious, cube-shaped chamber. When he looked back to Jules, her breasts were rising and falling fast, and she wasn’t paying much attention to the fact that he noticed. The cool air had only improved the show.

Her mesmerized gaze was glued to the huge painting covering the wall opposite the steps. It was a magnificent specimen—white with colorful designs—and looked like it had only been painted yesterday. She strode over to it.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you not to touch it,” he teased.

“Ha-ha,” she said without taking her eyes off the image. “It’s amazing.”

In the center of the wall painting was a small arched niche carved into the underlying sandstone—empty. Spreading out around it, concentric circles made a sunburst, drawn upon a larger design—an equilateral cruciform, wrapped by grapevine tendrils. The ends of the cross widened into spades, each painted with Judaic symbols—two shofars, the ceremonial horns used to usher in the Jewish New Year, on the north and south axis; two lemon-shaped
etrogs—
fruits used during Sukkot, the feast of the Tabernacle—at the east and west points.

But most intriguing were the four quarter circles that curved between the arms of the cross, each containing a most unusual symbol—a dolphin entwined around a trident.

“I wonder what was here,” she said, pressing her face close to the empty niche.

“A clay jar, actually,” he knowingly replied. “And it contained three scrolls.”

Her astounded eyes finally gave him some time. “You’re kidding! Where are they?”

“Certainly would not have been wise to leave them here,” he reminded her. “I brought them to the Rockefeller Museum for transcription.”

“Jesus,” she gasped. “This is amazing.” Hands on her hips, she studied the painting a few moments longer, eyes squinting tight at the strange dolphin-trident symbol. “This symbol . . . what’s it doing here?”

He moved close to her side and took it in once again. “Crazy, right? Seems almost pagan.”

“Exactly.” She gave it a few seconds longer, then shook her head in defeat.

“We have a sacrificial altar too,” he added, moving to an enormous raised stone commanding the room’s center. It had been carved into a cube, its top scooped out like an ancient sink.

“Spooky,” she said, giving it only a cursory once-over.

“And a
mikvah.
” He pointed to the far corner, where more steps sank into a wide rectangular pit cut into the floor—once filled with water and used for ritual bathing and purification. The finding was consistent with other
mikvah
s found in the village near the sea and underscored the Essenes’ strict hygienic practices.

“You’d think they were using the place as a temple,” she said with some sarcasm.

But that’s precisely what Amit had thought too. “The plot thickens,” he replied simply.

“And the glyph?”

“Right. Over here,” he said, waving her to the corner closest to the stairs.

“On the wall there.” He pointed to an etching that wasn’t easy to discern until they were within a meter of it.

Jules aimed the flashlight directly at it to pull the shadows out from the lines. “So I take it you’re thinking the Essenes did this?”

“It would make the most sense. The room was sealed away. The jar was still here when we opened this chamber. If anyone else had come in, they’d at least have taken the jar, don’t you think?”

Looters were looters. “I see your point.” She ran a finger along the lines. “And this is very clear. A clear message. Even its positioning near the steps . . . the last thing one would see when exiting the chamber.”

“So the question is,” he asked, “why leave a glyph for Heliopolis?”

She considered this. “A forwarding address, I suppose.”

He hadn’t thought of this. “How so?”

“Well, whatever was here, maybe upstairs in the other chamber, must have been moved to Egypt.”

Amit blanched. “My God, Jules. That actually makes sense,” he muttered.

“Good thing you brought me here.” She patted his solid shoulder. “Question is, what was in the chamber upstairs?”

“Maybe the scrolls have something to say about it,” he surmised, stroking his goatee. That’s when he heard the first faint sounds coming from above, trickling down the steps.

“But if these symbols—”

“Shhh,” he cut her off, grabbing her wrist. “Hear that?” he whispered.

“What?”

“Shhhhhh.”

Then Jules did hear it. Subtle scraping sounds. Feet scuffing along stone? “Are you expecting someone?” she whispered.

He shook his head. A program started running in the back of his brain—a hardwired protocol from his IDF days, activated only during the silent infiltrations of radical Islamic safe houses in Gaza. “Let’s get up top,” he suggested, pulling her to the steps. Then, as an afterthought, he quickly unzipped the rucksack and pulled out a tiny device.

“What are you doing?”