Torchlight (31 page)

Bryn smiled in confusion. “You make it sound like a disease.”

“Some might call it that, yes.”

He was puzzling, this wizened old man. She wondered what it was about Ben that her father had disliked, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure it out. He was a genuine, sweet gentleman. Maybe Peter was afraid Ben would see into his soul as he was seeing into Bryn’s. Afraid that he’d open up to the old guy when he wasn’t ready to open up to anyone. Her thoughts floated until Ben brought another cup of tea.

They talked of Eli’s blossoming business plans and his parents, about Bryn’s studies, her mother in Newport, her grampa in Boston—it hit her then that Ben reminded her of her beloved grandfather. How she missed Grampa Bruce’s smiling eyes and the way he would trace his old finger down her jaw tenderly when he was telling her something he wanted her to remember forever … 

When their mugs were empty, Eli and Bryn said good-bye, promising to come back the following week to meet his “babies.”

Eli followed Bryn down to the canoe, allowed her to get to the
front, and then pushed off of a large rock without ever getting his boots wet. As they paddled away, he asked quietly, “What did you think?”

“About?”

“About Ben.”

“I think he’s a very nice old man. I don’t know why my father doesn’t like him.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I might.”

“Want to go fishing?” Eli changed subjects. “I can teach you an old Tlingit tribe method and catch you a passel of trout for dinner.”

“Yes. I’d like that,” she said. “But let’s stop and get my dad’s flyfishing rod too. I want to try my hand at it.”

“You got it.”

T
HE COAST OF
I
SRAEL
L
ATE
J
ANUARY

S
amuel Roarke Jr. gazed out at the Mediterranean, thinking about the incredibly preserved sunken ship he had seen an hour ago. In his mind’s eye, he could just begin to see what the ancient harbor must have looked like in its glory. He wished for the thousandth time that he could travel through time to stand beside Herod, observing his ways, his work, his wonders.
Thirty years before Christ was born.

Sam glanced back at his partner, forcing his mind back to the subject of the ship. “It’s gotta be Greek,” he said.

Robert Hoekstra, head of the Center for Maritime Studies back in the States and current supervisor of Israel’s Caesarea Maritima dig, nodded in agreement. “It’s at least as old as the one they found off the coast of Athens. We need to fly in a consultant to advise us on how to pursue this part of the project. It’s a thousand years older than anything I’ve had hands-on experience with.”

“Christina Alvarez?” Sam suggested. He and Robert had recently discussed the innovative dive site protection system that Christina had developed while excavating the American Civil War wrecks, then perfected during work on nautical archaeological sites in the Caribbean.

Robert stood before him, rubbing his forehead, which was bronzed from weeks in the mild winter sun. “If she’ll agree to it. That lady’s got her fingers on more projects of economic importance than anyone else I know.”

“It’s that treasure hunter husband she hooked up with.”

“I need to find myself a treasure hunter wife,” Robert said, grinning down at his frayed, sun-bleached shorts.

“That you do,” Sam said with a laugh. Then he grew more serious. “I think we can get her to come see this. If I know Christina, just the chance to check out a ship like this will bring her, at least on a consultant basis.”

“Very good,” Robert said, stroking his gray beard. “Give her a call right away. We haven’t a day to lose.”

J
ERUSALEM, LATE
J
ANUARY
Alexana Roarke walked up the wide, grand stairs and handed her briefcase to the Waksf guard. No matter how often she went through the procedure of passing the guards at the gate of the Temple Mount—referred to by Muslims as the Haram el Sharif—she was irritated by the amount of time they took. The guard smiled in recognition and quickly searched the case, waving off his companion who moved to body-search her.

“Yes. She is too pretty to be carrying a bomb,” the second guard said in Arabic, misunderstanding the first guard’s wave. He smiled at Alexana in appreciation.

Her smile in return was perfunctory at best. Yes, she hated this process more each time she endured it.
Weaselly guards who think they wield so much power …

“But sometimes they send their prettiest to do the dirty work,”
the second guard muttered as he scrutinized her, continuing his monologue as though he thought someone was listening. Warming to the power of his position, he pushed onward. “As I look at her more closely, I think she is not so pretty. Just blond. You always like the blondes.”

“Be quiet, fool.” The first guard switched to English. “This is Dr. Alexana Roarke. She has been summoned to meet with Abdallah al Azeh.”

His cohort’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

She nodded at the first guard as he gave her permission to pass, then turned to the second. “I will be sure to inform Abdallah al Azeh that you do not like blondes,” she said in perfect Arabic. She did not stay to watch his response.

Moving quickly, with purpose, she passed the El Aksa Mosque and the ornate, golden Dome of the Rock without looking twice; she had no time for sightseeing. Besides, the dramatic structures of Jerusalem had been part of her life for as long as she could remember.

A group of tourists passed her, straining to hear their guide who led them from one location to another. She felt sorry for the people who buzzed through Jerusalem this way, passing in a mad frenzy from one holy site to another. How could one truly come to experience this wonderful, crazy, complicated city in one week? The Temple Mount, or the Haram, had been breathtaking to her the first thirty times she saw it after grad school. Covering an area equivalent to five football fields in size, the monstrous structure could be explored for weeks on end.

But that was her archaeological head speaking. Still, there was so much to this place, the city Jesus had lived in and loved, the city she lived in and loved. Alexana drew in a deep breath of air, fresh from a
light rain. It smelled like clean stones to her. She approached the offices on the northeastern corner of the Haram where al Azeh conducted business.

She racked her brain as she had done since yesterday for the reason Abdallah al Azeh—head of the Waksf and Islamic Affairs—had summoned her to meet with him, then shrugged her questions away, drew a breath, and knocked on the official’s door.

A male guard opened it and nodded her forward.

Alexana stopped in shock at the inner office door. Standing to her left and right were two Mossad agents, easily identified by their trademark secret service aviator glasses. Sitting across the desk from Abdallah al Azeh was Abba Eban, head of the Israeli Antiquities Authority.

Eban was seldom seen in or around the Haram. Convinced that the Jews only wanted to destroy the Haram to rebuild their biblical temple, many Muslims would consider Eban’s presence an act of treason by al Azeh.
The mystery deepens
, she thought.

“Come in, come in,” Abdallah said, motioning to a plush, green chair beside Abba Eban. Both men politely stood. Abdallah watched Alexana sit and inquisitively study them.

“You wonder why we both wish to meet with you.”

A tiny smile edged her lips upward. “To say the least.”

“Alexana,” Abba Eban said, smiling broadly. “Under the new peace accord, Abdallah has paved the way for an unprecedented dig.” He paused dramatically, letting the information sink in. “We are to have unlimited access to Solomon’s Stables.”

Alexana drew in her breath sharply, struggling to maintain her composure. Not only was she sitting before the leaders of two longstanding enemy factions, men who heretofore would have been loath
to be so near one another, but they both wanted to excavate. And the excavation was no ordinary dig. It was under the Temple Mount, the Haram, fiercely protected by Muslims for decades.

“Due to your longstanding reputation, the work done by you and your family in the region, and your ability to remain neutral between Palestinian and Jew alike,” Abdallah said, “we have chosen you to be dig supervisor.”