Contract With God Part 17

'No, I don't know, master,' said the frightened boy. How could he be inside G.o.d's mind?

'G.o.d wants to avenge the Crusades; the crusades that took place a thousand years ago and those of today. G.o.d wants us to re-establish the Caliphate, which they destroyed in 1924. From that day on, the Muslim community has been broken up into parcels of territory that are controlled by our enemies. You only have to read a newspaper to see how our Muslim brothers live in a state of oppression, humiliation and genocide. And the greatest affront is the stake driven into the heart of Dar al-Islam: Israel.'

'I hate the Jews, master.'

'No. You only think you do. Listen carefully to my words. This hatred you believe you feel now, in a few years' time it will seem to have been no more than a tiny spark compared to the conflagration of an entire forest. Only true believers are capable of such a transformation. And you will be one of them. You are special. I have only to look into your eyes to see you have the power to change the world. To unify the Muslim community. To bring sharia sharia to Amman, Cairo, Beirut. And then to Berlin. To Madrid. To Was.h.i.+ngton.' to Amman, Cairo, Beirut. And then to Berlin. To Madrid. To Was.h.i.+ngton.'

'How will we do it, master? How can we bring Islamic Law to the entire world?'

'You're not ready for the answer.'

'Yes, I am, master.'

'Do you want to learn, with all your heart and soul and mind?'

'There is nothing I want more than to carry out the word of G.o.d.'

'No, not yet. But soon . . .'

30.

THE EXCAVATION.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN.

Wednesday, 12 July 2006. 8:27 p.m.

The tents were finally up, the toilets and showers had been installed, the pipes were connected to the water tank and the expedition's civilian personnel was resting inside the small square created by the surrounding tents. Andrea, seated on the ground with a bottle of Gatorade in her hand, had given up trying to find Father Fowler. Neither he nor Dr Harel seemed to be around, so she devoted herself to contemplating the cloth and aluminium structures, which were unlike anything she had ever seen. Each tent comprised an elongated cube with a door and plastic windows. There was a wooden platform that sat about a foot and a half above the ground on a dozen concrete blocks to insulate the inhabitants against the burning heat of the sand. The roof was made of a large curve of cloth that was fastened to the ground on one side in order to improve the refraction of the sun's rays. Each tent had its own electric cable that led to a central generator next to the fuel truck.

Of the six tents, three were slightly different. One was the infirmary, which had a rougher design but was hermetically sealed. Another formed the combined kitchen and mess tent. It had air-conditioning so that expedition members could relax there during the hottest hours of the day. The last tent was Kayn's and was slightly removed from the rest. It had no visible windows and was roped off - a silent warning that the billionaire did not wish to be disturbed. Kayn had stayed inside his H3, driven by Dekker, until they had finished putting up his tent and he had yet to reappear.

I doubt he'll emerge for the rest of the expedition. I wonder if his tent has a built-in toilet, thought Andrea, taking an absentminded sip from her bottle. Here comes someone who might know the answer. Here comes someone who might know the answer.

'h.e.l.lo, Mr Russell.'

'How are you?' said the a.s.sistant, smiling politely.

'Very well, thank you. Listen, about this interview with Mr Kayn-'

'I'm afraid that's not possible yet,' Russell cut in.

'I hope you haven't brought me out here just to sightsee. I want you to know that-'

'Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,' the disagreeable voice of Professor Forrester interrupted the reporter's complaints. 'Against our predictions, you've managed to install all of the tents on time. Congratulations. Give yourself a big hand.'

His tone was as insincere as the faint applause that followed. The professor always left his listeners feeling slightly uncomfortable, if not humiliated, but the members of the expedition managed to remain seated around him as the sun began to set behind the cliffs.

'Before we get on with supper and the a.s.signment of tents, I want to finish the story,' the archaeologist went on. 'Remember that I told you a chosen few had taken the treasure out of the city of Jerusalem? Well, this group of brave-'

'One question keeps running through my head,' Andrea cut in, ignoring the old man's piercing look. 'You said that Yirmyahu was the author of the Second Scroll. That he wrote it before the Romans razed Solomon's temple. Am I mistaken?'

'No, you're not wrong.'

'Did he leave any other writings?'

'No, he did not.'

'Did the men who took the Ark out of Jerusalem leave any?'

'No.'

'Then how do you know what happened? Those men carried a very heavy object covered in gold for, what, almost two hundred miles? All I did was climb that dune carrying my camera and a water bottle, and it was-'

The old man had grown redder with each of Andrea's words until the contrast between his bald head and beard made his face look like a cherry resting on a wad of cotton.

'How did the Egyptians manage to build the Pyramids? How did the natives of Easter Island erect their ten-thousand-ton statues? How did the Nabateans carve the city of Petra out of these same rocks?'

He spat each word out at Andrea, leaning over her as he talked until his face was next to hers. The reporter turned away to avoid his rancid breath.

'With faith. You need faith to cover one hundred and eighty-five miles under a scorching sun and on rough terrain. You need faith to believe you can do it.'

'So other than the Second Scroll, you don't have any proof,' Andrea said, unable to stop herself.

'No, I do not. But I have a theory, and let's hope I'm right, Ms Otero, or we're going home empty-handed.'

The reporter was about to reply, but felt a slight elbowing in her ribs. She turned to see Father Fowler staring at her in warning.

'Where have you been, Father?' she whispered. 'I've been looking everywhere. We have to talk.'

Fowler silenced her with a gesture.

'The eight men who left Jerusalem with the Ark reached Jericho the following morning.' Forrester had backed away and was now addressing the fourteen people who listened with growing interest. 'We're now entering the realm of speculation, but it happens to be the speculation of a man who has spent decades pondering this very question. In Jericho they would have picked up supplies and water. They crossed the Jordan River near Bethany and reached the King's Highway near Mount Nebo. The highway is the oldest uninterrupted communications link in history, the path that led Abraham from Chaldea to Canaan. Those eight Jews walked south on that route until they reached Petra, where they left the highway and headed in the direction of a mythical place that would have seemed like the end of the world to the Jerusalemites. This place.'

'Professor, do you have any idea which part of the canyon we should be looking in? Because this is place is huge,' said Dr Harel.

'That's where all of you come in, starting from tomorrow. David, Gordon . . . show them the equipment.'

The two a.s.sistants appeared, each wearing a strange contraption. They had a harness across their chest, to which a metallic device the shape of a small backpack was attached. The harness had four straps from which hung a square metal structure that framed the body at thigh level. At the front corners of this structure were two lamp-like objects resembling the headlights of a car, which were pointed towards the ground.

'These, good people, will be your summer outfits for the next few days. The device is called a proton precession magnetometer.

There were whistles of admiration.

'Flashy name, isn't it?' said David Pappas.

'Be quiet, David. We're working on the theory that the men chosen by Yirm yahu hid the Ark somewhere in this canyon. The magnetometer will let us know the exact location.'

'How does it work?' Andrea asked.

'The instrument sends out a signal that registers the magnetic field of the Earth. Once it is attuned to that, it will pick up any anomaly in the magnetic field, such as the presence of metal. You don't need to understand exactly how it works, because the equipment transmits a wireless signal directly to my computer. If you find something, I'll know before you do.'

'Is it difficult to operate?' asked Andrea.

'Not if you know how to walk. Each of you will be a.s.signed a series of quadrants in the canyon about fifty feet apart. All you have to do is press the start b.u.t.ton on the harness and take a step every five seconds. Like this.'

Gordon took a step forward and stopped. Five seconds later, the instrument gave off a low whistle. Gordon took another step and the whistle stopped. Five seconds later the whistle went off again.

'You'll do this for ten hours a day in s.h.i.+fts of an hour and a half, with fifteen-minute rest periods,' Forrester said.

Everyone began to complain.

'What about people who have other duties?'

'Take care of them when you're not working in the canyon, Mr Frick.'

'You expect us to walk ten hours a day in this sun?'

'I suggest you drink plenty of water - at least a litre every hour. With a temperature of 111 degrees, the body dehydrates quickly.'

'What if we haven't completed our ten hours by the end of the day?' another voice piped up.

'Then you'll finish them at night, Mr Hanley.'

'Isn't democracy f.u.c.king great,' Andrea muttered.

Evidently not quietly enough, because Forrester heard her.

'Does our plan seem unfair to you, Ms Otero?' the archaeologist said in a silken voice.

'Now that you mention it, yes,' replied Andrea defiantly. She leaned aside, fearing another blow from Fowler's elbow, but it didn't come.

'The Jordanian government has given us a fake licence for one month for the mining of phosphates. Imagine if I imposed a slower pace? We might finish gathering data from the canyon in the third week and then not have enough time to dig up the Ark in the fourth. Would that seem fair?'

Andrea lowered her head in embarra.s.sment. She really hated the man, no question about it.

'Would anyone else care to join Ms Otero's union?' Forrester added, scrutinising the faces of those present. 'No? Good. From now on, you're not doctors or priests or drill operators or cooks. You're my beasts of burden. Enjoy yourselves.'

31.

THE EXCAVATION.

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN.

Thursday, 13 July 2006. 12:27 p.m.

Step, wait, whistle, step.

Andrea Otero had never made a list of the three worst experiences of her life. First, because Andrea hated lists; second, because despite her intelligence she had little capacity for introspection, and third, because whenever problems did happen to hit her in the face, her invariable response was to rush off and do something else. If she had spent five minutes the night before thinking about her worst experiences, the top of the list would undoubtedly have been the incident with the beans.

It had been the last day of school, and she was marching through her teenage years with a firm and determined step. She had left the cla.s.s with only one idea in mind: to attend the opening of the new swimming pool in the housing complex where her family lived. That's why she'd bolted down her food, aiming to get into her bathing costume ahead of everyone else. Still chewing her last mouthful, she had got up from the table. That's when her mother had dropped the bomb.

'Whose turn is it to do the dishes?'

Andrea didn't even hesitate because it was her oldest brother Miguel Angel's turn. But her three other brothers weren't willing to wait for their leader on such a special day, so they answered in unison: 'Andrea's!'

'Like h.e.l.l it is. Are you out of your minds? It was my turn the day before yesterday.'

'Sweetheart, please don't make me have to wash your mouth out with soap.'

'Go ahead, Mama. She deserves it,' one of her brothers said.

'But, Mama, it's not my turn,' Andrea whined, stamping her foot on the floor.

'Well, you'll do them anyway, and offer it up to G.o.d as penance for your sins. You're going through a very difficult age,' said her mother.

Miguel Angel suppressed a smile and his brothers elbowed each other triumphantly.

An hour later, Andrea, who had never been good at holding back, would think of five good replies to this injustice. But at that moment she could think of only one.

'Mamaaaaaa!'