Contract With God (21 page)

I’ll apply the measurements of the regular cubit. I know I’ll be criticised because few scholars do; they rely on the Egyptian cubit and the ‘sacred’ cubit, which are much more glamorous. But I’m right.

This is what we know for sure about the Ark:

There are people who would suggest that the weight of the Ark was greater, around 1,100 pounds. Additionally, there is an idiot who dared to insist that the Ark weighed more than a ton. That is crazy. And they call themselves experts. They love to add the weight of the Ark itself. Poor idiots. They don’t realise that gold, even though it is heavy, is too soft. The rings could not have supported such weight, nor would the wooden poles have been long enough for more than four men to carry it comfortably.

Gold is a very soft metal. Last year I saw a whole room covered in thin sheets of gold made from one good-sized coin, following methods dating back to the Bronze Age. The Jews were skilled crafts-men, and did not have great amounts of gold in the desert, nor would they have burdened themselves with such a great weight that they left themselves vulnerable to their enemies. No, they would have used a small amount of gold and created thin sheets of it to cover the wood. Shittim wood, or acacia, is a solid wood that could last centuries without being damaged, especially if it was covered by a thin layer of metal that did not rust and was indifferent to the effects of time. It was an object built for eternity. How could it be otherwise, since it was the Timeless One who gave the instructions?

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

 

 

‘So the data had been manipulated.’

‘Somebody else had the information, Father.’

‘That’s why they killed him.’

‘I understand the what, where and when. If you’ll just give me the how and the who, I’ll be the happiest woman in the world.’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘Do you think it was an outsider? Maybe the man I saw at the top of the canyon?’

‘I don’t think you’re that foolish, young lady.’

‘I still feel guilty.’

‘Well, you should stop. I was the one who asked you not to tell anyone. But believe me: someone in this expedition is a murderer. That’s why it’s more important than ever that we talk to Albert.’

‘OK. But I think you know more than you’re telling me - much more. Yesterday there was an unusual amount of activity in the canyon for that time of night. The doctor wasn’t in her bed.’

‘I told you . . . I’m working on it.’

‘Shit, Father. You’re the only person I know who speaks so many languages but doesn’t like to talk.’

Father Fowler and Andrea Otero were sitting in the shade of the west wall of the canyon. Since nobody had slept much the night before, after the shock of Stowe Erling’s murder, the day had begun slowly and heavily. However, little by little, the knowledge that Stowe’s magnetometer had discovered gold began to eclipse the tragedy, altering the mood in the camp. There was a whirlwind of activity around quadrant 22K, with Professor Forrester at its centre: analysis of the composition of the rocks, further tests with a magnetometer and, above all, measurements of the solidity of the ground for digging.

The procedure consisted of running an electric wire through the ground to find out how much current it would handle. A hole filled with earth, for example, has less electrical resistance than the undisturbed ground around it.

The results of the test were conclusive: the ground at this point was very unstable. This infuriated Forrester. Andrea watched as he gesticulated wildly, throwing papers into the air and insulting his workers.

‘Why is the professor so angry?’ asked Fowler.

The priest was sitting on a flat rock about a foot and a half above Andrea. He had been playing with a small screwdriver and some cables that he had taken from Brian Hanley’s toolbox, paying little heed to what was going on around him.

‘They’ve been running tests. They can’t simply dig up the Ark,’ Andrea replied. She had spoken with David Pappas a few minutes before. ‘They believe that it’s in a manmade hole. If they use the mini-excavator there’s a good chance the hole will collapse.’

‘They may have to go around it. That could take weeks.’

Andrea took another series of shots with her digital camera and then looked at them on the monitor. She had some excellent pictures of Forrester literally foaming at the mouth. A frightened Kyra Larsen throwing her head back in shock after the news of Erling’s death.

‘Forrester is screaming at them again. I don’t know how his assistants put up with it.’

‘Maybe that’s what they all need this morning, don’t you think?’

Andrea was about to tell Fowler to stop talking nonsense when she realised that she had always been a fervent believer in using self-punishment as a way of escaping grief.

Forrester’s screams were inducing people to scurry around like cockroaches when the lights are turned on.

‘Maybe he’s right, Father. But I don’t think it shows much respect for their dead colleague to carry on working.’

Fowler glanced up from his work.

‘I don’t blame him. He has to hurry. Tomorrow’s Saturday.’

‘Oh, yes. The
Sabbath
. The Jews can’t even turn on a light once the sun sets on Friday. It’s nonsense.’

‘At least they believe in something. What do you believe in?’

‘I’ve always been a practical person.’

‘I suppose you mean a non-believer.’

‘I suppose I mean practical. Wasting two hours a week in a place full of incense would take up exactly 343 days of my life. No offence, but I don’t think it’s worth it. Not even for a supposed eternity.’

The priest chuckled.

‘Have you ever believed in anything?’

‘I believed in a relationship.’

‘What happened?’

‘I screwed up. Let’s just say that she had more faith in it than I did.’

Fowler remained silent. Andrea’s voice had sounded slightly forced. She realised that the priest wanted her to unburden herself.

‘On top of that, Father . . . I don’t think that faith is the only motivating factor behind this expedition. The Ark is going to be worth a lot of money.’

‘There are roughly 125,000 tons of gold in the world. Do you believe that Mr Kayn needs to go after the thirteen or fourteen inside the Ark?’

‘I’m talking about Forrester and his busy bees,’ Andrea replied. She loved arguing but hated it when her arguments were so easily refuted.

‘All right. Do you want a practical reason? They’re in denial. Their work keeps them going.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Dr Kübler-Ross’s stages of mourning.’

‘Oh, yes. Denial, anger, depression, all that stuff.’

‘Exactly. They’re all in the first phase.’

‘The way the professor is screaming, you’d think he was in the second.’

‘They’ll feel better tonight. Professor Forrester will conduct the
hesped
, the eulogy. I believe it will be interesting to hear him say something good about someone other than himself.’

‘What’s going to happen to the body, Father?’

‘They’ll put it in a hermetically sealed body bag and bury it for the time being.’

Andrea looked at Fowler in disbelief.

‘You’re joking!’

‘It’s Jewish law. Everyone who dies has to be buried within twenty-four hours.’

‘You know what I mean. Aren’t they going to return him to his family?’

‘Nothing and nobody can leave the camp, Ms Otero. Remember?’

Andrea put the camera in her backpack and lit a cigarette.

‘These people are crazy. I hope this stupid exclusive doesn’t end up wiping all of us out.’

‘Always going on about your exclusive, Ms Otero. I can’t understand what it is that you need so desperately.’

‘Fame and fortune. How about you?’

Fowler stood up and stretched his arms. He leaned backward and his spine gave a loud crack.

‘I’m just following orders. If the Ark is real, the Vatican wants to know, so they can recognise it as the object that holds God’s commandments.’

A very simple answer, quite ingenious. And totally untrue, Father. You’re a very bad liar. But let’s pretend I believe you
.

‘Maybe,’ Andrea said after a moment. ‘But in this case, why didn’t your bosses send a historian?’

Fowler showed her what he had been working on.

‘Because a historian couldn’t have done this.”

‘What is it?’ Andrea said curiously. It looked like a simple electrical breaker switch with a pair of wires coming out of it.

‘We’ll have to forget yesterday’s plan for contacting Albert. After Erling’s murder, they’ll be even more on their guard. So this is what we’ll do instead . . .’

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

 

 

The conversation continued to ring in Andrea’s ears. The question was the same one the weak little voice in her head had been asking for quite some time now. It had been drowned out by the Philharmonic of Pride, accompanied by Mr Visa Debt, baritone, and Ms Fame at Any Cost, soprano. But Fowler’s words had given the weak little voice centre stage.

Andrea shook her head, trying to concentrate on what she was doing. The plan was to take advantage of the period when the off-duty soldiers would be trying to rest, taking a nap or playing cards.

‘That’s where you come in,’ Fowler had said. ‘On my signal you slip under the tent.’

‘Between the wooden floor and the sand? Are you crazy?’

‘There’s enough space. You’ll have to crawl about a foot and a half until you reach the electrical panel. The cable that connects the generator and the tent is the orange one. Pull it out quickly; connect it to the end of my cable and the other end of my cable back into the electrical panel. Then press this button every fifteen seconds for three minutes. After that, get out of there fast.’

‘What will that do?’

‘Nothing too complicated technologically. It’ll produce a slight drop in the electrical current without totally cutting it off. The frequency scanner will only shut off twice: once when you connect the cable, the second time when you disconnect it.’

‘And the rest of the time?’

‘It’ll be in start-up mode, like a computer when it’s loading its operating system. As long as they don’t look under the tent there won’t be any problems.’

Except that there was: the heat.

Crawling under the tent when Fowler gave the signal had been easy. Andrea had squatted, pretending to tie her bootlace, looked around and then rolled under the wooden platform. It was like diving into a vat of hot butter. The air was thick with the heat of the day and the generator next to the tent produced broiling drafts of heat that wafted into the space where Andrea had crawled.

She was now under the electrical panel, and her face and arms were burning up. She took out Fowler’s breaker and held it at the ready in her right hand while with her left she pulled sharply on the orange wire. She connected it to Fowler’s device then connected the other end to the panel, and waited.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

She pressed the breaker button.

Above her, the tone of the soldiers’ voices changed.

She listened more closely to the conversation. It started as a way to distract herself from the heat and keep her from fainting. She hadn’t drunk enough water that morning and was now paying for it. Her throat and lips were parched, and her head felt slightly dizzy. But thirty seconds later, what she was hearing made Andrea begin to panic. So much so that, once the three minutes had elapsed, she was still there pressing the button every fifteen seconds, fighting the feeling that she was about to pass out.

 

‘Do you have it?’

‘I think I have something. It hasn’t been easy. This guy is very good at covering his tracks.’

‘I need something more than guesswork, Albert. People have started to die here.’

‘People always die, don’t they?’

‘This time it’s different. It’s scaring me.’

‘You? I don’t believe it. You didn’t even get scared with the Koreans. And that time—’

‘Albert . . .’

‘Sorry. I’ve called in a few favours. The experts at the CIA have recovered some of the data from the computers at Netcatch. Orville Watson had a lead on a terrorist by the name of Huqan.’

‘Syringe.’

‘If you say so. I don’t know any Arabic. It looks like the guy was after Kayn.’

‘Anything else? Nationality? Ethnic group?’