Read Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest Online

Authors: Roger Herst

Tags: #thriller, #israel, #catholic church, #action adventure, #rabbi, #jewish fiction, #dead sea scrolls, #israeli government

Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest (6 page)

BOOK: Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest
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"May I come in to talk with you, Rabbi
Lewyn?" he asked in the clipped English she immediately recognized
as originating in South Africa.

"I apologize for the mess, but I just arrived
from the States."

"I know," he said, not waiting for permission
to enter.

"You do?"

"I've had a man outside on the street, hoping
for Professor Matternly's return."

"Somebody's been in this apartment before I
got here," she relied in an accusing tone. "One of your
people?"

Arad failed to respond. Once Gabby had closed
the door behind him, she observed what she guessed to be a nervous,
high-strung man, most probably a workaholic. His puffy, reddish
eyes reminded her of someone who suffered from sleep
deprivation.

A smile emerged slowly on his cheeks, as he
said, "You're not what most Israelis envision when they think of a
rabbi. No beard, no
pa-ot
, no lachrymose
eyes reflecting three thousand years of Jewish suffering."

When she answered his smile with one of her
own, her nose, which had been fixed at age fifteen, snuggled
between deep dimples. Thanks to a skilled orthodontist in Los
Angeles where she had grown up, her teeth were almost perfect. "And
you're also not an average Israeli," she responded with a defensive
repost, "Your accent is Johannesburg, yes?"

"Good ear. Houghton District."

"Sorry about the mess. You can see Tim isn't
a tidy person. I haven't had a minute to straighten up." She
ushered Arad toward the study and cleared off the least cluttered
chair. The moment he sat, she said, "Why are you waiting for
Tim?"

His eyes scanned the bookshelves, taking in
the environment where Tim produced his scholarship. "He's published
more on the Dead Sea scrolls in the past ten years than all other
scholars combined. Dead Sea scholarship would be dormant by now,
were it not for him."

"Tim keeps working small niches with the hope
that something big will break."

A grimace crossed Arad's face before he shot
another glance in Gabby's direction. "Professor Matternly produced
a
tour de force
with
Fragments from the Dead Sea Scrolls
."

"Is that why you're looking for him?

"Partly."

"You can find a copy of
Fragments
in any archeology library."

"We believe there's still more to be done in
the field."

"To my knowledge, everything has been
studied, you might say,
ad nauseam
."

"Until now," he said, then fell silent.

"Tim's mentioned your name many times. He's
no fan of the Antiquities Authority."

"Nobody loves a policeman. Particularly
scholars and archeologist who must play by my rules. You can
imagine some are more disciplined than others. Most don't like me,
but comply because when I veto an excavation project or withhold a
foreign work permit a career can be ruined."

"And have you?" she shot back.

He almost grunted when saying, "Often."

"And those who don't play by the rules?" she
asked.

"
My rogues
, as I
call them. Always trying to sneak by me."

"And Tim?"
Arad cuffed strong fingers into a
fist, pausing for a moment to think about an answer, before saying,
"Your Dr. Matternly is a definite rogue. I respect his scholarship,
but I'm suspicious of his conduct."

"I don't get it," she said to combat a
mounting sense of exasperation. "I don't know where Tim is and I'm
worried as hell about him. You put men in cars on the street and
probably searched this apartment. What's going on here?"

"Can I count upon you not to speak of this to
anyone?"

"I've been a rabbi for years. Everything
anybody told me was confidential, much like a lawyer."

"But you're not in the States now. In Israel,
we take a different approach."

"I want to find Tim," she changed gears,
sounding more conciliatory. "I'll do what I can to keep what you
tell me to myself." She gave him a quick nod to proceed based on
this understanding.

"The army noted suspicious activity at Qumran
and discovered a new cave there. My people investigated and found
hundreds of ancient shards and a few parchment fragments. It was
obvious the major treasures were already gone. A black eye for my
agency. My job is to protect historical sites from looting much
like this. I'm particularly incensed because this happened right
under my nose and I didn't know a damn thing about it."

Gabby struggled to mesh what she knew about
the Dead Sea scrolls with her knowledge of Qumran geography. She
concluded that finding new artifacts was unlikely, though not
altogether impossible. "And you suspect Tim looted that cave?

When Arad twisted his torso, she read the
stress in his tired eyes. He said with no attempt to conceal his
frustration, "Right now, Rabbi, I suspect everybody, Tim Matternly
included. Suppose you took possession of new scrolls and that the
parchment was in a state of decomposition, as it is very likely to
be. You'd need an expert to help sort out what you had. Whom would
you look to for such expertise?"

"Tim, of course."

"The IDF team found bullet slugs in the
cave's wall. And human blood on the ground, along with remains of a
recent fire. If ancient artifacts were removed, that's theft of
state property. And judging from the bloodstains and bullets, some
foul play, too. The police are interested in the blood. I'm
interested in what's been taken. That's why I need Professor
Matternly. It's damn curious that just when he's in most demand,
he's missing."

Arad handed her a calling card. "Here's my
phone number and e-mail address. And, by the way, don't be
surprised if you're contacted by the police. There are multiple
investigations under way, and unfortunately government officials
don't always communicate well. What is it they say, 'One hand
doesn't know what the other is doing.' The IDF isn't finished in
this matter either."

"Am I also a suspect?" she asked, as he
stepped back into the vestibule.

"Not for the moment. But don't interpret that
to mean you're free to do something foolish. Since you now know
we're looking for Matternly, any attempt to withhold information
might be construed as an attempt to subvert justice. You don't want
to become complicit with Matternly in criminal behavior."

"Is he in danger?"

"In the past few years, Russian criminals in
Tel Aviv have become active traffickers in antiquities. They're bad
people who have no scruples when it comes to protecting their
markets."

That remark chilled Gabby, partly because it
had never occurred to her that organized crime might be interested
in antiquities. Unlike many friends who read novels about the mafia
and loved
The Godfather
movies and the
Soprano
TV series, she had shown little
fascination with the subject. "Are Russians more dangerous than
Italians?"

"Worse. Italians have a sense of family
loyalty. Russians murder their fathers for money."

In the hallway, Arad turned with a last
thought. "Father Benoit Matteau at the École Biblique in Bethlehem
has worked with Tim Matternly for years. Do you know him?"

She thought about denying it, but also knew
that the call she had made to Matteau's school in Bethlehem could
be traced. "I met him twice, both times at Fink's Bar here in
Jerusalem. He's a good drinker, but seemed to hold his alcohol. Is
he one of your good boys or one of your rogues?"

"My most consistent rule breaker. He's
constantly asking for special privileges and when denied, does
whatever pleases him. Benoit and I go back a long way, not as bosom
buddies. He's been working with Dead Sea scrolls for more years
than I've been in the business and is one of the most likely people
to help us understand what happened out there in the desert."

"I would think so," Gabby interjected.
"What's he told you?"

"At the moment, nothing. Our relationship is
so sour, he’s not likely to tell me or one of my associates
anything. It just occurred to me that you might be the perfect
person to have a word with him."

"Why should he be open with me?"

"You know he's a good drinker. You may not
know he's also a ladies man. I have no idea what he does or doesn't
do in the bedroom, but we know he enjoys the company of attractive
women. The idea of having you talk with him came to me when you
opened the front door."

Gabby let the compliment slip by without
acknowledgment. "What would I ask him?"

"If he knows where Tim Matternly is."

"And if he doesn't?"
"Then I'd like to learn
what he knows about recent activities at Qumran. Information on new
artifacts. Cave looters. Church gossip."

Gabby scuffed her foot over the parquet floor
before answering. "I've already put a call to him. His receptionist
said he was in retreat and unavailable."

"A very secretive man," Arad mumbled. "My
guess is that he'll return your call, but will take his time about
it. If you hear from him, I'd like to know."

In the swirl of events since her return to
Jerusalem, a simple idea had eluded her. While arranging and
rearranging what she knew about Tim's disappearance, she had
overlooked what should have been obvious from the beginning.
Because his laptop was not in the apartment, she assumed he had
access to e-mail. Though she had become pessimistic about receiving
a reply, she nevertheless clung to the hope that at some point he
would reach out. It occurred to her that she had forgotten to tell
him that she was now in Israel.

HI, TIM. I'M HERE AT THE APARTMENT IN
JERUSALEM, she pecked out on her keyboard. She thought briefly
about revealing the confidences Itamar Arad had shared with her,
then decided to make an excuse for coming earlier than scheduled.
PROFESSOR KRAMALAKOV AT U C IS UNDERGOING RADIATION ON A MALIGNANT
PROSTATE AND HAS SUSPENDED HIS SEMINARS FOR TWO MONTHS. I THOUGHT
THIS A GOOD OPPORTUNITY TO LOOK AT SOME OF THE MEDIEVAL
COMMENTARIES ON MAIMONIDES DEALING WITH PROPHECY. THEY'RE SCATTERED
AMONG A HALF-DOZEN LIBRARIES HERE. She didn't wish to make demands
Tim couldn't meet. To end the message, she wrote: KEEP IN TOUCH.
LOVE, AS ALWAYS, GABBY, then punched a key dispatching her message
into cyberspace.

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

Early Sunday morning, Gabby walked to the
plaza outside the Jaffa Gate leading into the Old City and selected
a metallic gray Mercedes taxi with green license plates marked with
a large P permitting the driver to transport passengers through
military barriers to the West Bank. "Can you take me to Bethlehem?"
she asked the Palestinian driver, a blue-eyed, blond man in his
early thirties, uncommonly clean-shaven except for an almost
transparent moustache.

The driver lifted his chin to study her
through glasses for his astigmatism, as if to ask, “Why would a
woman like you go to Bethlehem?" Obviously, the white headscarf and
a demure black cloak with flat leather shoes she wore had failed to
convince him that she was a Christian Arab.

"I must attend mass at the Church of the
Nativity."

"Depends on the roadblocks," the driver
casually responded. "If they're in a bad mood, the soldiers can
ruin my day. No guarantees they'll let us enter the city. It's open
one moment, closed the next. I could get stuck there. So you pay
for the delays, Lady, which could be a long time. If I can't leave,
you pay for a full day. I can make more money by staying here in
Jerusalem."

"Sounds fair to me," she said, and climbed
into the back seat.

Despite the driver's misgivings, the barriers
presented few obstacles, perhaps because it was Sunday. When a
young bearded Israeli guard in a scruffy olive uniform—backed up by
a teenage female recruit, who carelessly pointed her automatic
weapon at the taxi driver—asked Gabby where she was headed, she
told him she was going to church, which wasn't a lie.

Once in the biblical city, she directed the
taxi past Father Benoit's École Biblique, knowing it to be closed
for the Christian Sabbath, and instead followed a hunch based on
what Tim had told her about its director. On several occasions, he
had spoken of Father Benoit as a "fish out of water," an ardent
student of history who fit more comfortably into the first century,
than the twenty-first. When this priest spoke of Jesus, it was less
about the august son of God than a contemporary friend who once
trod ancient Galilean pathways. To think and feel like people in
the days when Jesus preached, he had lived for two years with a
Bedouin tribe, speaking their regional Arabic and emulating their
nomadic existence. Though a citizen of France and a loyal servant
of the Roman Church, he considered himself primarily a son of the
desert. Why, Gabby reasoned, would this devout priest from
Bethlehem attend Sabbath mass in any lesser sanctuary than the
oldest church in Christendom, built by Constantine's mother,
Helena, over the historic manger and birthplace of Jesus?

The taxi driver dropped Gabby off on Manger
Square fronting the Nativity Church. She entered this imposing
limestone house of God administered in the name of Christianity by
Orthodox, Armenians, and Franciscan clerics, through a low medieval
portal purposely constructed in the fourteenth century to prevent
arrogant Templar Knights from entering the holy of holies on
horseback. In a peripheral courtyard named for St. Jerome—where
Orthodox, Armenian and Catholic clergy in black, brown, and white
robes were bustling about in preparation for a series of
simultaneous masses—she spotted a black frock with flowing folds
belonging to the Dominican order. A series of quick steps brought
her alongside where she tugged at the wearer's woolen sleeve.

The churchman slowed to turn his head, then
stopped when she introduced herself as a Bible student from
Chicago. His silky white skin glistened like polished porcelain;
his cheeks enlarged in a friendly, almost toothless smile as he
heard mention of the Windy City. "Oh yes," he said, "I have a
cousin who immigrated to Illinois. That's near Chicago, yes?"

BOOK: Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest
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ads

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