The Cairo Codex (22 page)

“This is serious, Justine. No accident. Do you know any reason why you might be followed?” asked Nasser, tension mounting in his voice.

A moment of silence followed.

“Justine?”

“No, no, I can’t . . .” Her mind raced. “I found something special in Old Cairo during the quake. I . . .”

“Don’t say another word. I’m coming over.” He hung up before she could respond.

Within the hour, Nasser was at the door. Justine had busied herself by changing into a cotton kaftan and making tea.
Can I trust Nasser? Should I tell him about the codex?
By the time he arrived, she had made her decision.

Nasser held her for a few moments, then settled into the overstuffed chair across from her. “You must have been very frightened.”

She nodded and explained what had happened during the evening and the events surrounding the codex, although she wasn’t entirely forthcoming. She didn’t reveal any of her conversations with Ibrahim. Andrea. Amir. Or any of their primitive speculations. Although she did say that the codex was in safekeeping with Ibrahim.

Nasser had let her talk without interruption. “You’ve found an ancient codex in the crypt where the Holy Family lived, and your colleagues speculate that it might be important?” He sat forward, gazing at her intently.

“I—I’m not sure yet,” she said, beginning to have second thoughts about her careless revelation. “We may have to hand it over to Omar Mostafa at the Ministry of Antiquities.”

“Has Ibrahim shown it to Mostafa yet?”

“I don’t think so. No, I’m sure not. What do you know of Mostafa?”

“Everyone knows the Great Mostafa and understands that he likes to be in on things from the beginning. He’ll take credit for whatever comes of it.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.” Justine smiled for the first time this evening. “But Ibrahim has assured me that I’ll be part of the decisions regarding the findings. That is, if anyone can make such assurances.”

“Don’t be surprised if that agreement doesn’t hold. You said you were going to Alexandria? I can drive you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Andrea is driving. We leave at the end of the week.” Justine kicked off her shoes and folded her feet under her.

“Be careful,” said Nasser. “After what happened tonight, don’t take any chances. I want you to call me before you leave.”

“I’ll call you. And thanks, Nasser. For everything.” She felt tears welling up.
Now what is this? Relief, gratitude . . . some other emotion?

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Would you like for me to stay tonight?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, staring into his deep blue eyes. “I need to think, and I have a deadbolt lock on the door. I feel better now. Thank you so much.”

As they said goodnight, Nasser kissed her hands, then moved his lips from cheek to cheek, brushing her mouth lightly. She felt a warm current of desire.

It was after midnight, but she was unable to sleep, so chose to sit in the living room attempting to read. So much had happened tonight, she couldn’t sort it all out. Exhilaration followed by waning confidence, fear and desire, anticipation and relief. A roller coaster of emotions.

The ancient wrought iron elevator came to a stop on Justine’s floor. Her heart quickened, for she had heard the only other occupants on this floor come home an hour earlier. As she listened, heavy feet stepped from the elevator and moved toward her door. She waited for the knock that didn’t come. The footsteps and elevator remained quiet. She sat watching, frozen in place, mesmerized by the shadows of large shoes flush to the front door. After what seemed like an eternity, a piece of paper was pushed under the door. When the waiting elevator descended several floors, carrying the man in large shoes, she walked to her door and picked up the note.

In large block letters it read:
IF YOUR RIGHT EYE OFFENDS YOU, PLUCK IT OUT
.

T
HE MORNING LIGHT AND PERSISTENT COO
of pigeons soaked through the tall French doors and awakened Justine once again. Not having slept until the early hours of the morning, she felt groggy and disoriented. Her stomach tightened as memories of the previous evening began to crowd into her muddled mind. Being followed in the Khan, the cryptic note slipped under her door . . . combined with the earthquake and deaths of the week before, it was more than she felt ready to handle. Talking with Nadia and Nasser had been comforting, but she needed someone who might be able to help figure out what was going on. She reached for the phone and called Ibrahim and Andrea.

She arrived at Groppi’s around nine and found a back table in the stillquiet coffeehouse. Two veiled women stood in the candy shop; two young men in Western dress claimed a table on the opposite side of the room. The radiant morning sun made dark silhouettes of Andrea, Ibrahim, and Amir as they walked toward her. She hadn’t called Amir, nor was she expecting him. After the encounter with him in the Khan, she felt uncertain of his motives.

The three of them sat quietly while Justine explained the events of the night before. She omitted her brief encounter with Amir as well as her conversation with Nasser. Amir appeared appreciative of the omission, yet uncomfortable in her presence. Justine handed the note to Ibrahim, which he read and passed on to Andrea and Amir. The waitress came to their table twice, but couldn’t attract their attention.

“What could it mean?” Justine quietly demanded, hoping that someone would understand. She waited for her answer while the demure waitress reappeared and took their order. Andrea ordered tea all around, three croissants, and her favorite miniature chocolate cookies.
Nothing ruffles her
, mused Justine. “Even for breakfast?” she said to Andrea.

“The quote is from the Gospel of Matthew, 5:29,” said Ibrahim gravely. “It’s a teaching in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. If I remember correctly, the entire section goes like this:

‘
If your right eye is a hindrance to you,

Pluck it out and throw it away;

Better for you to lose one of your members than to have

All your body thrown into Gehenna.

If your right hand is a hindrance to you,

Cut it off and throw it away;

Better for you to lose one of your members

Than to have all your body thrown into Gehenna.
’

“Of course, most of us understand it allegorically, as a metaphor,” he concluded. His voice was hoarse.

“Gehenna?” asked Justine.

“Hell,” said Amir, without making eye contact.

“Your ‘right eye’ may refer to the codex. It would need to be something that could offend you or others, violate beliefs. The codex could do that—eventually,” Andrea said. “Is there anything else it might refer to?”

“Seems like a bit of a stretch, but I can’t think of anything else,” admitted Justine. “My actions in Cairo should not be offensive to anyone . . . I wouldn’t think.” She remembered the humiliating morning when she went for a run in skintight Lycra. “And the incident with my father and you, Ibrahim, was such a long time ago.”

Ibrahim pursed his lips and waved it off.

“If the note does refer to the codex, someone thinks its contents are dangerous,” offered Andrea, devouring her second cookie. “But how would they know?
We
don’t even know.”

“What do we know?” asked Amir, still avoiding direct communication with Justine. “Let’s enumerate. First, we know it is an ancient codex and where it was found.”

“And that it lacks provenance,” Ibrahim added.

“That it appears to be written in the hand of the Dead Sea Scrolls and in first person,” Andrea interjected with pride.

“That is a great deal,” Justine realized. “Have any of you sat around together and wondered aloud . . . speculated on its source, meaning?”

Ibrahim looked sheepish. “A little fun, my dear, no certainty at all. Andrea and I brainstormed possible sources. But we don’t know the dates as yet and there are no dates in the codex.”

“A little fun? Like the Holy Family? After all, where it was found . . .”
Why does no one look surprised? They’re not keeping me in the loop.

“Not impossible,” confessed Ibrahim. “Although hundreds of people could have lived in that cave over the generations. We won’t really know anything until we have the material dated.”

“What else do you recall about the Sermon, Ibrahim?” said Andrea, diverting the conversation. She placed both hands around her teacup as though to heat them, even though the morning was already becoming quite warm.

“The Sermon suggests how to live, how to relate to others. In that day, some of Jesus’ suggestions were quite radical, even contradictory,” Ibrahim said admiringly. “He said blessed are the poor, the persecuted, the peacemakers . . . He explicitly challenged the Old Testament admonition of ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’ by suggesting that his followers turn the other cheek and love their neighbors––and their enemies. The Sermon tells us to be humble, to forego public praise, to give alms, and to pray in private. What puzzles me is that some of his teachings in the Sermon are hallmarks of tolerance and love, while others are harsh and judgmental. The same dual nature is revealed by the teachings of Mohammed in the Koran. I’m convinced that many of the teachings attributed to both men were never spoken by them. Whoever chose the phrase in the note did not intend to represent Jesus’ more gentle and loving nature—of that we can be sure.”

“It’s a warning,” Amir murmured coldly. “The person who followed you in the Khan probably left the note.” The others turned to him; his tone and demeanor implied that, more than a warning, the note was an omen of evil.

“But how would anyone know about the codex at all?” asked Justine. “We haven’t told anyone.”
Except.

“There’s no explanation that’s not sinister,” said Andrea. “I’m as puzzled as you,
chérie
. And if they knew anything, why wouldn’t they make the warning more direct?” She paused. “Amir, what are you thinking?”

“Egyptians are given to mystery. We believe that the more mystical and obscure a warning is, the more frightening and effective it is. That is undoubtedly true. I don’t know why you were given the warning, but I intend to find out. But be careful, very careful.”

Justine examined his face, his flashing black eyes.
Why is he so angry? Because of me—or some plan gone awry? Be careful, Justine. I do need to be very careful. But of whom?
Out of all of them, Amir was the one who’d initially been reluctant to keep the codex. Her eyes moved from person to person, then caught something through the window. “I see Nadia’s car outside,” she said, picking up her purse and briefcase.

As she stepped around the table, Andrea said quietly, “I’ll come to your apartment around three o’clock tomorrow and we’ll drive to Alexandria. I’ll have the codex with me.”

Justine nodded and silently vowed to put the codex out of her mind for the rest of the day. But as she and Nadia drove away from the café, a black Mercedes sedan pulled away from the curb and followed at some distance.

“F
OR ME
, A
LEXANDRIA IS ONE OF THE TRULY
great cities.” It was Thursday afternoon, and Andrea continued her enthusiastic travelogue as they drove past the Masr train station and turned right, heading north toward Alexandria’s newly remodeled Corniche. “Alexandrians invented the notion of the ‘mouseion’—the museum—nearly 2,400 years ago. If you listen, Alexandrians whisper poetic words from their terraces.”

“So far, I’m not impressed.” Justine’s last visit to this city was when she was fourteen, but the beaches had consumed her then. Adolescents had different priorities. Boys and beaches; beaches and boys.

“Ah, you’re not far from wrong.” Andrea smiled with the charm perfected by the French. “The glory days of Alexandria are history. Lawrence Durrell called her the ‘Capital of Memory,’ for she lives in memory, not in reality. But when E.M. Forster was fresh from
Howard’s End
and still working on
Passage to India
, he took the time to write a little guide about Alexandria—my point being that he was so captivated with the romance of Alexandria that he couldn’t keep her out of his mind. The new mayor seems to have jolted the city back into history with the new Bibliotheca and a Corniche worthy of its legend. The city may be coming back to its glory days,” said Andrea. “We’ll see.”