Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

24

THE PORT OF AQABA PIERS, JORDAN

Wednesday, 12 July 2006. 11:32 a.m.

Andrea struggled not to scream. Instead she turned around with a smile on her face.

‘Hi, Mr Dekker. Or is it Colonel Dekker? I was looking for you.’

The hired hand was so big and stood so close to Andrea that she had to tilt her head backward to avoid speaking to his neck.

‘Mr Dekker is fine. Did you need something… Andrea?’

Think of an excuse, and make it a good one, Andrea thought, widening her smile.

‘I came to apologise for showing up yesterday afternoon while you were escorting Mr Kayn from his plane.’

Dekker limited himself to a grunt. The brute was blocking the small cabin door and was so close that Andrea could see more clearly than she wished the reddish scar across his face, his brown hair, blue eyes, and two days’ worth of stubble. The smell of his cologne was overpowering.

I can’t believe it, he uses Armani. By the litre.

‘Well, say something.’

‘You say something, Andrea. Or haven’t you come to apologise?’

Andrea suddenly recalled a National Geographic cover she had seen of a cobra eyeing a guinea pig.

‘Forgive me.’

‘No problem. Luckily your friend Fowler saved the situation. But you should be careful. Almost all of our sorrows spring out of our relations with other people.’

Dekker took a step forward. Andrea backed up.

‘That’s very deep. Schopenhauer?’

‘Ah, you know the classics. Or are you getting lessons on the ship?’

‘I’ve always been self-taught.’

‘Well, the great teacher said: ‘A man’s face as a rule says more, and more interesting things, than his mouth.’ And your face looks guilty.’

Andrea glanced sideways at the files, although she regretted doing so immediately. She had to avoid suspicion, even if it was too late.

‘The great teacher also said: ‘Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world.’ ’

Dekker showed his teeth as he smiled in satisfaction.

‘Very true. I think you’d better go and get ready – we’re going ashore in about an hour.’

‘Yes, of course. Excuse me,’ said Andrea, attempting to go past him.

At first Dekker didn’t budge but finally he moved the brick wall of his body, allowing the reporter to slip through the space between the desk and himself.

Andrea would always remember what happened next as a piece of cunning on her part, an ingenious trick to obtain the information she needed from right under the nose of the South African. The reality was more prosaic.

She tripped.

The young woman’s left leg caught on Dekker’s left foot, which didn’t move an inch. Andrea lost her balance and fell forward, bracing her arms against the desk to avoid slamming her face against the edge. The contents of the files spilled onto the floor.

Andrea looked at the ground in shock and then up at Dekker, who was staring at her, smoke coming out of his nose.

‘Oops.’

‘… so I stuttered an apology and ran out. You should’ve seen the way he looked at me. I’ll never forget it.’

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop him,’ Father Fowler said, shaking his head. ‘He must have come down through some service hatchway from the bridge.’

The three of them were in the infirmary, Andrea seated on a bed with Fowler and Harel looking worriedly at her.

‘I didn’t even hear him come in. It seems incredible that someone his size could move so quietly. And all that effort for nothing. Anyway, thank you for the Schopenhauer quote, Father. For a moment there he was speechless.’

‘You’re welcome. He’s a pretty boring philosopher. It was hard to recall a decent aphorism.’

‘Andrea, do you remember anything you saw when the files fell to the floor?’ Harel interrupted.

Andrea closed her eyes in concentration.

‘There were photos of the desert, plans of what looked like houses… I don’t know. Everything was a mess and there was writing all over it. The only folder that was different was yellow with a red logo.’

‘What did the logo look like?’

‘What difference would it make?’

‘You’d be surprised how many wars are won because of unimportant details.’

Andrea concentrated again. She had an excellent memory, but she had glanced at the scattered sheets for only a couple of seconds and had been in a state of shock. She pressed her fingers on the bridge of her nose, screwed up her eyes and made odd little noises. Just when she thought she couldn’t remember, the image appeared in her mind.

‘It was a red bird. An owl, because of the eyes. Its wings were open.’

Fowler smiled.

‘That’s unusual. It could help.’

The priest opened his briefcase and took out a mobile phone. He pulled out its thick antenna and proceeded to turn it on while the two women watched in astonishment.

‘I thought all contact with the outside world was forbidden,’ said Andrea.

‘It is,’ Harel said. ‘He’s going to be in real trouble if he’s caught.’

Fowler peered closely at the screen, waiting for coverage. It was a Globalstar satellite phone; it didn’t use normal signals but instead linked up directly with a network of communication satellites that had a range covering roughly 99 per cent of the earth’s surface.

‘That’s why it’s important we check something out today, Ms Otero,’ said the priest, as he dialled a number from memory. ‘At the moment we’re near a big city so a signal from the ship will pass unnoticed among all the others from Aqaba. Once we reach the excavation site, using any kind of phone will be extremely risky.’

‘But what-’

Fowler interrupted Andrea by holding up a finger. The call had gone through.

‘Albert, I need a favour.’