Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

63

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Tuesday, 18 July 2006. 2:07 p.m.

‘Several people are dead.’

‘Who?’

‘Larsen, Durwin, Levine and Frick.’

‘Shit no, not Levine. They pulled him out alive.’

‘The doctor’s up there.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m fucking telling you.’

‘What happened? Another bomb?’

‘It was a cave-in. Nothing mysterious.’

‘It was sabotage, I swear. Sabotage.’

A circle of pained faces gathered around the platform. There was anxious whispering as Pappas came out of the entrance to the tunnel, followed by Professor Forrester. Behind them were the Gottlieb brothers who, due to their skill at abseiling, had been appointed by Dekker to rescue any possible survivors.

The German twins were carrying out the first body on a stretcher covered by a blanket.

‘It’s Durwin; I recognise his boots.’

The professor approached the group.

‘There’s been a collapse due to a natural cavity in the earth that we hadn’t reckoned with. The speed at which we dug the tunnel didn’t allow us to…’ He stopped, unable to continue.

I guess that’s the closest he’ll come to admitting a mistake, thought Andrea as she stood in the middle of the group. She had her camera in her hand, ready to take photos, but when she found out what had happened she put the lens cap back on.

The twins carefully laid the body on the ground, then slid the stretcher from under it and went back to the tunnel.

An hour later, the bodies of the three archaeologists and the operator were lying near the edge of the platform. The last one out was Levine. It had taken twenty minutes longer to get him out of the tunnel. Although he was the only one who had survived the initial fall, Dr Harel could do nothing for him.

‘He suffered too much internal damage,’ she whispered to Andrea once she’d emerged. The doctor’s face and arms were covered with dirt. ‘I would have preferred…’

‘Don’t say any more,’ Andrea said, squeezing her hand furtively. She let go of it to cover her head with her cap, as did the rest of the group. The only ones who didn’t follow the Jewish custom were the soldiers, perhaps out of ignorance.

The silence was absolute. A warm breeze drifted over from the cliffs. Suddenly the silence was broken by a voice that sounded deeply perturbed. Andrea turned her head and couldn’t believe her eyes.

The voice belonged to Russell. He was walking behind Raymond Kayn, and they were no more than a hundred feet from the platform.

The billionaire was advancing towards them barefoot, his shoulders stooped and his arms crossed. His assistant followed, his face like thunder. He quietened down when he realised that the others could hear him. It was obvious that seeing Kayn there, outside his tent, made Russell extremely nervous.

Slowly everybody turned to watch the two figures approaching. Aside from Andrea and Dekker, Forrester was the only other spectator to have seen Raymond Kayn in person. And that had happened only once, during a long tense meeting at Kayn Tower, when Forrester had agreed to the strange demands of his new boss without thinking twice. Of course, the reward for accepting had been huge.

As was the cost. It was lying there on the ground, covered by blankets.

Kayn stopped a dozen feet from them, a shaking, hesitant old man, his head bearing a yarmulke as white as the rest of his clothing. Out in the open his thinness and slight stature made him look even frailer, but, despite this, Andrea found herself fighting the urge to kneel. She perceived how the attitude of the people around him changed, as though they were affected by some invisible magnetic field. Brian Hanley, who was less than three feet from her, began to shift his weight from one foot to the other. David Pappas bowed his head, and even Fowler’s eyes seemed oddly bright. The priest stood off to one side of the group, slightly apart from the others.

‘My dear friends, I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself. My name is Raymond Kayn,’ the old man said, his clear voice belying his fragile appearance.

Some of those present nodded, but the old man didn’t notice and continued speaking.

‘I regret that we had to meet for the first time under such terrible circumstances, and I’d like to ask that we join in prayer.’ He lowered his eyes, bowed his head, and recited, ‘El maley rachamim shochen bam’romim hamtzey menuchah nechonah al kanfey haschechinah bema’alot kedoshim ute’horim kezohar harakia me’irim umazhirim lenishmat. [8] Amen.’

Everyone repeated the Amen.

Strangely, Andrea felt better, even though she did not understand what she had heard, nor was it part of her childhood faith. An empty, lonely silence hung over the group for a few moments until Dr Harel spoke up.

‘Should we return home, sir?’ She extended her arms in a gesture of silent supplication.

‘We shall now comply with the halaká [9] and bury our brothers,’ Kayn replied. His tone was calm and reasonable, in contrast to Doc’s hoarse exhaustion. ‘Afterwards, we’ll rest for a few hours and then continue our work. We cannot allow the sacrifice of these heroes to be in vain.’

Having said this, Kayn returned to his tent, followed by Russell.

Andrea looked around and saw nothing but agreement on the faces of the others.

‘I can’t believe these people are buying this shit,’ she whispered to Harel. ‘He didn’t even come near us. He stood several yards away, as if we were suffering from the plague or were going to do something to him.’

‘We aren’t the ones he was afraid of.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Harel didn’t answer.

But the direction of her gaze did not escape Andrea, nor the look of complicity that passed between the doctor and Fowler. The priest nodded.

If it wasn’t us, then who was it?