‘You’ll soon be in the thick of it. Onslow is not very far away.’
‘Your driver?’
‘My car. It was given to me by a friend of mine who was the British military attache here before he went back to London. The Honourable Onslow Harrington-Smythe – we never give the car the full title, just Onslow.’
‘That was very generous of your friend.’
‘You haven’t seen Onslow.’
Bemused, Allegra followed her very attractive research partner to the car park where he had parked the ancient British Land Rover with ‘Hebrew University’ hand-painted on its front doors.
‘Forgive the dust,’ David said, as he opened the door and thumped the faded green vinyl seat. Powdery dust from Jericho and several other biblical cities puffed up from the seat.
David slammed his door twice before it shut and when he turned the ignition key Onslow’s engine cranked uncertainly. With a belch of black smoke and a cough it fired and roared into life.
‘Unless you really want to go into Tel-Aviv,’ David said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the roar of the engine, ‘which is nothing to write home about, I thought we might head straight up to Jerusalem. We can have a welcome drink at one of my favourite bars, then get you settled in?’
‘Tel-Aviv can wait for another day,’ she assured him, shouting back.
‘It’s the muffler or a gasket or something,’ he explained. ‘Must get it seen to one of these days.’ David swung the Land Rover out of the car park and headed south-east onto Route 1. Allegra felt a surge of excitement at the first signpost saying ‘Jerusalem’. She braced herself against the metal dashboard as David braked hard and swerved to avoid a minibus full of Arabs cutting in front of them. If the horn on the Land Rover had worked, he still wouldn’t have used it. David Kaufmann was not one to get agitated easily.
‘As you can see it’s a toss-up as to who are the world’s worst drivers. Us or the Arabs.’
‘You obviously haven’t driven in Italy,’ she replied. ‘How far is it to Jerusalem?’
‘It’s about 50 kilometres from here but the university campus is on Mount Scopus which is a few kilometres further on. Since this is your very first day we’ll brave the traffic and take the scenic route past the Old City. Tomorrow we have a briefing at the Rockefeller, although I should warn you there has been more than a little controversy over these scholarships and they may not be too pleased to see us.’
‘Does that have anything to do with the Omega Scroll?’ Allegra asked, deciding to find out how much David knew.
‘You know about that?’ he asked, glancing sideways at her.
‘A little,’ she replied enigmatically, ‘there’s been a bit of speculation in the Italian press from time to time.’
‘It may have something to do with it, not that there has ever been any proof of the Rockefeller having a copy, but it’s also about the fragments of the scrolls they hold. They’ve been pretty choosy about granting access, and it’s beginning to look as if there might be something very damaging in them, otherwise they would have been opened up to thorough scrutiny years ago.’
‘Do you think it’s real, the Omega Scroll?’ Allegra asked, pressing for more information.
‘My father certainly does,’ David replied. ‘Although I’m not so sure, yet it’s always in the back of your mind when you’re near an archaeological dig. What about you?’
‘I think your father might be right and whenever people get close to uncovering it, strange things seem to happen. You heard what happened to Professor Rosselli?’
David nodded. ‘A sad business. He and Yossi corresponded regularly. They never found who did it?’
Allegra shook her head. ‘The file’s still open but the trail seems to have gone cold. Your father is still trying to break the codes?’
‘You read his article on the Dead Sea Scrolls?’
‘It made the news in Italy.’
‘I’m not surprised, given what he wrote. You will meet him tomorrow, after our briefing at the Rockefeller. I’ll take you for a walk through the Old City and around seven-thirty-ish, if you feel up to it, we can mosey over to the Shrine of the Book. The Professor’s giving a briefing on the Dead Sea Scrolls to a bunch of visiting American congressmen.’
‘The Professor?’
‘My father, it’s a term of endearment. I’ve arranged our briefing at the museum for half past three so I’ll pick you up about quarter past two. Ish. Just in case the Palestinians are out and about and causing havoc.’ David’s comment was not entirely in jest.
‘Is that a problem?’
‘It’s been pretty quiet here for the last couple of months, but in Israel you never can tell. You get used to it. Most people are in the Reserves which is a continual reminder that the country has to be protected.’
‘You’re in the Army?’
‘Used to be. Pretty well everyone serves in the Defense Force, unless you’re pregnant or a mother. I gather you’d have to sign up,’ he added, laughing.
‘On both counts!’ Allegra found herself responding to this interesting Israeli. She felt relaxed and at ease with a man who obviously didn’t take life too seriously.
‘How long did you serve for?’
‘Conscription runs for three years and after that you’re still assigned to a frontline Reserve unit until you’re thirty-nine. If there’s a war the whole country is mobilised. Buses and taxis carry troops, private planes and boats go into the Air Force and Navy and construction bulldozers and cranes go into the Engineers. All in all, we can put a quarter of a million troops into the field overnight. Back in 1973 it was very nearly not enough.’
‘Were you involved then?’
David nodded. ‘Pretty well everyone was. I had a gig in the ’67 event too.’
Allegra smiled to herself. Somehow David Kaufmann struck her as someone who would find the discipline of the armed forces irksome.
‘And your father?’
‘Far more distinguished career than mine. He was one of the youngest generals in the Army, although not everyone’s a fan. He has a view, and I agree with him, that fighting the Arabs is never going to solve the problem, but the High Command and a lot of politicians in this country expect their generals to be a bit more gung-ho. I don’t think he’s the flavour of the month with the Vatican right now either.’
‘Yes, after your father’s article on the codes in the Dead Sea Scrolls I can understand why the cardinal’s club would not be amused.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. I gather the Secretary of State – what’s his name – Petroli?’
‘Petroni.’ Allegra shivered with the memory.
‘That’s the fellow,’ David said, pulling out to push his way past a bus that was billowing thick black smoke. Up until now the road had been dead flat, passing through ploughed fields and the rich red soils of the fertile coastal plain, but now they had reached the rocky foothills of the Judaean mountains.
‘I gather he was bordering on apoplexy. I’m sorry, are you a Catholic?’
‘Don’t worry, lapsed, very lapsed,’ Allegra replied, deciding that now was not the time to go into her time in a convent. ‘You?’
‘Legally I’m Jewish.’
‘Legally?’
‘Being a Jew can be a bit complicated. If your mother is Jewish or you convert to Judaism, regardless of where you are born, according to Jewish law you are accepted as being a Jew. It’s a kind of worldwide citizenship. If you’re asking if I share the religious beliefs of the Orthodox Jews then the answer is no. I suppose I’m of no fixed religion. My father has a strong faith although only God would know how he’s kept it. He and my mother both lost their parents in the Holocaust. My mother’s pretty normal though!’
‘You seem remarkably well informed on the Vatican?’ Allegra was intrigued by his earlier observations.
‘My father is good friends with the bishop here, an Irish fellow by the name of O’Hara. Funnily enough he doesn’t seem too religious either. Nice guy. You’ll get to meet him too.’
As they reached the top of the long climb to the outskirts of Jerusalem, Allegra still couldn’t believe she was actually here.
‘The Old City goes back about four thousand years,’ David explained, not realising just how ‘lapsed’ Allegra
