“Kaplan’s getting enough to dangle from the top of K2.”
“When does Ferris go into the mix?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Will you show Kaplan the picture he gave me at the autopsy?”
“Should give him a jolt.”
I experienced a sudden jolt of my own.
“Ohmygod, Ryan! Do you suppose Max could be Kaplan’s gen-oo-ine Masada relic? Do you suppose Kaplan got wind of the skeleton from Ferris?”
Ryan smiled widely. “Want to come along and ask him?”
“Could help Friedman with his pounce.”
“I’m sure he’d agree.”
“I’m a terrific pouncer.”
“I’ve seen you. It’s frightening.”
“It’s a gift.”
While we waited, Ryan asked how I planned to return to the Kidron.
I admitted to some uncertainty on logistics.
We’d been in the lobby ten minutes when Friedman arrived. En route to the American Colony, he updated Ryan on the Kaplan interrogation.
There was little to update. Kaplan was still saying he’d intended to pay for the necklace. Litvak was now saying maybe he’d been a bit hasty.
Ryan filled Friedman in on my morning’s activities.
“You think this textile’s genuine first century?” Friedman asked into the rearview mirror.
“It’s definitely old,” I said. “And the loculus looks undisturbed.”
“And looters will be on that tomb like flies on a corpse.”
Friedman thought a moment. Then, “Whoo-hoo!!”
Hebrew?
“We be tomb raiders!”
Friedman had been watching far too many movies.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“Ab-so-fuckin-lutely,” Friedman said. “I take this country’s cultural heritage very seriously.”
“Don’t we need a permit? Or at least authorization?”
“Got it covered.”
Good enough.
“The hotel, please. I’ll pick up my camera.”
“Anything else?” Ryan asked.
“A shovel and something to dislodge stones.” My mind flashed to the blackout in the lower chamber. “And powerful flashlights with brand-new batteries.”
Friedman dropped me at the American Colony, then he and Ryan set off on a supply mission. I raced to the third floor.
Jake would recover!
I would retrieve Max and, perhaps, a first-century shroud!
Wrapping whose remains?
From whose tomb?
I was pitched so high I took the stairs two risers at a time.
Soap was in my future! A hairbrush! A dry shirt!
Ryan and Friedman were helping!
Life was good! An adventure!
Then I opened my door.
And stared in disbelief.
25
MY ROOM WAS TRASHED.
The bed had been stripped, the linens tossed, the mattress flipped. The closet and armoire stood agape, with hangers, shoes, and sweaters flung in all directions.
My euphoria crumbled.
“Who’s there?”
Stupid. Of course they’d gone, and wouldn’t introduce themselves if they hadn’t.
I checked the door for signs of forced entry. The lock was intact. The wood was not gouged.
Heart bounding, I rushed into the room.
Every drawer was open. My suitcase was upended, the contents pitched and mauled.
My laptop lay untouched on the desk.
I tried to think what that meant.
Thieves? Of course not!
Why leave the computer?
A warning?
From whom? About what?
With shaky hands, I snatched up underwear, T-shirts, jeans.
Like Jake, gathering belongings from around his truck.
My mind loosened.
I knew.
The thought carved a wedge. Anger barreled in.
“You smarmy little bastards!”
I slammed drawers. Folded sweaters. Rehung pants.
Outrage hardened me, annihilating any prospect of tears.
I finished with the bedroom, moved to the bath. Arranged my toiletries. Washed my face. Brushed my hair.
I’d just changed shirts when the phone rang. Ryan was in the lobby.
“My room’s been ransacked,” I said, without preamble.
“Sonovabitch.”
“Probably Hevrat Kadisha looking for Max.”
“You’re not having a gold-star morning.”
“No.”
“I’ll buttonhole the manager.”
“I’m on my way down.”
By the time I descended, Ryan had been joined by Friedman, and they’d established two things. No visitor had inquired about me. No desk clerk had given out my room key.
Or had admitted to doing so.
I believed it. The American Colony was operated and staffed by Arabs. I doubted there was a Hevrat Kadisha sympathizer among them.
The manager, Mrs. Hanani, asked if I wished to file an official police report. Her voice conveyed a decided lack of enthusiasm.
I declined.
Clearly relieved, Mrs. Hanani promised a full in-house investigation, stepped-up security, and compensation for anything stolen or damaged.
Friedman assured her that was a splendid plan.
