The Third Day

Nevertheless, our problem remained.

“He’s probably aware of that already,” I replied. “If not, he certainly will be after he thinks this through. So let’s say he recruits some like-minded travelers — a unit of the Israeli army, perhaps — men with access to modern weapons and combat experience to boot. ‘Free Judea!’ he might say. What then?”

“We don’t know.”

“That’s the point,” said Lavon. “No one does. Fast forward two thousand years: would he return to our present world, or to a futuristic planet of Star Trek and the orgasmatron, or to a post- apocalyptic nuclear wasteland? Do you want to take that chance?”

***

Before Bryson could argue further, a piercing scream nearly shattered my eardrum.

I leapt to my feet, looking for a weapon, when I realized that the voice had emerged from my earpiece.

“Sharon!” I yelled. “Sharon, are you OK?”

I heard a loud pop, followed by shouting in Aramaic.

I swore. “Sharon!”

“What’s happening?” said Bryson.

I held my hand up for them to stay silent; then closed my eyes to focus on the background noise. For several minutes, I heard nothing but the shuffling of feet. Then, I could barely make out a frail, quavering voice.

“If you can hear me, they’re taking me back to the palace.”

And that was all.

I started toward the door as I explained what I had heard, but Lavon held me back, reminding me that the Antonia’s officials were unlikely to lift a finger to assist a woman who was not a Roman citizen.

He gestured to Markowitz. “Besides, I’m guessing we’ve played all of our high cards.”

I had to concede the point. Nevertheless, I insisted we find Publius, if for no other reason than to find out what Herod was likely to do with her.

***

Unfortunately, Publius had gone out on patrol and would not return for several hours. Decius was nowhere to be found, either, so we had no choice but to return to our room.

I took a seat and poured some wine, then thought better of it and asked Lavon to have the slave bring up some water. The kid also brought up some half-decent chow, so Lavon tossed him a denarius before directing him back outside.

“OK, worst case,” I said; “her transmitter no longer works and we get no help from anyone here. How do we spring her from that place?”

Bryson fingered his chip. “This should work by Sunday afternoon. Even if we can’t get her out, she’ll be able to return to the lab independently of us.”

“Totally unacceptable,” I said. “Plus, they may have already taken it away. I’m not leaving without her.”

Neither of the others spoke.

“We also have to assume that they’ll move Sharon to a more secure location than the dormitory,” I said. “What do we know about the palace complex? How is the interior laid out?”

“Quite frankly,” said Lavon, “we don’t know any more than what she described to you earlier. It was only a few years ago that an Israeli archaeologist uncovered the first definitive remains of the palace wall, and that was just part of the foundation.

“I keep trying to tell you: Jerusalem has been destroyed and rebuilt so many times that what’s over there now would only be a wild guess.”

“Josephus wrote about it, didn’t he, in The Jewish War?” said Bryson.

“Yes, but not to the level of detail we need.”

“Right now, I’d say any detail is better than none,” I replied.

Lavon sighed. “Josephus’s book was an account of the revolt against the Romans, not a tourist brochure. He describes the lavishness of the palace mainly as a lament to its passing. His book had the usual blandishments about the extravagance of the place — rooms without number, luxurious furnishings, gold and silver and such.”

“But no real useful information,” I said.

“No.”

I was certain we could find a way in — a forgotten sewer line with a rusted grate, or a secret escape tunnel that any king with the reputation of the first Herod would have dug, just in case. But bumbling around without intelligence would do more harm than good. I had been there, and had the scars to show for it.

“Look, I don’t like it either,” said Lavon.

For now, all we could do was wait.

Chapter 45

Markowitz stirred for a moment and then sat up. I poured another cup of wine and insisted he drink it, though in hindsight that might have been a mistake. His face turned green and he rushed over to the chamber pot.

He didn’t even try to return to the bed, so Lavon took a blanket and spread it out on the floor. Then, he helped Markowitz turn over on his side and then draped another one over his chest and legs.

“We’ll just let him sleep it off,” he said.

Markowitz’s well being, though, wasn’t Lavon’s main worry. He turned to Bryson with a question.

“I have to ask you again, Dr. Bryson: what, exactly, did you intend to accomplish here?”

The Professor eyed him as if he were an exceptionally slow student.

“I’ve already told you: I intend to clear up a controversy; in light of Christianity’s impact over the past two thousand years, perhaps the most important issue of all time.”

“Yes, but once you have the evidence, the video, what are you planning to do with it?”

That seemed obvious. I sat back, wondering where this was heading.

I suppose the Professor thought the same way. He grew irritated.

“For most of its existence, mankind has wallowed in ignorance and superstition. Now that technology has given us the ability to replace blind faith with objective knowledge, I would be remiss in my obligation, both as a scientist and a member of the human race, not to share my findings with the world.”

He paused for a moment. “Whichever way it turns out, though I admit I have my own hypothesis. You can’t fault me for that.”

“No; no I don’t,” Lavon replied. “Your objectivity as a scientist is commendable; but that’s not what’s troubling me. In terms of its ultimate persuasive value to the world, it’s not a question of what the video will show; it’s a matter of authenticating that video.”

Bryson shifted uncomfortably.

“Take your Kennedy tape, for example.”

“What about it?”

Lavon stood up, walked toward the window, and patted the meleke limestone blocks.

“Given the incontrovertible evidence that we are in fact here, in first century Jerusalem, I have no trouble accepting the fact that you went back to Dallas as your wife described.

“The problem is, to a viewer without our level of background knowledge, your Kennedy footage could just as easily be something that an eighth grader cobbled together with a cheap laptop and some off-the-shelf editing software. How do you expect that to prove anything?”

Bryson hemmed and hawed but didn’t really answer.

Lavon pressed on. “Let’s say you took that video to one of those conspiracy conventions. There, in the middle of all the exhibitors with their ‘secret evidence’ about Lyndon Johnson, Fidel Castro, the New Orleans mafia, and little green men from outer space, you present what you describe as iron clad proof that the Warren Commission got it right, that Lee Harvey Oswald did, in fact, act alone.”