Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

LB is proof of that. If I practised what I preached, I would have thrown him out of the window a long time ago. Damn cat. I hope he doesn’t eat the neighbour’s shampoo. And if he does, I hope she doesn’t make me pay for it.

Forrester’s screams were inducing people to scurry around like cockroaches when the lights are turned on.

‘Maybe he’s right, Father. But I don’t think it shows much respect for their dead colleague to carry on working.’

Fowler glanced up from his work.

‘I don’t blame him. He has to hurry. Tomorrow’s Saturday.’

‘Oh, yes. The Sabbath. The Jews can’t even turn on a light once the sun sets on Friday. It’s nonsense.’

‘At least they believe in something. What do you believe in?’

‘I’ve always been a practical person.’

‘I suppose you mean a non-believer.’

‘I suppose I mean practical. Wasting two hours a week in a place full of incense would take up exactly 343 days of my life. No offence, but I don’t think it’s worth it. Not even for a supposed eternity.’

The priest chuckled.

‘Have you ever believed in anything?’

‘I believed in a relationship.’

‘What happened?’

‘I screwed up. Let’s just say that she had more faith in it than I did.’

Fowler remained silent. Andrea’s voice had sounded slightly forced. She realised that the priest wanted her to unburden herself.

‘On top of that, Father… I don’t think that faith is the only motivating factor behind this expedition. The Ark is going to be worth a lot of money.’

‘There are roughly 125,000 tons of gold in the world. Do you believe that Mr Kayn needs to go after the thirteen or fourteen inside the Ark?’

‘I’m talking about Forrester and his busy bees,’ Andrea replied. She loved arguing but hated it when her arguments were so easily refuted.

‘All right. Do you want a practical reason? They’re in denial. Their work keeps them going.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Dr Kubler-Ross’s stages of mourning.’

‘Oh, yes. Denial, anger, depression, all that stuff.’

‘Exactly. They’re all in the first phase.’

‘The way the professor is screaming, you’d think he was in the second.’

‘They’ll feel better tonight. Professor Forrester will conduct the hesped, the eulogy. I believe it will be interesting to hear him say something good about someone other than himself.’

‘What’s going to happen to the body, Father?’

‘They’ll put it in a hermetically sealed body bag and bury it for the time being.’

Andrea looked at Fowler in disbelief.

‘You’re joking!’

‘It’s Jewish law. Everyone who dies has to be buried within twenty-four hours.’

‘You know what I mean. Aren’t they going to return him to his family?’

‘Nothing and nobody can leave the camp, Ms Otero. Remember?’

Andrea put the camera in her backpack and lit a cigarette.

‘These people are crazy. I hope this stupid exclusive doesn’t end up wiping all of us out.’

‘Always going on about your exclusive, Ms Otero. I can’t understand what it is that you need so desperately.’

‘Fame and fortune. How about you?’

Fowler stood up and stretched his arms. He leaned backward and his spine gave a loud crack.

‘I’m just following orders. If the Ark is real, the Vatican wants to know, so they can recognise it as the object that holds God’s commandments.’

A very simple answer, quite ingenious. And totally untrue, Father. You’re a very bad liar. But let’s pretend I believe you.

‘Maybe,’ Andrea said after a moment. ‘But in this case, why didn’t your bosses send a historian?’

Fowler showed her what he had been working on.

‘Because a historian couldn’t have done this.”

‘What is it?’ Andrea said curiously. It looked like a simple electrical breaker switch with a pair of wires coming out of it.

‘We’ll have to forget yesterday’s plan for contacting Albert. After Erling’s murder, they’ll be even more on their guard. So this is what we’ll do instead…’

39

THE EXCAVATION

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Friday, July 14, 2006. 3:42 p.m.

Father, tell me one more time why I’m doing this.

Because you want to know the truth. The truth about what’s going on here. About why they bothered to contact you in Spain when Kayn could have found a thousand reporters more experienced and famous than you are right there in New York.

The conversation continued to ring in Andrea’s ears. The question was the same one the weak little voice in her head had been asking for quite some time now. It had been drowned out by the Philharmonic of Pride, accompanied by Mr Visa Debt, baritone, and Ms Fame at Any Cost, soprano. But Fowler’s words had given the weak little voice centre stage.

Andrea shook her head, trying to concentrate on what she was doing. The plan was to take advantage of the period when the off-duty soldiers would be trying to rest, taking a nap or playing cards.

‘That’s where you come in,’ Fowler had said. ‘On my signal you slip under the tent.’

‘Between the wooden floor and the sand? Are you crazy?’

‘There’s enough space. You’ll have to crawl about a foot and a half until you reach the electrical panel. The cable that connects the generator and the tent is the orange one. Pull it out quickly; connect it to the end of my cable and the other end of my cable back into the electrical panel. Then press this button every fifteen seconds for three minutes. After that, get out of there fast.’