The Moses Stone

'To some extent,' Ben Halevi finished, 'that argument is supported by the fact that the Copper Scroll wasn't really hidden – it was just placed in a cave with a lot of other scrolls. And it does refer to the Silver Scroll being properly concealed somewhere. So does it exist? I have no idea, but we know the Copper Scroll is real, and the consensus is that the record is genuine, so that makes me think that there could well be a second document, another scroll, hidden somewhere. Unfortunately, we've not the slightest idea where.'

He glanced at his watch, got to his feet, shook Bronson's hand and kissed Angela.

'It's late and I have to work tomorrow,' he said. 'Reading between the lines, it sounds to me as if you're on the track of something interesting, maybe even significant. Please keep in touch with me, and whatever you need, I'll do my very best to help you.'

57

'Where are they?' Yacoub asked, his voice quiet and controlled.

'They've checked out of their hotel.'

'I already know that, Musab,' the man with the frozen face said, his voice still calm. 'That wasn't what I asked you. Where are they now?'

Musab – one of the three men Yacoub had selected to accompany him to Israel for the operation – looked away, unable to hold his boss's gaze. 'I don't know, Yacoub,' he admitted. 'I didn't expect them to leave their hotel, because they'd booked their rooms for a week.'

'What are you doing about it?'

'I've got one of our contacts checking every hotel in Tel Aviv. We'll find them, I promise.'

For a few seconds Yacoub didn't reply, just settled his lopsided gaze on his subordinate. 'I know you will,' he said finally. 'What concerns me is how long it will take. If we don't know where they are, we can't know what they're doing, and we've come too far to lose them now.'

'As soon as I hear, Yacoub, I'll tell you.'

'And suppose they've moved to Jerusalem? Or Haifa? Or somewhere else in Israel? Or left the country and gone elsewhere in the Middle East? What then?'

Musab looked noticeably paler. Obviously not all of these possibilities had occurred to him.

'I want them found, Musab, and I want them found right now. And then we'll grab them, because they might already have found the relics. Even if they haven't, it's time they told us what they know. Do you understand?'

The other man nodded enthusiastically. 'I'll get my man to start checking other locations straight away.'

Yacoub turned to the other man standing beside the door of their hotel room. 'Go and get the car,' he ordered.

'We'll take a drive around the city and see if we can spot them. Most of the hotels are on the west side, near the sea.'

'Do you want me to come as well?' Hassan asked. He was lying on the bed, an ice-pack pressed to the side of his head where Bronson had caught him with the heavy torch.

'No,' Yacoub replied. 'Stay where you are.' He looked back at Musab. 'When you track them down, call my mobile.'

'I'll find them within the hour, I promise.'

'I hope you do, because now your life depends on it. But I'll be generous. I'll give you ninety minutes.'

As Musab turned away to reach for the telephone, his hands were trembling.

58

'Did that help?' Bronson asked.

They had left the small bar and were walking slowly back towards their hotel through the streets of Tel Aviv.

The night was warm and the city busy, dozens of people still crowding the pavements, walking purposefully or standing in groups and talking outside the bars. Fleetingly, Bronson wished he was simply in Israel on holiday; that he and Angela were carelessly strolling back to their hotel after a romantic meal. Instead, he was watching the shadows for armed men while the two of them tried to work out where to start looking for a couple of almost mythical relics lost to the world for over two millennia.

'It's starting to make a bit more sense now,' Angela told him. 'I think that when the Sicarii raided Ein-Gedi, they found something more than just food and supplies, and that's what the inscription is telling us. It's at least possible that the Sicarii found all of the relics referred to in the clay tablets when they mounted that raid. There were contemporary accounts of important treasures being moved out of Jerusalem for safe keeping during the wars with the Romans. As Yosef said, Ein-Gedi was an important – perhaps even the most important – Jewish settlement close to the city during this period, so maybe it was chosen to hold various objects for safe keeping. But before they could be restored to the temple in Jerusalem or wherever they came from, the Sicarii stormed the oasis and stole everything they could lay their hands on. And according to the coded inscription we've deciphered on these clay tablets, that explicitly included the Copper Scroll as well as the Silver Scroll, and the tablets of the temple of Jerusalem.'

'So we're on the right track?' Bronson asked.

'Definitely. All we have to do now is work out where to start looking.'

For a minute or so they walked on in silence, Angela lost in thought while Bronson kept up his scan of the area, checking for any possible surveillance – or worse. But wherever he looked, the people appeared reassuringly normal and non-threatening, and he slowly began to relax.

Maybe their unannounced move to a different hotel had worked, and they'd thrown Yacoub's men – because Bronson was certain he'd recognized their attacker at Qumran – off the scent.

His comfortable feeling only lasted until they reached Nordau Avenue, the wide boulevard that runs eastwards from the northern end of the Ha'Azma'ut Garden.

They crossed to the tree-lined central reservation, and then had to stop at the edge of the carriageway to allow a number of cars to pass. The last one in the line was a white Peugeot, travelling quite slowly, the shapes of a driver and front-seat passenger dimly visible in the soft glow of the street lighting.

When the vehicle passed directly in front of them, Bronson glanced incuriously at the driver, a swarthy, black-haired man he knew he'd never seen before. Then the passenger leant forward, talking animatedly on a mobile phone. Bronson saw his face quite clearly, at the same moment as the man in the car turned to stare at him, and for the briefest of instants their eyes locked. And then the car was past them.

'Christ,' Bronson said, reeling backwards and grabbing Angela's arm. 'That's bloody Yacoub!' 'Oh, God, no,' Angela moaned. 'But he's dead. How could it be?'

Even as they turned and ran, Bronson heard the sudden squeal of tyres from behind them as the Peugeot slewed to a stop. And then a burst of shouts in Arabic, and the sound of running feet pounding across the pavement towards them.

'Wait!' Angela shouted as they reached the south side of Nordau Avenue.

'What?' Bronson glanced at her, then stared back the way they'd come. Their pursuer – he could only see one figure, and he was sure it wasn't Yacoub – was no more than fifty yards away.

Angela grabbed his arm, kicked off one of her high heels, then bent down and ripped off the other.

As she did so, a shot rang out, the bullet smashing into the wall of the building just inches above their heads, then ricocheted away into the darkness. The flat crack of the shot echoed from the concrete canyons that surrounded them, seeming to still the noises of the night.

'Jesus,' Bronson muttered.

'Let's go,' Angela yelled, dropping the shoe onto the pavement.

A hundred yards behind them, Yacoub ran around the Peugeot and dropped down into the driver's seat. Slamming the door closed, he rammed the gear lever into first and accelerated hard down the road. At the first junction, he wrenched the steering wheel to the left, shooting out in front of an approaching car, whose driver sounded a long irritated blast on his horn. Yacoub ignored the noise as he powered along Dizengoff, his attention