Yosi didn’t like where the rabbi was going. But if he didn’t take the bait . . . “Correct. You have a keen eye.”
He assessed the three pages, which were dense with writing. “Only three sheets. Surely you’ve finished the transcription already?”
“I have,” he finally confessed.
“Perhaps you could give the museum’s largest benefactor a first look?”
Yosi’s timid gaze dropped to the flattened scrolls. The rabbi didn’t need to remind him of his merit here—no doubt attributable to the seemingly unlimited funding his organizations had supplied Israel’s museums and IA A research programs with. As far as the IA A was concerned, Rabbi Cohen was to be treated on equal footing with the organization’s president. But Yosi also knew that the man’s intimate work with the Ministry of Religious Affairs had caused much controversy—particularly his involvement in preserving grave sites accidentally uncovered by construction crews in and around Jerusalem. He’d personally witnessed Cohen laying his body in front of a backhoe to stop the desecration of a first-century tomb uncovered during a high-rise project in Talpiot, all in defense of the strict Jewish laws—Halakha
This discovery would surely put up the rabbi’s defenses. Yosi was keenly aware that he was walking a fine line. “Forgive me, but I don’t think that would be wise, just yet.”
The rabbi cocked his head sideways in silent frustration, lips pursed. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I have a look?” He pointed to the jar.
“Of course. But if you could, please . . .” Yosi reached up to the shelf and pulled a fresh pair of latex gloves from a small box. He handed them to Cohen.
Cohen pulled the gloves over his pianist-like fingers. Then his attention went back to the jar.
It looked ordinary enough. Palming the sides, he gently lifted it from the light box. It was heavier than he’d have guessed—a robust piece. First, he checked inside to confirm that it was empty. Then he examined the outside. It was when he began rotating the jar that he spotted the symbol cleanly etched into its side. His eyes immediately went wide and his face drained. He actually had to suppress a gasp.
“Most unusual, isn’t it?” Yosi noted. “Looks to be the same symbol on the side of the ossuary we recovered in June.”
“Indeed,” Cohen said, doing his best to conceal his anxiety. As if to confirm it was real, he ran a finger over it—the imprint of a legacy. Grandfather’s words echoed:
More hesitation. But it was no secret that Mizrachi had been sited there for some time now. Yosi nodded. “Just when you think the well has run dry.”
Carefully, Cohen returned the jar to the light box. As he peeled off the gloves, he eyed the archaeologist’s computer monitor. The screen had gone solid blue with a pop-up box in its center framing two blank fields labeled user name and password.
“Well then,” Cohen said. “I certainly look forward to your findings.”
“As do I,” Yosi said as he began slipping out of his lab coat. “I must lock up now. I’ve got a previous engagement to attend to.” This wasn’t a lie. “A symposium at the Israel Museum,” he added for good measure. He hung the coat on a rack behind the door.
“Ah, yes. Something about the Babylonians, as I recall?”
The rabbi surely knew exactly what the topic would be. “ ‘Relics from Babylonian Exile,’ to be precise.”
“Should be fascinating.”
“We shall see.” Forcing a smile, he motioned to the door. “I must get going if I’m to make it on time.”
Eyeing the jar and papyri one last time, Cohen went out into the corridor and waited as Yosi pulled the door shut and locked it with a key.
“Good seeing you, Rabbi.
Cohen folded his arms tight across his chest and watched the old man disappear around the corner. Then he studied the door lock.
15
******
Phoenix
“I don’t know what to say . . . ,” Donovan began, shrinking in the Volvo’s leather passenger seat. “I’m so very sorry, Charlotte. If I’d known they’d—” But as he glanced over at her again—the pain that contorted her face, the tears, the trembling hands gripping white-knuckled at the steering wheel—he knew there weren’t words to console her about such a thing.
Silent, with eyes staring emptily at the roadway, Charlotte was lost for words too. The moment she’d safely left the downtown high-rises in her rearview mirror, the fight-or-flight rush had given way to overwhelming shock and grief. It wasn’t just the man she thought she’d loved who had been mercilessly murdered before her eyes, but a visionary genius as well. A man who’d revolutionized genetics. It was a profound loss that would affect so many.
Heading north on Squaw Peak Parkway, she had yet to consider a specific plan or destination. Escape had been the only thing on her mind. But finally, she eased off the accelerator as more tears blurred her vision. “They’re going to follow us, aren’t they?” she finally said, opening the center console to pull out a tissue.
Hearing her speak was comforting. “I’m afraid so.”
She wiped her runny nose, then her moist eyes. “Who are they?” He shook his head. “Not sure. But they’re definitely professionals. How
they could find me so quickly . . .” He sighed and threw up his hands. “They’d need access to all sorts of information.”
“Did Conte send them?” she sniffled. “Is that what this is about?” Ever since the creep had chased her out of Vatican City and she’d landed a firm foot in his crotch, she’d feared his retaliation.
