The Second Messiah

Jack aimed the binoculars toward Nazlat. “Think of the upside. No property taxes, no utility bills, no lawn mowing.”

Buddy took another drag on his cigarette. “What about having to take a shovel out in the desert every time you need to use the john?”

“You’re starting to get crabby in your old age, Buddy, you know that?”

“Hey, listen, after thirty years digging holes in the sand without much to show for it but calloused hands and a lousy back, I’m learning to appreciate the small comforts in life. Like electric light, a flushing john, ice-cold beer.”

Jack scanned Nazlat. He saw no police, only a scattering of grazing goats and camels. He spotted two dusty, battered Nissan pickup trucks, one red, one white, packed with worn plastic water containers.

“So how’d you get on with the inspector?” Buddy probed. “You still like her?”

“Lela and I were friends a long time ago, Buddy.”

Buddy grinned. “It’s about time you took more of an interest in women. For years you’ve been burying your head in work. Now all of a sudden you’ve got a couple of hots on the horizon. Talk about striking it lucky.”

“Lela’s here to do a job, not renew old friendships.”

“So what happened between you and her back then? C’mon, you can tell papa.”

Jack lowered the binoculars. “Give me a break, Buddy. It was twenty years ago and we were just a couple of teenagers. We’ve got more important things to think about.”

“Hey, quit worrying, there’s no way you or anyone else in the crew killed Green. The cops will figure that out sooner or later.”

Jack put away the binoculars. “Somehow I don’t think Mosberg shares that sentiment.”

Buddy said, “Then the guy’s got to be a dummy. What precisely did you and the inspector talk about?”

“We didn’t exactly cover old ground from A to Z since we last met. It was more businesslike, to do with the case.”

“So Mosberg thinks you’re the main suspect? What about Lela?”

“She said nothing. Which worries me even more. Somehow I’m going to have to convince her that I’m innocent.”

Buddy arched an eyebrow. “So that’s why you had me hide you in the back of the SUV. A guilty man would never do that, right?”

Jack snapped open the rear door. “Funny. I asked Yasmin to talk with the Bedu to see what she could learn. You know that the Bedu keep their mouths shut around the police. It’s like the Mafia’s omertà, the code of silence. But I’m hoping they might tell us anything they know.”

Buddy shrugged. “If you really think it’s worth a try.”

Jack climbed out of the Toyota. “If anyone asks after me back at the camp, tell them I’m catching up on some sleep. If it’s the inspector, hold her off until you can call me on my cell.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“If all three of us vanish, Lela and Mosberg will get even more suspicious. I’ll fill you in when I get back. That’s a promise, Buddy.”

Savage shifted the Toyota into gear and tipped his forehead in a mock salute. “Watch yourself, you hear?”

“There you go again, Pops. Sounding like my old man.”

The Toyota drove away and Jack shielded his eyes from the sun as he strolled down the unpaved street. He passed a herd of goats cropping at the sparse desert grass. Half a dozen barefoot village children appeared and crowded round him, calling for money. “Salaam! Baksheesh! Baksheesh!”

“Salaam,” Jack answered, and he patted them on the heads, dug a hand in his pocket, and tossed a fistful of coins into the sand. The children scattered after the coins. He saw Yasmin come out of one of the large tents made of goat hair which he knew belonged to Josuf, the foreman in charge of the Bedu workers. Yasmin waved her straw hat and hurried over to him.

“Thank God you got here, Jack.”

“What’s up?”

She took Jack’s hand, leading him toward the tent. “You better hear for yourself. Josuf has some information that he didn’t want to share with the police. And you’re not going to believe what he has to say.”

18

QUMRAN

ISRAEL

The Arab woman was at least in her nineties, with faded tribal tattoos on her wrists. Dressed in black, she was bent almost double with arthritis. She placed a bowl of ripe figs in front of them, and then poured piping red tea into glass cups. As she left the tent she cackled something to Josuf, seated cross-legged on a red carpet next to Yasmin and Jack.

Josuf wore a white dishdash gown, and a silver tooth flashed in his mouth when he spoke. “My mother remembers your parents with fondness, Mr. Cane, and the day of their deaths with great sadness.”

Jack sipped his hot tea and placed a hand over his heart. “I am touched by her kind words.”

Josuf fell silent. With his gray stubble and dark walnut skin, the Bedu chief looked close to seventy but rumor had it that he was only in his fifties. Other rumors suggested that he had eight wives and forty children. Judging by the number of his “sons” who worked on the dig—at least six—Jack was tempted to believe it.