The Scroll Read online

  Nuri bit his lip.

  THREE

  No matter how many times she had done this, Dr. Amber Rodgers was surprised by how much of her life she could fit in one backpack and a single duffel bag. She traveled light, preferring not to be encumbered by anything. As she wedged a field notebook into the pack next to a paperback novel she had purchased when last in Jerusalem, she had to acknowledge that she had been far more successful freeing herself of physical things than people.

  “So this is it, eh?”

  The words came from a short, rotund man with a hairless scalp, a forever-red face, and an exceptional gift for sweating. Dr. Les Nordoff was a respected biblical archaeologist specializing in Roman influence during New Testament times. That period was one of the sexy eras of her discipline. The number of archaeologists working New Testament digs greatly outnumbered those working on, say, the intertestamental period—400 BCE to 1 BCE.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She smiled but quickly looked away. Guilt had been leeching away her enthusiasm for her new opportunity. “Listen, Dr. Nordoff—”

  “Amber, I’ve told you a dozen times every day of the last two months to call me Les. Save the ‘doctor’ stuff for the university campus. Out here, we’re just a couple of groundhogs pushing dirt around, hoping to find something that makes it all worthwhile.”

  She chuckled. “You do more than hope to find something, Dr. Nordoff … Les. You have a stellar record of discovery. It’s why I jumped at the opportunity to work with you.”

  “And here I thought it was my funding.”

  Amber readjusted her ponytail of shoulder-length brown hair, something she did when nervous. Telling Nordoff of her sudden departure had been difficult enough that it took her two days to summon the courage to make the announcement. Then one evening, while seated in front of the tent used for meetings and the midday meal, she told Nordoff her decision. Unlike archaeologists in the movies, Amber didn’t sleep in a tent. None of the dig crew did, except those who remained at the site to provide basic security. At night, workers who lived in the area returned home; foreigners like her stayed in nearby hotels or kibbutzim. The northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee had plenty of both to offer. That night, however, Amber had worked late, knowing Nordoff would do the same. He always worked late. He was passionate, driven, even compulsive.

  After most of the crew had left for the night, Amber set out two camp chairs, fixed two glasses of iced tea, and set out a plate of rugelach, Nordoff’s favorite regional pastry. She then called the expedition director over and showed him the spread.

  “Oh no. You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “I haven’t said anything about leaving.” Amber couldn’t make eye contact.

  “You don’t have to. When was the last time you brought me rugelach?” He took one of the bite-sized goodies and popped it in his mouth. “You’re leaving me at the altar.”

  “You’re already married.”

  “You know what I mean.” He took another piece of the dessert and slowly pressed it between his lips. The next words came out mumbled. “You know what I mean.” He sat, slump-shouldered, with a hangdog expression.

  Amber, always sensitive to the emotions of others, slumped in her chair and helped herself to the dessert, uncaring about the effect it might impose upon her narrow waist. She gazed over the serene Sea of Galilee, watching the lights of fishing boats and the glow of a crescent moon glitter on its surface. “Yeah. I’m afraid you’re right. The Israel Antiquities Authority has made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “You make them sound like the Mafia.”

  “Let me rephrase. They’ve asked me to join a team working out of Jerusalem.”

  “They’ll be digging in Jerusalem?”

  “They didn’t say that. The team starts there.” She paused. “I can’t talk much about it.”

  “Abram Ben-Judah.” Nordoff reached for another pastry, then pulled his hand away as if uttering the man’s name had ruined his appetite for sweets.

  “You don’t have to spit his name out.” She glanced at her boss and friend.

  “I don’t mean to. It’s just that …” He frowned. “Working in Israel is hard enough as it is. The tension with the Palestinians, the scientific authorities, the government authorities, the Orthodox Jewish authorities, the local district authorities, the antiquities authorities—the only people without authority are the people doing the work.”

  “It’s the nature of our business.” Amber let her eyes drift back to the water. A cool breeze rose and caressed her cheeks as if offering solace.

  “It used be the qualities that made for a good archaeologist were integrity, determination, a good education, and tenacity. Now we must also walk on eggshells. Can’t offend the Jews; can’t offend the Muslims; can’t offend the Christians—”

  “Watch it.”

  He raised a hand. “No offense meant, Amber. I’m just grumpy. How am I going to replace you?”

  “I’m irreplaceable, you know that.”

  That made him laugh.

  “There are plenty of good people who can fill my boots.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “I’ve made a list of people I think would do a good job for you.”

  He took the paper but didn’t look at it. “They won’t be you.”

  She ignored the comment. “It was a tough decision for me. When Nuri—”

  “Nuri! Ah, now I understand.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  He eyed her. “It’s not? Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen the way you looked at him when he was here two weeks ago—wait, he’s the one who asked you, isn’t he? Boy, I tell you what. If I knew he was here poaching, I would have run him off with a pickax.”

  “He wasn’t poaching. Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

  They sat in silence, watching the undulating surface of one of the most famous bodies of water in the world, the same body of water on which Peter, James, and John made their living; the inland sea where Jesus walked on the water, stilled the storm, and used boats as pulpits.

  The silence was broken by Nordoff munching another snack. “These desserts just might be good enough to cause me to forgive you. Maybe.”

  “I shall forever cling to that hope.”

  He huffed. “I didn’t say they were good enough to put up with your sarcasm.”

  “Sorry.” She turned to him and found him smiling. Amber returned the pleasantry. “Did I ever tell you why I joined your work?”

  “Talk around town is that you find me irresistible. Most women do.” His grin widened. It was Nordoff’s way. Humor was his answer to everything. That and food.

  “Okay, wise guy. Riddle me this: 1986, 8.27 meters—”

  “The Jesus Boat.”

  “I didn’t get to finish my clues.”

  “In 1986 a pair of brothers—fishermen by trade, amateur archaeologists by avocation—discovered a portion of a buried boat. Long story short: they found a fishing boat from the first century. Hence, the Jesus Boat. For seven years, it soaked in a chemical bath to preserve it. You can see it at the Yigal Allon Museum in Kibbutz Ginosar. It’s not that far from here.”

  “I’ve visited it many times. If you’re so smart, can you name—”

  “Moshe and Yuval Lufan.” He let loose a satisfied sigh. “You were going to ask the names of the brothers, right?”

  “I’m not talking to you.” She crossed her arms and looked away but couldn’t keep the playfulness out of her voice.

  “It wasn’t a very hard question. Especially for an archaeologist who works near the Sea of Galilee. So why bring it up?”

  “It was that find, almost thirty years ago, that made me want to be an archaeologist. More specifically, it made me want to be a biblical archaeologist.” The image of a two-thousand-year-old boat, nothing more than the substructure of beams and wood hull, floated before her eyes. It took no effort to imagine the boat floating in the water of the Galilean sea, men dressed in long robes pulled up n
ear their waists to better free them to cast nets.

  “It was a remarkable find. It’s been inspiring Bible students for decades. You know.” he said.

  “That it’s probably not the Jesus boat. I know. That doesn’t matter. Still, it could be one of the boats Jesus used to cross from one shore to another. Maybe it was one of the Zebedee boats.”

  “Ah, the Zebedee boys and their fishing family. From fishing for creatures in the sea to fishing for men. Isn’t that how Jesus put it?”

  “We’ll never know if Jesus ever saw that boat. It might predate Him by a couple of decades.” She shrugged. “Still, the idea of finding and revealing important artifacts from biblical times took hold of me. Although the find was made before I was born, it still put the flame to the kindling of my imagination.”

  Nordoff laughed. “Uh-oh, now you’re getting poetic.”

  “All biblical archaeologists are poets at heart.” She sipped her tea. It was strong and sweet. “Our bodies live in the present, but our minds dwell in the past.” She paused, and Nordoff let her have her moments of reflection.

  “And the offer you’ve received is better than digging up another Galilean fishing village?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ouch. That was brutal.”

  “I really am sorry, Dr. Nordoff.”

  “No more sorry than I.” He picked up another one of the pastries. “At least I had you for a while—and I got rugelach.”

  That conversation took place a week ago. She had already packed the few items she kept in the kibbutz where she stayed. All that remained were the things she kept at the dig site.

  Nordoff, who hadn’t ceased tempting her to stay, watched her like a father watching a daughter packing for college—with a sense of deep pride and deeper regret.

  She waited for the last appeal, the desperate plea, but it never came. Too many details had already transpired: her replacement would arrive tomorrow; she was expected in Jerusalem; the rest of the team, so she had been told, would all be in place by the time she arrived.

  “Ever onward, ever upward, eh?” Nordoff sounded depressed. Apparently his constant cheerfulness had its limits. For the last few days, he’d pretended that her leaving was of no importance, but she had no trouble seeing through the charade.

  Amber cinched the duffel bag closed and slipped the backpack over one shoulder. She started for the tent opening when Nordoff stopped her.

  “Les, I was hoping to avoid a long good-bye.”

  “Me too. I’m stopping you for another reason.” He moved past her, bent, and picked up a photo. “This must have fallen out.”

  Nordoff turned, and Amber saw a photo in his hand. Not just any photo. That photo. He held it out, and her eyes fixed on the shot taken in Tel Aviv two years prior. She saw herself in a dirty white T-shirt, gloves too big for her hands—she had lost her good pair—and an equally filthy pair of jeans. Next to her stood David Chambers, hotshot archaeologist and former fiancé. The picture, which she had been using as a bookmark in the novel she was reading, must have slipped free while she was packing.

  “Keep it.”

  Nordoff raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit harsh. Isn’t there anything in this photo you miss?”

  She shrugged. “I kinda miss those jeans.”

  Amber walked from the tent.

  FOUR

  Chambers was in his element. Nothing gave him greater joy than sharing what he knew of the past. The irony that it was biblical archaeology, which he had just told Nuri he wanted to leave behind, that caused his heart to pick up a few beats didn’t go unnoticed. He tried to look and sound bored, but the herculean task was too much for him. Apparently it was easy work for Nuri, who made a point of yawning every five minutes.

  Before him lay a series of large wide-format photos. He pushed one in front of Beth. “This is the Copper Scroll in its current home: the Archaeological Museum in Amman, Jordan. As you can see, there are six curved segments that made up the original scroll. When it was discovered in 1952, the copper sheet was still a scroll. John Marco Allegro retained the help of Professor H. Wright Baker at the College of Technology in Manchester to cut the sheets into twenty-three strips. That began in 1955.”

  “So there are more strips than the six shown in this photo?” Beth leaned over the table. She looked genuinely interested.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the copper sheet in the wood frame in the glass case?”

  “It’s a replica of what the scroll must have looked like in the first century before the copper sheet oxidized. Well, a portion of the scroll.”

  “And this is important?”

  Chambers stuffed a sarcastic remark and reminded himself that he was dealing with a pilot, not an archaeology student.”

  “Very important—”

  “Tell her why, Dr. Chambers.”

  “I’m trying to, Nuri, but there’s an annoying buzz in the cabin.”

  “You could step outside.” Nuri leaned over the table that separated them.

  Chambers matched the position and started to speak, but Beth stopped him before a word escaped. “Gentlemen, my boyfriend proposed to me.”

  The whiplash change of subject ground Chambers’s mental gears to a halt. “Um, congrats.”

  “He’s a lucky man.” Nuri leaned back from the table.

  Beth’s eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you that so you’ll understand this: one, he’s rich; two, I no longer need this job; three, if I lose my job because I toss you both out the hatch, it won’t matter. Not to me, at least. The way I figure it, from this altitude you can argue for several minutes before you make your first bounce off the ground.”

  Chambers glanced at Nuri and saw him staring back. One beat later, the men laughed.

  “I think she’s serious, Chambers.”

  “I know I’m shaking.”

  Beth smiled and pointed at the photo. “Okay, tell me why this is so important.”

  “It’s a treasure map, my dear.” Nuri tapped the photo. “Or so some believe.”

  “A treasure map? Really?”

  “It contains references to treasure. Scholars still have verbal fistfights over it, but many good people believe that the scroll points to buried treasure lost almost two thousand years ago,” Chambers said.

  Beth tilted her head. “Whose treasure?”

  “I hope you don’t mind a short history lesson.” Chambers didn’t wait for an answer. “For centuries biblical scholars, archaeologists, and historians have wondered what happened to the sacred treasure of the temple in Jerusalem. As you may know, the temple was one of the most opulent structures ever built. The first temple, built under Solomon’s reign, was a marvel of construction; it was also covered inside and out in gold. Well, much of its interior was veneered with gold. Light from high windows would pour into the structure and reflect off the gold-covered walls.”

  “That’s hard to imagine.” Beth’s eyes widened. “It must have been wonderful to see.”

  “Not many had that privilege,” Nuri said. “Only priests were allowed inside the temple building, and only one of those could go into the Holy of Holies. And that was allowed only once a year.”

  “In the Holy of Holies of King Solomon’s temple that Nuri mentions were some of Israel’s greatest treasures: the ark of the covenant was a small wood box covered in gold with a pair of gold angels situated on the top. Standing over the ark were two very tall statues of angels, also covered in gold.”

  “But we’re not talking about the first temple,” Nuri said. “That temple was destroyed in 587 BCE by the Babylonians, nearly six hundred years before the Copper Scroll was made.”

  “Ah, but it shows the great investment people were willing to make in their temple. Besides, some of the first temple’s valuables returned with the people. Around 516 years before Christ, a new temple was built, but the people had just come out of captivity to the Babylonians. In 536 BCE, the Persians overran the Babylonians, and the Persian king allowed some of the
Jewish captives to return to their land to rebuild their place of worship. It was a meager thing when compared to what Solomon had built, but the sacred temple was renovated many times over the centuries. Herod the Great did the most work in expanding and upgrading the building. Beginning in 18 BCE, Herod turned the temple into one of the ancient wonders of the world.”

  “So that temple was filled with valuable stuff too?”

  Chambers grinned. “That ‘stuff’ included many temple worship objects and furnishings, all extremely valuable. In 70 CE, a long revolt ended when the Romans who ruled the land destroyed the second temple. The temple and the treasures were defended by two Jewish sects: the Essenes and the Zealots.”

  Beth furrowed her brow. “Zealot. I know that term.”

  “Maybe you’re thinking of Simon the Zealot, one of Jesus’ disciples. Some believe he may have once been part of the Zealots, a group that gave Rome plenty of grief.”

  “Okay, Rome destroyed the temple and took all its riches, right?”

  Chambers shook his head. “There are many traditions and legends that say the portable treasures—money, objects, gold and silver bullion, furnishings—were removed and hidden during the long siege, before Rome looted the temple treasury. It appears this had been in the works for some time. There are numerous tunnels under it that lead away from the Temple Mount.”

  “That’s what Dr. Chambers is known for: tunnels.” The ragged edge had returned to Nuri’s voice. “He’s a tunnel expert.”

  Chambers shrugged. “It’s one of my interests.”

  Beth looked at her watch.

  “I’m sorry,” Chambers said. “I’m boring you.”

  “What? No. I’m a pilot, checking my watch is a professional habit. I’ve got plenty of time before I have to relieve one of the guys.” She motioned to the cockpit. “Carry on. This is good stuff.”

  “Okay. As you probably already know, in 1947 a shepherd boy tossing stones into one of the many caves in the western cliffs around the Dead Sea heard something break. One of his stones had hit an ancient pot. Inside were parchment and leather scrolls. It was not uncommon to preserve important documents by sealing them in pottery. Many such pots and scrolls were found.”