3

On Monday morning, David found his elderly but highly polished hired Mercedes 240D sedan waiting at the hotel entrance, right on time. His driver for the week was an intense older man named Ari, who appeared to be in his sixties. Ari was solidly built and presented the no-nonsense demeanor of an ex-military man. He spoke good English with what sounded to David like a faint German accent. He wore a loose-fitting sport coat over an open-throated white shirt and pressed khakis. Given the incipient heat, David suspected Ari was carrying. The option of having an armed driver had seemed prudent, considering the current state of tension in the country. Naturally, the hire car company had charged extra.

They made good time for about one minute down Hayarkon, and then traffic bogged down in a noisy stew of honking cars, smoke-belching buses, and Arabs on ancient bicycles, their djellabas tucked up around their knees and their heads hidden in multipatterned kaffiyeh headdresses. There were knots of pedestrians on every corner, blocky, canvas-covered military trucks with soldiers dozing in the back, and a surprising number of ragged children darting in and out of the traffic. David had been advised by the concierge to allow an hour and forty-five minutes to get to the Rockefeller Museum in Jerusalem, and he wondered if even that would be sufficient now that he saw the traffic.

He was not entirely over his jet lag but doing much better than on the first day. He had spent Sunday playing tourist in Jerusalem, taking a hotel van up to the city from the hotel. He had taken in the model of ancient Jerusalem at the Holy Land Hotel, its waist-high buildings and walls giving an excellent perspective on Jerusalem at the time of Christ. He then walked through the narrow streets of the old walled city, stopping on the margins of tour groups whenever he overheard an English-speaking tour guide and stumbling onto the major tourist sites more by accident than by design. He had been conscious of the strategically placed soldiers, always in pairs, strolling throughout the Old City, or perched up on rooftops. There was much too much to see in just a one-day walkabout, and every time he stopped and asked for directions, he was pointed to yet another must-see holy place. By the middle of the afternoon he was hobbling, so he had a taxi take him to the Hadassah Ein Karem hospital to see the famous Chagall windows, after which he hired a sherut, or shared van, for a ride back to Tel Aviv.

“Are we going to make this in time, Ari?” he asked the driver.

“Yes, of course,” the driver replied. “No problem.” David smiled inwardly. Adrian had once explained about asking yes-or-no questions in the Middle East. If any answer but yes might embarrass either the one asking or answering the question, the answer was always going to be positive. At least the car’s air-conditioning was working, keeping at bay most of the brown diesel haze that served for an atmosphere in the city’s streets. They did the stop-and-go dance for about twenty minutes before the traffic began to thin out.

The purpose of the meeting this morning was to obtain the final written approvals from the IAA, the government bureaucracy responsible for the preservation and study of antiquities in Israel. Professor Ellerstein was going to run interference at the IAA and also be available to handle any language problems. David would have to go in and sign some documents promising to respect any and all sites he visited and not to engage in any physical disturbance of them. In other words, as Ellerstein had reminded him, no digging. Well, that shouldn’t be too hard: If things worked out the way he hoped, he might have to probe a little, but not dig. He was pretty sure all the pertinent digging had been done two thousand years ago.

Then back into the car and over to the Mount Scopus campus of Hebrew University for what would probably be a somewhat more ticklish session with the scholar archaeologists. He wasn’t afraid of them so much as impatient with their endless condescension, which never seemed to be satisfied by his own frank admission that he was very much an amateur. Suffer through it and humor them, he thought. Remember the objective. He sat back and dozed.

“Almost there, Mr. Hall,” the driver announced. David woke up to see that they were climbing the twisting highway that led up to Jerusalem from the coastal plain. The highway was bordered by dramatic ravines on either side, in which he could see the rusting hulks of armored vehicles, left there presumably to remind passersby of the intense battles for Jerusalem back in the 1948 war for Israel’s independence.

“Good deal, Ari,” he replied. He looked at his watch. They had made good time. He might actually be a few minutes early, which was probably a cultural offense in the Middle East.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of the Rockefeller Museum. He was relieved to see Professor Ellerstein sitting on a park bench in front of the building, reading a newspaper and puffing away on his pipe. David got out, told Ari to find a place to hole up, and warned him that he had no idea how long this would take.

“Is government business? I will go for a coffee. You come out, I will see you. No problem, Mr. Hall.”

David walked over to the park bench, where Ellerstein was folding up his newspaper and knocking pipe ashes out onto the sidewalk.

“Good morning, Professor,” David said. “Or should I call you Dr. Ellerstein?”

“Here at the IAA, doctor. At the university, professor. Ready to grasp the flypaper?”

“Ready as ever.” David detected that the old man was a little less friendly this morning than he had been when they parted at the bar. Maybe it was the lack of Scotch.

“Okay,” Ellerstein sighed. “We go.”

*   *   *

Two and a half hours later they were back in the Mercedes and on their way to the university, with the professor this time accepting David’s offer of a ride. David vowed that he would never again complain about the District of Columbia’s bureaucracy, having now experienced the exquisite agonies of dealing with the Israeli variant. Flypaper indeed, but they had achieved their goals and now had a sheaf of vividly stamped documents to take with them to the Hebrew University. Doctor, now Professor, Ellerstein assured him that the academics were capable of every bit as much obfuscation and delay as the bureaucrats in the IAA, but the fact that he now had official documents in hand might ease his way somewhat.

“Besides, there will be a minder.”

“Minder?” David asked. What was this?

“Yes, well, I think it is the price you will pay for your unusual access to this site. Both the IAA and the university people thought it would be appropriate that you have an escort while you are at the site. Someone who knows it well, who can answer your questions, and perhaps even direct your explorations. That sort of thing.”

“I see.” Boy, did he. This was going to complicate matters. Could they possibly be suspicious? Had someone gone through his stuff in the customs hall and found the geophones? Or worse, the encapsulated source charge? He dismissed that idea—there would have been immediate hell to pay if they’d found the explosive disk, tiny as it was. He had been prepared to confess the whole scheme if they found the source charge, knowing full well that the Israelis had zero tolerance when it came to security issues. The charge though, was encased in a stainless steel cylinder that fit precisely into the chamber of his spare scuba regulator. If they had opened that regulator, they would have found only a very thin steel disk. Hermetically sealed, so no vapors to alert dogs or bomb-sniffing machinery. Four ounces, just enough to make a noise, and the geophones had been inserted between batteries in his underwater sealed beam diving light. All of it should look perfectly innocuous, just like the rest of his diving gear.

“Who will this minder be?” David asked. “You?”

“Goodness, no. I suppose the joint committee will have picked someone. It will depend upon availability and schedules. You know how it is. It would help if you can agree to keep the visit short, say two, three days at the most. It will be difficult to get a faculty member for more than that. An imposition, in fact.”

“I didn’t ask for a minder, Professor.”

“You asked for unusual access to Metsadá, Mr. Hall. That is the same thing. Of course, if you object—”

“Yeah, right. I can always go away.”

“That is an option, as you say.”

They traveled in silence through more heavy traffic for the next twenty minutes. I should have expected this, David thought. Except that I thought any minder would be someone who was already at the site. Archaeologists, security guards, tourism bureau people, but not an escort from the Hebrew University. I wonder what the hell changed to provoke this? Oh, well, his plan was flexible. This would just mean he would be doing his real explorations at night. If nothing else, he thought, the time zone differential would work in his favor.

“The committee will want to know what you already know about the site, Mr. Hall,” Ellerstein said, breaking the silence as the car sped up a landscaped four-lane parkway toward what looked like the university buildings visible in the distance.

“A little examination, I suppose?”

“Yes, something like that. They assume you have studied the site. That you have read Yigael Yadin’s final reports, and the relevant history—Josephus, Tacitus, for instance.”

“Of course.”

“Very good. There is much controversy surrounding Josephus, as you probably know.”

“Colored somewhat by the fact that he went over to the Romans after Jotapata fell.”

“There is that. We Jews have no tolerance for traitors. Still, he survived when no one else did. Without his so-called history, we would know next to nothing about what really happened at Metsadá.”

You still don’t know what happened there, David thought to himself. That was not a notion he wanted to advertise to these people, however. When he found what he had come to find there, if he found it, there would be time enough for bragging rights. Right now, the game was to reveal less rather than more about what he knew. Convince them he was just another amateur, a know-nothing with more zeal than real knowledge, and they would dismiss him and his one-man expedition as a trivial matter. Success, in fact, depended on that. The assignment of a minder showed that they weren’t completely lulled yet. Then something occurred to him—maybe the minder had been Ellerstein’s idea.

“You’ve been on faculty here since you emigrated, Professor?”

“No, no. For a while I worked for the government, doing research. Then I got tired of that and came to the university to teach graduate-level mathematics. Now I am emeritus, semiretired, on some boards. I am called in to consult on little projects like yours. Just here, driver.”

He paused before getting out of the car. His eyes were distorted through the thick lenses of his glasses as he peered at David.

“Mr. Hall,” he said, “we have arrived. To review: we will be meeting with Professor Armin Strauss, chairman, and Professor Reuven Bergmann, who holds academic responsibility for the Metsadá site. There will be two of his assistants present as well. Perhaps others, yes?”

“A regular crowd.”

“Well, yours is a unique request. There are some details to be worked out, such as how long you will be at the site.”

“Which is a function of how long the minder can be spared.”

Ellerstein beamed. “Full marks. I assume you are ready to go right away? You are sufficiently rested from your trip?”

“Yes, I am,” David said, mentally reviewing his equipment list. For the preliminary search, he had everything ready to go.

“Very well. I suspect that Professor Strauss will offer a three-day stay, beginning as soon as tomorrow. That would give you Tuesday through Thursday at the site, with a return Friday.”

“In time for the minder to begin the Sabbath Friday evening.”

“Just so. If you are amenable to that schedule, this meeting can be brief. Yes? Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Splendid. Let us proceed.”

The conference room was spacious, with a central table, a stage and podium, and chairs for twenty people at the table. Ellerstein introduced David to the two senior professors and their assistants. David wondered briefly which one was the minder as he sat down with Ellerstein. Professor Strauss took the lead. He spoke in English with a trace of a British accent.

“Mr. Hall, welcome to the Hebrew University. Professor Ellerstein has asked us to assist you in your project of personal exploration at Metsadá.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Professor,” David replied. “I am aware that my request is somewhat unusual, and I do appreciate your helping me out.”

“Yes, Mr. Hall. We are aware that Professor Ellerstein has been interceding for you with the government authorities. May we assume you have obtained the necessary permissions from the IAA?”

David fished the collection of forms out of his briefcase and passed it to the nearest assistant, who passed it over to the second professor. The chairman continued while his colleague inspected the paperwork.

“We also assume that you realize that this site is of profound significance to the modern state of Israel, Mr. Hall. The events that happened there in A.D. 73–74 have some dramatic analogies to offer our countrymen, even to this day.”

“I am aware of that, Professor. Even though I am not a professional archaeologist or historian, I am equally aware of the requirement for me to respect the site and to cause no harm.”

“Exactly, Mr. Hall. We are reassured to hear that. Which brings me to the matter of an escort. Has Professor Ellerstein explained to you that we will re—. Let me rephrase that, that we wish to appoint an escort for you during your stay at the mountain?”

David decided this was the time to take the initiative. It was imperative that he give no inkling that he might not want an escort. “He has, Professor Strauss. I would very much appreciate an escort. In fact, I would have asked for one except that I knew I was already imposing too much as it is.”

David knew he had said the right thing when the old man almost beamed, although Ellerstein was now giving him a distinctly speculative look. The chairman had obviously been anticipating some objections. David decided to press on, aiming to neutralize all the contentious issues. “Professor Ellerstein tells me that you propose a three-day stay at the site, departing tomorrow and returning on Friday of this week, which also is most amenable and generous. I am prepared to leave for the site tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful, Mr. Hall. We will inform your escort.”

“He’s not here?” David asked, looking around the table.

“She is not here, Mr. Hall. We have appointed Dr. Judith Ressner, who is a faculty member of this institute with extensive knowledge of the site. In fact, I have excused her for the morning in order to let her prepare for your trip. I hope you will meet her at lunch today, as soon as we are completed here, if you will honor us with your company.”

“The honor will be mine, Professor.” A woman, he thought. Well, this was Israel. A good third of the soldiers he’d seen had been women. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

The chairman conferred in Hebrew for a moment with the professor who had been inspecting the papers, then nodded.

“All of the papers appear to be in order, Mr. Hall. New, I wonder if you would, for the benefit of me and my colleagues, review the nature of your request to visit this site.” He pointed with open hands to the younger men at the table. “These gentlemen will be briefing you this afternoon on the current status of explorations and archaeology at Metsadá, and we are all somewhat curious, as I am sure you understand.”

“Of course, Professor.” David turned in his chair to include the two younger academics, then briefly gathered his thoughts while the Israelis waited politely. He thought he heard someone come into the room behind him but did not turn around. He had anticipated this question. Whatever he said now had to convince them that there was a genuine reason for his being here.

“I’ve been a professional engineer since college. My field is nuclear power, what we used to call atomic energy. I’ve been in that business one way or another until just recently, when my company, a major nuclear energy conglomerate, got into trouble with our regulatory authorities because of something I discovered and then revealed.”

“Revealed?” the chairman asked.

“Yes,” David said. “Are you familiar with the term ‘whistle-blower’?”

“Oh, yes,” the chairman said. “We have those in Israel, too. Lots of them, in fact.”

“And everyone loves them forever after, right?”

The chairman laughed. David saw that Ellerstein was watching him, as a snake charmer watches his cobra.

“Well, I am currently an unemployed nuclear engineer,” David said. “So I decided to pursue a project that had been close to my girlfriend’s heart for many years, involving Metsadá.”

“She is here with you?” the chairman asked.

“Mr. Hall’s girlfriend worked for our embassy in Washington,” Ellerstein said. “Ministry of Tourism. She was ordered out of the country unexpectedly, and Mr. Hall decided to pursue her longtime dream in her sudden absence.”

David nodded at Ellerstein, acknowledging his cue. “Her name was Adrian Draper. I met her while doing a course in Washington, and we became a couple. Among other things, she was fascinated by the history of the first century, and especially by what she called the Masada myth. Metsadá, excuse me.”

The academics nodded but did not comment on his use of the word “myth.” David had discovered that most archaeologists preferred to remain at professional arm’s length as to the veracity of the story of what happened up on the mountain fortress—however dramatic and amazing—until there was more physical evidence.

“The Roman occupation of what they called Judaea is a particularly interesting nexus in the history of the ancient and the modern worlds. I’m a Christian, and for most Christians, as you well know, what happened here in the early first century remains a mesmerizing focus.”

“So, Metsadá?” the chairman prompted gently. Crunch time, David thought. He had to tell enough of the truth to convince them without revealing his real purpose.

“Sometime in the early fourth decade A.D., Jesus of Nazareth and his followers were declared to be revolutionaries. Jesus was executed, and his movement scattered. That should have ended the story. Yet from that point forward, starting underground, sometimes literally, the Christian movement evolved into a historical colossus. Thirty years or so after Jesus was executed, the Roman province of Judaea rose in revolt against Rome, a revolt ending five years later with the utter destruction of the ancestral city of Jerusalem, the Second Temple cult, and the annihilation of Jewish society. Except, of course, for those defiant survivors who holed up on Herod’s mountain at Metsadá, where they withstood the siege of the Roman Tenth Legion for over two more years.”

“I believe we know that history, Mr. Hall,” the chairman chided. “In other words, what’s your point, please?”

“My point is this: Adrian had always wondered what might have happened to the Jews as a nation and a religion if those Zealots, the warrior survivors of the Siege of Jerusalem, had not all killed themselves rather than surrender when the Romans finally breached the walls. In other words, was that a deliberate myth? What if they had fled from the mountain, instead, and gone underground? Like the early Christians.”

The room went silent as they considered the question.

“It was probably not to be, of course,” David continued, “and it’s taken nearly two thousand years for another Jewish nation-state to arise here in Judaea. Now, I know it’s a purely speculative question, one that a real scholar might dismiss, but it’s a thesis that fascinated her for a long time, and once she left my life, I felt I had to come here. I wanted to spend some time on the mountain, more time than just a one-day tourist trip. I’m told that it’s one thing to read about it, and quite another to stand among the stones and bones. So there it is.”

There was a long moment of silence while the Israelis looked at him, and then at each other. Professor Bergmann, who had said very little up to this juncture, began nodding his head.

“The stones and the bones,” he said. “As an archaeologist, Mr. Hall, I can understand that compulsion. When I was a young man, I was an unimportant member of the Yadin expedition for one season. Herod’s fortress draws you. We academics like to think that we are always dispassionate, that we can stand back when we poke around in the graves of history; that we, too, can look at the stones and bones, as you term it, and remain completely detached. That place, however—well, one cannot remain dispassionate when one is actually there. It is a haunted place, Mr. Hall, and a revered place. And your question is more relevant to the profession of archaeology than you might think.”

He looked up for an instant, his eyebrows lifting, as if he had become aware that he had said something seriously unorthodox. “You must never tell anyone I said that,” he whispered conspiratorially, and everyone laughed and relaxed. Then the chairman looked over David’s shoulder and stood up.

“Mr. Hall, permit me to introduce Dr. Yehudit Ressner.”

David turned around and pushed back his chair. Judith Ressner was tall and slender. As he got up to greet her, he absorbed a quick impression of enormous dark eyes, thick black hair coiled on her head, and a remote expression on a classical Jewish face. She did not smile when he proffered his hand, but she did accept the gesture.

“Dr. Ressner, my pleasure,” David said.

“Mr. Hall,” was all she said, withdrawing her hand after a perfunctory squeeze. Her voice was soft, her English accented but her diction precise. She seemed perfectly at ease, willing to just be there, as if waiting for someone else to make the next move.

“Yehudit, thank you for joining us,” the chairman said. “I think we can proceed to lunch now.”

They left the conference room and walked down a long hallway and then down a flight of carpeted stairs. The university buildings were built on a series of terraces on a hill, so the floor below was actually at ground level. The faculty dining room was small but well appointed, and a large circular table in a corner had been reserved for the group. David ended up being seated next to the chairman. He noted that Judith Ressner took a seat diametrically across the table from him, so there would not be much chance for any direct conversation. She did not seem willing to make eye contact with him or with anyone else, for that matter. Oh boy, he thought. Isn’t this going to be a wonderful little trip.

The lunch passed congenially, however, as the chairman steered the conversation away from David’s project and on to his own opinions about the Masada myth. David kept an eye on Professor Ellerstein, who was talking quietly with Ressner as if they were old friends. She was a beauty, all right, but a wounded one. The two assistants listened, one more than the other because his English was obviously much better. Toward the end of lunch, Ressner said something in Hebrew to the chairman, nodded to the rest of them, and excused herself politely, again not looking directly at David. If the others thought that anything was unusual about her sudden departure, they did not comment. After lunch the assistants took David to a seminar room, where they had laid out several charts of the site. Ellerstein came along, but then excused himself after about fifteen minutes. The assistants took David through a review of the site’s archaeological history.