One of the a.s.sistants brought over a wooden case about three feet long. Inside it, under protective gla.s.s, was a copper plate covered in Hebrew symbols. Everyone, including the soldiers, stared at the object and began commenting on it in low voices.

'It looks almost new.'

'Yes, the Copper Scroll of Qumran must be older. It's not shiny and it's cut into small strips.'

'The Qumran Scroll appears to be more ancient because it was exposed to the air,' the professor explained, 'and it was cut into strips because the researchers couldn't find any other way of opening it to read the contents. The second scroll was protected from oxidation by the wax covering it. That's why the writing is as clear as the day it was written. Our own map of the treasure.'

'So you've managed to decipher it?'

'Once we had the second scroll, figuring out what the first one said was child's play. What wasn't easy was keeping the discovery quiet. Please don't ask me details of the actual process because I'm not authorised to reveal any more, and besides, you wouldn't understand it.'

'So we're going in search of a pile of gold? Isn't that a little trite for such a pretentious expedition? Or for someone who's got money coming out of his ears like Mr Kayn?' asked Andrea.

'Ms Otero, we're not looking for a pile of gold. As a matter of fact, we've already discovered some.'

The old archaeologist signalled to one of his a.s.sistants, who spread a piece of black felt on the table and, with some effort, lifted a resplendent object onto it. It was the largest bar of gold Andrea had ever seen: the size of a man's forearm but roughly shaped, it had probably been formed in some millennial foundry. Although its surface was studded with small craters, mounds and imperfections, it was very beautiful. Every eye in the room was glued to the object, and there were whistles of admiration.

'Using the clues from the second scroll we discovered one of the hiding places described in the Copper Scroll of Qumran. That was in March this year, somewhere on the West Bank. There were six bars of gold like this one.'

'How much is it worth?'

'Around three hundred thousand dollars . . .'

The whistles turned into exclamations.

'. . . but believe me, that's nothing compared to the value of what we're looking for: the most powerful object in the history of mankind.'

Forrester made a gesture and one of the a.s.sistants took the bar away, but left the black felt. The archaeologist took out a sheet of graph paper from a file and placed it where the gold bar had lain. Everyone leaned forward, intent on seeing what it was. They all recognised the object sketched on it immediately.

'Ladies and gentlemen, you are the twenty-three people who have been chosen to recover the Ark of the Covenant.'

16.

ABOARD THE BEHEMOTH.

RED SEA.

Tuesday, 11 July 2007. 7:17 p.m.

A ripple of amazement spread through the room. Everyone began to talk excitedly, and then badgered the archaeologist with questions.

'Where is the Ark?'

'What's inside it . . .?'

'How can we help . . .?'

Andrea was shocked by the a.s.sistants' reactions as well as by her own. Those words, the Ark of the Covenant, had a magical ring that enhanced the archaeological importance of discovering an object over two thousand years old.

Not even an interview with Kayn could top this. Russell was right. If we find the Ark, it'll be the scoop of the century. Proof of the existence of G.o.d . . .

Her breathing quickened. Suddenly she had hundreds of questions for Forrester, but she knew straight away that it would be pointless to ask. The old man had taken them to this point and now he was going to leave them there, begging for more.

A great way to get us to cooperate.

As if confirming Andrea's theory, Forrester was looking at the group like the cat that had swallowed the canary. He gestured for them to be quiet.

'That's enough for today. I don't want to give you any more than your brains can a.s.similate. We'll let you know the rest when it's time. For now, I'm going to turn things over to-'

'One last thing, Professor,' Andrea interrupted him. You said there were twenty-three of us but I count only twenty-two. Who's missing?'

Forrester turned and consulted with Russell, who nodded that he could go ahead.

'Number twenty-three on the expedition is Mr Raymond Kayn.'

All conversation stopped.

'What the h.e.l.l does that mean?' one of the hired soldiers asked.

'It means that the boss is going on the expedition. As all of you know, he came on board a few hours ago and he'll be travelling with us. Does that seem strange to you, Mr Torres?'

'Jesus Christ, everybody says the old man's crazy,' Torres replied. 'It's hard enough protecting the sane ones, but the locos locos . . .' . . .'

Torres appeared to be from South America. He was short, thin, dark-skinned, and spoke English with a strong Latino accent.

'Torres,' said a voice behind him.

The soldier shrank back in his chair, but didn't turn around. Dekker was obviously going to make sure his man didn't continue to stick his foot in his mouth.

In the meantime Forrester had sat down and Jacob Russell had taken the floor. Andrea noticed there wasn't a single wrinkle on his white jacket.

'Good afternoon, everyone. I want to thank Professor Cecyl Forrester for his moving presentation. And on behalf of myself and Kayn Industries, I want to express my grat.i.tude to all of you for being present. I don't have much to add, except for two very important points. First, from this moment on, all communication with the outside world is strictly forbidden. This includes mobile phones, e-mail and verbal communication. Until we've accomplished our mission, this is your universe. You will understand in time why this measure is necessary to safeguard both the success of such a sensitive mission and our own security.'

There were a few whispered complaints, but they were half-hearted. Everyone already knew what Russell had told them because it had been specified in the lengthy contract each one had signed.

'The second point is a great deal more unpleasant. A security consultancy has given us a report, not yet confirmed, that an Islamic terrorist group knows about our mission and is planning an attack.'

'What . . .?'

'. . . must be a hoax . . .'

'. . . dangerous . . .'

Kayn's a.s.sistant raised his arms to calm everyone down. He was evidently prepared for the avalanche of questions.

'Don't be alarmed. I just want you to be alert and not to run any unnecessary risks, much less tell anyone outside this group about our final destination. I don't know how the leak could have happened but, believe me, we're looking into it and will take appropriate action.'

'Could it have come from inside the Jordanian government?' Andrea asked. 'A group like ours is bound to attract attention.'

'As far as the Jordanian government is concerned, we're a commercial expedition doing a preparatory study for a phosphates mine in the Al Mudawwara area of Jordan, close to the Saudi border. None of you will go through Customs, so don't worry about your cover.'

'I'm not worried about my cover, I'm worried about the terrorists,' said Kyra La.r.s.en, one of Professor Forrester's a.s.sistants.

'You needn't worry about them as long as we're here to protect you,' flirted one of the soldiers.

'The report isn't confirmed, it's only a rumour. And rumours can't harm you,' said Russell with a broad smile.

But confirmations can, thought Andrea.

The meeting was over a few minutes later. Russell, Dekker, Forrester and some of the others went to their cabins. At the door of the meeting room were two carts with sandwiches and drinks that some crew member had discreetly left there. Evidently, the expedition members were already being isolated from the crew.

Those who stayed behind in the room talked animatedly about the new information as they attacked the food. Andrea spoke at length with Dr Harel and Tommy Eichberg while she wolfed down roast beef sandwiches and a couple of beers.

'I'm glad your appet.i.te is back, Andrea.'

'Thanks, Doc. Unfortunately, after each meal my lungs scream for nicotine.'

'You'll have to smoke on deck,' said Tommy Eichberg. 'Smoking inside the Behemoth Behemoth is prohibited. As you know . . .' is prohibited. As you know . . .'

'Mr Kayn's orders,' all three chimed together, laughing.

'Yes, yes, I know. Don't worry. I'll be back in five minutes. I want to see if there's anything stronger than beer on that cart.'

17.

ABOARD THE BEHEMOTH BEHEMOTH.

RED SEA.

Tuesday, 11 July 2006. 9:41 p.m.

On deck it was already dark. Andrea emerged from the pa.s.sageway and walked slowly towards the front of the ship. She could have kicked herself for not wearing a sweater. The temperature had dropped quite a bit and a cold wind was blowing her hair around and making her shiver.

She took a wrinkled pack of Camel cigarettes from one pocket of her jeans and a red lighter from another. It was nothing fancy, just a refillable one with flowers stamped on it, and had probably cost no more than seven euros in some department store, but it had been her first gift from Eva.

Due to the wind, it took her ten attempts before she lit her cigarette. But once she had succeeded it was heavenly. Since she had boarded the Behemoth Behemoth she had found it almost impossible to smoke because of her seasickness, and not through lack of trying. she had found it almost impossible to smoke because of her seasickness, and not through lack of trying.

As she relished the sound of the bow cutting through the water, the young reporter searched her mind for anything she could remember about the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Copper Scroll of Qumran. There wasn't much. Fortunately Professor Forrester's a.s.sistants had promised to give her a crash course so that she could write more clearly about the importance of the discovery.

Andrea couldn't believe her luck. The expedition was much better than she had imagined. Even if they didn't succeed in finding the Ark, and Andrea felt certain they never would, her report on the second Copper Scroll and the discovery of part of the treasure would be enough to sell an article to any newspaper in the world.

The most sensible thing would be to find an agent to sell the entire story. I wonder if it would be better to sell it as an exclusive to one of the giants like National Geographic National Geographic or the or the New York Times New York Times, or to make a lot of sales to smaller outlets. I'm sure that kind of money would release me from all my credit card debt, Andrea thought.

She took a last pull on her cigarette and went to the railing to throw it overboard. She trod carefully, recalling the incident that afternoon with low railing. As she raised her arm to toss the b.u.t.t she saw a fleeting image of Dr Harel's face reminding her that it was a bad thing to pollute the environment.

Wow, Andrea. There's hope, even for someone like you. Imagine, doing the right thing when no one's looking, she thought as she stubbed out the cigarette against the wall and put the b.u.t.t in the back pocket of her jeans.

At that moment she felt someone grabbing her around the ankles and the world turned upside down. Her hands pawed the air trying to grab onto something, but with no success.

As she fell, she thought she could see a dark figure watching her from the railing.

A second later her body hit the water.

18.

THE RED SEA.

Tuesday, 11 July 2006. 9:43 p.m.