'For Yudel,' he said. 'He shouldn't open it before his bar mitzvah bar mitzvah.'

Two terrible nights had pa.s.sed since then. Jora was anxious for news, but the judge was more silent than usual. The day before, the house had been filled with strange sounds. And then, for the first time in three years, the bookcase began to move in the middle of the day and the judge's face appeared in the entrance hole.

'Quick, come out. We haven't a second to waste!'

Jora blinked. It was difficult to recognise the brightness outside the hideout as sunshine. Yudel had never seen the sun. Frightened, he ducked back in.

'Jora, I'm sorry. Yesterday I found out that Josef and Odile have been arrested. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to upset you further. But you can't stay here. They're going to question them, and no matter how much the Cohens resist, the n.a.z.is will eventually find out where Yudel is.'

'Frau Cohen won't say anything. She's strong.'

The judge shook his head.

'They'll promise to save Elan's life in exchange for revealing where the little one is, or worse. They can always make people talk.'

Jora began to cry.

'There's no time for that, Jora. When Josef and Odile didn't return, I went to see a friend at the Bulgarian emba.s.sy. I have two exit visas in the names of Bilyana Bogomil, tutor, and Mikhail Zhivkov, son of a Bulgarian diplomat. The story is that you're returning to school with the boy after spending the Christmas holidays with his parents.' He showed her the rectangular tickets. 'These are train tickets to Stara Zagora. But you won't go there.'

'I don't understand,' Jora said.

'Stara Zagora is your official destination, but you'll get off at Cernavoda. The train stops there for a short while. You'll get out so that the boy can stretch his legs. You'll leave the train with a smile on your face. You won't carry any luggage or have anything in your hands. As soon as you can, disappear. Constanta is thirty-seven miles to the east. You'll either have to walk or find someone willing to take you there by cart.'

'Constanta,' Jora repeated, trying to remember everything in her confusion.

'It was Romania before. Now it's Bulgaria. Tomorrow, who knows? The important thing is that it's a port and the n.a.z.is don't watch it too carefully. From there you can take a ship to Istanbul. And from Istanbul you can go anywhere.'

'But we don't have any money for a ticket.'

'Here are some marks for the trip. And in this envelope there's enough to book pa.s.sage for the two of you to somewhere safe.'

Jora looked around. There was hardly any furniture left in the house. Suddenly she understood what the strange noises the day before had been. The old man had hocked almost everything he owned to give them a chance of escaping.

'How can we ever thank you, Judge Rath?"

'Don't. Your trip will be very dangerous and I'm not sure that the exit visas will protect you. G.o.d forgive me, but I hope I'm not sending you to your death.'

Two hours later Jora had managed to drag Yudel to the building's stairway. She was about to go outside when she heard a truck halting on the pavement. Everyone who lived under the n.a.z.is knew exactly what that meant. The whole thing was like a bad melody, beginning with a screech of brakes, followed by someone shouting orders and the dull staccato of boots on snow, which became more precise as the boots. .h.i.t wooden floors. At that point you prayed for the sounds to fade away; instead there was an ominous crescendo culminating in knocks at a door. After a pause, a chorus of weeping would ensue, punctuated by machine-gun solos. And when the music was over, the lights went on again, people returned to their tables, and mothers would smile and make believe that nothing had happened next door.

Jora, who knew the tune well, hid under the stairs the moment she heard the first notes. While his colleagues broke down Rath's door, a soldier wielding a flashlight paced nervously back and forth at the main entrance. The torch's beam cut through the darkness, barely missing Jora's worn grey shoe. Yudel grabbed her with such animal fear that Jora had to bite her lip in order not to cry out in pain. The soldier came so close to them that they could smell his leather coat and the cold metal and oil of the gun.

A loud shot rumbled down the stairwell. The soldier interrupted his search and rushed upstairs to his companions who were yelling. Jora lifted Yudel in her arms and went out into the street, walking slowly.

15.

ON BOARD THE BEHEMOTH BEHEMOTH.

EN ROUTE TO THE GULF OF AQABA, RED SEA.

Tuesday, 11 July 2006. 6:03 p.m.

The room was dominated by a large rectangular table set with twenty neatly placed folders, in front of which sat a person. Harel, Fowler and Andrea were the last ones in and had to sit in the s.p.a.ces that were left. Andrea ended up between a young African-American woman dressed in some sort of paramilitary uniform and an older man, balding, with a bushy moustache. The young woman ignored her and went on talking to the companions to her left, who were dressed more or less as she was, while the man to Andrea's right offered his hand, with its thick, coa.r.s.e fingers.

'Tommy Eichberg, driver. You must be Ms Otero.'

'Another person who knows me! It's a pleasure to meet you.'

Eichberg smiled. He had a round, pleasant face.

'I hope you're feeling better.'

Andrea was about to answer but was interrupted by the loud, unpleasant sound of someone clearing his throat. An old man, well over seventy, had just entered the room. His eyes were almost buried in a nest of wrinkles, an impression that was accentuated by the tiny lenses of his gla.s.ses. His head was shaved and he had a huge greying beard that seemed to float around his mouth like a cloud of ash. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, khaki trousers and thick black boots. He began to speak, his voice as sharp and unpleasant as a knife sc.r.a.ping teeth, before he reached the head of the table where a portable electronic screen had been placed. Beside it sat Kayn's a.s.sistant.

'Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Cecyl Forrester and I'm Professor of Biblical Archaeology at the University of Ma.s.sachusetts. It's not the Sorbonne, but at least it's a home.'

There was some polite laughter among the professor's a.s.sistants, who had heard the joke a thousand times.

'No doubt you have been trying to figure out the reason for this trip ever since you set foot on this ship. I hope you were not tempted to do so beforehand, given that your, or should I say our our, contracts with Kayn Enterprises require absolute secrecy from the moment they were signed until our heirs rejoice at our death. Unfortunately the terms of my contract also require that I let you in on the secret, which I plan on doing over the course of the next hour and a half. Do not interrupt me unless you have an intelligent question. Since Mr Russell has informed me of your particulars, I am familiar with every detail, from your IQ to your favourite brand of condom. As for Mr Dekker's crew, don't even bother opening your mouths.'

Andrea, who was partially turned towards the professor, heard a threatening whisper from the people in uniform.

'That son of a b.i.t.c.h thinks he's smarter than everyone else. Maybe I'll make him swallow his teeth one at a time.'

'Silence.'

The voice was soft but it had an undertone that was so violent it made Andrea shudder. She turned her head enough to see that the voice belonged to Mogens Dekker, the man with the scar, who was leaning his chair against a bulkhead. The soldiers immediately went quiet.

'Good. Well, now that we're all in one place,' Cecyl Forrester went on, 'I'd better do the introductions. The twenty-three of us have been brought together for what will be the greatest discovery of all time, and each of you is going to play a part in it. You already know Mr Russell to my right. He's the one who selected you.'

Kayn's a.s.sistant nodded his head in greeting.

'To his right is Father Anthony Fowler, who will act as the Vatican's observer on the expedition. Beside him are Nuri Zayit and Rani Peterke, cook and a.s.sistant cook. Then Robert Frick and Brian Hanley, administration. '

The two cooks were older men. Zayit was skinny, aged around sixty, with a down-turned mouth, while his helper was heavy-set and a few years younger. Andrea couldn't quite tell his age. The two administrators, on the other hand, were both young and almost as dark as Peterke.

'Besides these overpaid workers, we have my idle and sycophantic a.s.sistants. They all have degrees from expensive colleges and think they know more than me: David Pappas, Gordon Durwin, Kyra La.r.s.en, Stowe Erling and Ezra Levine.

The young archaeologists shifted uncomfortably in their chairs and tried to look professional. Andrea felt sorry for them. They must have been in their early thirties, but Forrester had them on a short leash, which made them seem even younger and more insecure than they actually were - which was the complete opposite of the people in uniform seated next to the reporter.

'At the other end of the table we have Mr Dekker and his bulldogs: the Gottlieb twins, Alois and Alryk; Tewi Waaka, Paco Torres, Marla Jackson and Louis Maloney. They'll be in charge of security, adding a high-calibre component to our expedition. The irony of the phrase is devastating, don't you think?'

The soldiers didn't react, but Dekker righted his chair and leaned across the table.

'We're going into the frontier zone of an Islamic country. Given the nature of our . . . mission, the locals could become violent. I'm sure Professor Forrester will appreciate the calibre of our defence if it comes to that.' He spoke with a strong South African accent.

Forrester opened his mouth to respond, but something on Dekker's face must have convinced him that now wasn't the time for any more acid retorts.

'Further to the right you have Andrea Otero, our official reporter. I'm asking you to cooperate with her if and when she requests any information or interviews so that she will be able to tell our story to the world.'

Andrea flashed a smile around the table, which some people returned.

'The man with the moustache is Tommy Eichberg, our head driver. And lastly, on the right, Doc Harel, our official quack.'

'Don't worry if you can't remember everyone's name,' said the doctor, raising her hand. 'We're going to spend a fair amount of time together in a place that's not renowned for its entertainment, so we'll get to know each other pretty well. Don't forget to carry the ID badge the crew left in your cabins-'

'As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter if you know everyone's name as long as you do your job,' the old professor interrupted. 'Now, if you would all turn your attention to the screen, I'm going to tell you a story.'

The screen lit up with computer-generated images of an ancient city. Above a valley rose a settlement of red walls and tiled roofs, surrounded by a triple outer wall. The streets were full of people going about their daily routines. Andrea was amazed by the quality of the images, worthy of a Hollywood production, but the voice narrating the doc.u.mentary was that of the professor. This guy's got such a huge ego he can't even hear how lousy his voice sounds This guy's got such a huge ego he can't even hear how lousy his voice sounds, she thought. He's giving me a headache. The voiceover began: Welcome to Jerusalem. It is April in the year AD 70. The city is in its fourth year of occupation by rebel zealots, who have expelled the original inhabitants. The Romans, officially the rulers of Israel, can no longer tolerate the situation and Rome charges t.i.tus to administer a decisive punishment.

The peaceful scene of women filling their water vessels and children playing beside the outer walls near the wells was interrupted as distant banners crowned by eagles appeared on the horizon. Trumpets sounded and the children, suddenly frightened, ran back inside the walls.

Within a few hours the city is surrounded by four Roman legions. This is the fourth attack on the city. Its citizens have repelled the previous three. This time t.i.tus uses a cunning trick. He allows the pilgrims entering Jerusalem for the Easter celebrations to cross the line of battle. After the festivities, the circle is closed, and t.i.tus does not allow the pilgrims to leave. The city now contains twice as many people and its food and water supplies are quickly being depleted. The Roman legions launch an attack from the northern side of the city and knock down the third wall. It is now the middle of May, and the fall of the city is only a matter of time.

The screen displayed a battering ram destroying the outer wall. From the city's highest hill temple priests witnessed the scene with tears in their eyes.

The city eventually falls in September, and t.i.tus fulfils the promise he made to his father, Vespasian. The majority of the city's inhabitants are executed or dispersed. Their homes are looted and their temple, destroyed.

Surrounded by corpses, a group of Roman soldiers carried a gigantic menorah menorah out of the burning temple while their general looked on from his horse, smiling. out of the burning temple while their general looked on from his horse, smiling.

The second temple of Solomon was burned to its foundations, and remains thus to this day. Many of the temple's treasures were stolen. Many, but not all. After the fall of the third wall in May, a priest by the name of Yirmyahu had come up with a plan to save at least part of the treasure. He chose a group of twenty brave men, giving packages to the first twelve with precise instructions on where the items should be taken and what should be done with them. These packages contained the temple's more 'conventional' treasures: large amounts of gold and silver.

An old priest with a white beard and dressed in a black robe was talking with two young men as others waited their turn in a large stone cave lit by torches.

Yirmyahu entrusted the last eight men with a very special mission, ten times more dangerous than that of the others.

Holding a torch, the priest led the eight men, who were carrying a large object with the aid of a litter, through a network of tunnels.

Using the secret pa.s.sages under the temple, Yirmyahu led them beyond the walls and away from the Roman army. Although that area, at the rear of the 10th Fretensis Legion, was patrolled from time to time by Roman guards, the priest's men managed to elude them, reaching Yriho, the modern-day Jericho, with their heavy load the following day. And there the trail disappears for good.

The professor pressed a b.u.t.ton and the screen went dark. He turned to the audience, who were waiting expectantly.

'What those men did was quite incredible. They travelled fourteen miles carrying an enormous load in roughly nine hours. And that was only the beginning of their trip.'

'What were they carrying, Professor?' Andrea asked.

'I suppose it was the most valuable piece of treasure,' Harel said.

'All in good time, my dears. Yirm yahu went back inside the city and spent the next two days writing a very special ma.n.u.script on an even more unusual scroll. It was a detailed map with instructions on how to recover the different portions of the treasure that had been salvaged from the temple . . . but he couldn't manage the work alone. It was a verbal map, etched into the surface of a copper scroll almost ten feet long.'

'Why copper?' asked someone at the back.

'Unlike papyrus or parchment, copper is extremely durable. It is also very difficult to write on. It took five people to complete the inscription in a single session, at times taking turns. When they had finished, Yirm yahu divided the doc.u.ment into two parts, giving the first to a messenger with instructions for its safekeeping at a community of Yisseyites who lived near Jericho. The other part he gave to his own son, one of the kohanim kohanim, a priest like himself. We know this much of the story firsthand because Yirm yahu wrote it down in its entirety on the copper ma.n.u.script. After that, all trace of it was lost for 1,882 years.'

The old man paused to take a sip of water. For a moment he no longer looked like a wrinkled, pompous puppet but seemed more human.

'Ladies and gentlemen, you now know more of this story than most of the experts in the world. n.o.body has figured out exactly how the ma.n.u.script was written. Nevertheless, it became quite famous when one part of it surfaced in 1952 in a cave in Palestine. It was among the 85,000 or so fragments of text that have been found in Qumran.'

'Is this the famous Copper Scroll of Qumran?' Dr Harel asked.

The archaeologist once again turned on the screen, which now displayed an image of the famous scroll: a curved plate of dark green metal covered in barely legible writing.

'That is how it is referred to. Researchers were immediately struck by the unusual nature of the discovery, as much by the odd choice of writing material as by the inscriptions themselves - none of which could be properly deciphered. What remained clear from the start was that it was a list of treasure containing sixty-four items. The entries gave an idea of what would be found and where. For example, "At the bottom of the cave that is forty paces to the east of Achor Tower, dig three feet. There you will find six bars of gold." But the directions were vague and the quant.i.ties described seemed so unreal - something like two hundred tons of gold and silver - that the "serious" researchers thought it had to be some kind of myth, a hoax or a joke.'

'It seems a lot of effort for a joke,' said Tommy Eichberg.

'Exactly! Excellent, Mr Eichberg, excellent, especially for a driver,' said Forrester, who seemed incapable of paying the slightest compliment without an accompanying insult. 'In AD 70 there were no hardware stores. An enormous plate of ninety-nine per cent pure copper must have cost a great deal. n.o.body would have chosen to write a piece of fiction on such a precious surface. There was a ray of hope. Item Number sixty-four was, according to the Qumran Scroll, "a text such as this, with instructions and a code for finding the objects described".'

One of the soldiers raised his hand.

'So this old guy, this Yermijacko . . .'

'Yirmyahu.'

'Whatever. The old guy cut the thing in two, and each part held the key to finding the other?'

'And both had to be together in order to find the treasure. Without the second scroll there was no hope of figuring things out. But eight months ago, something happened . . .'

'I'm sure your audience would prefer the shorter version, Dr,' said Father Fowler with a smile.

The old archaeologist stared at Fowler for a few seconds. Andrea noticed that the professor seemed to be finding it difficult to continue and asked herself what on earth had happened between the two men.

'Yes, of course. Well, suffice it to say that the second half of the scroll finally turned up, thanks to the efforts of the Vatican. It had been handed down from father to son as a sacred object. The duty of the family was to keep it safe until the appropriate time. What they did was hide it in a candle, but eventually even they lost track of what was inside.'

'That doesn't surprise me. It was - how many? - seventy, eighty generations? It's a miracle they continued the tradition of protecting the candle all that time,' said someone sitting in front of Andrea. It was the administrator, Brian Hanley, she thought.

'We Jews are a patient people,' said Nuri Zayit, the cook. 'We've been waiting for the Messiah for three thousand years.'

'And you're going to be waiting another three thousand,' said one of Dekker's soldiers. Loud bursts of laughter and slapping of hands accompanied the distasteful joke. But n.o.body else laughed. Because of the names, Andrea guessed that, with the exception of the hired guards, nearly all the members of the expedition were from a Jewish background. She could feel the tension in the room mounting.

'Let's continue,' said Forrester, ignoring the soldiers' ridicule. 'Yes, it was a miracle. Have a look at it.'