The Second Messiah (28 page)

“You have no idea?”

“Sometimes he drives into Jerusalem to visit friends.”

“Which friends?”

“You’ve got me there. But I can only guess that’s where he’s gone.”

Mosberg eased himself into the chair opposite. “I hope you’re not withholding information from me, Mr. Savage?”

“Now why would I do that?”

“How long have you known Jack Cane?”

Buddy Savage raised the dented travel trunk, grabbed an old photo album, and tossed it on the table. “Does that answer your question?”

Mosberg flicked through sheaves of photographs in the album: many were of Savage and Jack Cane working on digs. Both men looked
much
younger in some of the snapshots, which obviously spanned many years. There were others of Savage with a man who resembled Cane, and some of the shots included an attractive, smiling woman, her arms around both men.

“The couple you see were Jack’s parents. They died twenty years ago in an auto accident near Qumran. I guess that’s why he keeps coming back here to dig. For years it’s been like a pilgrimage for Jack.”

“Why?”

“Are you familiar with the work of the Irish writer Oscar Wilde, Sergeant?”

Mosberg sipped more Coke and shook his head. “I can’t say that I am.”

“There’s a line he wrote. ‘The heart always returns to wherever it is most hurt.’ Or words to that effect. I think the same applies to Jack. This place, Qumran, was a watershed in his life. It scarred him. And shaped him, made him the man he is.”

Mosberg slapped the album shut and replaced it on the table. “Interesting. So you know Jack Cane a long time.”

“His father and I were buddies for years. We worked digs together, Jack too, ever since he was a kid. He’s a good man, Mosberg, not a murderer.”

“You sound very sure of that.”

“I am. He’s not the professor’s killer. Finding that scroll meant everything to Jack. It’s like a vindication of his parents’ life work.”

“You’re saying he really wanted to find a scroll?”

“Sure he did. Like everyone else on this site.”

“And he did find a scroll but now it’s missing. Then there’s the small matter of Cane’s own knife buried in the professor’s chest.”

“Listen, Mosberg, Jack wouldn’t jeopardize himself by getting involved in murder. He’s completely innocent. As for the knife, that’s a weapon more familiar to Jews and Arabs, so I’d look elsewhere if I were you.”

“We’ll see, Mr. Savage. Perhaps if I dig deep enough, I can find his motive.”

Savage tipped back his baseball cap and shook his head. “If you really believe that, then you’re a big dummy, Mosberg. But good luck to you, because you’re sure going to need it.”

Mosberg’s face flushed red with annoyance. He spread his arms and looked toward the excavation site, his tone icy. “Tell me, who pays for all this, Savage? The expense of the dig, the crew salaries?”

Savage sipped another mouthful. “The crew are mostly volunteers. Some, professionals like me, get a basic salary that’s nothing to write home about. As for the costs, most digs have sponsors. Ours are a number of wealthy international businessmen and a religious trust that pick up our tab.”

“And what do they get in return?”

Savage shrugged. “I’m sure there’s maybe a tax break or two in there for some of the sponsors. But mostly they just want to contribute.”

“To what?”

“Our knowledge of religion and of humankind’s history.”

Mosberg jotted more notes in his pad. “All very noble, but I’ll need a list of your sponsors, Mr. Savage.”

“Hey, I’m up to my plums in work right now, Mosberg, but you’ll get it, rest assured.”

“Today, please.” Mosberg handed over his business card. “You’ll see my e-mail and fax number at the bottom. May I ask what religion you are, Mr. Savage?”

“What the heck has that got to do with anything?”

“It’s a simple question.”

“There was a time when I could say Roman Catholic, but I’m afraid I fell from grace. These days I’m happy to settle for agnostic. What does it matter?”

“Where do you live when you’re not working on digs, Mr. Savage?”

“A bachelor pad in a small upstate New York town.”

“You find your work rewarding?”

“I’m not sure where this is going, Mosberg, but yeah, sure.” Savage held up his calloused, clay-stained hands. “Would I work these fingers to the bone if I didn’t love it? I’ve been doing this job for well
over
twenty years and with little reward except for the pleasure it gives me.”

“Really?”

“Really. Though at this stage in my life I’d probably settle for a condo in Florida, a Mustang convertible, and an accommodating lady. Now, if you’ve finished scraping the barrel, I still have work to do.” Savage stood and tossed his empty Coke can into a bin.

Mosberg rose. “When you found Professor Green you said he was already dead. Did you see anyone nearby or leaving the tent? Did you witness anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might seem? It could be important, Mr. Savage. Please think.”

“I already answered that question for Inspector Raul.”

“Please answer it again.”

“I saw nothing. Not a soul. I heard nothing. Now, are you done?”

Mosberg flipped shut his notepad. “For now, Mr. Savage.”

Savage watched Mosberg climb into a Nissan SUV and drive off in the direction of the Bedu village. He heard a noise behind him and turned.

Jack Cane stood facing him, his face drawn, his clothes crumpled and stained. “Hello, Pops.”

“What the heck?” Savage stepped forward and his arm went around Jack’s shoulder. “Boy, am I glad to see you. Sergeant Mosberg was just here, looking for you. Don’t worry, I told the guy nothing.”

“Has he any leads?” Jack’s face was beaded with sweat, his voice hoarse.

“You ask me, the guy’s as lost as a dog in long grass.” Savage noticed a rip in Cane’s inside right trouser leg, revealing a gauze bandage. The clothes’ stains were caked patches of dried blood. “What happened? And where are Yasmin and Josuf? What have you been up to?” he demanded.

Jack was barely able to stand, his face racked with pain. “I’ve lost some blood. Yasmin’s gone to find a fresh dressing in the first-aid kit. I need to sit down, Buddy.”

As Savage went to help him toward his tent, Jack collapsed into his arms.

“HERE, DRINK SOME
of this, it’ll settle your nerves.” Buddy Savage splashed Wild Turkey into two glass tumblers and handed one to Yasmin.

Yasmin’s clothes were dusty, her hair mussed as she sat in one of the canvas chairs and accepted the glass. “Thanks. Though the condition I’m in, I probably look like I’ve had a few already.”

Savage grabbed another chair. “If you want my opinion, you all need your heads examined for crossing into Syria illegally.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, Buddy, something we got caught up in. Jack was desperate to try to find the parchment.” Yasmin looked behind her. “Does Pierre really know what he’s doing? Shouldn’t we just fetch a doctor?”

Savage followed Yasmin’s gaze to the room at the back of the tent. Jack sat in a canvas chair, one leg of his trousers cut away. Seated in front of him, the cheery Frenchman was engrossed as he worked on Jack’s wound, a first-aid kit open, next to it a plastic basin filled with steaming water.

“If we call a doctor he’d probably inform the cops. Don’t worry about Pierre. Believe it or not he was once a medic with the French Foreign Legion. He’s treated a few bullet wounds in his day, which is why he’s in charge of our first aid. He gave Jack a morphine shot, so he can’t feel a thing. How about you finish your story?”

“After the men set the monastery on fire they forced us to drive out into the desert. I had to drive Josuf’s truck and he followed me in his Mercedes. Then the weather started to turn, a sandstorm blew up, and after about five miles we were made to halt and get out of the vehicles.”

“Go on.”

“We thought we were all going to be executed. The man named Pasha aimed at Jack’s head. But at the last moment he deflected the pistol and shot Jack in the leg instead. That’s when I blacked out. To be honest, the sight of blood freaks me out.”

“Go on.”

“Pasha slapped me awake. He said, ‘Let this be a warning to you all to keep your noses out of this business and forget about the scroll or you’ll regret it. If you come after me I’ll hunt each of you down and kill you.’ Or words to that effect, but we got the message. He scared the life out of me.”

Savage’s brow creased. “I’m astonished he released you all after you witnessed him killing the priest.”

“We didn’t understand it either. But we were grateful to escape with our lives. Then Pasha tossed away Josuf’s pickup keys and he and his bodyguard drove off. Josuf had a basic first-aid kit in his pickup and managed to put a dressing on Jack’s wound. It took us over an hour to find the keys in the dark before we drove back here.”

“Any difficulty crossing the border?”

“The Jordanians didn’t bother us but the Israeli guards seemed suspicious. They searched Josuf’s pickup before finally letting us through.”

“Did you learn anything useful from this priest, Novara?”

“Jack thinks he found some translations from the scroll. He spent most of the journey working on the notes he’d made in his notebook.”

Savage said eagerly, “Tell me more.”

“You better wait until you speak with Jack. He can fill you in better than me.”

Pierre came in, wiping his hands on a towel. He immediately helped himself to the Wild Turkey, splashing a generous measure into a glass.

Savage said, “So what’s the verdict?”

The Frenchman raised his glass to both of them before he swallowed the liquor in one mouthful and shook his head. “You know, it sometimes amazes me.”

Yasmin got to her feet. “What does?”

“Some people have the devil’s own luck. If Jack’s wound had been a few centimeters to the right the bullet could have severed an artery and we might be nailing him down in a box.”

“He’s going to be okay?”

The Frenchman smiled at Yasmin and slapped down his glass. “I’m not a doctor but I believe he’ll recover. It’s really just a bad flesh wound.”

Yasmin stood on her toes and kissed Pierre’s cheek. “Thank you.”

The Frenchman winked, then handed her two plastic vials of pills he’d taken from the first-aid kit. “Painkillers, if needed. The second vial contains antibiotics to prevent infection. Have Jack take one a day for the next four days. He’s sleeping now, thanks to the morphine, but I’ll be back later to check on him.”

Savage and Yasmin peered in at Jack. He was sleeping soundly in the chair, his hair flopped to one side, his leg dressed with a fresh cotton bandage. Savage watched as Yasmin knelt beside him. She gently patted his forehead with a damp cloth. “He looks exhausted. I’m not surprised. He didn’t sleep at all during our drive last night. He seemed totally preoccupied.”

Savage looked down at her. “Because of his wound?”

“That too, but he was preoccupied by the stuff he recorded in his notebook. No doubt he’ll tell you all about it once he wakes up.”

“Has Josuf gone back to his village to grab some sleep?”

“Yes. Why?” Yasmin answered.

“I’ve a feeling he won’t get much. Sergeant Mosberg was here earlier, asking questions. When he left, he drove toward the Bedu village. I hope Josuf keeps his mouth shut.”

“Don’t worry. We all agreed not to tell anyone what had happened, except you. Jack said you had to know.”

Savage nodded down at Jack. “How about we let him sleep it off and you and I step outside. We need to talk, Yasmin.”

She looked up. “About what?”

Savage was grim. “I think I know who took the scroll.”

“WHO DID IT?”
Yasmin asked expectantly.

They stepped outside the tent and strolled for several yards toward the Qumran ruins. Savage lit a Marlboro and took a drag. “Before I answer that, do you mind if I make a nosy remark? I saw the way you tended to Jack. It’s obvious you care.”

Yasmin blushed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Maybe a lot. Don’t look so embarrassed. You like him, don’t you?”

Yasmin’s brown eyes rose to meet Savage’s stare. “I’ve liked him since the day we met. What’s it to you?”