The Second Messiah

The goat-hair tent that Josuf and his family lived in was scrupulously clean. On a low pinewood table, flower petals floated in bowls of water, and a lit amber-colored candle gave off a fragrant smell of honey.

Out of courtesy to his host, Jack burst open a fig and sucked on the red flesh. With the Bedu, you had to be patient. “What news do you have, Josuf?”

The Bedu chief helped himself to a fig. “I did not want the policewoman to know what I am about to tell you. To help the Israelis is not the way of my tribe. There are those among the Bedu who despise the Israelis for confiscating Arab lands.”

Jack heard the cluck of women’s laughter and children’s conversation off in another wing of the huge tent. “Tell me what you know, Josuf.”

The Bedu chief adjusted the folds of his gown, craning his neck to make sure that his mother was gone. “You are aware of the many valuable finds made in the Dead Sea area by Bedu tribes.”

“Of course.”

“We both know that some Bedu have found objects and sold them to private collectors for large amounts of money, without telling the Israelis. My people consider these lands to be theirs by birthright. That any objects they find rightfully belong to them.”

Jack nodded. He knew that the Israeli authorities could never hope to put a stop to illegal digging. “Where’s this leading, Josuf?”

“I have heard that the Israelis suspect you of being a killer, Mr. Cane.”

Jack figured there wasn’t much that Josuf didn’t hear about in his locality. But the speed at which the news had traveled surprised even him. “How did you know?”

Josuf waved the question away as if it were a fly. “I know that you are not a killer, Mr. Cane. It’s not in your blood. Such an accusation is unjust. That is why I want to help you. My youngest daughter knows something, Mr. Cane.”

Jack sparked. “Knows what?”

The Bedu chief clapped his hands together. The old woman returned, opening the tent flap, and Josuf said, “Bring Safa.”

19

The girl was no more than ten and her cocoa brown eyes were strikingly beautiful. She wore a simple cotton gown and gauze headscarf and she bowed to Josuf. “Father.”

“Sit beside me, Safa. Tell my friends everything you saw.”

The girl sat by her father. When she hesitated, her father squeezed her hand. “Tell them, Daughter.”

The girl looked at Yasmin and Jack and spoke softly in Arabic. “Today I woke before sunrise with two of my brothers to tend to my father’s goat herds, as we always do. It is my job to tend to one of the herds that graze beyond the Red Rocks. This morning I saw someone leave your camp and walk past the rocks toward the desert.”

Jack knew where the girl meant. The Red Rocks were a half ring of massive rust-colored boulders that formed a natural boundary where the desert began.

“Go on, Safa,” her father prompted. “Who did you see?”

“I could not tell if the person was a man or a woman. The light was not good. But whoever it was they stopped just beyond the rocks where two men stood waiting by a car. The person gave something to the two men and then quickly returned to the camp. Then I saw the two men drive away.”

Jack felt a flutter of excitement and flicked a look at Yasmin before he said to the child, “Are you positive about this?”

“Yes, I am certain.”

Josuf interrupted. “It wasn’t the first time that my daughter saw the two men from the car, Mr. Cane.”

“What do you mean?”

Josuf nodded to his daughter. “Explain, Safa.”

“My uncle Walid knows the two men.”

Before Jack could ask Josuf to explain, the Bedu patted his daughter’s arm. “Leave us, Safa. Go back to your mother. I will explain the rest.”

“Yes, Father.”

The girl bowed and left. Josuf said, “What I have to say next is not for my daughter’s ears, Mr. Cane.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have a confession to make. You do not know my brother, Walid. He lives not far from here. Over many years he has found small pieces of ancient parchment in these hills. However, Walid never told the Israelis. Instead, he sold the fragments of parchments to a Syrian black-market dealer.”

When Josuf hesitated, Jack inclined his head. “I’m listening, go on.”

“The two men my daughter saw sometimes came here from Damascus to buy Walid’s fragments.”

“How do you know that?”

“From Safa’s description of one of the men, and the old white Mercedes they drove. My daughter ducked behind some rocks as the car drove past. She managed to see the passenger’s face. He was a middle-aged man with a gray beard. He wore a broad white panama hat with a black band around it. It sounds like one of the men I often saw Walid deal with. He usually drove here in a white Mercedes.”

“Who are the men?”

“Criminals, from the Syrian underworld. They sometimes buy artifacts from the Bedu, to sell them in turn to wealthy collectors for a profit.”

“Are they Bedu?”

Josuf nodded. “Settled Bedu. They bribe border guards to help them cross frontiers.”

Jack said, “Do you know who they were working with?”