For the moment though they were flying to Queen Alia's International Airport. It was the westernmost airport in Jordan. From there they would head to the Kempinski Ishtar hotel and spa. Not for R & R although they could all use it, but because it was located on the Dead Sea just a few miles off of the route Moses took through the desert to the Promised Land. It was a good enough as any place to start. Plus a nice big sprawling luxury resort like the Kempinski was used to their fair share of strange American tourists.
And his group couldn't get much stranger.
They all looked like they'd played a game of hockey against the NHL and taken a few sticks to the face.
"Sarge?" Davidson asked.
"Yeah, sorry," Brandt apologized since he hadn't heard the last ten sentences Davidson said.
The younger man pointed to the screen of some random laptop they'd acquired in their journey from Slovenia to here. "As I was saying, the Knot..."
Brandt waited, but Davidson's face screwed up into a grimace, accentuating his tapestry of scars.
"The Knot?" Brandt prompted. The word wanted to stick in Brandt's craw too, but if Davidson had any information from the organization that had hounded and hunted them down last year, Brandt would take it. He was fucking tired of being blindsided by that Disciple bitch.
Davidson cleared his throat. "During my time with them, I never heard of the Disciples of Moshe, however there were rumors of The Chosen. A group that predated the Knot." Davidson absently licked where his lip should have been before continuing. "A group that the Knot was actually afraid of, but I'd assumed them to be like the boogeyman, made up to keep members in line."
Apparently Davidson was grossly mistaken, given the number of bullets that had been fired at them since London. The Chosen were as real and dangerous as the Knot had believed.
"Anything more specific than 'the Chosen will get you if you don't eat your spinach'?" Brandt asked.
"My father...I mean Petir," Davidson corrected.
Brandt felt, just a little, for the kid. He'd been picked up by the Knot after being abandoned by his birth mother at a church in Baltimore. Davidson had never known any other life than that the Knot showed him. How could you not call somebody father after being raised by him for two decades?
"Tok..." Davidson stated and then stalled again.
Now that name, the name of the man who had ordered the execution of Svengurd, that name made Brandt's jaw clench. Even a year later Brandt could see the startled look on his point man's face as a bullet made a hole in his forehead.
That same bastard who kidnapped Rebecca had been Davidson's "brother." Talk about a fucked-up family tree. The struggle to separate his love for the "brother" from the horrible actions of a religious terrorist was clear on Davidson's face.
Would Brandt have turned out any differently from the private if he'd been raised by a bunch of fanatics? And not just fanatics, but fanatics descended from a millennia-old cult? That was some serious baggage.
"He did what?" Brandt asked, avoiding speaking the bastard's name. He couldn't do that without some serious hostility behind it.
"When we were children, Petir was chiding Tok for something," Davidson continued, "invoking the Chosen, but Tok challenged him. Demanded that Petir prove the Chosen existed."
"And did he?"
Davidson pointed to the laptop showing a picture of a previous king of Jordan, Abdullah I bin al-Hussein. "Petir told Tok once he crossed to the afterlife, to ask King Abdullah of the Chosen's power if Tok did not believe him."
Brandt scanned Abdullah's biography. The king had been instrumental in helping the British in World War I and had encouraged his Arab neighbors to enter into a peace treaty with Israel. It looked from all accounts that his assassination had been politically motivated to keep that peace accord from ever happening.
"I don't see how this has anything to do with the Disciples," Brandt commented.
"Look at the date," Davidson urged.
July 20, 1951. Besides Hank Williams being a pretty big hit back then, Brandt drew a blank.
Davidson switched the screen to reveal the history of the Dead Seas Scrolls. They were "discovered" between 1947 and 1956. Abdullah's assassination fell right in the middle of those dates. But it still didn't make much sense. A lot of things had happened between 1947 and 1956.
"When Tok pressed Petir about Abdullah, he just shrugged and said that one had to have stood by the king's side to know the truth."
"I'm lost," Brandt admitted.
Before Davidson could answer, Lopez came over the intercom. "If everyone could please take their seats, we will be landing shortly." Brandt turned back to the private, but the corporal wasn't done. "And to make sure that I have the same landing difficulty as in Slovenia, I will be placing a blindfold."
"Lopez," Brandt growled.
"Fine. I will only close one eye. So buckle up."
Brandt complied, indicating for Davidson to do the same. Whatever point the kid was trying to make, they would find out at the hotel. If they made it that far as the plane bucked and bounced on the landing.
Rebecca let the last rays of the sun bake down on her skin. The Dead Sea lay before them, twinkling a dark blue. The shoreline was encrusted with bright white salt. A tourist floated in the water, buoyed by the sea's high salt content. Hence why the sea was "dead." Very little if anything could grow in its briny waters. Across the calm sea lay Israel. If only relations between the Arab world and the Jewish nation could be so tranquil.
The hotel's grounds included over a half mile of shoreline. Besides direct access to the beach, their private courtyard featured palm trees and their very own pool in case you wanted to take a dip without getting your hair salted. Not that any of them were going swimming anytime soon.
Although it was a slightly different experience developing a plan of attack while lying on a chaise lounge chair...with overstuffed pillows. Rebecca could get used to it. And Bunny? Bunny didn't seem inclined to leave their private villa anytime soon. The girl clearly needed the cold chased from her bones.
"Back it up," Brandt asked Davidson. "I still don't see what the assassination of Abdullah has to do with Amed's cave."
Davidson had tried to explain several times now his concerns, but it wasn't until Rebecca got Wi-Fi access to read the files herself that she understood.
"May I?" Rebecca asked Davidson, who seemed more than happy to turn over the floor to her. "I think that Petir was implying that the Disciples killed Abdullah or at least manipulated the killer."
"But why?" Brandt asked. "I thought it was about sabotaging the peace process."
"Yes," Rebecca answered, "that is the official story, but if Petir thought it was the Disciples, I am inclined to believe him."
Brandt got up from his lounge chair and paced. "That still doesn't explain why."
"It comes down to the Dead Sea Scrolls," Rebecca explained. "They were unearthed during the same time period."
"People," Brandt pleaded, "connect the dots. I need a location to hit."
Rebecca brought up a map of the Dead Sea. Long and thin, the sea not only currently provided a long border for Israel and Jordan, but historically it created a natural boundary for many other ancient civilizations. Not that Brandt would care much about that. He would care though that the Dead Sea had been a major obstacle to Moses finding the Promised Land.
"The Dead Sea Scrolls were found a few miles inland from the Dead Sea at an ancient Jewish settlement called Khirbet Qumran between 1947 and 1956."
"Then why aren't we looking over there?" Brandt demanded. Although he definitely kept to the other side of the courtyard. They hadn't been closer than a few feet since they left Slovenia. Each keeping up their side of the "you are a married man" bargain.
"Wait for it," she chided, trying to overcome the awkward distance between them. He did not seem amused. "The Dead Sea Scrolls were written far after the time frame we are looking at. They were written once the Jews found the Promised Land. We need to be searching on this side of the Dead Sea because Moses more than likely would have wanted to hide the tablets before they got to the Promised Land."
"I'm still waiting," Brandt grumbled.
"Fine," Rebecca sighed. She usually like to give a thorough historical primer before getting to the meaty stuff, but with Brandt's vein at his neck nearly bounding out of his skin, now was not the time. "Did you know that one of the first Dead Sea scrolls discovered was called the Manual of the Disciples?"
"What?" Brandt said as every head turned her way. Even Bunny sat up in her chair.
"That's right. It was later renamed the Community Scroll, however it is the only scroll known to have been altered from its original state," Rebecca explained. "It was either cut in half, stolen, or burned, depending on which account you want to believe."
Slightly more patient, Brandt worked out the history. "So you are saying that within the Dead Sea Scrolls there was a section concerning the Disciples?" Off her nod he asked, "And Abdullah was connected to this how?"
"He was a scholar, deeply invested in bringing his and even his neighbors' history to light. In the convoluted history of the scrolls, it is even rumored that King Abdullah made a bid for them." Rebecca looked up to find Brandt watching her. "As did the Syrian Orthodox Church. Which I don't think that is coincidental."
The sergeant ground his teeth. "But how does this help us find the cave?"
"Let's fast-forward," Rebecca said as she brought up another web page.
"Yes, let's," Brandt encouraged.
She noticed that Lopez, Harvish, and Davidson had pulled their chairs closer. Talli probably would have too except he was out, sitting on the top of the hotel's tall tower, keeping them safe.
"Jordan had possession of the scrolls for a year between 1966 and the Six-Day War in 1967 when the Israelis took over the Jordanian museum. Ever since then, Jordan has claimed that Israel has not been displaying the entire scrolls. They have even petitioned the UN to get the completed scrolls back."
"Great, and I really don't mean to be a broken record here, but how does that get us closer to the Rinderpest?"
Rebecca typed in a few more commands to bring up an old newspaper article from the 1960s. "Because shortly after the Six-Day War, Abdullah's grandson closed down an archeological dig on the east bank of the Dead Sea, sealing it, forbidding any to dig there again."
"So we need to go to that site?" Brandt's voice was filled with enthusiasm.
"No, of course not," Rebecca said shaking her head. This is what happened when he hurried her. "Bunny, show him the passage we translated from the new fragments."
The young woman read from her pages of translations. For someone from a younger generation, Bunny liked her handwritten notes. "The passage of most interest is this one...'Yea shall you wander. Yea shall you seek. Though it is through God's work yea shall not enter the Promised Land.'" Bunny stopped to look to the men. "If these truly are fragments of the Ten Commandments, God is foretelling Moses's transgression in pulling water from a rock, thereby angering God and forbidding Moses to enter the Promised Land."
"Got it," Brandt said. "Numbers twenty, verse eight."
Bunny looked up at the sergeant, surprised by his biblical knowledge. Rebecca, though, knew from experience his strong Catholic upbringing. However, his focus was on the story of Christ. Still, he could pull out some arcane knowledge when he needed to.
"Yes, along with twenty-eleven and twenty-twelve," Bunny confirmed. "However, this passage goes further than the biblical description. 'Neither shall the tablets upon My finger that has touched, know milk and honey. They too are not for the Chosen but for the sea and the ages and the stretch of time.'"
"And this is helpful how?" Brandt asked, although not quite as terse as before.
Bunny just continued to read from the passage. "Moses shall lay to rest upon a great Mount so that he, although forbidden to enter, may eternally look down upon the Promised Land and set guard upon the Decalogue. To the place where no fisherman may fish. No hunter may hunt. A place so desolate that no man may stumble upon the shores."
"Clearly God wasn't aware of the Dead Sea's ability to attract tourists," Harvish stated.
Brandt shot a look to his point man. The look that said "the adults are talking now."
He turned to Rebecca, itching to get going. Sitting, or pacing, around a tranquil, clay-tiled courtyard frayed his nerves. Every moment they weren't actively searching for the Rinderpest was a moment it could be released.
"Don't those passages just confirm what we already figured?" Brandt asked. "The tablets were buried somewhere on the east shore of the Dead Sea."
Rebecca shook her head. "No, not if we put everything we know together." She looked to him to make sure he wasn't going to cut her off. Trying to give her the leeway to sum this puppy up, Brandt leaned up against one of the lion fountains and crossed his arms. After all, he didn't want to give her the perception she could take forever.
"First," Rebecca said, "we now have a stationary point to start from. Mount Nebo."
"Where Moses was buried?" Brandt clarified. "But it's got a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the entire Holy Land."
"Yes, however, upon the western side there is a significant crest that would block the Promised Land, so we can assume he was buried on the northern face." She brought up a map of Jordan. She read out all areas to the south and east. It left a rather wide slice of the country. Rebecca though cut that area nearly by three quarters, eliminating everything north of the sea. "The passage makes it clear that Moses's resting place had to be within sightline of both the Promised Land and the Dead Sea."
That still left miles of coastline, but Brandt didn't press her. Once the woman got a map out, she was usually pretty damned specific about it.
"Then we add in Abdullah's dig sites," Rebecca stated as dozens of areas popped up. "Now look to where Abdullah did not dig."
There was a small corner of the country, right at the tip of the Dead Sea that held no sites. Not a one. Even to Brandt that seemed weird. The Holy Land was a patchwork of archeological digs. To have an entire area that large without one had to be purposeful.
"So you think Abdullah knew where the tablets were and didn't allow anyone to dig there?"
"No," Rebecca said. Sounding awfully chipper for a woman who kept shooting down every one of his theories. If they hadn't agreed to keep a polite distance between them, he would have given her an "encouraging" hit to the arm. "We think he somehow obtained the Disciple scroll, and based on information from the papyruses, just as we are gathering information from the tablets, he conducted secret, government digs in the area."
"And you deduced this how?" Brandt asked, smelling genius on the horizon.
Rebecca cocked her head, that knowing grin on her face. She pointed to an area right at the border between Jordan and Israel. "A rather funny place to put a Da'irat al-Mukhabarat al-'Ammah outpost, don't you think?"
Why yes, it would be odd to put a Jordanian General Intelligence Department outpost way out there. The secret police usually hid their headquarters in populated areas. Not way out on the edge of the Dead Sea.
"And the only photo we could find of this outpost," Rebecca said, calling it up on her screen, "shows that it was primarily built underground."
The hairs on Brandt's arm stood up. The place was perfect for Amed. This supposed "outpost" would have power to run the refrigeration units the Rinderpest would need and provide great security. No one but no one in Jordan would think to disturb a General Intelligence Department office. And those within Jordan's secret police would be the most likely to help a radical terrorist like Amed.
He looked at Rebecca. "You really couldn't have just led with this?"
"Nope," she answered with a warm grin that cooled rapidly until she ultimately looked away. Brandt missed the radiance of that smile, which was probably best.
Time to punch the fucking clock.
CHAPTER 20.
Sowayma Nahias, Jordan 10:44 p.m. GMT Rebecca looked out the window as the Renault Kangoo, possibly the worst-named SUV in the world, drove through the darkened streets of Jordan. Tan building after tan building passed by. While she didn't speak Arabic, the shops were pretty clear. Clothes, grocery, photographers. Like so many other third-world countries, the paint was flaking off the buildings and the windows were smudged, some even broken. That oil money didn't necessarily make it all the way downstream to the populace.
The low, tired buildings stood in stark contrast to the opulence of the resort. It was hard to reconcile the two could exist in the same country. Here on the outskirts of town, dust choked the air and the dry air threatened to split your skin. They passed the last billboard, a drink advertisement with a woman in a burka. Again, so different from the resort that had predominately English signage and directions.
As soon as they were outside the town proper, Lopez made a left off the paved road and headed out into the desert. Rocks popped and crunched under the wheels. Did the sound bother Rebecca so much because it sounded like distant gunfire, or was it just really, really annoying? It couldn't be helped though.
Once far enough out into the desert Lopez turned the headlights off, driving by wan moonlight and GPS. Luckily there wasn't much more than desert and more desert this far west.