Juan Gómez-Jurado - Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

‘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 assistant 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 Larsen, one of Professor Forrester’s assistants.

‘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 appetite 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 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.’

RED SEA

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

On deck it was already dark. Andrea emerged from the passageway 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 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 assistants 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 or the 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 butt 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 butt 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.

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

The first thing that Andrea felt was the cold water knifing through her extremities. She thrashed her arms around, trying to get back to the surface. It took her two seconds to realise that she didn’t know which way was up. The little air that she had in her lungs was running out. She let her breath out slowly to see which direction the bubbles travelled in, but in the total darkness it was useless. She was losing strength and her lungs were desperate for air. She knew that if she inhaled water she was dead. She gritted her teeth, swore not to open her mouth and tried to think.

Fuck. It can’t be, not like this. It can’t end like this.

She moved her arms again, trusting that she was swimming towards the surface, when she felt something powerful pulling at her.

Suddenly her face was in the air again and she gasped. Someone was holding her up by the shoulder. Andrea tried to turn.

‘Easy does it! Breathe slowly!’ Father Fowler was yelling in her ear, trying to make himself heard above the roar of the ship’s propellers. Andrea was shocked to see how the force of the water was dragging them closer to the back of the ship. ‘Listen to me! Don’t turn yet or we’ll both die. Relax. Take off your shoes. Move your legs slowly. In fifteen seconds we’ll be in dead water from the ship’s wake. Then I’ll let you go. Swim away as hard as you can!’

Andrea used her feet to slip off her shoes, all the while staring at the churning grey foam that could suck them to their deaths. They were barely forty feet from the propellers. She suppressed the impulse to break loose from Fowler and move in the opposite direction. Her ear-drums were ringing, and the fifteen seconds seemed like forever.

‘Now!’ Fowler screamed.

Andrea felt the suction stop. She swam in the opposite direction to the propellers, away from their infernal drone. It was almost two minutes later when the priest, who had followed her closely, grabbed her arm.

‘We made it.’

The young reporter turned her eyes towards the ship. It was now quite far away and she could only see one of its sides, which was illuminated by several searchlights aimed at the water. They had started hunting for them.

‘Fuck,’ Andrea said, as she struggled to stay afloat. Fowler grabbed her before she went completely under.