David Epperson - The Third Day

On our trip to the lab in Tel Aviv, Lavon had described him as a scion of Old Money Dallas, whose “job,” from what he could tell, consisted of being wined and dined by his pals at the toxic, crony-ridden cesspools we otherwise recognize as the big Wall Street banks.

The archaeologist must have noticed my strain, though I hoped he couldn’t read my true thoughts.

“What about you?” I asked, more to change the subject than to gather information.

“I’m struggling through some things myself,” he said. “Assuming we make it back, the world’s going to be different for us all.”

Of that, I was certain. I simply had no idea how.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. Markowitz returned to our shelter at dawn to wake the rest of us, after which he trudged back up the hill to resume his duties alongside the Professor at our makeshift observation post.

Once we had light enough to see, we discovered a small pool of water tucked away in an isolated corner of our rocky lair — a remnant from yesterday’s showers — though food remained an issue.

Lavon gave us a brief moment of hope in that regard.

As we had observed at the village coming in, ancient harvesting practices were remarkably inefficient. Furthermore, Mosaic Law allowed the reapers only one pass at each field. After that, the poor had the right to come in and glean anything that remained.

Since the barley harvest had just concluded, this sounded promising, although Naomi quickly discovered that any fields within striking distance of the main road had already been picked clean.

“Worth a try, anyway,” Lavon said as she returned.

She offered to venture farther out, but none of us wanted to take the chance that we could become separated.

I briefly considered slipping out and trying to nab a stray goat, but Lavon vetoed this as well. We had enough trouble as it was without bringing a posse of angry shepherds down upon our heads.

“We’ll just have to put aside thoughts of food,” he said.

In an effort to divert our minds, the four of us crept up to the crest of the ridge overlooking our shelter. In the distance, we could see a couple of boys driving a small flock of lambs, but otherwise all remained quiet. The denizens of Jerusalem took the Sabbath very seriously indeed.

“I wonder how voluntary this is?” I asked.

Lavon didn’t know, nor could he ascertain from Naomi the degree to which compliance was underpinned by an organized body of religious enforcers, like the Saudi mutaween or the Iranian basij .

“Given her situation, she has no interest in the topic, one way or the other,” he explained.

***

In truth, the enforcement of the Sabbath wasn’t our most pressing issue, either.

I glanced back to the opposite side of the ravine to verify that Bryson and Markowitz remained at their posts and then directed the others to return to our shelter.

“What’s our plan now?” I asked after we had found a comfortable spot in the shade.

They agreed that we had a choice to make.

At that moment, we still had an opportunity to flee to the coast. But the window would close quickly, and when it did — and if the transport apparatus remained inoperative past Sunday — our odds of survival would dwindle to zero.

“It’s that simple,” said Lavon.

None of us argued; but none of us got up to make a run for it, either. The truth was: we all wanted to know, and I had become as fixated on the topic as the others. We had come too close to do anything else.

Working in our favor, Naomi still believed that the palace commanders would wait until mid-morning before sending out other guards to make inquiry.

Furthermore, these men would sally forth with the expectation of finding their comrades resting under a shade tree, sated and drunk, using the Sabbath as an excuse for their inactivity. At least initially, they would be in no hurry.

I did some mental arithmetic and felt even better.

Even if Herod’s relief party found their comrades’ bodies quickly, they would need time to get back to the palace on foot. If Lavon’s hypothesis was correct, Herod, like the Temple authorities, would then have to obtain clearance from Pilate to assemble a larger armed force.

None of this would happen immediately, and with luck, an intensive search for our whereabouts wouldn’t begin in earnest until the following day.

“Of course,” Lavon explained, “the downside is that the Romans might feel compelled to join in the hunt, if for no other reason than to save face. That will change everything.”

I had to concur. While Naomi’s tricks had worked on Herod’s men, I had no doubt that once Roman professionals set out to track us down, we’d never stand a chance.

But the question still remained: when?

“What is our window to retrieve the camera?” I asked. “I read somewhere that the Resurrection accounts all differ in their chronology.”

Lavon conceded that the Gospels varied in their particulars, such as the number of women who first ventured out to the tomb, whether they saw one angel or two, or the names of the disciples who ran back to the grave site to investigate the women’s tale.

“But the timing is consistent,” he explained. “The women showed up at the tomb with their spices at the crack of dawn, more or less. Once there, they saw that someone had rolled the stone away and that the body was missing.

“Although the Gospels differed as to the exact sequence of what happened next, they all agreed that shortly thereafter, the women hurried back into the city to inform the others.”

“How long would this take?” I asked.

Lavon glanced up at the sky and conversed briefly with Naomi.

“We don’t know exactly where in Jerusalem they were coming from,” he said, “but I’d guess it took at least half an hour to get back to their hiding place; maybe more. They would have wanted to make sure they weren’t followed, so they probably didn’t take the shortest route.”

“Once they returned, the disciples didn’t believe the story,” Sharon added.

“That’s right,” said Lavon. “Luke says they ‘considered it nonsense,’ and we all know about Thomas. I’m sure they argued a while before a few of them finally decided to check things out for themselves.”

“So we have at least another half hour, then, to retrieve the camera and make ourselves scarce before anyone comes back?” I said.

Lavon nodded. “Probably an hour; perhaps even two. Remember, the disciples feared they were still being hunted. Pilate may have decided to take the ‘strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter’ approach, but the remaining eleven didn’t know this at the time.”

“Didn’t they run; run to the tomb, I mean?” asked Sharon.

“Yes, but the Gospels don’t say exactly when they started. Running men would have drawn attention, so my own thought is that they tried to keep a low profile until they got safely outside the city walls.”

“What about the guards?” I asked.

“Matthew is the only one of the four Gospels to mention them, and he only says that they went back into the city along with the women. Unfortunately, we don’t have any more details.”

“Any idea how many there will be?”

“More than one. That’s all I can say.”

***

Now that we had a plan, we spent the rest of the day watching and waiting — which in many respects is the hardest task of all.

For his part, Bryson paced back and forth all afternoon as he rehashed a litany of potential technical disasters.

“What if the recording fails?” he muttered.

“What if the battery runs out?”

“What if I’ve set the timer wrong?”