Adam Palmer: The Boudicca Parchments

Perhaps the sender doesn’t know that the image is out of focus.

That was the other problem. He didn’t know who the sender was. The sender’s number had shown up on his system but it wasn’t some one in his address book — at least not with this number — because no name showed up with it.

He pressed the key to return the call. It went straight to voice mail.

“Hallo, I am unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message and I will get back to you.”

But Daniel decided not to leave a message, for two reasons. First of all, he was responding to something that had been sent to him. It was for the sender to explain his reasons and tell him what this was all about. He didn’t have to leap through hoops for the anonymous sender. Secondly, the sender was no longer anonymous. It had taken him a few seconds, but as the voice mail announcement played out, he recognized a voice from the past.

It was some one whom he had no particular desire to talk to.

In the hut at the edge of the dig site, the man was standing over the body and agonizing with indecision. The mobile phone showed that the message had gone through. Whether the recipient had seen it was another matter. He looked at the image and saw that it was blurred.

Will he be able to read it?

The man realized that even if the recipient couldn’t read the text, it was clear enough to arouse his curiosity. And that meant that he would follow it up. So the question was, what to do next?

Right now he found himself with a body and this presented him with both a problem and an opportunity.

From his pocket, he removed another phone and selected a name from an address book. He pressed the button and his phone called a number in Israel.

“Hallo?” said an old man at the other end of the line.

“It’s Morgan… Sam Morgan.”

“I know. Why are you calling me at this time?”

Irascible as ever . That was the only adjective to describe the man. And “foreign” of course. Even from the few words that he had spoken, the thick accent stood out.

“We’ve got a problem. I’m at the dig site. One of the digging team found a scroll.”

“Why did you wait till this unearthly hour to call me?”

“Because he only just found it.”

“What, now ? What time is it there?”

“Nearly midnight. He was digging after hours. I think he wasn’t part of the official team. But I know him. He’s a sleazy little man called Martin Costa.”

“And where is he now?”

“I’ve dealt with him.”

“How?”

“Permanently.”

“Then why did you call me?”

“Because he took a picture of it with his mobile phone and sent it to some one else?”

“Do we know who?”

Morgan hesitated for a moment. This was it — the crossing of the Rubicon moment.

“Yes. A man called Daniel Klein.”

“And who is this Daniel Klein?”

“He’s a professor or Semitic languages at University College London.”

“And you think he’ll be able to interpret the scroll?”

“The image was too blurred. He probably won’t be able to read the writing.”

“Then I return to my earlier question. Why did you call?”

“Because if he can read even part of it, then it’ll arouse his curiosity and he might start snooping around.”

“Well then I suggest you deal with this Mr. Klein.”

Martin I Costa.

Daniel Klein remembered the name all too well. But it was a name that he would rather forget. He had crossed paths with Costa more than once. And every time, his opinion of Costa had diminished a little more.

Martin Ignatius Costa had started out legitimate enough. He had been an Associate Professor of Theology at Cambridge, with a strong interest in archaeology. But he also had a gambling habit that had proved something of a drain on his academician’s salary. So he had taken the expedient solution of augmenting that income by doing a little business on the side, forging historical artefacts and “discovering” them at dig sites. He didn’t, at this stage, try to sell them privately. He confined himself to cashing in on the prestige of their discovery and writing paid articles in the popular press.

Unfortunately this line of business could only carry him so far and at a certain point he over-reached himself and committed the cardinal sin of getting found out. That pretty much put the kibosh on his academic career. Sacked in disgrace, he was, quite naturally, blacklisted by the rest of the academic community, and found himself with no income but with a mountain of debt that was growing by the day.

A lucky win at the racetrack enabled him to clear the decks regarding his debt and for a while he was able to supported himself as a lowly tour guide, giving guided tours of famous historical sites. But the lure of the nags and the roulette wheel proved too much for him and he found himself once again lapsing into debt, this time supporting it by a lucrative trade in stolen artefacts and Romano-British treasure found on other people’s land and removed without the landowners knowledge or consent.

He steered clear of forgery, because if he got caught — even once — it would destroy his reputation amongst the clients of stolen artefacts. It was enough that he had to convince them to ignore his unceremonious dismissal from academia. At least on that occasion he had avoided a criminal conviction. If he now got busted for forgery, he would never again be trusted when he tried to sell stolen items to rich corrupt collectors, or to claim insurance reward money.

There might be no honour among thieves, but there was certainly a keen sense of self-preservation.

Over the years, Daniel had had various brushes with Martin I Costa. A couple of times, Costa had come into possession of items stolen from digs that Daniel was working on. On one occasion, Daniel had even been implicated as an accomplice. In the end, Daniel had managed to clear his name. But the bitter after-taste of the experience had left him wary of coming into any sort of contact with Costa. He wasn’t afraid of Costa, except in the sense that a man might be afraid of fleas. But as fleas go, Costa was particularly irritating.

So why had Costa contacted him now? And what was this picture that he had sent him?

Daniel had been ready to ask Costa straight out if the call had got through. But he wasn’t prepared to talk to a machine. If Costa wanted to talk, it was up to him to make himself available. Daniel wasn’t going to chase him.

But something about this image fascinated him. And he did not know why.

It was not clear enough for him to make out the content. But there was something about it that suggested that he shouldn’t ignore it. So he uploaded it to his Cloud account, to make sure that it was properly and adequately backed up and also to ensure that he could access it from anywhere in the world.

But at the back of his mind, he was wondering why Costa had sent it to him. He was still wondering when he got a text from Costa.

“Low on credit and juice. Did you get the picture?”

That was no doubt why he hadn’t answered the phone. Daniel felt like telling Costa to get lost. But it was hard to do that when his curiosity was aroused. So instead, he replied:

“Yes Costa. What is it?”

The reply came two minutes later.

“Need to meet you. Will tell you then.”

Daniel wasn’t going to be pressured into any meetings. He was not going to play the role of Martin Costa’s puppet — dancing to his tune. But the fact that Costa was anxious, gave Daniel at least the opportunity to probe a little further. He texted back.