P. Deutermann - The Last Man

“PM thought so,” Ellerstein pointed out, “and he’s the one under the gun from the Americans. The settlement question. Hamas making nice with Fatah. Egypt ‘resetting’ their diplomatic relations with us. Get this problem five thousand miles away from here — that’s a good plan, he thinks.”

Gulder grunted in the darkness of the backseat.

“You’ve alerted the appropriate people at the U.S. Embassy?” Ellerstein asked.

“Yes,” Gulder said. “One of our special friends has had a word with one of their special friends. Once Hall gets back to the States someone will come around, quite informally, of course. Invoking old associations when Hall was in the nuclear nonproliferation world. Just a few questions about some rumors of heavy water diversion at Dimona.”

“As a test?”

“Yes, as a test,” Gulder said. “Who knows what he will do. If he doesn’t talk, the matter is settled. If he does, then the PM can say to that dreadful woman, look, you people are pushing too hard. See what almost happened? What passions you’re stirring up here? Zealots again. We need some breathing room here. Back off, Madame Secretary. Get back on your fancy airplane and go fix the Arab street, eh?”

Ellerstein smiled to himself in the darkness. One of his professors back in New York had told him a golden rule: If you can’t dazzle them with brains, baffle them with bullshit. The cover stories were about right. Subtle, even, if he didn’t mind saying so himself. Gulder had had his doubts, but the PM had seen it right away. Besides, the American, Hall, had done Israel an amazing turn with his theories about the ancient Zealots. Ultimately, they owed the real debt to Adrian Draper. One of their own.

“Such amazing things they discovered.”

“Yes, indeed,” Gulder said. “That menorah. The scrolls, even the holders. Amazing, and so beautiful. Imagine what the whole thing must have looked like, so very long ago.”

“And the tablets — the bricks. All those names. Josephus got it right.”

“Nine hundred and eighty, not nine hundred and sixty.”

Ellerstein gave him a spare-me look. “Tell me,” he asked, “what did the Pharisees and Scribes decide about that bronze bowl?”

“A run-of-the-mill first-century wine bowl,” Gulder replied. “Nothing special. The patriarch was, apparently, not amused.”

The car phone rang. Gulder picked it up, listened, and began to dictate instructions. Ellerstein tuned him out, sat back in his seat, and fished for his pipe. Judith had told him again about the final lines on the wall, what she thought they might mean, and what that plain little bowl might really be. Of course, the lines had faded after being soaked during their escape, so now, once again, there was no evidence.

Something new for the Christians to argue about for a change, he thought with a smile. Wouldn’t that have been something, though.

The Cat Dancers

Spider Mountain

The Moonpool

Nightwalkers

The Last Man

The Firefly

Darkside

Hunting Season

Train Man

Zero Option

Sweepers

Official Privilege

Pacific Glory

The Edge of Honor

Scorpion in the Sea

P. T. DEUTERMANN spent twenty-six years in military and government service before retiring to begin his writing career. He is the author of fifteen novels and lives with his wife in North Carolina.