“You got something?” Sean asked, hovering over the spot where Tommy was looking.
“Maybe,” he shook his head. “It’s so small I can barely see it. And the angle is awkward. It looks like ancient Hebrew, though.”
Sean took out his phone and handed it to his friend after letting his thumbprint unlock the screen. “Take a picture of it.”
Tommy nodded and accepted the device. He gently dipped his hand into the box and pressed the button. The flash seared their vision for a second, blasting a blinding cloud of bright white through the chamber. Tommy looked at the image on the screen. “Got it,” he said. “There’s something else near the other foot. I’m going to take a picture of that too.”
As he leaned in, he realized that the writing had been placed in a similar fashion, but the symbols were different. He took another picture and then handed the device back to Sean.
“What do you think?”
Sean studied each image for a moment. “Not sure. It’s definitely some variation of ancient Hebrew or Aramaic. Karem?”
He passed the phone to their driver, who took a quick look. He slowly shook his head. “I have seen this before, but I would need a little time to analyze it and come up with a translation.”
“Maybe we should send it to the kids,” Sean suggested.
Tommy nodded. “Good idea.”
6
Mamoud ran his fingers along the edge of the ancient tablet. He sat at the end of a long dining table. Made from English oak, it had been imported years ago by his father. When Mamoud moved into the coastal mansion, he’d brought it with him. The stone tablet rested safely on a satin towel so as not to scratch the expensive table’s surface. His finger moved from the outer edge of the stone to the inner lines and shapes. He had no idea what he was looking at, but he was quite sure of what it would lead him to.
The man at the other end of the table seemed bent on not giving him the interpretations Mamoud required.
“Are you familiar with some of the ancient torture methods of King Xerxes of Persia, Doctor?”
The older man opposite him trembled in his seat. His long gray beard looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in over a year. The skin on his balding head was tanned both from weeks of being in the sun and a lifetime of work that kept him outdoors. His wireframe glasses rested atop a broad, almost droopy nose. Wrinkles above both cheeks also belied his age. The eyes, however, were keen and fierce. While his body trembled, the greenish-brown orbs told a different story. Two guards stood directly behind Nehem Ben Asher. One of them was Sharouf.
“I am familiar with much in regards to history, Mamoud. Though I prefer not to study such barbaric traditions as that.” His voice was even and sharp.
Mamoud reached out and picked up a small silver cup. He put it to his lips and took a long sip of the hot tea. “That’s a shame. They were truly quite adept at the art of inflicting pain on their prisoners. My ancestors come from a line that goes all the way back to Xerxes himself.”
“All of our lines intersect at one point or another, Mamoud. What is your point?”
The young Arab ignored the insolence, instead appreciating the man’s boldness. “I like how you are direct and to the point. That must be the scientist in you.”
“I see no reason to be otherwise,” Nehem said defiantly.
“Nor do I, Doctor, which is why I must ask you again why you won’t do as my man asks.”
Nehem took in a deep breath and tilted his head back. “The relics you seek belong to the kingdom of Israel. No one else. Even in the hands of the Israeli government, those objects could be of great danger to the world. They can only be given to the most careful and trustworthy individuals whose hearts are as pure as snow.”
Mamoud raised an eyebrow and flashed a cynical glare. “Hearts as pure as snow? I’m not here for a lesson in morals, Doctor. I need you to decipher the tablet code.”
“Why?” Nehem raised his hands off the table, a move that caused Sharouf to put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.
Mamoud raised a hand, signaling for his guard to release the hostage. “It’s fine, Sharouf. He’s of no threat to us.”
Sharouf obeyed and took a reluctant step back.
“Why?” Mamoud repeated the question. “Because I am a lover of all things in history, and of all religions.” He almost laughed at his own lie as it came from his lips.
Nehem snorted in derision. “What is the real reason you want the relics, Mamoud? You already have everything a man could want in this world. What would you need with those things?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, old man. But I will tell you this: You will give me the translation to the tablet, or I will make sure that before you die you experience more pain than you have ever imagined.” He leaned forward, folding his hands and resting his elbows on the table. “Give us the translations to the tablet, and lead us to the relics, or I swear to you, you will wish you were dead.”
The old archaeologist stared at him with an unwavering gaze. His nervous shaking had ceased, and he found new resolve in the threat. “You can do your worst to me, Mamoud. I will never give you the translations or the location of the Hoshen. They do not belong to you. I do not know what you want with them, but whatever the reason, I am most certain it is not for the cause of good.”
Mamoud feigned disappointment. “Why, Doctor, you believe that I serve the forces of evil? You couldn’t be more wrong about that. Just as you couldn’t be wrong in your assumption that I can’t make you tell me what the tablet says. And the fact that you mentioned not telling me the location means you’ve already figured that part out.”
Nehem’s demeanor shifted noticeably, to a much less comfortable affect.
“It’s okay,” Mamoud reassured him. “You are understandably stubborn. But your beliefs are misplaced. You think that I aim to torture you into submission?”
The doctor glanced over one shoulder and then the other at the guards behind him. “Why else would you ask me about ancient torture methods? I know your reputation. You are a cruel, evil man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
Mamoud rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps that’s true, but I do it all for the right reasons.”
“Greed is never a right reason.”
“Greed? Oh, I’m not greedy. I have no want for anything, Nehem. Look around you. I live in a palace on the beach.” He put his hands out as if displaying the surroundings to his unwilling guest. “I have everything I could ever desire.”
“Then what drives you, Mamoud? Power?”
The young Arab stood up and walked deliberately to the other end of the table. His expensive Italian leather shoes clicked on the hard floor with every step. When he reached the chair where Nehem sat, he folded his hands in front of him, keeping them at waist level.
“All men want power, Nehem. I have that as well. I could snap my fingers, and a hundred people would do my bidding, no matter what the order. The reason for my search will be revealed to you soon enough, when you provide me with the translations and, apparently, the location.”
Nehem’s head went back and forth slowly. “I’ll never tell you. You can torture me all you want. You’ll not get your dirty fingers on those holy relics.”
“I see.” Mamoud started to spin around and walk back to his seat, but he stopped, instead putting one hand on the table and bending over, putting his face only a foot away from the older man’s. The closeness made Nehem uncomfortable, but he forced himself to keep a straight face and not flinch.