Never mind.
“Who do you think aimed this missile?” Kesev said, trying to lighten the leaden mood that had settled on the cabin. “A blind man?”
“Yeah,” the pilot said. “Ayatollah Stevie Wonder.”
The copilot laughed and Kesev forced a smile, all the while wanting to ask, Who is Stevie Wonder? But he feared sounding out of touch. He was ever on guard against sounding out of touch.
“Yeah,” the copilot said. “Someone put a mean hook on that SCUD.”
“Hook?”
“You ever play golf, sir?”
Kesev had tried it once or twice but had been unable to comprehend the fascination the game held for so many of his countrymen.
“Of course.”
“Well, you aim a SCUD at Tel Aviv and it just misses the Dead Sea. I’d say that’s one hell of a hook.”
Missed Tel Aviv by 120 miles. That was indeed far off course. Too far off. Almost...
Don’t think crazy thoughts, he told himself. It’s an accident. Just another one of those crazy things that just seem to happen.
But he’d long known from personal experience that some things that seemed to “just happen,” didn’t.
And he trembled at the possibility that this errant SCUD incident might be one of those.
‡
The Judean Wilderness
Achmed darted about the field, collecting metal scraps of assorted sizes until both arms were full, then he scampered back and dumped his finds on the steadily growing pile by the donkey. The clang of metal on metal echoed like cracked bells through the still air.
On his next run, he ranged farther, searching for the crater where the missile had exploded. He figured he might find the most metal there. Then again, he might not—the blast might have hurled it in all directions, leaving metal everywhere but the crater. But either way, he wanted to see it, be near it, wanted to stand in the heart of its power.
He thought he saw a depression on the far side of the field, at the base of the opposite wall of the canyon. He ran for it.
As he neared he noticed that the otherwise smooth sand of the field was increasingly littered with shards of stone and streaks of darker earth, and how that trees surrounding the depression were broken or knocked flat. The sparse grass smoked from fires that had already burned out.
This was it. The missile must have exploded here.
When he arrived at the crater he saw that the blast had shattered part of the cliff wall, causing a minor landslide into the crater. A deep cavity there in the wall. Almost as if...
He picked up a stone and hurled it at the hollow. It flew into the blackness but did not bounce back. It disappeared, as if it had been swallowed. Then Achmed heard it strike. Not with the solid impact of rock upon rock—with more of a clink. And then a clatter. As if it had struck something hard and thin and hollow...and broken it.
Achmed stood on the crumbling rim of the crater and stared into the blackness in the wall. No mere blast cavity here. This was a cave. He shivered with anticipation as thoughts of Muhammad adh-Dhib raced through his mind. Every Bedouin knew the story of the ten-year-old boy who discovered the first Dead Sea scrolls in Qumran, not too many miles north of here; the tale had been told around the fires for more than half a century. And had there been a Bedouin boy since who did not dream of finding similar treasure?
“Nabil! Nabil come quickly! And bring the light!”
Nabil come running up. “What is it?”
“I think I’ve found a cave!” Achmed said, pointing to the dark splotch in the wall.
Nabil snorted. “There are caves all over these hills.”
“No. A secret cave.”
Nabil froze an instant, then flicked on the flashlight and aimed the beam into the darkness. Achmed’s heart picked up its rhythm when he saw the smooth edges of the opening and the deep blackness beyond.
“You’re right, little brother.” Nabil kept the beam trained on the opening as he moved around the rim of the crater. “It is a cave.”
Achmed followed him to the mouth. Together they peered in. The floor of the cave was littered with small rock fragments, a thick layer of dust, and...something else.
The beam picked out an object with four short straight legs and what appeared to be a seat.
Achmed said, “Is that —?
“A bench or a chair of some sort.”
Achmed was shaking with excitement. He grabbed Nabil’s shoulder and found that his brother too was shaking.
“Let’s go in,” Nabil said.
Achmed’s dry mouth would not allow him to speak. He followed his brother’s lead, climbing over the pile of broken and fallen-away stone. They entered the cave in silence.
Dry, musty air within, laden with dust. Achmed coughed and rubbed his nose. They approached the little bench, covered with a think coat of dust like everything else. Achmed reached out to brush the dust away, to see what sort of wood it was made of. He touched it lightly.
The bench gave way, falling in on itself, crumbling, disintegrating into a lumpy pile of rotted flakes.
“Oaf!” Nabil hissed.
“May Allah be my witness, I barely touched it!”
Apparently Nabil believe him. “Then this cave must have been sealed for a long time. This place is old.”
He flashed the beam around. To the right—another bench and what looked like a low table; to the left—
Nabil’s gasp echoed Achmed’s.
Urns. Two of them: one lying on its side, broken; the other upright, intact, its domed lid securely in place.
“That’s what my stone must have hit!”
Nabil was already moving forward. He angled the beam into the broken urn.
“A scroll!!” His older brother’s voice was hushed. “There’s a scroll in this one! It’s torn and crumbling...it’s ancient!”
Achmed dropped quivering to his knees in the dust.
“Allah be praised! He has led us here!”
Nabil lifted the lid of the second urn and beamed the light into its mouth.
“More scrolls! Achmed, they will be singing our names around the night fires for generations!”
“Allah be praised!” Achmed was too overcome to think of anything else too say.
Nabil replaced the lid and swung the flashlight beam back to the broken urn.
“You take that one. It’s already broken but be careful! We don’t want to do any more damage to that scroll. I’ll take the unbroken one.”
Achmed bent, slipped his sweating, trembling palms under the broken urn, and gently lifted it into his arms as if it were a cranky infant brother who had finally fallen asleep. He rose to his feet and edged toward the mouth of the cave. He didn’t need the flashlight beam to light his exit—after the deep night of this tiny cave, the moonlit canyon outside seemed noon bright. He stepped carefully over the jumbled rocks outside the mouth, then waited on level ground for Nabil.
This is wonderful, he thought. Our family will be rich, and Nabil and I will be famous.
He saw the hand of Allah in this, rewarding him for his daily prayers, his fasting, and his strict observance of Holy Days. He turned and faced south, toward Mecca, and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Then he looked at the moon, thanking Allah for making it bright tonight.
But the prayer choked in his throat and he nearly dropped the treasure in his arms when he noticed a figure standing atop the far cliff they had skirted to reach this canyon. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, it seemed to be watching him. For a moment he was transfixed with fear, then he heard Nabil behind him. He turned to see his brother stepping over the rubble before the cave mouth.