Syrrell has told you, this crisis does not revolve around a mythical clock.â The priestâs blurred image leaned in closer. âThe Black Madonna. Remember this name. If you hear it mentioned, any fragment of information at all, you must contact me, Agent Webb. Immediately.â
SEVEN
H ARRY BENNETT WATCHED THE LIGHT fade. An hour earlier, when he had first awoken, the window across from his bed had framed a vision of purest gold. It was as fine a welcome-back as he could have ever imagined.
His brain felt fuzzy around the edges. Every motion had a tentative feel, as though he could rip the veil of drugs apart with one wrong move. Even shifting his gaze stretched his cocoon of safety.
Desert sunsets were slippery things. Back on the Herodium dig, the sun had dropped like a big red stone. Bang and gone in what felt like ten seconds. The Herodium crew usually stopped what they were doing and watched the western hills become a rim of burnished gold, then copper, then rust, then a simple silhouette against the stars. The heat faded more slowly. But by the time everybody had showered and gathered for dinner, the night winds carried a chill that would have seemed impossible a couple of hours earlier. Harry never thought he would look back on Herodium with fondness. But just then, being able to recall anything at all made for an extremely fine moment.
A nurse passed through the hall turning on the lights and shutting the windows. At least Harry thought she was a nurse. She wore a colored scarf over her dark hair and a tattered bluesurgeonâs shirt over blue jeans and house slippers. She checked on several patients as she passed their beds. Harryâs field of vision gradually expanded to where he could take in the long chamber where he lay. Beds lined both walls, and every one that Harry could see was occupied. The nurse shut the window against the night breeze, crossed the aisle, and spoke to the kid in the bed beside Harry. The nurse stroked the forehead of the silent boy, then she noticed that Harryâs eyes were open.
She walked over and spoke to him. Harry thought for a moment that the drugs kept him from understanding. Then he realized she had addressed him in Arabic.
The nurse spoke again. Harry remained silent. It was not a conscious decision. He felt as though he needed to get his head fully around whatever it was that had landed him here. Wherever here was.
Then a pair of policemen appeared behind the nurse. They wore dark blue uniforms with Arabic lettering sewn in gold on their sleeves and above their shirt pockets. The nurse plucked a tattered ID from the white metal table beside Harryâs bed and handed it to them. The policemen studied it, inspected the bandages covering Harryâs forehead and cheek, then handed back the ID. As the nurse stowed it away, Harry recognized the ID as belonging to the parrot-faced guard he had last seen outside the alley.
Harry decided if the policemen and the nurse all thought he looked like that guy, he must be in as bad shape as he felt.
His thirst was so fierce Harry couldnât let the nurse go. So he slowly ungummed his mouth. The nurse got the message and lifted a cup and fitted the plastic straw into his mouth. Harry sucked and moaned and sucked until the straw hit air.
One of the cops spoke to him in Arabic. Harry followed the guy with his eyes but made no move to speak. Not yet, he decided. He had, after all, been wandering a Hebron street well after midnight in search of illicit gold. Which was bound to rank fairly low on the Palestiniansâ list of decent jobs.
Not to mention the fact that he was a professional salvager. Who just happened to be in Hebron secretly helping the Israelis track down counterfeiters.
The other cop chimed in with the first one. Harry followed the exchange with his eyes, thinking, Thanks just the same, but I think Iâll sit this one out.
Then he made the mistake of trying to cough.
Harry had never
SEVEN
H ARRY BENNETT WATCHED THE LIGHT fade. An hour earlier, when he had first awoken, the window across from his bed had framed a vision of purest gold. It was as fine a welcome-back as he could have ever imagined.
His brain felt fuzzy around the edges. Every motion had a tentative feel, as though he could rip the veil of drugs apart with one wrong move. Even shifting his gaze stretched his cocoon of safety.
Desert sunsets were slippery things. Back on the Herodium dig, the sun had dropped like a big red stone. Bang and gone in what felt like ten seconds. The Herodium crew usually stopped what they were doing and watched the western hills become a rim of burnished gold, then copper, then rust, then a simple silhouette against the stars. The heat faded more slowly. But by the time everybody had showered and gathered for dinner, the night winds carried a chill that would have seemed impossible a couple of hours earlier. Harry never thought he would look back on Herodium with fondness. But just then, being able to recall anything at all made for an extremely fine moment.
A nurse passed through the hall turning on the lights and shutting the windows. At least Harry thought she was a nurse. She wore a colored scarf over her dark hair and a tattered bluesurgeonâs shirt over blue jeans and house slippers. She checked on several patients as she passed their beds. Harryâs field of vision gradually expanded to where he could take in the long chamber where he lay. Beds lined both walls, and every one that Harry could see was occupied. The nurse shut the window against the night breeze, crossed the aisle, and spoke to the kid in the bed beside Harry. The nurse stroked the forehead of the silent boy, then she noticed that Harryâs eyes were open.
She walked over and spoke to him. Harry thought for a moment that the drugs kept him from understanding. Then he realized she had addressed him in Arabic.
The nurse spoke again. Harry remained silent. It was not a conscious decision. He felt as though he needed to get his head fully around whatever it was that had landed him here. Wherever here was.
Then a pair of policemen appeared behind the nurse. They wore dark blue uniforms with Arabic lettering sewn in gold on their sleeves and above their shirt pockets. The nurse plucked a tattered ID from the white metal table beside Harryâs bed and handed it to them. The policemen studied it, inspected the bandages covering Harryâs forehead and cheek, then handed back the ID. As the nurse stowed it away, Harry recognized the ID as belonging to the parrot-faced guard he had last seen outside the alley.
Harry decided if the policemen and the nurse all thought he looked like that guy, he must be in as bad shape as he felt.
His thirst was so fierce Harry couldnât let the nurse go. So he slowly ungummed his mouth. The nurse got the message and lifted a cup and fitted the plastic straw into his mouth. Harry sucked and moaned and sucked until the straw hit air.
One of the cops spoke to him in Arabic. Harry followed the guy with his eyes but made no move to speak. Not yet, he decided. He had, after all, been wandering a Hebron street well after midnight in search of illicit gold. Which was bound to rank fairly low on the Palestiniansâ list of decent jobs.
Not to mention the fact that he was a professional salvager. Who just happened to be in Hebron secretly helping the Israelis track down counterfeiters.
The other cop chimed in with the first one. Harry followed the exchange with his eyes, thinking, Thanks just the same, but I think Iâll sit this one out.
Then he made the mistake of trying to cough.
Harry had never
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