Jake ignored the exchange.

“These people are lunatics,” he went on. “They throw rocks so people can’t drive on the Sabbath. They put up posters damning archaeologists by name. I get calls over and over in the middle of the night, recorded messages, cursing me to die of cancer, hoping that terrible things happen to my family.”

Jake’s eyes closed against the fluorescents burning overhead.

“It wasn’t the tomb,” he repeated. “They know that tomb’s empty. And they haven’t a clue about its true importance.”

“Then what did they want?” I asked, confused.

Jake’s eyes opened.

“I’ll tell you what they wanted. The rabbi kept demanding the remains of the hero of Masada.”

Masada Max.

Whom we’d left in a loculus not twenty feet from them.

“Will they search the tomb?”

“What do you think?” An ornery ten-year-old.

I refused to be sucked in by Jake’s foul mood.

“I think it depends on whether they saw us with the hockey bag.”

“Give the lady a big gold star.”

The little lady.

Jake lowered his arm and stared at his clenched fist. For a few seconds, no one spoke.

I broke the silence.

“There’s more, Jake.”

Jake looked at me. I noticed that his pupils had equalized.

“I dislodged a rock climbing up from the lower chamber. There’s a recess behind the tunnel wall that’s completely closed off.”

“Right.” Scornful. “A hidden loculus.”

“When I shined the flashlight inside, I saw what looked like old fabric.”

“You’re serious?” Jake struggled to sit up.

I nodded.

“There’s no question that tomb dates to the first century. The ossuaries prove that. Textiles from that period have been found in the desert, but never in Jerusalem.”

“If you promise not to take my head off, I’ll tell you the rest.”

Jake lay back on his pillow.

“I think the fabric may be a shroud.”

“No way.”

“I also saw bones.”

“Human?”

I nodded.

At that moment a nurse came through the door, rubber heels squeaking on the shiny gray tile. When she’d finished checking Jake she turned to me.

“You must leave now. This patient needs rest.”

Jake struggled up onto his elbows. “We’ve got to get back out there,” he said to me.

“Lie down, Mr. Drum.” The nurse placed hands on Jake’s shoulders and applied pressure.

Jake resisted.

The nurse gave him a look that suggested rubber hoses were next.

Jake yielded.

The nurse looked at me.

“Now.” Her tone suggested rubber hoses for visitors.

I patted Jake’s arm.

“I’ll go back out first thing in the morning.”

“It can’t wait.”

Nurse Ratchet glared my way.

I stepped back from the bed.

Jake raised his head from the pillow and spit one last word.

“Now!” Sounding just like Nurse Ratchet.

Ryan phoned INP headquarters from the hospital lobby. I was too preoccupied to pay much attention.

How would I find my way back to the Kidron? Who would help me once I got to the tomb? I couldn’t ask Ryan. He was here on police business. Friedman was taking time out of his schedule to help him. Ryan needed to focus on Kaplan.

“Friedman’s coming,” Ryan said, flipping the cover on his rented mobile.

“He’s finished with Kaplan?”

“He’s giving the gentleman time to reflect.”

“Kaplan thinks he’s been arrested because of Litvak’s necklace?”

“And some bad checks in Canada.”

“You haven’t yet questioned him about Ferris?”

Ryan shook his head. “Friedman’s got an interesting approach. Says little, lets the suspect talk, all the while watching for details and inconsistencies he can pounce on later.”

“Give a liar enough rope…”

“Kaplan’s getting enough to dangle from the top of K2.”

“When does Ferris go into the mix?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Will you show Kaplan the picture he gave me at the autopsy?”

“Should give him a jolt.”

I experienced a sudden jolt of my own.

“Ohmygod, Ryan! Do you suppose Max could be Kaplan’s gen-oo-ine Masada relic? Do you suppose Kaplan got wind of the skeleton from Ferris?”

Ryan smiled widely. “Want to come along and ask him?”

“Could help Friedman with his pounce.”

“I’m sure he’d agree.”

“I’m a terrific pouncer.”

“I’ve seen you. It’s frightening.”

“It’s a gift.”

While we waited, Ryan asked how I planned to return to the Kidron.

I admitted to some uncertainty on logistics.

We’d been in the lobby ten minutes when Friedman arrived. En route to the American Colony, he updated Ryan on the Kaplan interrogation.

There was little to update. Kaplan was still saying he’d intended to pay for the necklace. Litvak was now saying maybe he’d been a bit hasty.

Ryan filled Friedman in on my morning’s activities.

“You think this textile’s genuine first century?” Friedman asked into the rearview mirror.

“It’s definitely old,” I said. “And the loculus looks undisturbed.”

“And looters will be on that tomb like flies on a corpse.”

Friedman thought a moment. Then, “Whoo-hoo!!”

Hebrew?

“We be tomb raiders!”

Friedman had been watching far too many movies.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

“Ab-so-fuckin-lutely,” Friedman said. “I take this country’s cultural heritage very seriously.”

“Don’t we need a permit? Or at least authorization?”

“Got it covered.”

Good enough.

“The hotel, please. I’ll pick up my camera.”

“Anything else?” Ryan asked.

“A shovel and something to dislodge stones.” My mind flashed to the blackout in the lower chamber. “And powerful flashlights with brand-new batteries.”

Friedman dropped me at the American Colony, then he and Ryan set off on a supply mission. I raced to the third floor.

Jake would recover!

I would retrieve Max and, perhaps, a first-century shroud!

Wrapping whose remains?

From whose tomb?

I was pitched so high I took the stairs two risers at a time.

Soap was in my future! A hairbrush! A dry shirt!

Ryan and Friedman were helping!

Life was good! An adventure!

Then I opened my door.

And stared in disbelief.

MY ROOM WAS TRASHED.

The bed had been stripped, the linens tossed, the mattress flipped. The closet and armoire stood agape, with hangers, shoes, and sweaters flung in all directions.

My euphoria crumbled.

“Who’s there?”

Stupid. Of course they’d gone, and wouldn’t introduce themselves if they hadn’t.

I checked the door for signs of forced entry. The lock was intact. The wood was not gouged.

Heart bounding, I rushed into the room.

Every drawer was open. My suitcase was upended, the contents pitched and mauled.

My laptop lay untouched on the desk.

I tried to think what that meant.

Thieves? Of course not!

Why leave the computer?

A warning?

From whom? About what?

With shaky hands, I snatched up underwear, T-shirts, jeans.

Like Jake, gathering belongings from around his truck.

My mind loosened.

I knew.

The thought carved a wedge. Anger barreled in.

“You smarmy little bastards!”

I slammed drawers. Folded sweaters. Rehung pants.

Outrage hardened me, annihilating any prospect of tears.

I finished with the bedroom, moved to the bath. Arranged my toiletries. Washed my face. Brushed my hair.

I’d just changed shirts when the phone rang. Ryan was in the lobby.

“My room’s been ransacked,” I said, without preamble.

“Sonovabitch.”

“Probably Hevrat Kadisha looking for Max.”

“You’re not having a gold-star morning.”

“No.”

“I’ll buttonhole the manager.”

“I’m on my way down.”

By the time I descended, Ryan had been joined by Friedman, and they’d established two things. No visitor had inquired about me. No desk clerk had given out my room key.