And removing that corpse or whatever it was from its cave was the perfect way.

Then it wouldn’t matter who came searching for the secret atop the tav rock—the New York Times, the Star, or even a mission from Vatican itself—all they’d find was an empty cave.  The tomb is empty!  There’d be no turmoil, no orthodox confusion, no Catechismal chaos.  And the forger would be left scratching his head, wondering where his clever little prop had disappeared to.

Dan smiled into the darkness.  Two can play this game, Mr. Forger.

Tomorrow Carrie would have enthusiastic help in her efforts to smuggle the forger’s prop out of Israel.

After that, Dan would have plenty of time to coax her back to her senses.  If he could.  He was more than a little worried about Carrie’s mental state.  She seemed to be drifting into some religious fantasy realm.  He sensed some strange chemistry between her and that body that he could not begin to comprehend.  A switch had been thrown inside her, but what circuits had been activated?

Maybe it all went back to her childhood.  Maybe it was all tied up in the abuse by her father.  Little Carrie had been a virgin and no one had protected her; now here she was with what she believed to be the Virgin Mary and the grown-up Carrie was going to become the protector.

More parlor psychoanalysis.  But perhaps it gave some clue as to why this artifact was so important to her.

Too important, perhaps.

And that frightened him.  How would she react when it finally became clear—as it must eventually—that the body she thought belonged to the Blessed Virgin was a hoax?  What if she cracked?

Whatever happened, he’d be there for her.

But what if he couldn’t bring her back?

He stared into the darkness and wished Hal had brought him another sort of gift from the Holy Land.  Anything but that damned scroll.

‡

Tel Aviv

Kesev watched the morning news on TV while he sipped his coffee and considered the journey ahead of him.  Oppressed by some nameless sense of urgency, he’d left Devorah’s in the early morning hours, fighting the urge to jump into his car and drive into the Wilderness.

Instead he’d driven home and attempted to sleep.  Wasted hours.  He’d had not a minute of slumber.  He should have driven to the Resting Place.  He’d have been there by now and all these vague fears would be allayed.

He’d called into Shin Bet with an excuse about a family emergency that would keep him from the office all day, but he wondered if this trip were even necessary.  He’d be on the road all day, probably for nothing.  Only 80 air miles, but three times that by car.  And for what?  To satisfy a nameless uneasiness?

Idly, he wondered if he could get a helicopter and do a quick fly-by, but immediately discarded the idea.  He’d made a spectacle of himself back there in ‘91 during the Gulf War when he’d refused to leave the SCUD impact site until all the investigations had been completed.  He’d actually camped out there until the last missile fragment had been removed and the final investigator had returned home.  There’d been too many questions about his undue interest in that particular piece of nowhere.  If he requested a copter now...

He sighed and finished his coffee.  Better get moving.  He had a long drive ahead of him, and he’d know no peace until he’d reassured himself.

Absence...guilt twisted inside of him.  He wasn’t supposed to be away from the Resting Place.  Ever.  He’d promised to stay there and guard it.

He shook off the guilt.  How long could you sit around guarding a place that no one even knew existed?

The Resting Place was as safe as it ever was, protected by the greatest, most steadfast guardian of all—the Midbar Yehuda.

‡

The Judean Wilderness

Carrie held her breath going through the little passage to the second chamber.  But then the beam flashed against the Blessed Mother and she let it out.

“She’s still here!  Oh, thank God, Dan!  She’s still here!”

“What did you expect?” Dan muttered as he crawled in behind her with the electric lantern.  “Not as if we left her on a subway.”

She knew Dan was tired and irritable.  Anyone seeing him stumbling around the guest house this morning would have thought he’d been drinking all night.  Her own back ached and her eyes burned, but true to her word, Carrie had awakened him at first light this morning and had them on the road by the time the sun peeked over the Jordanian highlands on the far side of the Dead Sea.  It had glowed deep red in the rearview mirror as it crept up the flawless sky, stretching the Explorer’s shadow far before them as they bounced and rolled into the hills.

And now as she stood in the chamber, staring down once more at the woman she knew—knew—was the Mother of God, she felt as if her heart would burst inside her.  She loved this woman—for all her quiet courage, for all the pain she must have suffered in silence.  But the Virgin didn’t look quite like what she’d expected.  In her mind’s eye she’d imagined finding a rosy-cheeked teenager, or at the very least a tall, beautiful woman in her early twenties, because that was the way Carrie had always seen her pictured.  But when she thought about it, the Virgin probably had been average height for a Palestinian woman of two thousand years ago, and must have been pushing seventy when she died.

Dizziness swept over Carrie as she was struck again by the full impact of what—who—she had found.  God had touched this woman as He had touched no other human being.  She’d carried the incarnation of His Son.  And now she lay here, not two feet in front of Carrie.

This is really her.  This is the Mother of God.

Until yesterday, the Blessed Virgin had been a statue, a painting, words in books.  Now, looking at her aged face, her glossy, uncorrupted flesh, Carrie appreciated her as a woman.  A human being.  All those years, all those countless Hail Marys, and never once had Carrie realized that this Mary she’d prayed to as an intercessor had once been a flesh-and-blood human being.  That made all the suffering in Mary’s life so much more real.

And rising with the love came a fierce protective urge, almost frightening in its intensity.

No one must touch her.  No one must desecrate or defile her in any way.  No one must use her for anything.  Anything!  The Church itself couldn’t be trusted.  Who knew what even the Vatican might do?  She’d dreamed during the night of the Blessed Mother’s remains on display in St. Peter’s in Rome and it had sickened her.

Mary had given enough already, and Carrie knew it was up to her to see to it that no one demanded any more of her.

Dear Mother, whoever was left to guard you is long since dead and gone.  I’ll take care of you.  I’ll be your protector from now on.

She unfolded the dark blue flannel blankets she had brought.  Dan set the lantern down and helped her spread them out on the floor.  The bright light cast their distorted shadows against the wall where the Virgin lay in her stony niche.

“All right,” she said when the blankets were right.  “Help me move her out.”

She didn’t want anyone else touching the Virgin, not even Dan, but she couldn’t risk lifting her out of that niche on her own.  God forbid she slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the floor.

As Dan approached the Virgin’s upper torso, Carrie waved him back.

“I’ll take this end.  You take her feet.”

Her hands shook as she approached the Virgin.  What was this going to be like, touching her?  She hesitated a moment, then wriggled her fingers under the Virgin’s cloak and cowl, slipping her hands under her neck and the small of her back.  The fabric felt so clean, so new...how could this be two thousand years old?

Unsettled, she glanced to her right.  What did Dan think?  But Dan stood there with his hands under the Virgin’s knees and ankles, expressionless, waiting for her signal.