Part 32 (1/2)

Jake left no gap for comment.

”These valleys were the location of the tombs of the wealthy.”

”Like Joseph of Aramathea.”

”You got it.” Jake pointed flat-handed to our left and rear, then swept his arm in a clockwise arc. ”Silwan's the village behind us. Abu Tor's across the way.” Jake closed his circle on the hill to our right. ”The Mount of Olives is to the north.”

I sited off his fingers. Jerusalem crawled the summit westward from the Mount, its domes facing off across the Kidron with the minarets of Silwan.

”These hills are honeycombed with ancient tombs.” Jake yanked out a bandanna and wiped sweat from his head. ”I'm taking you to one unearthed by Palestinian roadwork a few years back.”

”How far down the valley?” I asked.

”Way down.”

Jake backhanded the bandanna into a jeans pocket, grabbed a bush, and hopped off the ledge. I watched him scrabble downhill, bald head s.h.i.+ning like a copper pot.

Using the same bush, I squatted, kicked out my legs, and bellied over the edge. When my feet made contact, I let go, turned, and began picking my way downhill, sliding on loose rocks and grabbing vegetation.

The sun was climbing a brilliant blue sky. Inside my Windbreaker, I began to sweat.

Again and again I thought of the pair outside l'Abbaye Sainte-Marie-des-Neiges. My eyes kept moving from the ground at my feet to the village at my back. The slope was at least sixty degrees where Jake had chosen to descend. If anyone wanted to pick us off, we were easy targets.

On one backward glance I spotted a man walking a path on the valley rim.

My heart gunned into overdrive.

An a.s.sa.s.sin? A man walking a path on the valley rim?

I looked downhill. Jake was drawing farther and farther ahead.

I goosed the tempo.

Five yards down, I slipped and cracked my s.h.i.+n. Tears shot from wherever they'd been waiting on call. I blinked them back.

Screw it. If someone wanted to kill us we'd be dead by now.

I dropped back to my tenderfoot crawl.

Jake was spot-on. The tomb wasn't at the bottom, but it was way down the valley, in a gra.s.sy stretch strewn with rocks and boulders.

When I arrived he was squatting by an outcrop squinting into a rectangle the size of my microwave. I watched him roll a paper, light one end, and thrust the makes.h.i.+ft torch into the opening.

Oh, G.o.d.

Closing my eyes, I talked myself down.

Feel.

Wind on my face.

Smell.

Sun-heated gra.s.s. Garbage. Coal smoke.

Taste.

Dust on my teeth and tongue.

Listen.

The buzzing of an insect. Gears grinding way off up the valley.

I took a deep breath. A second. A third.

I opened my eyes.

Small red flowers bloomed at my feet.

I took another breath. Counted.

Six flowers. Seven. Ten.

I looked up to see Jake eyeing me oddly.

”I'm a bit claustrophobic.” I offered the understatement of the decade.

”We don't have to go in,” Jake said.

”We're here,” I said.

Jake looked skeptical.

”I'm fine.” The overstatement of the decade.

”The air's okay,” Jake said.

”What more could one ask?” I said.

”I'll go first,” Jake said.

He slid down the incline and disappeared, feet-first.

”Hand me the bones.” His voice came out m.u.f.fled and hollow.

My heartbeat revved as I maneuvered the bag. I breathed it back to normal.

”Come on down.” Quiz-show dramatic.

Deep breath.