Part 36 (1/2)

Rising to a crouch, I leaned into the opening for a better view of Jake's head.

Jake's face was down, but I could see the back and side of his skull. Blood flecked his ear, and glistened red in the sunlit gra.s.s. Already flies were buzzing in for quick look-sees.

Cold fear barreled through my veins.

First a jackal, and now this! What to do? Move Jake and risk exacerbating his injury? Leave him and go for help?

Impossible without risking a skull fracture of my own.

Outside, the chanting started up again.

Give the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds what they want?

They'd bury the skeleton. The truth about Max would be lost forever.

Another rock winged off the tomb's exterior. Then another.

Sonovab.i.t.c.h!

No ancient mystery was worth the loss of a life. Jake needed medical attention.

Setting the flashlight on the tomb floor, I scrabbled backward, took hold of Jake's boots, and pulled.

He didn't budge. I pulled again. Harder.

Inch by inch, I tugged Jake into the protection of the tomb. Then I crawled around his body and turned his head sideways. Should Jake become nauseous, I didn't want him choking on his vomit.

Then I remembered.

Jake's cell phone! Was it on him? Could I get at it?

Working my way down, I checked Jake's s.h.i.+rt pocket, his left front and rear jeans pockets, and every accessible opening on his camouflage jacket.

No phone.

d.a.m.n!

The hockey bag?

I angled toward the northern loculi. My hands looked bitter white as I crawled toward the bag. It was as though I were watching the hands of another. I saw them struggle with zippers, disappear into pouch after pouch.

My brain recognized the feel of the familiar shape.

Yanking the phone free, I flipped the cover. The small screen flashed a neon blue welcome.

What digits to punch? 911?

I had no idea what one dialed in an emergency in Israel.

Scrolling through Jake's directory, I chose a local listing, and hit ”send.”

The screen flashed the number and the word ”Dialing.” I heard a series of beeps, then one long beep, then the screen welcomed me anew.

I tried again. Same result.

d.a.m.n! Too deep in rock for a signal!

I was about to try again, when Jake moaned. Pocketing the phone, I crawled to him.

When I arrived, Jake had rolled to his belly, and drawn his palms in under his chest.

”Take it easy,” I said, picking up the flashlight.

Moving gingerly, Jake maneuvered to a sit. A tendril of blood trickled from a gash in his forehead. He swiped at it, creating a dark smear across his nose and right cheek.

”What happened?” Groggy.

”You stopped a rock with your head.”

”Where are we?”

”A tomb in the Kidron.”

Jake seemed to struggle a moment, then, ”The Hevrat Kadisha.”

”At least one of them has a future in major league baseball.”

”We've got to get out of this place.”

”If it's the last thing we ever do.”

”Is the bag still in the loculus?”

”Yes.”

Jake hopped to a squat, swayed, dropped his head, and braced himself straight-armed against the ground.

I reached out to steady him.

”Can you climb the hill?”

”Minor setback.” Whole muscle bundles went taut, then Jake dropped to all fours. ”Beam me up, Scottie.”

As I lit his way, Jake crawled not to the entrance, but to the northern wall, rolled a large stone toward the loculus containing Masada Max, and wedged it into the opening.

”Let's go,” he said, rejoining me.