Tabernacle in the Wilderness

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Garrett awoke in his hotel room surprisingly early and fresh on the morning of the 3rd, especially considering how he had spent the evening, and how much of the local rotgut he had imbibed in the wee hours of the morning. His grief was a pain that was ever present in the pit of his stomach, if dulled.

They're gone.... They're gone, and I couldn't be there to say goodbye...

With a groan, Garrett rolled out of bed, and made his way to confront the stranger in the bathroom mirror. A haggard man with bloodshot eyes and several days worth of stubble stared back at him, a vacant look resting on his face like an uncomfortable stain. The muted throbbing of a hangover started to make itself apparent behind the doctoral student's orital sockets. Luckily, it wasn't that bad this morning - a prairie oyster, as opposed to the hair of the dog, might be enough to clear it up... He splashed water on his face, and returned to staring into the mirror for an interminable time.

Wake up, Garrett. They're gone, but you're not. They're in the ground by now... A realization that almost broke his newfound resolve, but he struggled on with the mantra that he had developed in a drunken haze last night. It was important not to lie to himself. You're in Jerusalem - One of the hearts of the many-headed beast you've chosen to study. With no possible return in the near future. Again, this last bit was hard for him to express to himself, but his strength and resolve increased as he continued, Would they want you to wallow in grief? To rush home to their graveside? Or to stay and make the best of the hand you've been dealt? Father always said one of the secrets to his success was in recognizing opportunity when others only see disaster. At least one lesson you should have learned from him, Garrett, old boy...

ssssssssssnck.......sssssssssssnck........sssssssssnck. Almost without concious thought, Garrett had taken out the straight razor and sharpening strap as he completed his monologue. He found himself sharpening the blade, getting ready to attack the forest of hair that had sprung up on his face.

A couple of minor nicks, stinging applications of stiptic, and a shower later, Garrett was dressed, and had packed his bags. In the shower, as he began to consider what his next steps would be, besides reclaiming his personal dignity, he had realized that for the first time in his life, he would have to carefully monitor his monetary expenditures, one of which was hotel costs. In the past, he had been able to count on his father, the steel magnate's, money. Now that he was dead and gone, it had been discovered that much of his 'fortune' of the past several years was actually illusory, and most of the family's property had been seized to pay Elliot Halburn's debts - the remaining operational steel mills and blast furnaces, the sea-side cottage, the London townhouse, and most distressingly to Garrett, the country estate in which he had grown up. He had counted his money as he packed.

Two hundred pounds to his name.

It was a shockingly small number, even if things in Jerusalem were still relatively cheap, compared to say...London. Luckily, the Holy Land was under British Mandate, so his money was usable here without changing it.

Garrett struggled with his bulging suitcase and academic briefcase down to the lobby. He would even avoid using bellboys now, if he could save a few bob on tips... He checked out, and then hailed a taxi (a cost which made him wince with his new-found penny-pinching behavior) to take him to a hotel with cheaper rent. He had absentmindedly found one a few nights before wandering through Jerusalem in a drunken haze. It had looked reputable at the time...A medium sized compound, left over from some past age and converted into lodgings for travelers and pilgrims. His opinion changed only slightly on walking into its lobby.

So, they need a new coat of paint - or two or three - on all the walls... So, there's no grand piano and veritable Garden of Eden in the lobby, and the ceiling fan seems to operating rather erratically... All I need is a bed, a roof, and a desk to write at...

He checked in, paying ahead for a few days, and hauled his own bags up to his room. He was pleased to discover that the lock on the door seemed strong and sturdy, and that the small balcony outside his window did not connect with any adjoining rooms... Before unpacking, Garrett sat at the table and began to write several letters...

-To his younger brother Thomas, expressing his grief and the damnable vagauries of fate that had trapped him in Jerusalem. He finished by hoping that Thomas was able to find his way in the new world they had both been plunged into without money, and the address where he could be contacted in Jerusalem.

-To the dean of his particular college at Oxford, explaining the situation in brief, and extending tenative feelers about an extended stay in Jerusalem for research purposes. Garrett was only in the first year of his doctoral program, but a trip to the area of interest was not unheard of even then.

-To a few of his professors, in similar veins, with brief personal notes about hopes and plans, and questions about their suggestions of what to do when trapped in the holy land.

-To Richard Smith, a friend he had made when the Americans chipped in after that terrible business at Pearl Harbor. A few Americans had come to Blechley Park to help with the work there, and Richard and Garrett, being academics at heart, hit it off quickly over games of chess and wandering ideological conversations. Richard was back in the States, doing Lord Knows What, but he and Garrett still kept in touch occasionally...

Several hours later, Garrett sealed the letters in envelopes and dropped them at the front desk to be mailed. It was not long after noon, and he grabbed his coat and hat and went for a ramble through Jerusalem, his journal and a few scraps of paper in his pocket, thoughts whirling through his mind.

As he walked through the old district of the city, he thought of everything that had happened in his life, between himself and his father, how their relationship had brought him here today, to the study of cross-cultural religious mythology, to the pursuit of the less tangible academics of history, rather than the hard cold cash of industry... He loved his father, that was sure, but he also had harbored a distaste for his extreme Anglican dogma, his hard-nosed business practices that brooked no opposition, his gruff and distant manner, like the cliched English aristocrat that he longed to be...

Without concious volition, Garrett found himself at the Wailing Wall. He stood in silent contemplation for a few minutes more, before something stirred inside him. He pulled out two scraps of paper and wrote down brief passages on them. He made his way toward the wall, his hat covering his hair in respect for ancient custom. Standing before the ancient, cracked stones, he put his hand up to touch them. Coolness and age seemed to leak from the very minerals, a spirit of religiosity that had deserted Garrett years ago drifted through the air like a lazy mist, a scentless but heady incense. He bowed his head and did something that he hadn't done in years. He prayed.

Moving his words silently with a prayer from the Anglican Book of Prayer, he slipped the first paper between cracks in the stones, amongst all the other scraps of prayers and wishes that other pilgrims had placed here over the years in the remaining Wall of the Temple. The first scrap held a small, impromptu prayer for his parents:

Lord God, please guide my parents on their way to you, take them in your gentle hands and shed your glorious light on them. Allow them entrance to your radiant kingdom and forgive them their sins in this earthly life. As your Son suffered on this earth, so we know that Man is redeemable through Your Name. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

His lips paused a moment, and then continued. Had he been making any sound, an acute observer, unless he were one of a handful of people, may well have been confused at his speech: His new prayer, and the slip of paper he placed in the wall for himself were both in Ancient Aramaic, the language of biblical times. It was simple, saying only:

Lord, Guide me to the Truth.

After a few moments of contemplation, Garrett withdrew from the wall, retreating to a public bench a few hundred feet away, where he rested in contemplation.

Sitting on the bench, Garrett considered where to go next.

While my money may last me a few weeks, I'm going to need a source of income to support my studies... Who needs my skills? Other scholars? Travelers? The consulate? Hmmmm... Lets leave travelers for last - Not that playing tour guide to the rich would is below[/i] me... Not any more... But I'd much rather do something I have an interest in.[/i]

He had hoped to investigate some of the Biblical and Apocryphal myths in the region... Solomon's Temple, the Tower of Babel (although that was a bit of a trek), various details of the exodus, and other similar stories that made up the Abrahamic Canon. He had bought a book on the Temple before leaving Britain, tantilizingly entitled "The Secrets of Solomon's Temple". Unfortunately, the author chose to focus on some of the more outrageous myths surrounding it, devoting precious little print to scholastic study of the temple, its history and architecture. Garrett had actually found himself sniggering out loud while reading it once or twice - decidedly unrefined behaviour.

Rested from his time on the bench, Garrett prepared to depart, checking to make sure his wallet, watch, journal, paper and pens were still with him. First, he would swing by the institute at which he had delivered his paper some five days past. Although it was not a popular subject, there had been a few admiring and encouraging words after the day's session. Perhaps someone would need an academically trained translator. He was fully aware that his pentalingual skills were his highest selling point in the field at this time. With luck, someone would actually be going into the field to do a study! How exciting that would be! Failing that, the consulate may have need, or know of someone who needed a translator. If worse came to worse, Garrett could try to find a tourist in need of a guide/translator. While he had been in Jerusalem only a week and a half (having arrived not long before Christmas - his parents had sent a present with him, with strict orders not to unwrap it until December 25. It had turned out to be a small archeologist's kit, specifically for the fine work of uncovering and cleaning small or fragile artifacts), Garrett didn't know the city well, but he knew it well enough to show a foreigner its major sights and attractions...

He sighed and took one last look at the vista of the wall before rising to depart.

--Garrett

The Department of Archaelogy of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem already made quite a name for itself. Worldwide excavations were only briefly halted by the Nazis before resuming again two years prior. Many members of the Institution were, in fact, employed by the Third Reich for some of Hitler's strange and eclectic Biblical obsessions.

Residing on the cypress-consumed hillside of Mount Scopus, plans were already afoot for moving the facilities to Giv'at Ram where they could expand enough to support the large scale projects that were under way. It was rumored that certain royal members of Belgium were funding the move, but the Institute had yet to publicly comment.

Approaching Mount Scopus meant transcending into another time. Still in the old world on dirt roads and cypress-lined temples, the blocky and somewhat ordinary buildings of the Institute were wildly out of place. On a Friday morning, however, hundreds of students and professors would roam the pastures of this arm of university as if it had always been there.

Garret wouldn't even make it to the Administration Annex before he was recognized by a gray-bearded man in thick glasses and a black suit. Somewhat stubby, his generous face distracted from his otherwise imposing posture. Offering a meaty hand to the intellectual he trudged forward from across the courtyard, nearly ramming into two students as he went.

"Garret Holburn! I recognize your face from the archives. I am Dr. Benjamin Ben-David, pleasure to meet you, sir. The Department has been trying to reach you for two days . . . we'd almost given up."

His accent was distinctly Israeli, but his English was British-trained, not a hint of an American yawl.

"We'd like to offer you a position on a new research study. . . if you've the time, of course. Come, you must eat. I will buy you morning breakfast. There is a place that serves India tea with milk, and not a pig on the premises."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett was enjoying his stroll towards the Institute's administration building. When he had been here to present his paper, almost a week before, he had been too consumed with performance anxiety to really take in his surroundings. Now, however, he walked at a lesiurely, if purposefull pace, through the old buildings and trees, soaking in the character of the place, left hand in his trouser pocket, and a contemplative look on his face.

So it was not surprising in hind-sight that he was completely dumbstruck by the rather brusque approach of this bearded gentleman. He slowly checked his own progress across the quad, silently looking at the approaching dark-clothed figure before some unconcious instinct bred into his family generations past caused him to raise his own right hand to meet the gentleman's proffered one.

"Oh. Right, ummm. A pleasure, Dr.... Ben-David... Shalom."

Garrett withdrew his hand after giving as firm a handshake and nod as he could at the moment. He grabbed his coat lapel with his right hand, and his mind finally clicked into gear.

Benjamin Ben-David. A Doctor Ben-David? Do I know that name from somewhere? He scoured his memory. He knew many of the names in his particular areas of study, but there was no way that he could keep track of all of them, and both Benjamin and Ben-David were common enough names...

And then the second part of Ben-David's introduction clicked into place. Work! And just at the moment that Garrett was looking for it, as well.

With his crisp, slightly upper-class British accent, Garret continued, "Doctor, I would be happy to join you for breakfast, and I believe a cup of tea would be spot on at the moment," Not the least of which is because you've offered to buy, which in my current state is a consideration... "Fortunate that we met at this very moment then. Please, lead on." The tall doctoral student withdrew his left hand from his pocket and gestured for the doctor to do just that. As they began to walk, he stopped himself from immediately asking about the Doctor's offer. Garrett had been trained that this was the time for small talk and banter - business would come with the food.

"So, Dr. Ben-David... You speak English very well. Have you spent time in Britain? Oh, and if Hebrew is more comfortable for you," he switched to Hebrew and continued, "I always enjoy the practice..."

--Garrett

The jovial-faced man, something akin to Germanic legends of Saint Nicholas, brightened as Garret spoke Hebrew. Leading him across the quad, he turned conversationally inward as they went.

"It is true then," he resumed in English, "I heard you were quite the linguist."

In Hebrew he added, "A dying art."

"I worked with Dr. Ravenswood at Oxford, you know him, yes? He was rather fond of you."

Dr. Ravenswood was Garret's freshman Survey of Near Eastern Studies professor and not exactly an amiable one. They developed a working relationship over Garret's student years and became quite a good resource on Jerusalem history for him. Many students called Ravenswood "the claw" because of an unsettling muscle condition that kept his right hand clinched. Ravenswood was retiring this year, last Garret heard, at 78 years old. His harsh nature and thick load of studies made him notorious throughout the Oxford gentry.

"He spent a great deal of time working on my accent for no other reason than my vernacular greatly irritated him."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

The tall scholar actually blushed as Dr. Ben-David called him a linguist. "No," he replied, shaking his head slightly, "not a linguist. Merely someone who learns the skills he needs...in order to find what he seeks. I must say, I haven't studied the structure and evolution of languages nearly enough to be called a linguist, merely picked up a few tidbits here and there in the studies of the few languages I know." Evolutionary Linguistics held some interest for Garrett, but the study of Religous Anthropology was his current brightest star, tying in closely with the study of Modern and Ancient Near East History that had consumed his undergraduate years and early post-graduate study...

Garrett developed a wistful smile at the mention of Dr. Ravenswood. The Claw had been a tough professor, true, and stern at the best of times. Yet, as Garrett's interests in Ancient Near Eastern History had become apparent over the following years, the two had found a professional relationship which Garrett still valued to this day. All in all, he would be sad to see Ravenswood leave - he still referred to Garrett as 'Sargon' occasionally, after a bad pun that he had made as a young postgraduate student that had actually cracked the Claw's face into something resembling a smile for the briefest of moments.

With a chuckle, Garrett responed to Dr. Ben-David's story, "Yes, Professor Ravenswood was - sorry, with his upcoming retirement, I've already started to miss him. Professor Ravenswood can be - very ..." Garrett hesitated, trying to find the appropriate turn of phrase. "Particular," he concluded.

He continued in English, and asked with interest, "So, I take it you're an Oxford man, then?" His shoulders, which had started to creep up when the Doctor had called him a linguist, were relaxing again. Finding another Oxford alumn would lay out a background from which they could build a relationship - and would hopefully help him land whatever this job was.

He would be only to happy to continue this casual talk all the way to the resturaunt, discussing surface issues and trading backgrounds (and establishing credentials) with Dr. Ben-David.

--Garrett

"Ah, no," he said, "I have always been a member of this school, but I worked with Ravenswood on some of his studies. Many of his studies, actually. I spent a great deal of time in Oxford. Can't say that I miss the climate."

He offered a cackle and was, indeed, truly amused at his own joke.

Nearly missing his step, Dr. Ben-David shuffled onward toward a small cafe on the edge of campus. The decor was more Indian than Hebrew, but once inside one could not mistake they were in Israel. Decorated with frescos illustrating the Torah's more prominent stories, sandalwood incense in the air, and Israeli proprietors did little to represent the Indian cuisine and teas they were serving.

Finding a small table in a well-lit corner beneath an open-air arched window, Dr. Ben-David sat down.

"They call it chai. You must have some. Cinnamon, pepper, and all things exotic and spicy. It is a bastardization of course. All teas in India are called chai, but this is an import and we do with what we are given."

Ben-David ordered sweet potatoes with honey and the legendary chai and after his colleague ordered, he immediately leaned forward, a solemn expression on his face.

"I'm afraid I must tell you. Dr. Ravenswood has passed on. We received the news on Monday, what . . . two weeks after Chanukah? It is a tragedy. Terrible tragedy."

After a thoughtful pause, he added with subtle remorse, "He was murdered the night of the Christian holiday."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett chuckled politely at the older professor's joke. Luckily, it was January in Jerusalem, and Garrett was able to deal with the mild temperatures, a pleasant change from England's wintery white. He hoped, however, to be able to return to Oxford before the thermometer skyrocketed and the Israeli landscape became a backing oven - the Holburns had never been a family for excessive heat.

The doctoral candidate followed the older doctor into the cafe, looking around at the decor and the conflation of cultures. Ah. Charming. Exactly the type of thing that subtley spreads ideas from one culture to another. If there were Indian religious images mixed in here, I might joke that in 3- or 400 years, a small Israeli sect would start worshipping KRSHN, an Indian-influenced aspect of YHWH.

Garrett took a seat at the small table in the corner, still glancing around to take in the Torah stories done in Indian fashion. "Sounds delicious! Except for the past few days, when personal matters have precluded it, I've been attempting to take my tea at a different establishment every day. I haven't made it this far, yet... Tell me, do they have Falafel here? I tried it just the other day, and find it quite appealing to the English-born pallette."

The young scholar ordered a chai, eager to taste this new strain of tea, and either a small Falafel platter, or else a small plate of Chummus and pita.

Doctor Ben-David's terrible pronouncement was met with silence. Garrett stared at the Doctor for several seconds, a shocked expression on his face as the news sank in. With a shaking, indrawn breath, he lowered his face into his hands, his elbows resting on the table. It was too much - first his parents, then Doctor Ravenswood! Some detached, analytical, and perverse part of his brain corrected itself, and thought: Actually, Dr. Ravenswood was probably actually first, and then your parents died in their accident later.

For a long time, Garrett sat with his head buried in is hands, his breathing very deliberate and slow. After a while, he rubbed his face, rose back up to face Dr. Ben-David, and apologized with a strained voice, "I'm sorry - you see, this is not the first piece of horrible news that I've recieved recently. That is terrible... Absolutely terrible. Murdered, you say? And on Christmas?" Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes, his mind on dark thoughts. "Have they caught the bug-," he caught himself about to swear, and changed directions mid-sentence, "-andit who did it, yet?"

--Garrett

Falafel and chai was served promptly, only moments before the professor gave his bad news. Dr. Ben-David solemnly lowered his head and put a reassuring hand on Garret's forearm after he came back around.

"You must not apologize. Grief is a necessary part of life. I understand you were close and may times professional relationships hold a great deal more weight than personal ones. Respect and admiration are often ties that cannot be broken. I must say I reacted quite poorly upon hearing the news myself."

He paused to enjoy the chai and let the news settle.

"No one knows who murdered him, but those in academia have no doubt as to why he was murdered. Dr. Ravenswood had made a discovery that many do not want the world to know. It is a long lost secret that died with the Crusades.

"Tell me, if you can, what do you know about the Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon?"

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett nodded slightly in respnse to Dr. Ben-David's comforting words, one hand remaining on the bridge of his nose. He remained silent for a few moments longer, waves of grief swirling in his head. It was true, he had respected and admired Dr. Ravenswood, a great deal. The man had not only been an academic icon for Garrett, but had provided a no-nonsense sounding board for the young academic many times, for problems both personal and public.

Another funeral I will miss...

Garrett siezed onto the Doctor's proffered question like a life-line, using it to reel his mind back from the brink of the dark chasm of grief. He took several more moments to gather himself, sipping at the chai, but too deadened to take in its flavor.

He knew a good deal about the Temple and the Poor Knights of Christ - was in fact reading a book regarding the Temple itself at the moment, much of which was ridiculous claptrap... The Temple and the Templars were subjects that seemed to attract those groups that saw shadows in every corner and miracles in every raindrop. The Tower of Babel, Garden of Eden, The Order of the Rosy Cross, and Noah's Landing all provided similar fodder for over-enthusiastic psuedo-scholars...

He gathered a shaky breath and answered, obliquely at first: "Ah. The Temple and Templars.... The Belgians, then..." He waved off the last comment and proceeded, "Solomon's First Temple, housing the Ark of the Covenant, the holiest of holies, which held G-D's covenant with man. Many of the stories about Solomon, such as being able to control djinn, and other fanciful tales, are probably later fabrications by Semitic and Arabic cultures... The fraternal order of Freemasons claim to trace their heritage back to the the original mason of the temple, one...ummm....Hiram Abif... Built for Solomon by the Phoenician king, another Hiram." Garrett began to pick up speed now, his academic memory kicking in and over-riding his grief responses. He may not have been an expert on the Temple, but he had a good working knowledge of it, as anyone who studied the history, religious imagery and evolution of the near east should.

"King Solomon, also known as Saladin by the Arabs, was reknowned for ruling wisely, but political expediency cause a lapse in his piety as he attempted to ingratiate himself with pagan foreign nations... He built the Temple sometime in the 10th century BC, to replace Moise's tabernacle. In the early 6th century BC, Nebuchadnezzer conquered Israel with his Babylonian armies, and destroyed the Temple. Now, Nebuchadnezzer was a character.... Skipping the second Temple, that brings us to the Templars."

Garrett paused, and looked at Dr. Ben-David, trying to gauge his reaction so far. It was only just occuring the the young academic that the Docotor might be one of those so-called kooks that believed there was more to the temple than met the eye. His knowledge of the Poor Knights of Christ was a little more diffuse - They had definitely been a powerful historical factor, and were the focus of much modern speculation, but they were a little too late in history for his specialty. If they hadn't been the focus of so much modern study, and had such an effect on the history of the area in general, he might know only the very basic facts....

Garrett took another sip of the chai, and continued in his crisp Bristish accent: "The Templars, two knights and their 7 companions, were granted the rights to create an order by the King of Jerusalem in the early 12th century AD. The so-called 'Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple which is in Jerusalem', and later 'Templars', or 'Knights of the Temple', were responsible for defending the roadways and pilgrimage routes, and were granted a portion of the site of Solomon's Temple as their headquarters. It is believed that they undertook extensive excavations of the Temple Mount, although there is debate among current scholars as to whether Mount Moriah was the actual Temple Mount. Over the next couple of centuries, the Templars quickly expanded, gaining frightfull power, money and influence. There was a backlash in the late 13th and early 14th centuries AD, when the Templars proved too powerful for temporal states to control. After the rapid death of several popes who would not agree to demands to excommunicate the Templars by the French king (who had been financially stymied by the Knights), Pope Clement the Fifth agreed to help in doing away with them. On Friday the 13th, 1307, vast numbers of Templars were arrested, tortured and often put to death. Many believe this is the origin of the superstitions surrounding any Friday the 13th as being an unlucky date..."

Garrett stopped, his grief momentarily forgotten in academic recall. He wrapped a hand around the mug of chai and smiled wanly at the doctor, and continued in British-accented Hebrew, "Well, I've perhaps babbled too much. As I hope you can see, I have a basic understanding of the subject, but, to be frank my knowledge focuses more on the period of the Temple than the Templars..."

--Garrett

"I admit, you know more than the average scholar," Ben-David said smiling, "I can see why you came so recommended. Is there something you didn't study in that stuffy school?

"The Temple of Solomon is a mirage. No one ever was very certain where it existed, or even if it did exist in the splendor the Torah suggests. While it is true the Knights took residence in the Temple Mount, it was most certainly not their headquarters.

"Well," he paused with a sly grin, "It was not the place they held most precious. A strong group of researchers believe the Templars kept their true operations a secret and continued to operate long after 1307. Perhaps even until this day. Finding the trail of Templars through history means finding their true home and I assure you no one will find this in Jerusalem.

"The truth is, the Templars are all but completely gone from history after that day and all of the confessions taken and the leaders executed. Anything that suggests they somehow survived is mere mythology, right?

"Dr. Ravenswood was on a project funded by Oxford for the sole purpose of disproving the wild allegations that the Freemasons, the Rosicrucians or anyone else is in anyway connected to the Templars are not, except by ritualistic practices alone.

"His research took him here and in two months he requested Oxford extend the grant money to fund the second leg of his research taking him no place other than. . ."

Ben-David took a dramatic pause, ". . . Scotland."

Leaning forward he said, "Why would Ravenswood want to go to Scotland to research the Templar conspiracy?"

It was difficult to say if the professor was challenging Garret into recalling history or simply asking because he didn't know.

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett bowed his head an blushed slightly at Doctor Ben-David's flattery. Waving his hand slightly, he tried to pass off his knowledge as insignificant...

"You've also found a historian who just so happens to be in the midst of reading a mid-caliber book on subject at hand. If you had asked me these questions a week ago, I would not have been as well prepared..."

As the doctor went on to talk about the Temple, Garrett was drawn into the academic discussion. This is one of the reasons that he loved being in school, and might very well return to a university to teach - the discussion, debate, and never-ending learning process that the academic life entailed.

"But, of course, Doctor. Many of the stories in the Torah are apocryphal - the origin and evolution of these stories is where I hope to do my doctoral work. Yet, it seems to me that there is some evidence to support the idea that Solomon's Temple existed, and that it may have been on Mount Moriah..."

Garrett was a little taken aback when Dr. Ben-David revealed that Ravenswood had gone to Scotland after Jerusalem... Its not that he didn't believe the good doctor - The facts would be easy enough to check with Oxford - but the fact that a man as level and esteemed as Ravenswood would put stock in these odd on-going-Templar myths... If it was true, it was disturbing, any way you looked at it.

"Well, Doctor, Scotland is a mystery.... I can't recall whether any of the original Templars hailed from there, the two from Flanders being the only ones that come easily to mind... I have read that Rosslyn Chapel has been connected to the Poor Knights..." Garrett scratched his head in consideration, pausing for a moment before continuing, "I think you would have to know what he discovered here in order to divine his reasons for traveling to Scotland... I assume you were in contact with him while he was here?"

--Garrett

"Scotland is not generally on the Templar radar. The only connection, of course is the Scottish Rite and Robert the Bruce was one of their supports after 1307, having been excommunicated from the Church he cared little what the Vatican thought anyhow.

"Any ties between Scotland and the Templars is speculative to be sure. For Doctor Ravenswood to request a transfer was very curious although I'm certain the support he gave to Oxford was sufficient."

He pulled a letter from his pocket with the familiar Oxford seal. Handing it to the young student he said, "They granted him permission to go."

The letter read,

Dear Dr. Ravenswood,

The Dean of Liberal Arts received your request for further funding on the Knights Templar Survey Research Study. After much deliberation and reflection upon your research we've decided to approve the amount of 2,500 pounds and a ticket by rail to Edinburgh.

Please find the schedule attached. The University is excited about any future revelations on the subject.

Respectfully, Christopher Frost, Ph.D Office of the Dean of Liberal Arts

"You may wonder why we haven't simply checked with Oxford about this matter. Christopher Frost has gone missing and, oddly enough, the Dean had not only not approved the funding extension but hadn't approved the research project to begin with. In fact, he had no idea the research project was going on.

"So, you are correct. To find out why the Doctor wanted to go to Scotland, we shall have to follow his steps here.

"Dr. Ravenswood never received this letter and never made it out of Jerusalem. The Office of the Governor General is inspecting this case, but have no leads and will likely give up.

"I'm afraid it is up the Claw's friends and colleagues to find his murderer and whatever secrets he uncovered."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett thought that ties between the Templars and Scotland were a little more than speculative. After all, as the Doctor had reminded him, there was an entire Scottish branch of the Masons - an organization commonly conflated with the Templars in one way or another in the modern mythology. The historian bit his tongue and took the proffered letter with only a nod of acknowledgement.

He glanced over the letterhead and seal on the letter, giving them the briefest glances, and then proceeded to the main body, reading the short letter quickly while sipping his chai.

At Doctor Ben-David's mention of Frost's disappearance and the Dean's ignorance of the project, Garrett raised his eyebrows and read the letter a second time before handing it back. He was bursting with questions.

Running his hand through his hair, he asked, "So... You mean to tell me that Ravenswood was operating without official approval of the University? That hardly seems like the Ravenswood that I knew. Where did you get this letter? And what are the circumstances surrounding Frost's disappearance - does it look like foul play?" Garrett slowed down, suddenly aware that it was silly to ask all of his questions at once.

It was obvious why he was being approached by the Doctor... As a student and...friend... of Ravenswood, Garrett would be inclined to help the Doctor follow Ravenswood's footsteps. And he wanted to. He wanted to badly. His parents had been killed by an act of God, but perhaps bringing justice to Ravenswood's killers would sooth the wound that all of their deaths had opened. To add insult to injury, Ravenswood had been in Jerusalem at the same time as Garrett, and he had known nothing about it. Garrett's plans to present a paper at the Institute had been known for some time - ever since the paper had been accepted in the fall of '46. Why had Ravenswood not contact him or told him of his travel plans?

He asked one more question, this time in Hebrew: "Just one more thing, Doctor. Should I assume that the Institute knows about your plans to follow up on Ravenswood's research...?"

--Garrett

The professor shrugged and tossed his head from side to side with a "who knows" expression written on his face.

"I believe you are right. Dr. Ravenswood would not accept such a task without the strict and proper approval. Perhaps he thought he'd had it, but it never left Frost's desk. One could conclude a great many things from this. Maybe this was a pet project of Frost's and now that things have gone awry, he has joined the metaphorical circus.

"Or perhaps it was an oversight and Frost was murdered for the same reason as Ravenswood. I really cannot say."

Noticing the discretion, Ben-David leaned forward and answered in quiet Hebrew, "The Institute is interested in finding their professor's killer. Continuing his quest is the only way to do so. I have approval from the Dean himself, but we are not to let the authorities know. They would be overly concerned for our safety."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

I always knew people played just as dirty in academia as in the real world, but fraud and murder... I just don't understand!

Garrett put a hand to his forehead and began to rub his temples - his hangover from earlier this morning seemed to be coming back. It was still faint, but enough to draw his notice. His voice was still taut with constrained British emotion.

"Ah, yes. So Frost has disappeared, the Dean is left in the dark, and Ravenswood has been murdered. No wonder the Institute is worried that the authorities may be concerned. I would be concerned - am concerned about the danger involved. What do you know about Ravenswood's research - do you have any sort of starting place to begin reconstructing it from?"

And later, but without any rancor, "...And you never did answer how that letter came into your possession."

--Garrett

In their more discrete language, Dr. Ben-David quietly resumed.

�Ironically, he was supposed to meet with me the week of Christmas to disclose some of his findings. I was unexpectedly tied up in a lecture at Istanbul when a colleague became sick.

�He did call me with his first discovery the first part of December. I�ve never heard him sound so excited. Apparently he found a hidden tomb of Templars predating the Crusades here in Jerusalem. That discovery put a much older date on the order than conventional studies assume. He would not tell me the location over wire, but his secretary said he was doing a great deal of work in the desert 20 kilometers north of here.

�We will need to find what he found and I�m sure it will all become clear.�

He hesitated at Garrett�s repeated question, �I stole it,� he said, �it was going to be taken as evidence and. . . I stole it.�

Shrugging he smiled, �What can I say? Cast the first stone, right?�

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett stared incredulously at Dr. Ben-David, and slipped back into English without even thinking.

"Did you say predated the Crusdaes? B-b-but that's impossible, isn't it? I mean, we have proof that the Templars didn't exist in even a nascent form until the arrival of the original members in Jerusalem and the granting of their charter by the king, which occured after the Christian forces had occupied the Holy Land..."

Garrett's mind reeled. If Ravenswood had told him the same thing, he would still be flummoxed, but not so incredulous. Coming from this professor, who claimed that it was Ravenswood's discovery, and perhaps the reason for his death, the revelation of Templar activity prior to the time which current historians believed they had been created, was - to say the least - hard to swallow.

Garrett sipped from his chai and used the moment to quickly paged through his mental map of the area, trying to figure out what would lie twenty miles north of Jerusalem that might have attracted the Claw's attention. If his memories were correct, twenty miles north would put one just about halfway between two of the West Bank cities. He reverted back to Hebrew, not because it was more secretive, but because he enjoyed speaking other languages, wanted to put Ben-David at ease, and enjoyed the mental discipline that translation forced him to use - partly as a distraction from his own growing anxiety. "So, he was supposed to have found this tomb somewhere between Ram Allah and Nabulos? Is there something extraordinary there?"

On Ben-David's revelation of having stolen the letter, Garret merely nodded, stern faced. He voiced no judgement on the matter, but merely sipped at his chai delicately.

We shall see whether he can make use of it, or whether it may have been the link the police were missing.

After a moment of reflection, he added, as an offhanded question, "Is there anything else ... that has come into your possession ... that might inform us as to Ravenswood's thoughts and activities?"

--Garrett

"History would agree with you, yes. But whatever it is he found somehow suggested otherwise. We must find evidence that would support the Templars being in Jerusalem before the Christians.

"Perhaps those tales of heresy were the result of them not acting very 'Christian-like' and getting caught in the act. Sodomy, desecration of Christian symbols, and worshiping golden idols are not exactly Italian traditions. They claimed it was to toughen up the troops to prepare for Muslim torture, but if one simply looks at it, one can find very similar activities going on in Israel thousands of years before the Crusades.

"What if the Templars were an extension of an existing Israelite movement? Perhaps duping the Christian world all this time?"

He paused to reflect on his question and then shrugged again, "One can only speculate, but whatever the case is, we must find what Doctor Ravenswood found. I scoured my memory and the only thing that comes up anywhere near that area is Al Jib.

"You know about the Temple, so perhaps you'll recall that Gideon was one of the older locations of the original Tabernacle. One of the places the Ark of Covenant and other relics were kept.

"Unless you can think of a better place, I suggest we start there."

Thinking about Garret's final question he said, "No, I can't say that I know anything else. I only have theories."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett's eyes narrowed as he listened to Dr. Ben-David in silence. At one point his hand ran through his hair, putting his already mussed locks into further disarray. It was not until the doctor put forth the hypothesis about the Templars being an extension of an ancient Israelite movement that Garrett replied. Missing the collegiate atmosphere of Oxford, and unable to resist an academic debate, even in these trying times, he interjected: "Doctor, with all due respect... I realize that what you've just put forward is probably only slightly more than a rhetorical supposition, but I see very little in the Israelite history that I am familiar with to justify it. A Jewish order, operating under Christian guise and going so far as to desecrate Christian symbols?" Shrugging, he continued, "Admittedly, my own expertise focuses more distantly in the past..." He waved a hand, dismissively, at the same time tempering his voice in an attempt not to be insulting. "Regardless of when the Templar's origins stem from, all current evidence that I am aware of points to them being much more rooted in the Christian tradition than the Jewish one - where such distinctions are possible or relevant..."

Garrett's eyebrows shot up and his voice began to slowly climb in volume. "Al Jib?! But Al Jib is only known as references in various ancient te... - You're not telling me that you've found Al Jib, are you???" Suddenly becoming aware of their environment, Garrett lowered his voice, and glanced around to make sure that they weren't being listened in on.

Quietly, and with eyes burning with the excitement of a hungry academic possibly on the cusp of being present at or near the onset of a famous discovery, he leaned forward and asked quietly, "Have you found Al Jib?"

--Garrett

"I'm not referring to false Christian orders and religious desecration, necessarily. There is a long tradition of sodomy, exclusive rites, idol worship, and mysticism in Palestine . . . and it isn't a Jewish one either. My supposition is, that if the Templars predated the Crusades, they must have pagan roots or we would have read about them in Jewish texts. And simply looking at the heresy they were accused of makes one wonder.

"Did you know that many people, members of academia, denounce the heresy charges as false? A hidden agenda by the Pope and a corrupt King to sieze control of the vast Templar estate? I'm not sure I agree with my peers on that conjecture. The Templars were disbanded in one single day and virtually every confessor said the same thing. A conspiracy of that size could not have been coordinated across the continent in that way. It simply raises a question . . . why would a Christian order use pagan rituals?

"I digress. Only our colleague's findings will shed light upon that one."

In answer to Garrett's surprise, he simply shrugged.

"His assistant seemed to think so, but if this is the case, it is a mystery to me as to why he kept so quiet about it. I think his assistant must have simply misunderstood.

"However, if the Templars have an origin seperate from Jerusalem, then Gideon would be a good place to look for. I've made arrangements to meet Dr. Ravenswood's assistant at the excavation site. I suspect you are interested in joining me?"

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett ran his hand through his hair and pondered as the Doctor made his point. "True, but there is also the possibility of religious cross-polination, or evolution, perhaps even in-breeding....It could very well be that the heresey charges are true, as well as the idea of Templar's eventual disbandment stemming from a corrupt pope and king harboring a plot to do away with them and seize their assets. The state definitely had an interest in curtailing the activities of the Templars, heretics or not. It seems to me that any state-approved, perhaps state-prepared, confessions loose some validity - under duress even a toughened man will sign something placed in front of him if his questioners use the proper methods. Just look to the Inquisition... If the Templars got their start before the Crusades..." Here Garrett paused and shook his head, unsure whether he would be able to believe it, even with proof, "...their religious practices could stem from any number of places - perhaps even an unrecognizable form of gnosticism, with Baphomet taking the place of the Demiurge, and so on. "

At this, he spread his hands and continued, "But, as you say, Doctor, there is no way of knowing until we discover what Dr. Ravenswood had found."

At Ben-David's implied offer, Garrett's whole face lit up. "You're suspicions are well founded, Doctor. I will admit my professional, as well as my personal, curiosity has been pricked. If you would have me along, I would be more than happy to join you." Over the cups of chai and plates of falafel, Garrett offered his hand to the older scholar hopefully, a sober smile on his face.

--Garrett

"Brilliant! We shall meet tomorrow outside the student commons. Does 7:00 sound good?"

Finishing his chai he apologetically stood, "I must return to my lecture. I am very relieved I found you. Until tomorrow."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett rose with the Doctor, nodding in agreement. "Seven it is, Doctor. Any hint as to what we might expect?"

He motioned for Ben-David to proceed him out of the cafe, and as the walked into the warmth of Jerusalem's afternoon, he continued, "I must say, I am looking forward to working with you - I only hope to be of any assitance possible in the making of two discoveries - one for the benefit of mankind's knowledge, and one for the benefit of justice..." His thin smile of pleasure at securing a position (of what sort had never precisely been mentioned) faded at the reminder that Ravenswood was not the only person close to him to have passed away recently. For several moments he was silent, meditating of the unfortunate timing that had snatched not only a mentor, but both of his parents, from this world in the space of a few days.

Garrett walked towards the Institute with Dr. Ben-David, slowing his long stride to allow the other gentleman the leisure of his own pace. After some silence, time spent mentally in the dark recesses of his own mind, and physically accompanying the Doctor through the busy streets of Jerusalem towards Ben-David's afternoon appointment, he turned towards his new employer and asked tenatively, "Doctor? I wonder if I might trouble you for a favor?"

Taking his left hand out of his pocket, he ran it through his already unkempt hair, took a deep breath and continued in Hebrew. "I know that time is pressing, but I was hoping that I could look through some of the Institute's archeological archives." He motioned slightly with his hand, indicating that he realized what he had said could be misinterpreted, " - not only for my own studies," he was quick to add, admiting, " - which is in part why I was coming here today - but in the hopes that I may be able to find something that sheds light on Ravenwoods' discoveries..."

--Garrett

Laughing a bit too heartily for the conversation at hand Ben-David responded, "Well, I don't expect we'll be sipping plum wine on a terrace over the Nile."

Reaching into his coat for a pipe a lit it habitually and then continued as his colleage accompanied him outside the cafe.

"I'm sure your assistance will be exactly what we need to solve this riddle. Great minds may think a like, but young ones think better."

He pounded his temple with a large grin and then tasted more of his pipe.

"Indeed," he said at Garrett's humble request.

Stopping briefly to scribble a note he handed it to him, "Give this to the librarian. But be careful, we don't want any present danger sniffing at our heels."

--Laveaux 18:33, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett chuckled at the Doctor's wise-crack about sipping plum wine.

"No, Doctor, thats not what I expected. Unfortunately, though, most of my work has been confined to the classrooms, archives and museums of England... I should have made you aware of this earlier, but I have very little experience in the field - not that I am adverse to it. In fact, I find myself quite eager to be mucking about in the actual locations that I've been studying for years." Garrett had withdrawn and packed his own pipe as he spoke. Now he lit it, and after drawing on with a few short, quick breaths to insure that it was lit, smiled and added quietly in Hebrew, "Especially if you have found Al-Jib..."

He paced the doctor, settling into a comfortable rhythm of strolling, puffing on his pipe, and light conversation.

Ah, I could almost imagine that the world was alright at times like this - a professional archeologist who seems to accept my scholarly abilities, good food, good tobbacco, a pleasant stroll... Of course, he knew that there was much the matter with the world presently - too much. The death of one of his favourite professors being a large, but partial piece. The recent death of his parents figuring much more prominently, but about which he was powerless to do anything.

Garrett wasn't accustomed to being praised so highly, especially by an academic he had just met. "Doctor, you flatter me. I am just learning to think correctly now, but you have obviously had much practice in a fruitful career... I would put experience ahead of youth, not the other way around."

Garrett accepted the note and nodded to Ben-David. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity. And please don't worry, I will make efforts to insure that my work there this evening does not point a telltale finger at our endeavors tomorrow."

Garret walked with Dr. Ben-David back to the campus, where he said goodbye until the morning, and walked immediately to the archives as soon as they had parted ways.

--Garrett

It was a hot day in Jerusalem, even with the morning sun splashing orange across the city, the night prior did not get cold enough to warrant desert briskness. Having not seen rain in two and a half weeks the desert was remarkably dry. Crystal blue skies cried for humidity and the people below worked through the dust of their day.

Dr. Ben-David was right on time. Having discarded his suit in favor for kakis and a button-up he looked slightly less Jewish now, however a broad smile and firm handshake reaffirmed the traits from yesterday. Standing proudly at the university steps and turned to reveal someone completely unexpected.

She was no more than twenty-four. Brown hair tied into a tight bun, revealing a once-fair, but now sunkissed face. Blue eyes and dark eyebrows suggested Italian descent. She wore kakis as well, boots, and a man's button-up shirt, with a fedora under her arm. A brilliant smile flashed from a delicate face and she said, "I'm Caterina Morelli, Dr. Ravenswood assistant. You must be Garrett?"

She extended her hand.

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett had slept very little last night. Between his efforts in the archives, and his excitement at journeying to an actual archeological did - perhaps evn El-Jib - he had great difficulty in getting his eyes to stay closed...

It was not until this morning, dressing in his small hotel room, that Garrett had realized he didn't have clothing appropriate for fieldwork. Oh well, he thought, picking out the oldest of the trousers and shirts he had brought with him to Jerusalem, I suppose I will have to relegate these clothes to being my dirt-encrusted excavation outfit. Even this decision brought him some excitement - It was not that he disliked the quite, musty halls of Oxford and the museums in which he studied artifacts. He quite enjoyed the monastic feeling, in fact. But the immediacy of being at the actual location of events and history had long held a distant interest for him - an interest he found growing greater by the moment.

Just think! If this IS Al-Jib, then it is where Joshua supposedly made the Sun stand still; where Solomon offered sacrifices and prayed for wisdom; where Johanan and Ishmael fought by the great waters.... There are events that appear - that help to shape - the Old Testament, that occured there.

Garrett had experienced much the same feelings on his arrival in Jerusalem. And though they had faded - he found that his romanticized ideals did not mesh well with the practical reality of the situaion - they had not disappeared altogether...

Now, he was on his way to meet the Doctor, and Ravenwood's assistant, in order to visit a place of undiscovered history.

The student historian was dressed in slacks and suspenders over a button down shirt - the sleaves already rolled up to his elbows in the heat. He had allowed himself to dress down, wearing his sneakers instead of his dressier shoes, which would have been completely inappropriate for the dirt and mess of a dig site. In his left hand, he carried a deceptively heavy briefcase, containing his language dictionaries, his journal, a change of tshirt, socks and underwear (he wasn't sure how long they would be out), and some pens and charcoal. His blazer was cltuched between his left hand and the handle of the briefcase. No doubt it would need to be cleaned and pressed before it was ready to be worn in company again... His right hand held a haphazardly strung-together assemblage of his 35mm camera in its case, the camera tripod, and his archeological toolkit. The toolkit had been a Christmas gift from his parents, and had never seen use - its monogrammed ('GTH') leather case appeared freshly tooled, and the steel and wood instruments inside gleamed like freshly polished silver.

Garrett beamed when he saw Ben-David waiting for him on the steps. He strode up to him, stoping a step below, and, placing the tripod on the stairs, balancing it with his already full left-hand, returned the good Doctor's handshake.

"Shalom, Doctor."

His expression faltered only slightly upon seeing a young woman with the good Doctor. While his father would have had something decidedly unpleasant to say, Garrett was trying to train himself to accept women in fields that had traditionally been male-dominated. He was fully aware of past matriarchal societies, though most of the ones that he focused on tended to be strongly patriarchal. As with any man, he felt that a woman should be given the benefit of the doubt, unless she proved otherwise by her actions. Unfortunately, he had met a few women attempting to make a name for themselves who affected a cold and forceful attitude - a defense mechanism, possibly, against a disapproving masculine society. Understandable, to a degree, but still unpleasant to be around.

He leaned forward, precariously balancing the tripod, camera and small toolkit between his briefcase and thigh, and took her proffered hand. "Charmed, Miss Morelli." His smile answered her own. Well, at least she seems pleasant enough... He released her hand and rescued his tripod bundle, on the verge of slipping and spilling across the steps. "You are correct - I am Garrett. Although the late Professor..." Garrett paused for a moment, the smile slipping from his face. He forced it back, though his eyes contained some remembered sadness, and continued, "...the late Professor was fond of calling me Sargon..."

Hefting his bundles slightly, Garrett's smile changed to a sheepish grin. "I feel as if I may have overpacked..."

--Garrett

A thin eyebrow shifted upward revealing something in Caterina's face: pleasentries could be overshadowed by sass and perhaps a bit of surliness. Still with a smile she responded, "Sargon? A powerful military king overthrown by his own people. Some think he was punished by the gods. Perhaps you were a little rebellious to Dr. Ravenswood?"

Her eyebrow went back to its natural position revealing she was only taking a jab at him. Perhaps testing the waters of his sense of humor.

Dr. Ben-David chuckled, "Overthrown yes, but only after 60 years, Caterina. Maybe Dr. Ravenswood was pointing out Garrett's zealous 'staying power'."

This resulted in one of Ben-David's howling rounds of laughter. Smacking the young man on the back he picked up some of his own gear.

"Better to be prepared then caught ill-awares," Ben-David said, "though we are only going forty-five minutes away."

Caterina snorted, "It's only that far because of the way you drive, old man."

"If my father, rest his soul, was not watching me from heaven I'd let you drive. The old man is already hunting me for allowing you on expeditions."

The vehicle they must have been referring to was an old, dusty sedan that had been, at one point, forcefully turned into a convertable. Three crates rested in the back seat, but there was room enough for one person. Caterina, without hesitation sat in the passenger seat and Ben-David in the driver's side.

After everyone was settled he leaned back and quipped, "Did everyone bring their fishing rods?"

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett looked between the two people standing before him - Dr. Ben-David, the small bear of a professor, and Miss Morelli, Ravenswood's fetching young assistant. Well they seem well-at-ease with one another...And at least she knows her history. Sortof. The legend of Sargon of Akkad being overthrown by a revolution was probably false on two counts - first, it was a later-day addition to the legend of Sargon (other historians had placed its origin in the later Babylonian period); secondly, the legend goes on to say that Sargon emerged victorious. The Akkadian empire didn't actually fall until the reign of Shar-Kali-Sharri, Sargon's great-grandson, when it was ended by a revolution of the Gutii people. Garrett debated whether or not the first professional meeting with these two would be an appropriate time to correct them.

Of particular interest to Garrett was the fact that Sargon had supposedly been found as a baby floating down a river in a reed basket. Thousands of years later, another Semitic people, the Jews, would attribute the same myth to Moses.

He relaxed and smiled a little at their easy banter. "I would like to believe that he awarded me the name due to some staying power on my part - As I'm sure you know, the Professor had little time or patience for people who could not form their own ideas and stick by them - especially since Akkad didn't actually fall until a century and a half after Sargon's death," Well, it is done, whether it was politic or not, "but it was perhaps due to something else... A very bad pun in ancient Akkadian, actually. I'm afraid that the title was more a reminder of my shortfallings as a comedian than an honorifc..."

Garrett directed a shrug at Miss Morelli when Dr. Ben-David spoke of the ghost of his departed father, as if to say, "Why fight it?" As he grabbed his belongings and walked towards the car, his mind ran over the decisions he had come to last night.

Second thoughts had plagued him, kept him awake half the night after the archivist became fed up with his late-night presence and kicked him out of the Institutes' archives - something about the fact that even if Garrett didn't need supper and sleep, he did. Ah well. This seemed almost a fool's errand that they ran off on, trying to find a structure built by an organization from a time before that organization was even founded, in a city that had been lost for centuries, in order to discover evidence to apprehend a murderer... If Ravenswood's name had not been connected - no, in fact, embedded, in the project, Garrett would have tenderly informed Dr. Ben-David of his inability to participate. Of course, the implication of pay from the Institute helped to assuage his misgivings. If only that point could be firmed up in an appropriate fashion. As he left this morning, he decided that he would help the Doctor, but reserve judgement on the project as a whole until he had seen more.

Garrett climbed into the back seat, wedging his long legs behind the passenger seat in which Miss Morelli had placed herself. He carefully wedged his suitcase and tripod between the crates in the other back seat, and rifled through his suitcase for his journal.

He paged through it as he answered the Doctor's quip, "I was considering bringing it, but I suspect that the biblical 'Great Waters' of Gibeon are long since dry; and neither Sand Eel nor Stonefish are to my taste..."

Finding the page that he was looking for, he waited till they were under way, and holding his hat on his head with one hand, passed the open journal up to Miss Morelli with the other, saying, "Miss Morelli, I wonder if you would be so kind as to look at something for me. Does this seem to be an accurate representation of your dig site's location?" His thumb held the journal open to the page on which he had copied the map he had discovered in the archives the night before. He had not had time to confirm it with extensive cross-referencing (there had been so much that he needed to do, in such a small amount of time), but it seemed accurate enough to him.

He hoped it would prompt her to talk a little about the project on their way their. Forty-five minutes did not seem like enough time to receive the background information on such a find as El-Jib, not to mention a possible Templar structure pre-dating 1118 AD.

--Garrett

The beastly sedan roured into life as Ben-David turned the key. The incident was more akin to waking Frankenstein then starting a vehicle. Bouncing into motion they veered onto the Institute's paved street. Only looking half back at Garrett's inquiry, Ben-David focused on the road.

Caterina turned all the way around and even leaned over a bit to get a good look at the map. Her left arm stradling his right in a far-too-forward gesture, it suddenly became apparent she had not an inkling of personal space. Fortunately the dim lavender aroma that trickled from her meant she had an inkling of personal hygeine.

Blue eyes crossed downward as she finally had a decent look.

"That's exactly where Dr. Ravenswood is digging . . .", her face pained for a moment and fleeted into melancholy before readjusting itself to the business at hand, "where he was digging. I haven't been to the site since the loss, but Dr. Ben-David assures me there should be a clue there to this whole mess."

She went back to a sitting posture, but kept against the door so as to include Garrett in the conversation.

"Dr. Ravenswood believed this was the not only the location of Gibeon, but he was on the path to finding the Tabernacle as well. The week before he passed I was called away by the Institute and so he continued to dig alone. He only made one correspondance. . ."

She reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a letter and handed it to Garrett.

Dr. Ravenswood wrote:

December 23, 1946

Dearest Caterina,

I hope your stay in Istanbul is comfortable. I am jealous that the Institute sent you to the cradle of near eastern civlization. I do hope you have a chance to explore Topkapi, it can be very humbling, especially at sunset.

In the interest of our excavation I do plea you expedite your return. I have made a remarkable discovery and one that is not fit to include in this letter. I have contacted your old nemesis Dr. Ben-David for his own opinion and through my excitement told him over the telephone enough to wet his tastebuds. Perhaps since you are with him, he can tell you more.

Indeed, I have no intention on leaving this site until there is some security. I feel I am being watched.

Please hurry, love.

Respectfully, Liam

When Caterina saw he was done reading she said, "We both believe this is the site of Al-Jib and Dr. Ravenswood was exploring a particularly interesting deposit of statuettes on the outskirts of the site. My instinct says that it is there he made his discovery."

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett grabbed onto the side panel of the sedan as it started with a rumble and roar, his other hand flying to his hat a moment later. His brow furrowed but he said nothing - some of his ... less affluent ... friends on scholarship at Oxford had scraped together enough cash to buy cars that made this sedan look like his father's Rolls in contrast.

Musn't forget that Bobby and Richard both probably have a greater net worth than the entire Holburn family now...

Moments later, he was distracting himself by fishing out the journal to ask Miss Morelli about...

...A slight flush tinged Garrett's cheeks as Miss Morelli's arm lay across his - he was rarely that comfortable with other people, much less, attractive, young, female peers. To hide it, he turned his head to watch the passing streets as she examined the drawing in the journal.

At her confirmation of the veracity of the map, he nodded and turned to busy himself with putting it away, avoiding looking at her. Garrett struggled with trying to put the book back into the briefcase one handed for a moment, before finally deciding to give up on the hat. Taking it off of his head, he placed it on the floor of the car between his feet, trying to ignore the mess that the wind was making of his recently pomaded and combed hair.

Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later - especially as we're heading to a dirt-filled dig site.

Garrett turned back to Miss Morelli just in time to receive Ravenswood's letter. He read through it once, started to fold it to hand back to Ravenswood's ex-assistant, but then thought better of it, and read it a second time, chewing on his lip as he did so.

As he handed the letter back to the young woman in the passenger seat, he nodded, and was silent for a moment before asking her a few questions. "Well, Miss Morelli," he began, "I have to admit that it is an intriguing note. In more ways than one. Would you call this correspondance characteristic of the esteemed Professor? Not commonplace, surely - of course, he stated that he had just made a 'remarkable discovery' - but does it seem to have been written in his voice?"

And later, "And the last passage, about the need for security and being watched... Well, it seems slightly strange to me." Garrett was realizing that he didn't know enough about Ravenswood's death. "I mean - was Ravenswood still in El-jib on Christmas eve? Or had he returned to Jerusalem by then, and if so, what became of the security he presumably had arranged before leaving the dig site?" He finished his question, but then a moment later, gestured suddenly and added, "And if security was such a consideration, why did I find the original of that map that I just showed to you - presumably drawn by the Professor - amongst some notes in the Institute's archives?"

--Garrett

"Perhaps he is not so casual with you Mr. Holburn, but you are also not the daughter of his late sister."

She smiled, knowing full well that Garrett did not know this and a roaring "hah" echoed from the driver's seat.

"There wasn't time to disclose the particulars," Dr. Ben-David said, "but I'll be you thought she was entirely Italian."

"Halfway so, anyway," she said smiling, "but, in any case, Dr. Ravenswood was my uncle. I tend to keep that information quiet when on the job with colleages. I wouldn't want his reputation to be accuse of nepotism.

"I was the only woman that received a doctorate in Near-Eastern Anthropology at Cambridge."

Ben-David snorted, "You were the only woman to get a doctorate from there at all."

"My mother would have me washing diapers if it weren't for my father. But, this story isn't about me."

Back to the note she reread it and also found herself biting her lip, "Well that is just it, Mr. Holburn I don't know if he was on the site or in Jerusalem the night of his death. Obviously he ended up in Jerusalem, but the police believe he was moved."

"If he was murdered at the site no one would have found him for weeks," Ben-David said, "it is almost as if the killer wanted him to be found."

She rolled her eyes, "Ben and his conspiracies. . . we shouldn't theorize until we've seen the site."

"Theories built this civilization, Caterina," Ben-David bantered.

Now they were steering north on a lone highway heading away from the irrigated plumes of Jerusalem into the rocky scorched landscape ahead.

"I'm not sure why you found the map," she said ignoring Ben-David, "perhaps he was being sloppy. But my uncle was never that."

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett blinked and stared wide-eyed, silent, at Miss Morelli's rapid-fire confessions. First, Dr. Ravenswood's neice - one he had never mentioned amongst the halls of Oxford, at least never by name... And second, a Cambridge graduate - a doctor in Anthropology, no less. He made a quick re-evaluation of Miss Morelli. He had assumed she was either currently a graduate student, or hade her masters, but was working as Ravenswood's assistant before she went back to school to receive her doctorate (presumably at Oxford, if she was working with Ravenswood). Apparently no so. Garrett would also hazard a guess that his first estimate of twenty-four years old was a bit to low. A doctor at twenty-four? Not impossible, but improbable.

And besides, some of those mediterraneans keep their youthful looks for quite some time.

Garrett was gripped by a momentary feeling of inadequecy, sitting in the back seat (which, apparently was his appropriate position, as the only current student amongst them) behind Dr. Ben-David of the Institute, and the woman he now knew as Dr. Morelli, Ravenswood's neice and Cambridge graduate... This was quickly followed by a sensation of being in over his head.

Well, and it certainly explained the familiar tone of the note... I suppose thats one misgiving crossed off the list.

"Yes, well, um... Miss - er.. " Garrett sputtered for a moment, trying to remember how to speak, glancing away for Miss Morelli's blue eyes to gather his wits, "Pardon me, Dr. Morelli, I can understand why one might want to avoid the stain of the nepotism label, but surely a Cambridge doctorate speaks for itself?"

"Yes, thats exactly what I thought when I discovered it. It hardly seems the mark of Professor Ravenswood to have left documents laying about in the archives - much less documents that reveal the direction and scope of his current project." He raised a cautionary hand, as if to warn that what he said next was not to be taken as gospel, "Perhaps if Dr. Ben-David is on the right track, then someone also wanted this map to be found. Which raises the possibility of the dig site being tampered with in the last week and a half."

Garrett watched the landscape slide past (or rather tumble by, in this jalopy), his mind chewing over several things he had just heard, and over some things yet unsaid. After a few minutes of silence, he leaned forward cautiously, raising his voice to be heard above the wind, and said, "Dr Morelli, you raise an excellent point, though I think a certain amount of precautionary theorizing may prove beneficial, no matter how unfounded - as long as we remain open to the idea of those theories being proven false." He pause to swallow and take a breath, looking neither right nor left, but straight ahead down the road as he continued, " However, it seems that I find myself operating on sparse foundations. Would the two of you mind filling me in on the details of the project? I am well familiar with the basics of El-jib and Gibeon, but would love to hear of the specifics of this operation, and the groundwork that Ravenswood and Dr. Morelli laid before begining the dig..." At the end, he glanced left and right at his two new companions, gauging their reaction to his request for information. Historians and archaeologists often played their cards close to their chest - like many other professions in which one's career was partly founded on first publication. This was an unusual situation, and Garrett hoped - no, expected - that these two would open up to him, a as-of-yet relatively unknown quantity.

--Garrett

She giggled at his stammer, a girlish twang echoing in her blue eyes.

"Please, don't call me doctor. It's so ... stuffy."

"Six years of school and sleepless nights. You should embrace the title," Ben-David said.

"I prefer you simply call me Caterina," she said, "and you would think a doctorate from Cambridge could be a shield, but this is a man's field and the presence of women like me can be threatening. No offense to you two, of course, I am speaking generally. But, in my experience, credential goes out the window in favor of criticism and cynicism."

The two considered Garrett's point about the site being tampered with for quite some time. Finally Ben-David responded, "It is possible, Garrett, I submit that. I also think it is possible he was leaving clues . . . should something happen to him. He had a distinct feeling of danger, we know that much."

Ben-David through out a Yiddish curse all of the sudden, as he suddenly swerved around a stray sheep. A coule hundred meters off to the side of the road a shepherd slowly moved the flock onward.

"To be truthful," Caterina said, "there's not much to tell. Oxford wanted a sound study to disprove tall tales about the Templars. In his research regarding the original tabernacle, he came to this location to explore some inscriptions on statuettes that referenced Gibeon. We never thought we would find the place itself.

"We uncovered the foundation for a fortress wall and beneath it a cemetery. We found only two tombes, but there was enough there in our first week of digging to convince us it was Gibeon."

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett nodded at Miss Morelli's preference for using her first name and not her title. It was not unknown to him - even now he called his fellow doctoral candidates by their first names. But his time in the army and his slow ensconcement in the academic establishment had also ingrained into him a habit of address anyone outside your rank or station with their appropriate title and by their last name - a habit that had started with a childhood in a very status-concientious household.

"Very well, Doc -" he cleared his throat to hide his embarrasement at his second slip-up in as many minutes, "Pardon me - Caterina." He said her name slowly, feeling its exotic sounds on his tongue, filled with foreign Roman influence. A simple Italian name sounded stranger and more magical to him than words in ancient Akkadian, a language unspoken for thousands of years. "Please excuse me, I fear my use of rank and title is rather ingrained. It may take some time break myself of the habit..." A moment later, he remembered his manners, and quickly added, "And of course, you must call me Garrett - or, for that matter, any of the other appellations I seem to have acquired..."

Garrett let out a loud yelp as Dr. Ben-David swerved around the errant sheep. Thrown back from the small space he had been leaning forward into, one hand flung out and landed across the stacked crates, while the other grabbed the edge of the car, steadying himself and the boxes of equipment. He turned to stare in amazement at the shepherd tending to his flock a few hundred feet away. The sight of the lone man with his attendant army of wool took Garrett's breath away. In that moment he fantasized that the car had somehow traveled back in time, that they were traveling to the Gibeon of centuries ago, and that this shepherd was but an ancient Isrealite, out moving his flock to pasture. This ability of history to evoke the magic of ages (along with its illumination of cultural, and more recelnty, religious evolution) had attracted Garrett to its study.

Garrett raised his eyebrows at the mention of their discoveries. "A cemetary and tombs? Well, that is exciting!" Garrett's speech began to accelerate as he asked questions about the dig, "Did you find the tombs intact when you arrived - and was there any evidence of burial conditions or rituals? Corpses? Accompanying burial possessions?" He leaned forward in his seat again, in order to speak to Caterina more directly, heedless of any danger in his growing excitement.

--Garrett

She laughed and then smacked his nose with her index finger. Looking over at Ben-David she said, "He's like a schoolboy!"

"He is a school boy, Caterina."

To satisfy his eagerness, the young doctor proceeded, "I've the entire thing memorized, I spent 4 weeks there. Two burials adjacent to each other. Middle Bronze. One and a quarter meters in diameter and about 2 meters below the surface. It was perfectly sealed. The southern-most burial is almost entirely undisturbed save for a missing skull, but the northern is missing a great deal of its remains. They bodies were laid in a fetal position.

"We found five large pots, two decorative head bands, two lamps, a javelin and dagger.

"At the time I left there was no new information save for the inscriptions on the pots. They were clearly written in Hebrew and identified the location as Gibeon. Our initial evaluation placed it right around 1400 BC.

Ben-David turned back with zeal on his face, "Under the reign of Joshua, perhaps that burial was from the great battle itself! The day the sun stood still. Hah!"

He fanatically drove the jeep forward, now on a completely deserted dusty road, the sun rose high enough in the Palestinian wilderness to begin baking their exposed skin.

"That is a metaphor of course, professor," she said with a cocked grin.

"Of course," Ben-David responded.

"And of course, 1400 is only an educated guess. It could have been as early as 1700."

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Garrett blushed as Caterina smacked his nose, and ducked his head, muttering under his breath (in frightening syncrhonicity with the Doctor), "Well, I am a schoolboy..."

Garrett chuckled slightly when he heard the Doctor speaking at the same time, but his brief amusement turned to quickly to slight resentment.

Its fine for me to joke about it... Garrett thought, frowning slightly, but I hope thats not how he considers me. I mean, if not for the war... The doctoral candidate paused, well aware that he was treading tricky moral waters. He didn't want to resent the work he had taken part in for the war effort - work that he firmly believed was very important to the Allies' success - but at the same time, it was a large chunk of his life gone. He would have received his doctorate years ago, and would have now been well on his way to becoming ... well, becoming whatever awaited him in the future. I've got to let it go. What's done is done. Turing and the rest were right - Bletchley Park would leave you changed, but you must move on as if it had never existed. Technically, it still didn't.

Garrett was brought out of his moody reverie - quickly noting that he had become very liable to similar mood swings in the past few weeks - as Caterina began recounting the contents of the burial site.

He nodded in excitement as Caterina concluded her list, Ben-David echoing Garrett's thoughts from earlier in the day.

Metaphor or no, the image came from someplace, he thought. Aloud, he asked, "Do you feel the specimens died peaceful deaths - I mean, were the missing body parts evidence of injury, or something else? And, were you able to use the Hebrew writing to help date the site? I'm guessing that at least one of you is skilled in Ancient Hebrew... Did you find any other written artifacts? Everything was in Hebrew?" Garrett trailed off in thought as his mind tossed the complex interweave of Caananite languages back and forth.

Aramaic and Akkadian were both widespread, and in use throughout the Levant (and much of the Near East) for long periods of time - why he chose to study them in the first place - but if it was a Jewish burial, then all the text may well be in ancient Hebrew. According to the current records, Moabite wouldn't show up for another several centuries, and even then, would be too far north-east to have made an appearance in El-Jib. Ugaritic? The time period was right, but... Well, probably not that, either.

Garrett sorted through his memories, trying to remember what he knew about language usage and the lingua franca of the second century BC Levant.

--Garrett

"It was clear these two were soldiers," Caterina explained, "the one with a missing skull had fractures all the way down the spine. The skull is likely missing because there wasn't much to bury. The other suffered extensive chest damage, probably from a javelin.

"Dr. Ravenswood was the Ancient Hebrew officianado, but we found no other languages at the site and the vernacular was certainly around during the time of Joshua.

"If it was a military burial there is bound to be others yet uncovered."

The convertable sedan pulled off the main road, if it could be called that, and ventured deep into a barely recognizable road on into the desert. Limestone cliffs and mountains spotted the landscape, but it was barren apart from that.

Eventually they came upon a parked military sedan. As the car approached, a British soldier stepped out, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He flagged Ben-David down and came around to speak with them, rifle strapped to his back.

"Hello there, what's all this then?"

"The Institute of Archeology has sent us. Here are my papers," Ben-David showed the soldier his credentials, quite clumsily.

Skeptical, the soldier looked it over and then into the sedan before meeting eyes with Caterina, who coyly leaned forward.

"Do you have another one?"

"What?" The soldier stammered for a moment before realizing that she was referring to his cigarettes.

Just as clumsy as Ben-David he pulled one out and handed it to her before lighting it.

"Well then, carry on. Good luck to ya."

He tapped the car and stood erect watching them as they continued into the desert.

"Bloody crown's here already," Caterina said passing the cigarette back to Garrett, not interested in smoking.

"Maybe just a precaution," Ben-David said, "the police cannot know about this site yet and certainly the British government doesn't know either. Might be something else going on."

"Uncle bloody broadcasted it, I'm sure of it."

She snatched the cigarette back, stress suddenly forming in her eyes.

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

Soldiers, yes... Garrett nodded silently again as Caterina explained the findings at the dig. I can't imagine the type of world that would include violence resulting in such damage to the skul that the spine itself fractures... Then again, the idea of being killed on the battlefield by the very air you breath would probably seem equally as foreign to them.

"More, you say? Why is that - do you think that they may actually date from a larger conflict? Joab and Abner's conflict, or perhaps Joshua's army?" Garrett didn't understand where these statistical inclinations came from - he was more used to reading about statistics that others had discovered and drawing conclusions from them.

As Garrett saw the military sedan, a small frown of worry crossed his face. What's this, then? He quickly patted his jacket to insure that his passport was still in the inside pocket, and then leaned back, waiting and watching.

He was just about to speak up, niavely hoping that a British voice might help smooth over any difficulties, when Caterina grabbed the guard's attention. He watched with interst as she easily distracted him, allowing them all to continue unimpeded. Idly, and only half-seriously, he wondered, Was she trying to avoid a delay? Or was there a reason she didn't want him to ask for her papers? Garrett gave the soldier a polite nod as they went by, and turned back to the front to see Caterina handing him the cigarette. He looked at it a moment and took it gingerly out of her hand.

A pipe was fine, but cigarettes didn't agree with him. He held it for a second longer, wondering if he should actually take a puff, just to be polite, when Caterina turned and took it back from him, saving him the trouble. Garrett merely gave a resigned shrug, and replied, teasingly:

"He may well have... But I also seem to recall someone reminding us all not to theorize until we have more information..."

--Garrett

Holding back a smile, she smacked him on the arm.

�You�re a pistol, you are.�

She took more of her cigarette in and tossed it into the desert.

�Shouldn�t have those. Not very lady-like. Hollywood would have you believe differently,� she said.

�Nothing wrong with a good smoke to settle the senses,� Ben-David remarked.

�Back to your inquiry,� Caterina continued, �I suspect there are more because wounds like that only come from battle and I�ve never heard of a battle where only two people died.�

There was a patronizing hint and Ben-David said, �Be gentle on the boy, he�s avoiding assumptions.�

�No harm meant,� she said allowing the smile to finally emerge, �I�m just unsettled by the police.

�We�re nearly there,� Ben-David said.

They crested a hill and the familiar site of an archeological dig presented itself. There were five tents, each manned by police officers and inspectors scoured the area like insects on rubbish. Ben-David stopped the car and sat up to get a better view. They were still a hundred meters away and were not yet spotted.

Caterina dropped her face in her hands.

�Bloody hell. They�ve ruined the bloody dig.�

�No need to swear, dearheart, I�m sure they are careful. After all they are investigating a crime. How shall we proceed, I wonder?�

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)

On seeing the heavy police presence at the dig site, Garrett let a noisy breath escape from his lips. He gave Caterina a surprised look at her use of expletives, but said nothing.

Well, so much for doing this without any official record...

Running a hand through his wind-mussed hair, he shrugged and replied to Ben-David's question, "I'm not quite sure, really - this being my first dig and all, I don't have any idea what one should do when the police ransack one's site..." He paused for a moment, and realizing how flippant that sounded gave both the Doctor and Caterina a slightly sheepish look.

Garrett moved his gaze to watch the police and inspectors, and continued, trying to cover for his earlier statement, "One thing I do know, however, is that seeing as how we are all connected with the late ... with Professor Ravenswood, there's no doubt that they'll want to talk to us. We should most likely get our stories straight before going any further..."

Hmmm.. Is that the Israeli police uniform, or one of the British Protectorate's? Garrett was weighing the various reactions that a Israeli, Brit and possible Italian (he wasn't sure yet) might receive from the police force. It wasn't exactly his area of expertise.

--Garrett

Caterina bit her thumbnail as she stared at the scene ahead. Ben-David, less calm, wiped sweat from his brow and said, �Yes. Well, we have the right story. We just cannot tell them the whole story. We are only here to continue the work.�

The investigation was being run by British soldiers. There were some local Palestinian officers, but they were being used as grunts. One officer brought two soldiers into a black sedan with them and they drove toward their location. They were certainly spotted.

�Just act normal, Professor,� Caterina said.

�Normal? Hah!�

In the next five minutes they were once again being looked over by the authorities. Rolling up to the car door was a strong-jawed officer with a mustache and graying temples.

�You are the archeologists reported at our post?�

Ben-David nodded.

�Very well. Don�t let us interrupt your work.�

The British Officer, not bothering to introduce himself, returned to the sedan and drove to a nearby tent set up about 100 meters from the dig site.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Ben-David said, �Let�s get going then.�

�I don�t like it. Keep your eyes open,� Caterina remarked.

Ben-David brought the car to the dig site, still protected by tents, temporary shelters, and supply sheds. Once out, nearby soldiers disregarded them as they patrolled.

�Maybe this is the protection Dr. Ravenswood asked for.�

Caterina only shrugged, �The site is this way,� she said.

Ahead of them was a single open tent with poles above a descending hole in the desert. Unlit lanterns bordered the entrance and without hesitation, Caterina went inside, taking a lantern with her.

--Laveaux 18:44, 10 December 2005 (CST)