Cross Bones Part 28

I heard rattling, then the refrigerator. Ryan reappeared with my AAFS mug, dropped into an armchair, and thrust both legs full length.

Charlie whistled a line from "Dixie," then screeched, "Strokin'!"

"Did I hear conversation?" Ryan asked.

I waggled the cell phone. "Jake wants me to deliver Morissonneau's skeleton to Israel. He's pretty insistent."

"Land of sun and fun."

"And suicide bombers."

"And that." Ryan blew across his coffee. "Do you want to go to Israel?"

"I do and I don't."

"I love a woman who knows her mind."

"I've always wanted to visit the Holy Land."

"Things are slow. Your lab wouldn't implode if you disappeared for a week."

"What about the boys?" I swept a hand at Birdie and Charlie. "What if Katy needed me?"

I felt instantly stupid. My daughter was twenty-four and a thousand miles away. And a short drive from her father.

"Violence got you nervous?"

"I've traveled to dicier places."

"Why not go?"

I had no answer.

I was was needed at the lab. needed at the lab.

Two kids found bones in a trunk in their uncle's attic. Cold case! Call the cops!

The bones were human. Female, white, thirty to forty years at the time of her death.

Important detail. Every bone had been drilled with tiny holes. Some holes still sported wires.

The knee bone's connected to the ankle bone. The ankle bone's connected to the foot bone.

You get the picture. Unc was a retired physician. The kids' unknown was a teaching skeleton.

My report was completed by 9:05.

After lunch, my thoughts veered to Jake and his guarded mention of a major discovery. What discovery? And why such concern for Masada Max, as Ryan had taken to calling the skeleton? Max couldn't possibly be Jesus. Max had been too old at the time of his death.

Or too young. Wasn't that the premise of the Joyce book?

Both Jake and Blotnik had made reference to the James ossuary. Several Internet articles had mentioned it.

Curious, I did some cyber-surfing.

It yielded the following.

An ossuary is a small stone casket.

Ossuaries served an important function in Jewish burial in first-century Israel. The deceased were entombed and left to decay. One year later, their bones were collected and permanently interred in ossuaries.

Thousands of ancient ossuaries have been discovered throughout Israel and Palestine. One can be purchased on the antiquities market for a few hundred dollars.

The James ossuary is a first-century limestone box measuring approximately twenty inches in length. It is inscribed in Aramaic with the words "James, son of Joseph, brother of Jesus."

When first reported in 2002, the James ossuary made a big splash. According to many, before its discovery, no evidence of Jesus existed outside written texts. The box was heralded as the first physical link to Jesus.

Okay. That's big.

In 2003, an IAA authentication committee was formed. The committee declared the box legit, the inscription a forgery, based largely on oxygen isotope a.n.a.lysis of patina, an encrustation caused by surface oxidation.

The finding led to controversy. Many experts disagreed, calling the committee's work sloppy, its conclusions premature.

Bottom line? No one disputes the age of the box. Some question the inscription, in whole or in part. Some accept the whole enchilada.

Ryan came by at two. Resting a haunch on my desk, he raised his brows. I raised mine back.

"Just for kicks I ran a check on your monastery. Address kicked out something interesting."

I leaned back in my chair.

"Father Andre Gervais dimed the SQ post in Saint-Hyacinthe one week ago today."

"Gervais is a monk at l'Abbaye Sainte-Marie-des-Neiges?"

Ryan nodded. "Seems the boys were edgy about a car with two male occupants parked inside their wall. Saint-Hyacinthe sent a cruiser to check it out." Ryan paused for effect. "Both the driver and pa.s.senger were Palestinian nationals."

"Jesus."

"Nope. The other team." Ryan checked a spiral pad. "Jamal Hasan Abu-Jarur. Muhammed Hazman Shalaideh. Car was a rental."

"What were they doing out there?"

"Claimed they were sightseeing and got lost. Both men had valid pa.s.sports. Names came up clean. The cop told them to move along."

"When was this?"

"March first."

My scalp p.r.i.c.kled.

"Three days after my visit. One day before Morissonneau died."

"Could be coincidence."

"We're running into a lot of those."

"Now for the good news."

"Groovy."

"Hershel Kaplan made fourteen trips to Israel in the two years prior to his last jolt in Bordeaux. Turns out Kaplan's cousin to one of Jerusalem's less fastidious antiquities dealers."

"Get out!"

"Ira Friedman's the Israel National Police major crimes d.i.c.k I've been dealing with. Friedman worked Kaplan pretty hard, suggested they were looking at him for violations of the Antiquities Law, the Protection of Holy Places Law, the desecration of graves, the destruction of cultural resources, tax fraud, smuggling, trespa.s.s, the rape of the lock, the mutiny on the Bounty, Bounty, the murder of Lesnitsky, the kidnapping of Rapunzel, the theft of the golden fleece, and the wreck of the the murder of Lesnitsky, the kidnapping of Rapunzel, the theft of the golden fleece, and the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Edmund Fitzgerald."

"He said that?"

"I'm paraphrasing. Friedman got Kaplan thinking seriously about his future. He also dropped my name, mentioned that Canada wanted to discuss the rubber content of some checks."

"Wily."

"Ploy worked. Kaplan's developed an enormous interest in talking to the home folks."

"Meaning?"

"Wants me, and only me."

"Man's got good instincts."

Ryan smiled a smile as wide as the Chattahoochee. "Friedman wants me in Jerusalem. The bra.s.s okayed it."

"The SQ's actually footing the bill?"

"Amazing, eh? External affairs rolled it to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The Mounties b.u.mped it back to us. I'm lead investigator on the Ferris homicide, so I'm the lucky traveler."

"We'll be in high demand in Israel," I said.

"Shall we oblige?" Ryan asked.

"h.e.l.l, yeah."

18.

THERE'S ONE ADVANTAGE TO FLYING INTO A WAR ZONE. SEAT availability. availability.

As I booked with Air Canada, Denis wrapped Masada Max and packed him into a hockey bag. Then I raced home to arrange cat and c.o.c.katiel care. Winston, my building's custodian, agreed. I'd owe him a fifth of Crown Royal.

I was stuffing a suitcase when Ryan buzzed. Zipping the lid, I dug a catnip mouse from my stash, tossed it to Birdie, and flew out the door.

I have known Ryan for years and traveled with him on several occasions. The man has many fine qualities. Patience in airports is not among them.

We took the 7 P.M. P.M. shuttle to Toronto, Ryan grousing all the way about premature departures and long layovers. shuttle to Toronto, Ryan grousing all the way about premature departures and long layovers.

He needn't have worried. Our AC flight to Tel Aviv was operated by El Al, and security was tighter than Los Alamos in the forties. By the time we explained and reexplained the contents of my carry-on and its supporting doc.u.mentation, cleared the panty-by-panty luggage check, and discussed our life histories and future aspirations in the personal interrogation session, it was after ten.

Ryan used the few minutes left to sweet-talk the gate agent. Between giggles, the nice lady upgraded us to business cla.s.s.

We boarded on time. We departed on time. An aviation miracle.

At cruising alt.i.tude, Ryan accepted his second champagne, and an in-air set of toothy smiles was exchanged.

I have a routine on long international flights.

Phase one. I drink the OJ and read until dinner.

Phase two. I eat sparingly. I saw Airplane. Airplane. I remember the bad fish. I remember the bad fish.

Phase three. I slap the DO NOT DISTURB DO NOT DISTURB sticker on my seat, lean back, and crank up as many movies as it takes to drop off. sticker on my seat, lean back, and crank up as many movies as it takes to drop off.

I followed my routine, starting with a guide to the Holy Land that Winston had produced. Don't ask why. I've never known the man to travel outside Quebec.

Ryan read James Joyce's Dubliners Dubliners and ate everything served. He was snoring by the opening credits of his first film. and ate everything served. He was snoring by the opening credits of his first film.

I lasted through Pirates of the Caribbean, Shrek, Pirates of the Caribbean, Shrek, and the window-box scene in and the window-box scene in a.r.s.enic and Old Lace. a.r.s.enic and Old Lace. Somewhere around dawn I drifted off, but my mind never really disengaged. Somewhere around dawn I drifted off, but my mind never really disengaged.

Or so I thought.

When I opened my eyes an attendant was clearing Ryan's meal tray.

I raised my seat.

"Sleep well, cupcake?"

Ryan tried brus.h.i.+ng hair from my cheek. It stuck. I broke the saliva bond and did a two-handed ear tuck.

"Coffee?" Ryan flattened bangs that were reaching for the overheads.

I nodded.