ATTENTION K MART SHOPPERS. HERE IS THE REST OF THE NOVEL ‘THE LAZARUS EFFECT’. The whole novel has now been posted. For those of you who were waiting for the whole kit and kaboodle, you’ve got it now. You can cut and paste it all into one file and read away to your heart’s content. Here’s what I need from those of you out there in novel reading land. I need your succinct suggestions about how this novel could be improved or made more compelling, believable, fun, the gamut– any honest critique is most welcome. Thanks for reading— BW3.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE: PRESSING THINGS TOO FAR

The press conference was to be at nine o’clock Wednesday morning in order to provide time for filing stories. Art decided to wear his best suit, a navy blue silk suit, and his yellow tie with the navy stripes. Grace would be introducing him on the platform , Harry was not able to attend because of legal work in preparation for the trial. When Art got to the University, Grayson was there anxious to speak with him. “Dr. Art, I would be happy to go take some pictures at the tomb of Lazarus in those extra niches, are you interested ?”

“Sure,” said Art, “go right ahead. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Awesome,” said Grayson with a big grin as he sat down on the front row.

“I’m eager to get to Bethany again,” said Art, “But first things first.”

Grace came up to him and gave him a big hug. “I just wanted to tell you, you are somebody special. My mother adores you and as you put it, the Turkish Delight helped produce a Lazarus effect in our relationship. It’s never been better. We must celebrate later”

Grace mounted the stage and got up behind the podium. The room was not quite filled but people were still coming in. The news media that had come from abroad were all on hand, and the banks of lights on both sides of the auditorium were blinding. Art saw many of his friends from the Institute of Holy Land studies and Sammy Cohen was there as well. ‘This will be fun’ Art said to himself.

Grace tapped the microphone and said, ”It gives me very great pleasure to present to you, Dr. Arthur West, who will explain the significance of the recent finds in Bethany. He will then take questions. Without further ado, I give you the discoverer of the Lazarus stone.”

There was good applause throughout the room. Art had not considered how the Lazarus effect might change his career, but it would. He had been too busy focusing on helping others. He was pleased with the phone call from the Discover Channel folks last night saying he had been renewed for another season starting in the fall. Guess what his first few shows would be about? Art took his clicker and began the lecture.

“Ossuaries, or bone boxes were a popular means of burial during the period 20 B.C. to 70 A.D. The practice involved reburial of bones after the flesh had been allowed to desiccate for a years time, which is about how long it took in Jerusalem for the flesh to disappear. Jews did not practice embalming like Egyptians, they would simply wrap a body in a winding sheet, having cleaned and anointed the body, and wrap spices in the winding sheet to retard the odor of the body during the period of mourning and visitation of the tomb. This is the practice we read about in the Gospels in regard to Jesus. He was destined for an ossuary, but the process got interrupted. You might say he experienced the Lazarus effect.” Art proceeded to show various slides of ossuaries, bones, tombs, and niches, including the ossuary of Caiaphas.

“In my judgment it is no accident that in fact the rise of the Pharisaic movement with their strong beliefs about the bodily resurrection coincides with the practice of osslegium or reburial in an ossuary. The ossuary is a burial ritual which reflects a strong belief in the afterlife, in particular that bodily resurrection would happen, and so the bones needed to be kept together. Many of you will remember that old spiritual based on Ezekiel 37 — “Dem bones dem bones, dem dry bones gonna rise up one day.”

Art sang these words in a deep baritone voice. You could tell he was loosening up and letting it rip.

“This brings us to these whole series of remarkable finds at the Church of Mary and Martha, which are still ongoing.”

“Here is the inscription in one of the other niches that flanks where Lazarus was buried, indicating that Martha was buried in this tomb as well.

“Obviously, in terms of inscriptional evidence the most striking is this inscription over the Lazarus niche reading, ‘Twice dead under Pilate, twice raised in Yeshua (i.e. Jesus), in sure hope of resurrection.’ This attests that Lazarus had already been raised from the dead once by Jesus and then had died again. It also attests that he had been reborn and raised by Jesus during his lifetime and still looked forward to a future bodily resurrection.”

“I must stress that resurrection, almost without exception, in early Judaism refers to something that happens to a human body, or at least involves a human body either raised or transformed. It is not a terminology applied to visions, dreams, hallucinations, dying and going to heaven or the like. It has a very specific meaning– the raising up of the body or into a body. Usually in Pharisaic Judaism the focus of this was on what would happen to the righteous. I need not remind you that just down this ridge a little further near the Seven Arches Hotel there are plenty of orthodox Jews buried on the top of the Mount of Olives so that at the resurrection they can be first up to greet Messiah when he comes. Orthodox Jews and orthodox Christians share this belief in future bodily resurrection. It is not merely a historic or ancient belief. Once Jesus died and rose again, the belief among his followers became that those who were in Christ would die and rise again and be conformed to his image.”

“I could talk for hours about the scroll that was discovered in the ossuary of Lazarus, but here I must just sum up my conclusions:

“First this scroll was written by the Beloved Disciple also known as Eliezar and we know him as Lazarus.”

“Second, it contains the better part of the Gospel of John in Aramaic, not in Greek in a beautiful Herodian period Aramaic script.”

“Third, the scroll does not call Lazarus the beloved disciple directly, rather where John’s Gospel has those words, this scroll has the name Eliezar, the ancient version of Lazarus.”

“Fourth, this scroll was found in the ossuary which had an inscription reading Eliezar son of Simon. Simon then is the father of Lazarus, which makes good sense in view of the fact that Mark’s Gospel says of the events that the anointing of Jesus took place in the house of Simon the leper.”

“Fifth, this may explain why Lazarus, Martha and Mary were apparently all single. A member of their family was a leper, and indeed Lazarus himself may have died of leprosy.”

“Sixth, this scroll pre-dates any written Greek Gospel, and makes evident that the belief that Jesus was both divine and human was held very early on after Jesus’ death. I would attribute the triggering of this belief to the fact that Jesus appeared to his disciples in the flesh after his death.”

“Seventh, this conclusion that a high Christological view of Jesus as both divine and human was a belief that arose soon after Easter is confirmed by the Aramaic prayer prayed by the earliest followers of Jesus– maran atha. Come O Lord which we find in 1 Corinthians 16. Early Jewish followers of Jesus prayed this prayer and they did not believe they were praying to a mere rabbi to come back from the dead. The fact that they prayed TO Jesus is critical.”

“Eighth, this means they considered him already a part of the Godhead. In other words, Jesus precipitated a rethinking of what monotheism meant. Monotheism was redefined to include Jesus. What we are dealing with in the Lazarus stone is an affirmation of miracle. What we are dealing with in the Aramaic document found in Lazarus’ ossuary is a Christological reformulation of early Jewish monotheism.”

“Ninth, it is important also to note that the earliest Christians were all Jews and they all believed they were already living in the end times and that therefore eschatological events were coming to pass back then, all involving Jesus and his community of followers. In short they did not focus on offering up prophecies about the late twentieth or early twenty-first century and would not have been encouraging us to look for correspondences between Biblical prophecies and our own day, but rather between OT prophecies and Jesus’ day and the NT era. This in my judgment…”

Art was interrupted in mid-sentence by two noises that sounded like thunder inside the auditorium. He paused, looked down at his blue suit and saw it turning red beneath his right shoulder. Dizzy, he began falling, he saw Grace rising and running to catch him and his mind for some reason turned to the verse in Judges 5.27 and he began mumbling the poetry in Hebrew: “At her feet he sank, he fell; there he lay. At her feet he sank, he fell; where he sank, there he fell—-dead.” Then blackness and silence engulfed him.

CHAPTER FIFTY: PRE-TRIAL JITTERS

Late Wednesday morning, the phone rang in Benjamin Levi’s office. The Judge’s secretary was on the line.

“Judge Dershowitz has asked me to inform you that Simon Siegal has been retained as counsel for the defense. Apparently, he has worked in Israel before. The Judge also wants to remind you that the trial must deal strictly with the evidence and the crimes committed in Israel. One more thing, I just got word of a shooting of Dr. West over at Hebrew University, know anything about it?”

“No,” said Benjamin, “I’ll ask Harry Scholer.”

Harry had been sitting in the outer room chit-chatting with the secretary.

She was asking him: “What are your plans for the rest of the day? Have you time for lunch with Mr. Levi?”

“In my country I would ask for a rain check – but if I did that here I could starve this summer!” They both laughed.

As Levi was hanging up, his secretary announced that Harry Scholer was in the outer room. Levi greeted him with a quick question.

“What do you know of an American lawyer named Simon Siegal? Seems he flew in here in a hurry Monday night and has agreed to represent Dr. Stone.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding? Simon Siegal! High profile lawyer, very talkative, usually wins his cases. Last I knew he was working for the ACLU. I wonder how much experience he has with Jewish law? Can we check on that?”

“I’ll put a paralegal on that right away – we need to know as much about Siegel as we do about Stone. And then there’s Ray Simpson. Have you thought of how we can use Simpson to our advantage?”

Harry was more encouraging on that point. “Yes, we can use him to establish motive, as well as relate the facts of what happened at the tomb in the morning. Art is not planning to press charges concerning his brief ‘entombment’ with Lazarus! I guess he feels it was a learning experience! I’ve already talked to Simpson and his lawyer. As part of a plea bargain for a lesser sentence he will testify against Stone.”

“As legal counsel to the IAA, we recommend a suspended sentence, a major fine, and two years of parole where he does community service, here in Israel, planting trees or something. Then he can leave the country.” said Levi.

“Raymond’s no master mind, that’s for sure! At least in the US, there’s the whole issue of power relationships. There are legal precedents in regard to the relationship between professors and students where the latter can be exonerated of all kinds of things on the basis that they could not say ‘No’ to their superior.”

“Very true,” said Levi. “Besides the student is going to get the sympathy vote in a trial. It will be good to have your knowledge of the moral issues. Thank you for being willing to help. Apparently, with Simon Siegal on board, we have our hands full.”

“And now Harry, I was trying to figure out how to tell you this but instead of tiptoeing around it I will just say it. I must share some bad news— it looks like one of our star witnesses, Art West has just been shot, are you aware of this?”

Harry sat down stunned. “Where have they taken him, I must go at once.”

He flipped open his cell phone and called Grace Levine. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity, but finally she picked up. “Hello yes,” she said curtly.

“Grace, this is Harry, what has happened with Art?”

“He’s been shot, the ambulance is taking him just n
ow to Sinai hospital, it doesn’t look good. Its madness here at the auditorium with police scrambling everywhere trying to catch the shooter or shooters, it appears there were two shots, I must go. If you’ve got it in you, you better start praying now.”

“Oh no,” said Harry, and buried his face in his hands. He flashed back to when his brother had been brutally murdered in Jerusalem only four years ago while he was minding his own business sitting in a café in Tel Aviv and a bomb went off.

“Who could have wanted to kill someone as harmless as Art?” Harry realized he had better get to the hospital fast.

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE: AUDITING THE AUDITORIUM

Pandemonium had broken out once the shots were fired. Officer Shimon had been on the stage once again, and from his vantage point the shots seemed to have come from behind one of the two banks of lights on either side of the auditorium, or in other words from behind the cameramen. He had called for an immediate lock down of the room on his walkie talkie, but some people had already fled the room upon first hearing the huge noise of the shots. The acoustics in this auditorium were so alive that the sound had been amplified several fold sounding more like a bazooka than a hand gun or rifle. Shimon had called for back up and the police station had all but emptied to respond to his urgent call.

There were people screaming, and lying down in the aisles, and covering their heads. Grace had acted fast, but had not quite reached Art before he hit his head on the microphone stand as he fell and then the floor. He was bleeding profusely from just below his right shoulder and he was totally unconscious, but breathing. Grace opened her cell phone and dialed 919* at once and summoned the ambulance to the back door of the Golda Meir auditorium. She took her scarf off and tried to staunch the wound that was bleeding profusely. The question rattling around in her head was “Who could have done this to Art?” It couldn’t be Stone or Simpson, they were both in custody. The ambulance had better get here fast. Fortunately there was a back route they could take to the back door of the auditorium. She looked up and saw Grayson Johnson kneeling on the floor in front of the stage praying and praying. “Thank goodness someone is intervening with the Almighty just now” she muttered.

The air was hot and heavy and Sadiq Hadassah was moving fast down the hill into the Kidron valley on foot. He had chosen deliberately to go the crowded route so he could be lost in the multitudes, walking down the road that goes by the chapel known as Dominus Flevit and then the Garden of Gethsemane. He knew he could catch the number 2 bus right at the corner where the road bent just beyond the Garden of Gethsemane. His emotions ran the gamut from fear to exhiliration. He had finally done something to stop the Christian blasphemy of the God who is One. Whatever the legal consequences, if he was caught, he knew he would be praised by those whose opinions mattered most to him– Rabbi Menachem and the sons of Zion. He would go report to them first, and then he would disappear and go visit relatives in an obscure neighborhood in Hebron. He thought about calling Jamison Parkes Law, but he decided against it. He wasn’t entirely sure how he would react to this latest exploit of his.

——–

Pinned to the floor on the left side of the auditorium was a young man with a backpack and a gun on the floor next to him. Officer Hoffner had been standing at the back left hand corner of the auditorium and had seen the young man get out of his seat, walk forward toward the cameras, lean against the far wall, and then suddenly whip out a pistol and take dead aim at Art West and fire. Hoffner had gotten there only seconds after the shot knocking over one of the cameramen as he pinned the young man to the floor.

“What is your name?” Hoffner kept saying to the young man, whose arm was pinned behind his back.

The youth would only say “I want my lawyer, Jamison Parkes Law. I should be allowed to call him now.”

Law, thought Hoffner, wasn’t he that fundamentalist lawyer from Texas. Could he be behind this shooting? He decided to allow the young man to make his call and then interrupt it.

The boy used speed dial and soon he had Law on the line. “Guess what Mr. Law,” said the youth, “I think I scored one for the good guys, I just put a stop to Art West’s criticism of your views on prophecy. You said he was a loose cannon who needed to have a rag put in his mouth at our last meeting of the Millennial Dawn Society. I did it.”

Jamison was pacing the floor of his flat: “What have you done?” he screamed over the phone line.

“I shot the dude, and put an end to his big mouth” bragged the young man.

“You did what?” Law screamed.

“ I thought you would be pleased,” said the youth glumly.

At this juncture Hoffner interrupted and took the phone. “Mr. Law it sounds as though your follower has been more than a little over zealous. You will need to come down to the station and make a statement ASAP. We are carting the young man off to jail right now.”

“What did you say your name was young man?”

“James is the last name. My first name is Yeshua, son of messianic Jewish parents, but most people call me Jesse— Jesse James.”

“Well,” said Hoffner, “this is the last round up for you cowboy.”

———————–

Mohammed could hardly believe his luck—finally most of the officers were leaving the station. For days he had staked out the police station trying to figure a way into it, in a desperate ploy to see if he could kidnap a celebrity prisoner and then negotiate a hostage exchange for one of the Hamas leaders he particularly admired. He knew it was a desperate gambit, but Hosni the great Hamas leader was only two days away from execution. Lurking on the opposite street corner from the police station, he reviewed the plans he had made over a week before. He knew the station was old and did not even have air conditioning vents. Apparently no one had installed security systems on the back of the building, not expecting people to be brazen enough to try and break into the building!

Once the vast majority of police cars had peeled out of the station, Mohammed went around the back, put on his ski-mask, picked the lock, disabled the ancient bell alarm, turned out all the lights and went down the basement corridor where the cells were. Mohammed had read the papers closely enough to know there was an important American or two in custody. He wanted the one that would put up the least resistance. Looking into the cell on the left hand side of the corridor he saw a disheveled older man. He had found his mark. Shining his light right in his face he said in the bad English he had practiced for weeks

“You no speak, I shoot you now for sure”

Stone raised his hands and stood up quivering, while Mohammed rather easily jimmied the lock on the cell. Pushing the older man down the dark corridor and holding his pistol firmly in the small of the man’s back, Mohammed and his prisoner rapidly exited the building.

The next thing Stone knew, he was first in broad daylight then he was blindfolded, thrown into the back of a car, and then for good measure knocked over the head with the butt of a gun. The last thing he remembered hearing before all went blank was the screeching of tires as the small getaway car headed somewhere fast.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO: MIRA
CLE AT SINAI ?

The ambulance had come with some dispatch and Art’s vital signs were holding steady when they were monitored by the EMT folks in the ambulance. “Coming in, get ready, we’ve got a bleeder and surgery is going to be needed immediately,” said one of them to the emergency room staff

“O.K.” was the only reply on the other end of the line.

“Oh yes, and you had better called Dr. Mordecai and get him prepped at once.”

“Right,”.

The ambulance, with full sirens blaring, was racing up the hill towards the hospital, and the gurney in the back on which Art was laying was swaying back and forth with every curve. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, and one of the EMT staff was busy applying direct pressure to the wound hoping to slow down the flow of blood.

“We had better get there quick,” said the staffer, “his blood pressure is beginning to drop rapidly.”

The entrance to the emergency room at Sinai Hospital was under a portico, and as the ambulance wheeled its way in three nurses were standing waiting for the back doors of the ambulance to open so they could wheel Art right into surgery. Everything was prepped and ready.

Dr. Mordecai was standing just inside the door, and the minute he saw the blood pressure of Art and his pale demeanor he was yelling for units of blood “Stat” he said. This was a life and death matter, no ordinary surgery. The first task would be to stop the bleeding.

The lights in the operating theater were blazing hot and bright, and the nurses had already ripped West’s suit off of him and covered him in a thin blue blanket. Blood was pouring out of the wound, and almost before the gurney had come to a rest and West was transferred to the operating table, Dr. Mordecai was making an incision right next to the wound and immediately clamping off the hemorrhaging artery.

“O.K., we have stopped the bleeding,” said Mordecai, “Now get the miniature X ray machine over here quick, and let’s see if we can find the bullet.”

As they were wheeling the machine over, Mordecai told the nurse to raise up West and look for an exit wound, and sure enough there was one. “Well one good thing, we don’t have to fish any metal out of him, but do the X ray anyway.”

But the X ray showed that there was indeed a piece of metal in Art, a bullet.

“So he was shot more than once,” said the Doctor, “and from different angles. Job two is to get the other shell out of him. This was a delicate matter as the bullet had entered from the left side and had lodged itself next to the liver and gall bladder without actually entering either one. Delicately Dr. Mordecai used forceps to extract the bullet. “Spong,” he said to the nearest nurse, and she wiped the doctor’s forehead as he was beginning to sweat profusely. “Alright, get the units of blood ready to go. Go ahead and feed him a pint or two, as we’ve got to go in and sow up that ruptured artery.”

The surgery on the artery was indeed delicate and it took over two hours to finish the job without disrupting anything else. At one juncture Art’s pulse had gotten so low that they were contemplating sticking a needle in him with a stimulant, but it proved to be unnecessary. By late afternoon, the Doctor had done everything he could to save Art West, and he was prepared to tell those waiting outside the ICU that he was critical but stable.

As he walked into the waiting area he saw the familiar long faces of Kahlil and Hannah, and Grace Levine, as well as one other gentlemen the doctor didn’t know, Harry Scholer. They all looked grim, as though they had been weeping or praying or both. Dr. Mordecai said “The next 24 hours are critical, but Dr. West has his fitness and luck on his side. One bullet exited through his right back, the other lodged next to his liver coming from a very different angle. Were their two shooters shooting from two different angles?”

Grace did a double take and said: “Well there were two noises but we though they came from two shots from the one shooter. Are you telling me that two people were trying to terminate Art West?”

“Yes it certainly looks that way the bullets came from two very different angles,” said Dr. Mordecai. “In any event you are welcome to wait out the night here, I will have the nurses give you regular reports. We have done all we can for now. It is now in the hands of the Blessed One.”

Grace said thank you to the Doctor for everyone, and then added “I think it best if we say nothing to the media until we know what will transpire with Art, but Harry would you call Officer Hoffner and tell him there was another shooter who may have gotten away?”

“Right away,” said Harry, glad to have something constructive to do.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE: THE WISDOM OF THE RABBI

Rabbi Menachem was some 79 years of age, and while he had always been radical as well as orthodox in his views, he had never sanctioned murder to silence an opponent who was not himself violently attacking Jews. So it was with considerable consternation that he sat and listened to Sadiq Hadassah, having already promised to keep this a confidential conversation.

“Rabbi I have, since I have joined the sons of Zion always followed your teaching, and it was my understanding that the blasphemers had to be stopped. Was that not your teaching?”

“Yes my child, but have you not noticed that I myself have never used more than non-violent protest and legal means to achieve such ends? Do you not remember the day in front of the McDonalds on Ben Yehuda St? Did you hear anyone tell you to start firing at that upstart of a woman?”

“No rabbi, I did not,” Sadiq said glumly.

“Very well then, what you have done, though I do not doubt your motives were good, was wrong, wrong in the way you went about this. We can not sanction violence against those who have not physically attacked us. Hamas, is a different story, as you know.”

“Yes, but rabbi, it is hard to tell the difference sometimes. Aren’t ideas as dangerous as weapons sometimes?”

“Yes, sometimes they are but the Torah is very clear— ‘only an eye for an eye’ and so on. That command was meant to limit violence to a proportional response not license it. The proper response to West was to refute his ideas of course, not shoot him!” and here the rabbi became animated.

“But what should I do now rabbi? If I turn myself in, it will not go well with me, and I will never be of service to the sons of Zion again. And perhaps I have only wounded him.”

The rabbi pondered this. He did not want to betray a confidence, but he also did not want his own name associated with immoral acts of violence. “Let us wait a day or two and decide shall we? Let us wait and see what happens to Professor West who has so disturbed you. But you must promise me this my child.”

“Yes rabbi, what is it?”

“You must promise me you will contact me in two days, and then you must abide by what we decide on that occasion. In the mean time, go visit your relatives in Hebron as you said you will do, put your house in order. Pray and read the Torah, especially the Psalms, and as I said, call me in two days.”

Sadiq nodded and said ‘Shalom’ as he left in sadness.

When he had closed the front door, the rabbi murmured to himself “man is made for trouble, as the sparks fly up.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

He awoke with a pounding headache and a huge lump on the back of his head. Just touching it made
him more woosy. He had absolutely no idea where he was, other than he was in a dark room, handcuffed to a bedpost, and the room had no ventilation or air-conditioning. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and in the midst of all his chaotic thoughts another dismal one came to him “They will think I tried to escape! Just marvelous!” said Stone to no one in particular.

Mohammed was sitting in the next room mulling over exactly who he should call about his prisoner. He had had enough sense to buy a new Go phone that would be difficult to trace and

had lots of minutes on it. He had bought it in the name of a distant deceased relative at a now defunct address in Bethlehem. They would never trace it to him. Finally he decided the smart move was to call the American press. It was they who most cared about what happened to Stone. He did not want a ransom, just a straight-forward prisoner exchange.

Almost immediately someone picked up the phone at the Herald Tribune office in Jerusalem. “Hello, yes,” came a female voice across the line in Hebrew.

Mohammed, speaking through a cloth over the phone, said “Do you speak Arabic?”

“Yes,” said the girl.

“Good, then listen very carefully. We have kidnapped Dr. Patrick Stone and have him in a safe house. Unless Hosni the great Hamas leader is released by the police by nine o clock tomorrow morning, Dr. Stone will be executed. Am I clear? Do you understand the message?”

“I understand” said the shaky voice at the other end of the line.

“Then you must tell your editor this at once, and tell them to call the police. I will call back in two hours. The police must give you clear directions as to when and where the exchange can be made. No games, no tricks, or Stone is dead— understand.”

“I get it, and now I must go,” and she rang off.

Officer Hoffner was the first man back to the station and when he walked in the front door, Office David was sitting at the desk. He had the disgruntled Jesse James in handcuffs with him.

“All been quiet here?” Hoffner asked David.

“Yes, but its time to do the afternoon check on the prisoners.”

Officer David got up, but suddenly the phone rang.

“I ‘ve got to get this, can you go downstairs and check on Simpson and Stone?”

“Certainly,” said Officer Hoffner. “I’ve got to install this young man in one of those cells anyway.” Hoffner had gotten about half way down the stairwell when Officer David began screaming.

“Someone on the phone says Stone has been kidnapped! Impossible! Check quick!’

Within two minutes Hoffner was standing in front of the open cell door and just shaking his head. “How in the world do we explain this to Officer Shimon? What do we have here— a revolving door? What else can go wrong today?”

Hoffner led James to the next cell down and opened the door.

“In you go son. With any luck your lawyer friend will be by to see you soon.”

Jesse just hung his head and cried and shuffled into the cell offering now resistance. In his mind he had gone from hero to zero in nothing flat.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: MARKING TIME

Harry enjoyed the warm, dry weather of Jerusalem. Cold, wet and rainy days in Washington did not appeal to him at all. When Grace could stand the pacing of Harry and the el Said’s no longer she sent them all off to Kahlil’s shop to give them something to do, promising she would call them the minute she had any word at all. At the antiquities shop, Hannah had prepared a light lunch including pita bread and baba ghanoush. Lots of fruit and nuts were piled on another plate.

Kahlil was doing much better. His head sported a small bandage, his badge of courage. He was back to his jovial self in the shop. Only now he was humming Coltrane tunes. And business had returned as well, with the huge press of tourists in town buying all sorts of things. The publicity surrounding the Lazarus stone had made stone objects from the biblical period all that much more popular. Kahlil could hardly keep tablets in stock.

Harry enjoyed a pleasant two hours eating, talking and even haggling.

He realized he was spending more and more time with Hannah – and enjoying every minute. But there was business to consider. He slowly and gently began to prepare Kahlil and Hannah for the trial ahead, but his unspoken and greater concern was for Art. Would he survive this, and even if he did, would he ever be his effervescent self again?

————-

Jamison Parkes Law now had a real situation on his hands. Jesse James, an American citizen was in jail for shooting Art West, and all because he misunderstood what Law had been urging his disciples to do. Never in his wildest imagination did he think his young followers would see his moral call to arms as a literal call to arms. He too was learning something on this day about dangerous ideas and dangerous forms of rhetoric. “Damage control,” he kept saying to himself “damage control.” As he road in his Volvo down to the police station he reflected on what he was going to say to the police. Of course he would disavow the violence, but what else should he say? Should he tell them he would be the legal representative for James? He knew he must resist the temptation to simply abandon James, or else he himself might be abandoned by the rest of his following. They had all liked James immensely, he was just too impetuous, too much of a “shoot first and ask questions later” kind of person, and now he had proved it quite literally. He was only 19 years of age. What was to be done? Law decided he would provide counsel for James, and he would advise him to say nothing, while waiting to see what would happen with West. More than one person was now marking time, as West struggled for survival.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: OVER JORDAN, BUT NOT OVERJOYED

The Prime Minister himself had called in his top hostage negotiator Avner Galal to deal with the Stone-Hosni mess. However much the Prime Minister had enjoyed using the rhetoric that he did not negotiate with terrorists, this time the consequences of not doing so were too severe. Naturally once the exchange was made they would track the terrorists down and run them to ground.

Galal was a no-nonsense kind of man. He had serve with Yadin in the ’67 war, and he knew all the ins and outs of negotiation and exchange, or at least he thought he did. But he had never heard of a hostage exchange bei
ng made on the Allenby bridge itself. This was a first. Galal had been given the full use of the para-military boys who worked with the Mosad, the secret police, but he had chosen just four of their finest to accompany him with Hosni to the bridge. Officer Shimon had come with him as well to identify Stone.

Did this location mean that the terrorist that had Stone was a Jordanian? It seemed unlikely since Jordan had been in the process of normalizing things with Israel to some degree and their authorities denied knowing anything about this. He tried to envision in his mind the exchange on the bridge and all the possibilities, but there were too many contingencies to consider. What especially worried him was the request to have Hosni placed in full body armor for the exchange. He guessed they wanted to eliminate the eliminating of Hosni by long range rifle fire after the exchange. He was already sweating, his camouflage uniform turning darker shades of green and brown by the minute.

——————-

Stone could hardly believe it when he had stepped out of the car in the middle of the night and while still blindfolded was ordered to start gradually walking through the shallow waters of the Jordan to the other side, a gun planted firmly in his back. How in the world had he gotten to a place where he could cross over Jordan into another country without notice? His head was still killing him, but at least the kidnapper had given him some pita bread and hummus before they left the safe house and got in the car. He surmised that they wanted to keep the ‘merchandise’ in tact until the exchange or ransom was paid. He had no idea what the arrangements were.

Muhammed, like many older Palestinians to this day, carried a Jordanian passport, because of course until the war, all of the eastern part of Israel right up to eastern Jerusalem belonged to Jordan. He had called his friend Ishmael who lived in Jordan and worked in the duty free shops and asked him not only to meet him at the bridge, but to tell the guards that one of their own was escaping from Israel and its secret police. Well– it was mostly true. They would be sympathetic.

Thus when Muhammed with Stone in tow had gotten up the east bank of the Jordan and come up on the back side of the shops at the check point just beyond Allenby bridge, Muhammed walk directly with Stone to the guard’s booth where he told Ishmael to meet him and in the bright light of the booth he could see they were playing cards. Nothing could be easier.

“Salam alechum” he said in a quiet voice so as not to startle them. Ishmael flashed a big smile and returned the greeting, hoping up and giving Muhammed a big hug.

“It has been too many years…. Let me introduce you to my friend—this is one of Jordan’s finest—Hussein.”

Hussein stood up and notice the disheveled old man and came to attention—“And who in the world is this?”

“Do not worry” said Mohammed, “He will not be with us long. But you must notify your superior’s as he will shortly be exchanged for the great Hosni”

“Hosni, the one known as the jackal? Hosni the one who killed a whole busload of people outside of Jerusalem last year? That Hosni?” queried the guard.

“Yes that one,” said Muhammed.

“Who then is this, that is worthy of such an exchange?” asked Ishmael.

“I present to you Dr. Patrick Stone— the great antiquities thief!”

Stunned, both Jordanians looked hard at the short, balding older man in rumpled clothes and could hardly believe their eyes. This was the man they had seen on the Jordanian news?

Hussein was on the phone at once, calling and waking up his superior—General Atta.

He would want to be in on this matter. Atta had quickly phoned King Abdullah to alert him to what was happening, and the King had given Atta specific instructions on how to handle this matter. After the recent bombings at hotels in Amman, Abdullah was not interested in cozying up with terrorist of any kind. So it appeared that everyone was going to be in for a surprise when the sun came up on Allenby bridge in the morning.

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN: FOREIGN EXCHANGE

Dawn came quickly over the Jordan river, and there was not a breath of wind on this hot morning. There was however a weather report that the first ‘hamsin’ might come through later in the day— the dreaded heat and dust storm. General Atta had arrived an hour before dawn in his full dress uniform, with three other Jordanian soldiers armed to the teeth. Nothing was going to be left to chance.

The light began to creep over the Golan onto the bridge itself, which Muhammed could now see clearly for the first time from the checkpoint booth. Atta had already briefed Muhammed as to what he wanted to do.

“I expect to receive a phone call from Lt. Galal shortly, and after that we will work out the details.” His voice was authoritative and cold. Unlike his Jordanian friend at the guard booth, the General was not even cordial to Muhammed, much less treat him like a hero. This made Muhammed nervous. Had he made a mistake?

The cellphone of the General began to ring, playing a Arabic dance tune. Grabbing his jacket which held the phone, the General flipped it open and said “Salam aleichum”

“And shalom to you as well said Avner. We have an agreement then as to how this is to transpire—yes? No soldiers crossing the bridge, no funny business. Just Stone walking our way and “the Jackal” walking in your direction across the bridge?” The arrangements had already been made through channels, and the decisions simply conveyed to Avner and General Atta. There would be no delicate negotiations, no haggling, no backshish—just a one for one swap, done by the book. The exchange was to take place at precisely 8. a.m.

“Indeed,” said the General, “simple and clean. We are understood then” and he hung up his phone.

Meanwhile Stone was at the point of collapse. It had all been too much for him, the aging overweight, academic. It was like he was caught in the middle of the plot of a B movie. At the moment he was sitting in the toilet shaking, trying to go to the bathroom one more time, he was so nervous. No one had tortured him, but still the situation seemed ominous to him. Certainly no one was offering him food or water, nor did anyone speak to him. The guard stood right outside his stall waiting for him to emerge.

Suddenly a wave of nausea came over Stone and he stood up, turned around and started vomiting into the toilet. The guard could here this, and became concerned. The exchange was only five minutes away.

“General Atta! This man is sick. What should we do?”

It was clear that Stone was in no condition to travel, and might only barely be able to walk across the bridge. Atta immediately called Avner.

“We have a problem,” he said. “Stone is busying throwing up in the guard’s toilet and is extremely weak. Give me an extra thirty minutes to clean him up. There will be no tricks. We don’t want any part of this antiquities thief!”

Avner listened for a moment and thought—“is this some kind of ruse? Surely not since the General seems thorough disgusted with the ‘marked man’.”

“O.K. but lets get this over with quick, I hear the sirocco is coming, the dust storm.”

Looking out of the guard booth and up at the sky Atta notice that it had gone from blue to a sort of light tan color. This did not bode well.

“You are right” said the General, I will call you back as soon as we are ready.”

The guard had to help Stone out of the toilet he was so shaky. They gave him some cool water, and an aspirin for his headache.

“Here, take this—you will feel better.”

Stifling the desire to wretch again, Stone drank down the water and swallowed the pill without difficulty. He was quickly escorted to the bridge. The time was 8:15.

The General phoned Avner once more— “we are as read as we can be. Stone may need help from you once he gets to your half of the bridge.”

“Right, we anticipated that, and Officer Shimon, whom you can now see standing at the other end of the bridge if you look through a rifle scope, will be waiting, in case he is needed. He is not armed. I repeat he is not armed. One more thing. Part of the deal was that ‘the jackal’ is in full body armor. Its bound to be stiflingly hot in this weather, but we are doing exactly what was asked.”

The Jordan river is in fact not very wide at all at the Allenby bridge crossing. It is more like a creek than a river, especially in June, and so the walk for the prisoners would not be a long one. The sun which had risen earlier, had now given way to an annoying haze. Atta looked up again, and listened intently. He began to hear the distant roar, sounding at first like continuously rolling thunder. He frantically phoned Avner— “right now, quickly get your man on the bridge, the hamsin is coming”.

Stone was shoved out on the bridge at precisely 8:17 and Hosni was as well. The two men began walking, the latter with a better stride than the former. From the middle of the road Muhammed watched this. It seemed more like a death march than a flight to freedom. Yet he was excited thinking about the prospect of meeting his hero— ‘the jackal’.

Shuffling his way along, then stumbling once, Stone was about half way across the bridge when the hamsin hit full force— at first with only twenty mile an hour winds. The jackal had made it almost entirely to the Jordanian side before the strong biting, sand-filled wind hit, but not Stone. Stone fell flat on his face on the concrete with a thud.

Atta and one of his guards ran to Hosni and grabbed him and dragged him the rest of the way across the bridge. There was no danger of any gunfire from the Israelis since they could not see a thing at the far end of the bridge. At the same time, Shimon, running as fast as he could into the wind and shielding his eyes by putting on his shooting goggles started yelling—

“I am coming Dr. Stone, I am coming.”

There was no response, except a low moan, which might have been the wind or it might have been Stone. Reaching the spot where Stone fell, Shimon picked the man up in his arms and turned toward Israel. At least the wind was with him. Shimon was a large man— 6’6” and with strong arms. In his earlier years he had been on the Israeli Olympic team as a weight-lifter. Carrying Stone was not a huge task, if only the wind would not blow him down.

Shimon could not see a thing as he tried to traverse the last 100 yards of the bridge. Avner was standing facing the wind shouting “Here, here, come in this direction. Over here”.

Meanwhile the ‘jackal’ was in the custody of Gen. Atta and his men.

Flashing a smile which revealed at least two teeth missing, Hosni said to the General

“Allah akbar” (God is great).

The General replied: “Allah is indeed great but you are nothing but trouble. We will be escorting you to a Jordanian prison. And as for your hero-worshipping friend Muhammed. We have plans for him as well. He will be confined to the Palestinian refugee camp outside Amman.”

Muhammed could hardly believe what he was hearing. “How can this be? You also are Moslems!”

General Atta replied curtly— “Most Moslems do not believe in terrorism and kidnapping as a solution to our problems. You shame the faith that you name!” And with that both Hosni, now stripped of the battle regalia and Muhammed were handcuffed and were thrust into the back of an armed car vehicle, never to be seen again in Israel.

Meanwhile, Shimon, his arms getting heavy had finally reached the end of the bridge and could just see Lt. Galal. “I have made it, praise be heaven” said Shimon as he gave out of gas, and set Stone gently down. Stone, breathing heavily, was nonetheless conscious.

“Where am I?” he asked feebly.

“Welcome back to the Promised Land Dr Stone. We will take you back to the comfort of your cell and some military food now.” Stone just grunted and gently set himself down in the back of the jeep. His resistance was so low, he had no fight left in him. They could do as they like with him— he didn’t care any more.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: BAIL DENIED

Simon Siegal could hardly believe his luck. His client, who had a shaky case at best, had now become an object of no little sympathy from the press, which had plastered pictures of him back on the front page of the Herald Tribune and the Jerusalem Post. The Tribune especially had run a full length article with their secretary and correspondent being interviewed about the phone call from Muhammed and what ensued there after. Their photographer had managed to get a shot of Stone when he was returned to the police station looking distraught and distressed and disheveled—in fact totally pathetic. Siegal was sure that the sympathy vote generated by this story would help the case.

Friday morning’s pre-trial hearing was gaveled into session and the line up for the trial was set. On the one side of the docket was Simon Siegal, and on the other was Benjamin Levi, Harry Scholer, and various legal aides. Stone had been allowed to rest in his cell, rather than appear before the judge at this juncture. Judge Dershowitz was noted for acting with dispatch as a no nonsense judge. The charges were officially read into the court records. “Counselor Siegal, how does your client plead .”

“Not guilty on all counts,” said Siegal emphatically. “And we request release of my client with an appropriate bail.”

Dershowitz looked at Siegal and said, “Nice try, counselor but since this man has already fled the country once and been dragged out of the country a second time, and has access to considerable funds once he is out of jail, I am denying bail. He will continue to be remanded into the congenial custody of the police in the Jerusalem police facility, and if he needs medical attention we will send it his way from Sinai hospital. Any other motions Mr. Siegal?”

“Yes, your honor. We request that cameras and reporters be kept out of the courtroom since this is such a high profile case.”

“I am inclined to agree with you on that, counselor. Mr. Levi, have you any objections to a closed trial?”

“No, your honor,” said Benjamin Levi. “But we would like permission to speak to the press each day once the day’s proceedings are done.”

“You may do so, and I will also have the court reporter hand out a summary of the proceedings each day as well. Is that satisfactory to both parties?”

“Yes, your honor,” came the collective reply.

Then Mr. Siegal interjected, “I have one more matter to bring up, your honor.”

“Proceed,” ordered the judge.

“I have a motion to dismiss the gun as evidence since my client’s fingerprints were never found on it.”

The judge looked at the affidavit, and then asked, “What does the prosecution say to this motion?”

At this juncture Harry lept into action. “Your honor, this is a typical tactic of Mr. Siegal who likes to exclude one piece of evidence after another until he makes them all disappear. The prosecution is prepared to present clear evidence that the gun found on the scene belonged to Patrick Stone’s father, Leroy, who lived in Johnson City Tennessee. And that Dr. Stone’s prints, while not on the gun, his DNA was found from the hair fibers on the coat Said wore the night of the shooting, a coat which has the powder residue from the gun on it.”

“That’s enough for me for now,” said the judge. “Motion to suppress the weapon is denied. Anything else?”

“Yes your honor,” said Harry, “As you no doubt know one of our main witnesses, Art West is clinging to life at Sinai hospital, and we are having some trouble getting one of our witnesses here in time Dr. William Arnold. There may be a need for a motion for a long recess and continuance at some point.”

“I understand, and must allow it if it comes to that. We want this to be a fair trial for both sides” said the judge. “That’s all for today gentleman.” The gavel sounded the end of the proceedings.

As they were leaving the courtroom Benjamin said to Harry, “Nice work, I am glad you know Siegal’s tactics. I am quite certain he has more rabbits up his sleeve.”

‘Indeed,” said Harry. “ But last I checked June is rabbit hunting season.” Both men smiled as they walked down the courthouse steps. Harry was trying to portray a positive demeanor but he was inwardly more than a little troubled. Stone would now have the sympathy vote on his side— he could be called a victim of Hamas terrorism, something an Israeli jury would have feelings about. And how was Art? How could they win the trial without Art? Suddenly Harry was jolted out of his revere by the insistent ringing of his cell phone.

“Grace here,” said the voice at the other end. “Art’s vital signs are stable and his blood pressure is back to normal, but he is not conscious yet, by the design of the doctor who wants his body to repair for a while before waking him. Nonetheless, the news we have is good.”

“I am so relieved to hear this, be sure to call Kahlil and let him know as well.”

“I will,” said Grace, and rang off. Surely, thought Harry, things must begin to get better soon.

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE: GRAYSON GOES GRAVE DIGGIN’

Grayson Johnson was enjoying his Thursday off as much as he could, considered that he had not been allowed to see Dr. West at the hospital and had been told by Dr. Levine that perhaps he had best go do some of the tasks Dr. West would want him to be doing just now. He thought this was a good way to keep himself occupied and so he resolved to go back to the tomb in Bethany.

Grayson rather missed Avi Hoffner’s company. After recording last Thursday’s phone call, Avi was busy with other detective work. But as a reward for his co-operation in these matters he had been given an IAA pass to crawl around in the Lazarus tomb. When Hoffner informed him of this on Tuesday, Grayson nearly leapt out of his Nike sneakers. “Awesome! I am for sure honored and you can count on me to comb every square inch of that tomb. I’ll take my digital camera. I’ve got Thursday off!” Art had already given him a few basic guidelines of what he could and could not do at a dig site, but he felt confident that Grayson would do just fine.

Grayson set out with his backpack and a determined look in his eye. When he arrived at the tomb, he notice it was cordoned off. On instructions from Art, he went in the church and showed Mustafa his badge and a note from Art West and another from Officer Hoffner. Mustafa, a man used to interesting characters, said, “That is fine. Please be careful. Do not break anything or take anything.”

Taking out his heavy duty flashlight, Grayson shimmied through the hole in the back of the tomb, turned on the flashlight and began combing the walls first. There was really nothing but carved out rock to see.

But his next object for attention was the niche on the right which had thus far not been examined closely. Crawling into the empty space and lighting the roof of the enclosure, Grayson found an inscription similar to the one Art had found in the other niche. This inscription, however, was not in Aramaic, it was in Greek. Grayson, budding scholar that he was, took two years of Greek at Fruitland Bible Institute. Slowly, he made out the poetic words one by one:

Here lay Mary, the one who anointed Jesus

Now Mary resides where the departed marty
rs dwell

Carefully taking three pictures, Grayson crawled out of the niche and pondered the allusion in the inscription. Grayson knew his Bible well, especially his New Testament. As a fan of the “Left Behind” series he had studied the book of Revelation many times. He recognized the reference to Revelation 6 which speaks of the departed saints being under the altar in heaven.

“OK,” said Grayson, “But are we being told that Mary and her ossuary were like, raptured to heaven? Even Mr. LaHaye said nothing about caskets being beamed up. So probably that’s a bogus idea.” He decided to look over the rest of the tomb once more and think about the inscription while he did. There turned out to be nothing more that was new in the tomb.

Crawling out of the tomb, he checked his pictures and found that the inscription showed up clearly. He went back to talk to Mustafa.

“Sir, is there any record of Mary and Martha’s bones being moved under the altar of this church a long time ago.”

“The church you see is a rather modern church with a modern altar. But it is built on the foundations of the ancient church of Mary and Martha. I have always wondered why the church was not also named for Lazarus. Sometimes churches were named for those buried under the altar in that place. I tell you what I will do. The crypt in this church is off limits to tourists due to its dangers. But I shall take a trip down there and see what can be found. I am sure the priest will approve.”

Grayson smiled and said, “OK, gotta run, but would you call me if anything comes to light. Here is my phone number at the house. Later Dude.”

At least one good thing had turned up today. Grayson made a mental note to spend an hour or so once he was home, just praying for Dr. West’s health. He decided to pray as though he were the voice of Dr. West beseeching God, using Psalm 18– “I call to the Lord, who is worthy of praise, and I am saved from my enemies. The cords of death entangled me; the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me. The cords of the grave coiled around me; the snares of death confronted me. In my distress I called to the Lord; I cried to my God for help. From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came before him, into his ears….He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes who were too strong for me…He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.”

Dr. West was in the hands of God, reasoned Grayson, the best place he could be. On that thought he was able to lie down and get his first good night’s rest in three days.

CHAPTER SIXTY: LIFE LINES AND DEATH WATCHES

The Doctor had come into Art’s room and told the nurse not to give Art any more magic sleeping potion. It was time for him to be allowed to wake up. Grace had been sitting patiently in the room they had wheeled Art into waiting to hear from the doctor again. Dr Mordecai smiled and said “ Your Dr. West is a fighter, I th
ink he is out of danger now.”

“That’s both a relief and a laugh,” said Grace, “Art West the fighting pacifist. I always knew he was a bundle of outrageous extremes. But seriously, how long realistically before he might be allowed to go home so we can stop this death watch?”

“If when he awakes, all is well, I would say another 3-4 days, but we will have to wait and see. He should be awake in an hour or so.” The Doctor smiled again and left.

Grace bided her time by reading the latest issue of Harry Scholer’s magazine, Biblical Artifacts. She had been particularly intrigued by the article arguing for a reassessment of the Jehoash Tablet and its authenticity. At about ten in the morning Art began to stir in his bed, and calling for water.

Grace slipped some ice chips in his mouth, and he said “thanks nurse,” having not yet opened his eyes. Grace turned on her best New England accent and replied “Why you are most welcome! This is Nurse Levine from Brockton Mass.”

Art opened his eyes with a start and said “Grace, its you”, and began to weep. “What am I doing here?” Grace began to tear up as well and said “Well there was this little matter of two different assassins trying to gun you down while you were lecturing on resurrection. I guess they wanted to see if you could embody your theology literally.”

Art smiled and said

“It hurts too much to laugh, but that was a good one. Hey did you hear the one about President Bush and Moses?”

“No,” said Grace “but I can hardly wait to do so.” This was good, Art was trying to be his old self.

“Well it seems the President was walking down the corridor in an airport with his secret service guys when he saw this man who looked remarkably like Moses, and he went up to him and asked “Are you Moses?” But the man never stopped and just kept walking. The President was miffed and so he sent one of his secret service men after the guy and told him to ask the man if he was Moses. The secret service quickly caught up with the man and said “Excuse me sir, are you Moses, you sure look like Moses. Why didn’t you respond to the President when he spoke to you” Moses replied “Yes I am Moses, but the last time I spoke with a bush, I got in big trouble.”

Grace just burst out laughing. Art said “Please don’t make me laugh, the stitches you know, the stitches on both sides!” Grace got out her cell phone and dialed up Harry. “Harry,” she said “We’ve got a live one here, the death watch is over. Art just cracked a joke.” She handed the phone to Art: “Hi friend,” said Art, “How are you and trial getting along.”

“Just fine Art, only we are going to need your testimony, so I am thinking maybe we will send a videographer over your way tomorrow morning if you are feeling up to it.”

“Sure” said Art, “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Except get well from two bullet wounds,” hollered Grace from the other side of Art’s bed.

“Harry, please call Kahlil and tell him I am back in the land of the living will you?”

“Sure thing.” said Harry “Things are beginning to look up. Back to trial preparation.”

“Once a lawyer, always a lawyer,’ said Art turning to Grace and adding “Did I tell you the one about the man who was on his death bed and had his wife call his two lawyers, telling her to get them over to his house quick, as he wanted to die like Jesus, between two thieves.”

Grace said, “Enough, enough, I am beginning to think the anesthesia has so altered your brain waves that you’ve been turned into a candidate for Christian Comedy Central. Give it and yourself a rest, and I’ll be back after a visit to the IAA office.”

“Right,” said Art and as she was leaving he said, “But did I tell you the one about King David being the first to ride a motorcycle because the Bible says “His triumph was heard throughout the land…”

“Oiveh, “ said Grace and smiled, “Someone put him back to sleep… please!”

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE: CLASH OF THE TITANS

The courtroom was gleaming with sunlight pouring in through the windows on this hot June day. The lights hardly needed to be on. But the searching white hot spotlight of truth would be bringing the real heat and light in this room. The courtroom had filled up an hour before time for the trial, and the press in great hordes were camping outside the building waiting for any and every bit of news possible. The headline in the Jerusalem Post this morning was CLASH OF THE TITANS. Two famous Jewish lawyers were about to have a go at it in public over the most famous theft in the Holy Land in recent memory.

When the combatants entered the room Benjamin Levi was wearing a dark blue, pin-stripe suit, as was Harry Scholer, the difference being that Levi went for the reserved dark tie whereas Harry wore his natty red bow tie. Various legal aides trundled into court behind them like participants in a Roman triumph.

Simon Siegal made a striking entrance wearing a hunter green suit.

Patrick Stone looked better than he had in many days, wearing a brown tweed jacket and looking every inch the Yale professor he was, but with enough of a limp to remind those in the courtroom of his recent travails. Apparently someone really had looked after him and coached him on how to behave.

Certain documents had already been made available to all the parties concerned, and entered into the court records. This included Stone’s passports, hotel receipts, a copy of the agreement made between Stone and the British Museum, copies of Stone’s bank statements, and the purchase agreement for Chateau Puissant. The IAA had dropped the charges concerning the manuscripts found in the figurines. And Art West by conversation with Harry had told him to drop all charges pertaining to his short entombment in Bethany. That left charges of theft, forgery and attempted murder.

Jury selection had begun the Monday after the pre-trial hearing. The jury pool had already been skimmed by the two principle attorneys with each rejecting four jurors for cause. A lot of pre-trial publicity had made jury selection difficult.

Judge Dershowitz then addressed Siegal and Levi. “Gentlemen, you may make your opening statements to the jury, Mr. Levi first.”

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury, this is no ordinary trial. Because the nature of this crime strikes at the heart of both the Jewish and Christian heritage here in Eretz Israel, and endangers our ability to continue to have and pass on that legacy, we are dealing with far more than theft and assault. We are dealing with an attempt to get rich by stripping a people of its heritage and identity. This is the crime of all looters and forgers who seek to profit by illicit means.

“The Lazarus stone is no ordinary artifact. The British Museum paid the enormous sum of 20 million pounds sterling to obtain it. The theft of this object would be equivalent to the theft of the chariot of King Tut or the Rosetta stone. And what makes this crime all the more heinous is that it has been perpetrated not by a petty thief or ordinary tomb raider, but by a well known professor from a prestigious university in the United States.

“Unlike the ordinary thief who cannot read ancient languages, this thief [pointing to Patrick Stone], this thief knew precisely what he had found and precisely what its value was likely to be. So desperate was he to have this object that he was prepared to attempt murder with his own gun to silence the one man, an antiquities dealer here in Jerusalem, a good and honest man, who knew he had possession of this stone. Stopping at nothing Stone connived to get the Lazarus stone out of the country and sell it to the British Museum before anyone could stop him. On top of this he tried to blacken the name of another man, Professor West,
and throw the scent off his own trail by having the British Museum transfer over a million dollars into West’s Jerusalem bank account, fingering him as the one really guilty of stealing the Lazarus stone.”

“Here is a driven, self-centered, greedy man who wanted to cash in on someone else’s inheritance. Unlike the case of Jacob and Esau, this man [again pointing at Stone] didn’t bargain for another man’s inheritance, he stole it outright. Outrageous! It is our contention that Patrick Stone should feel the full brunt of Israeli justice, not least so that it will be a deterrent for all that might seek to follow in his footsteps. By early Jewish law, he himself should be stoned! We need to make an example out of Dr. Patrick Stone, and we intend to leave no evidentiary stone unturned until justice is done!”

There was a round of applause in the courtroom, which Dershowitz gaveled into submission. Simon Siegal arose looking confident.

“It is a sad day when anyone loses something precious, all the more so if it has great historical significance. But this artifact is not lost. Indeed it is being held for eventual display to the public at one of the world’s leading museums – the British Museum, home to other Jewish artifacts. One could argue that Professor Stone has done the world a favor, by personally bringing the inscription to London. With our outdated laws pertaining to relics, the inscription might never leave Israel. Indeed, it would probably languish in some laboratory examined by scholars alone – much like other scrolls have not been released to the public. And you know, ladies and gentleman, far more people visit London, where it is safer. Our terrorist environment frightens tourists away! “ There. Siegal had already managed to remind the audience of terrorists in general, and now he could build on that. He could not resist adding “Our terrorist environment even led to the kidnapping of Dr. Stone my a member of Hamas, right out from under our noses. I am sure you have all read about the brutal treatment of Dr Stone, who is still healing from his injuries at terrorists’ hand.”

“Furthermore, this Lazarus stone is of much greater importance to the Christian world, than it is to us. For us, it is an interesting curiosity that raises a few questions. For devout Christians the inscription confirms the Gospel accounts that Jesus actually was a faith healer! That Jesus raised the dead! For Christians, the words on the stone provides a witness that Jesus and resurrection go together, that Jesus and messiahship go together!”

“Ask any of the IAA members here who have seen this stone whether it has that significance for them as Jews. I think not. So let us not exaggerate the nature of this theft. There is a reason why Dr. Stone went to a Christian nation to sell this object.”

“But wait, what if Dr. Stone did not steal this object at all? Suppose he obtained it from his over-zealous teaching assistant, Raymond Simpson, whose fingerprints were all over the forged copy of the stone and its mail wrapper? The testimony will show that Simpson was in the tomb and made the copy of the inscription. Can any one of you here say that if this object was brought to you, you would not be tempted to keep it? Can any of you say that once you had the valuable object and had sought to have it brokered to the proper people right here in Jerusalem, but were turned down by a leading antiquities dealer, that you would not be very angry with that dealer? Even admitting that Khalil el Said was harmed in the process, the evidence will show that no assault was intended, that Kahlil el Said’s wounds were accidental only. “

“Though you see here a well- known, international scholar, it was not always so. In fact, Patrick Stone comes from humble origins – from Johnson City Tennessee. His grandparents sold illegal whiskey, or ‘moonshine’ as it is called, to put food on the table. Patrick’s father, Leroy, rose to be mayor of that small town, he was a heavy drinker, who beat his son Patrick, telling him he was no good and would never amount to much. The lashing out of his father in word and in deed drove Patrick to spend his life trying hard to prove that he was somebody, somebody important. His father belittled his academic accomplishments, calling his son an educated fool.”

“Do you know ladies and gentleman what that does to a person’s psyche when a parent abuses, neglects and belittles? I think you do know the lasting effects of such abuse. Now picture in your mind Patrick Stone. Though he was a grown man who had accomplished much in academia, it was never enough, never validated him to the one person he most wanted approval from – his father. There is often a great gap between who a person is, and how they see themselves. This was clearly the case with Patrick Stone. Good enough was never good enough.”

“On that fateful day when the Lazarus stone came into Patrick’s possession, he was like a child in a toy store, only now the child within him saw a way to finally prove to at least the scholars at one of the world’s greatest museums that he was somebody, somebody important. He managed to turn the stone over to
the world’s most famous museum which promised to keep his identity a secret – imagine the humility in that act! In his heart, he knew he had broken away from the need to please – he had done the right thing!”

“It is a sad and tragic story, the tale of Patrick Stone who in a moment of weakness made a tragic error in judgment despite a previously spotless record of integrity. Which one of us has not had such a moment of weakness? Who are we to cast the first stone, as Mr. Levi has suggested we should? I submit to you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that Patrick Stone, deserves a better fate. I trust that when you judge the evidence in light of the man, you will judge with mercy and fairness.”

By the time Siegal had finished his amazing opening salvo, some members of the jury were in tears. Harry whispered to Benjamin, “Like I said, we really have our work cut out for us in this case.”

The gavel brought everyone back to reality. “We will recess until after lunch,” said Dershowitz firmly.

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO: THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION

The lunch recess had been uneventful, and Harry had not eaten much, so revved up was he after Levi had told him he would be first up to bat to do the inquisition on Ray Simpson.

Scholer had tirelessly prepared himself, and so he stood up before the court, cleared his throat and said:

“ The prosecution calls Raymond Simpson.”

Dressed simply but neatly in khaki slacks and a plaid sport shirt, not a suit, as the prosecution did not wish to portray him as a professional of any kind, Ray took the stand. After he was sworn in, Scholer began to grill him.

“Mr. Simpson what, is your relationship with Patrick Stone?’

“I am his teaching assistant at Yale, and his doctoral student.”

“And what was it that brought you to Israel?”

“Dr. Stone asked me to come and help him with his research, and I was excited to do so. It will look good on my resume.”

“Very good, and how would you describe the work Dr. Stone asked you to do this past month while in Israel?”

“Nothing at all like what he asked me to do when I was at Yale.”

“What do you mean? Describe what he asked you to do.”

“Well, for one thing, instead of doing research or digging, he had me trailing Dr. Arthur West. He even had me trail him to a bank and get his checking account number by devious means. He was obsessed with finding out what Dr. West was doing in Bethany. ”

“Objection.” said Siegal. “Some of this calls for speculation about the state of mind of Dr. Stone.”

“Sustained,” said Dershowitz “the last sentence will be stricken from the record.”

Scholer continued, “Tell us more about what he had you do besides follow Dr. West.”

“Well, here’s a short list. First, he asked me to help trap West in the tomb behind the Church of Mary and Martha. It took both of us to move that stone quickly before Dr. West could get out. Secondly, later that same day, Dr. Stone brought me pictures of an inscription. He asked me to make a quick copy. Thirdly, he asked me to wrap up the copy, take it to a courier, and make sure the copy would arrive on Dr. West’s doorstep the following morning. Finally, on Tuesday afternoon he left me a number of figurines and a note which I later threw away. The note said to store the figurines in my locker at the Bethlehem bus station.”

“Did you know where the inscription came from?”

“I read the text – I knew it was from the Bethany Church. I’m sorry about all that.”

“And the figurines – did you know what was in them. Didn’t you find the request rather strange?”

“I swear I didn’t know what was in the figurines. And I couldn’t figure out why he would want them hidden in my locker of all places. If they weren’t valuable, why not leave them at his apartment?”

“Thank you, Mr. Simpson. We enter into the records exhibits A, B and C– the copy of the stone inscription including the paper wrapping, the four figurines, and the key to the locker. However, for security sake, the manuscripts have been removed.”

Dershowitz once again took control.

“Do you wish to cross-examine this witness, Mr. Siegal?”

“Certainly your honor, I have but a few questions for him.”

“Mr. Simpson, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven, sir.”

“And would you consider yourself a responsible adult?”

“More like an educated fool!”

“And did Professor Stone actually order you to do anything?”

“No, it would be more correct to say he strongly urged me to help.”

‘Very good, and so he did not threaten you in any way, right?”

“Well, indirectly, I suppose, in the sense that he told me if I helped him that he would write me a glowing recommendation for a job at John’s Hopkins. Believe me, when Dr. Stone says ‘jump,’ I just reply ‘how high.’”

“Yes, of course, he is your superior. Would it be true to say, Mr. Simpson, that you have been offered a more lenient sentence for your cooperation with the prosecution.”

“Yes, that’s so. I’ll be doing community service for some time.”

“One more thing, were you present with Dr. Stone either when he was alleged to be in the antiquities shop or later when he is alleged to have assaulted Mr. el Said?”

“No sir, I was home with my room mate, Grayson Johnson, drinking Maccabee beer and eating Cheetos.” Laughter broke out in the courtroom.

“Exactly so, and so you have no personal knowledge at all of Dr. Stone committing any act of violence on those occasions – correct?”

“I wasn’t in either place.”

“Lastly, did Dr. Stone tell you where he was going and what he was doing when he fled the country?”

“ No sir, his note simply said he was going home, and that he would see me back at school. He even left me money and the use of his flat.”

“Very generous of him, wouldn’t you say?”