Cross Bones Part 27

"Of course."

"Security is of the utmost importance. Make sure no one has access to those bones."

I returned to my lab as Ryan was cradling the receiver.

"Kaplan's not talking," he said.

"And?"

"Guy in major crimes over there says he'll turn up the heat."

Ryan noticed that I was disconnected from the conversation.

"What's up, sunshine?"

"I don't know."

Ryan's expression reshaped subtly.

"Too much cloak and dagger over this skeleton," I said. "Even if it is is the missing Masada skeleton. If there the missing Masada skeleton. If there is is a missing Masada skeleton." a missing Masada skeleton."

I recounted my conversation with Blotnik.

"A five-thousand-mile trip seems a bit drastic," Ryan agreed.

"A bit. Antiquities are routinely shipped around the globe. There are companies that specialize in doing just that."

"How about this." Ryan placed a hand on each of my shoulders. "We have a nice dinner, go back to your place, maybe slip into something derived from the art of dance."

"I didn't order the tap pants."

My gaze drifted to the window. I felt anxious and restless, and didn't know why.

Ryan stroked my cheek. "Nothing's going to change overnight, Tempe."

Ryan was dead wrong.

17.

THAT NIGHT I I DREAMED OF THE MAN NAMED DREAMED OF THE MAN NAMED T TOVYA B BLOTKIN. He was wearing dark gla.s.ses and a black hat, like Belushi and Aykroyd in their Blues Brothers act. Blotkin was on his haunches, sc.r.a.ping with a trowel. It was dark, and each time his head moved moonlight glinted off his lenses. He was wearing dark gla.s.ses and a black hat, like Belushi and Aykroyd in their Blues Brothers act. Blotkin was on his haunches, sc.r.a.ping with a trowel. It was dark, and each time his head moved moonlight glinted off his lenses.

In my dream Blotkin plucked something from the ground, rose, and offered the object to a second figure whose back was to me. The second figure turned. It was Sylvain Morissonneau. He was holding a small black canvas.

Light seeped from Morissonneau's fingertips as he scratched dirt from the canvas. Slowly, a painting emerged. Four figures in a tomb: two angels, a woman, the risen Jesus.

Jesus' features dissolved leaving only a skull, gleaming and brilliant white. A new face took shape above the orbits and orifices, like fog congealing in mountain terrain. It was the face of Jesus that had hung over my grandmother's bed. The Jesus with gimmicky I'm-following-you-everywhere eyes. The Jesus that had frightened me throughout my childhood.

I tried to run. I was fixed in place.

The Jesus mouth opened. A tooth floated out. The tooth grew and spiraled toward me.

I tried to bat it down.

My lids flew up.

The room was dark save for the digits on my clock radio. Ryan snored softly beside me.

My dreams are normally not Freudian puzzlers. My subconscious takes events and weaves them into psychedelic tapestries. Morissonneau's comment about the dreamlike quality of Burne-Jones's paintings? Whatever the trigger, this one had been a beaut.

I looked at the clock. Five forty-two.

I tried sleeping.

At six-fifteen I gave up.

Birdie trailed me to the kitchen. I made coffee. Charlie wolf-whistled, broke off, and rummaged in his seed dish.

I took my mug to the sofa. Birdie settled in my lap.

Outside, two sparrows poked fruitlessly at the courtyard snow. I knew how they felt.

More questions than answers on the skeleton. No explanation of how Sylvain Morissonneau died. No progress on Ferris.

No idea why Jake hadn't returned my calls.

Or had he?

Tiptoeing into the bedroom, I retrieved my purse, returned to the sofa, and dug out my cell phone.

Jake had called. Twice.

d.a.m.n! Why hadn't I heard?

I'd been engaged in festivities with Ryan.

Jake had left a simple message. Twice. Call me. Call me.

I punched in Jake's number. He answered right away.

"It's a good thing you've got international coverage," I said. "All this speed-dialing to Jerusalem would force me to mortgage the place on St. Bart's."

"You've got a place on St. Bart's?"

"No. But I'd like one." Birdie reoccupied my lap. "The carbon-fourteen results came back. The skeleton's two thousand years old."

"Have you contacted anyone?" Jake asked.

"The IAA. I had to, Jake."

"Who did you speak with?" Tight.

"Tovya Blotnik. He wants to send an envoy to Montreal to collect the bones."

"Does Blotnik know you took samples for DNA testing?"

"No. You do know those results will take longer?"

Jake ignored my question.

"Does he know about the odd tooth?"

"No. I thought you might want to talk about that first. Jake, there's something else." I told him about Morissonneau.

"Holy c.r.a.p. Do you think the guy's ticker really clocked out?"

"I don't know."

Empty air. Then, "Did Blotnik say anything about a tomb or an ossuary?"

"He mentioned a James ossuary."

More empty air. Charlie filled it on my end with a line from "Strokin'." I wondered briefly what the c.o.c.katiel had witnessed the night before. Jake's voice brought me back.

"You're sure he said James ossuary?"

"Yes. What's the big deal with this James ossuary?"

"Never mind that for now. Tempe, listen to me. Listen carefully. This is important. Don't mention the DNA samples. All right? Can you hold back on that for a bit?"

"Why?"

"Can you please trust me and promise you won't mention the DNA testing for now?"

"At this point there's nothing to mention."

"And I don't want you to give that skeleton to Blotnik."

"Jake, I-"

"Please. Can you do this for me?"

"Not if you won't tell me what's going on. Why shouldn't shouldn't I cooperate with the IAA?" I cooperate with the IAA?"

"I can't discuss this by phone."

"If Masada is the place of origin, legally I must return the skeleton to Israel. I have no choice."

"Bring it yourself. I'll pay your expenses."

"I can't dance off to Israel right now."

"Why not? I'll deal with Blotnik."

"Bring it myself?"

What would I tell LaManche? Ryan? Who would take care of Birdie? Charlie?

Jesus, I was thinking like my mother.

"I'll have to think about this, Jake."

"Screw thinking. Just come to Israel and bring the skeleton."

"You don't seriously believe I've got the bones of Jesus?"

Long pause. When Jake spoke again his voice was different, lower and more guarded.

"All I can say is that I'm onto something big."

"Big."

"If I'm right, it's mammoth. Please, Tempe. Book a flight. Or I can do it for you. I'll meet you at Ben-Gurion. Don't tell anyone you're coming."

"I don't want to spoil your George Smiley moment, but-"

"Say you'll make the trip."

"I'll think about it."

I was doing that when Ryan appeared. He'd pulled on jeans. Just jeans. The jeans hung low.

My libido sat up.

Ryan noticed it do so.

"I could lose the Levi's so you can ogle the naughty bits."

Eye roll.

"I made coffee."

Ryan kissed my head, yawned, and disappeared. Birdie jumped down and padded after him.