Crescent Dawn

Across the square, Julie Goodyear stood enthralled before a small case containing several faded sheets of papyrus.

“Summer, can you believe this? It’s an actual letter written by Jesus to Peter.”

Summer smiled at the enthusiasm displayed on the historian’s face.

“Yes, there’s a translation below. He appears to be instructing Peter to make preparations for a large gathering. Some biblical archaeologists believe it could be a reference to the Sermon on the Mount.”

After staring at the document for a short while, Julie turned to Summer and shook her head.

“It’s just unbelievable. The fact that these artifacts were listed on a physical document that survived to this day is amazing enough. But then to have actually discovered all of the artifacts, and in excellent condition to boot, is nothing short of a miracle.”

“With some hard work and a little luck thrown in,” Summer replied with a smile. Spotting Loren and Pitt across the floor, she said, “Come on, I want you to meet my father.”

As Summer led Julie across the floor, Julie made her stop for a moment at the very first item in the Jesus exhibit. Displayed in a thick, protective case was the original Manifest. Beneath it was a small tag that read “On Loan from Ridley Ba

“It’s nice to see the original again, though frankly I’m surprised that Mr. Ba

“He nearly died in the grotto on Cyprus, and I dare say he came out of the experience a changed man. It was actually his suggestion to include the Manifest in the exhibit, and he has already agreed to display it permanently, along with the other relics, in Cyprus. Of course, he has managed to produce a book and documentary film about the Manifest,” she added with a smirk.

They stepped over to Pitt and the others, where Summer introduced her friend.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the young lady responsible for all this historic treasure,” Pitt said graciously.

“Please, my role was minuscule,” Julie replied. “You and Summer were the ones that discovered the actual relics. Especially the most intriguing item,” she added, pointing over Pitt’s shoulder at the limestone ossuary.

“Yes, the ossuary of J,” Pitt replied. “It created quite a stir, at first. But after careful analysis, the epigraphists deciphered the Aramaic inscription found on the front as reading ‘Joseph,’ not ‘Jesus.’ A number of experts postulate it’s Joseph of Aramathea, but I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

“I would think it’s likely. He was wealthy enough for an elaborate tomb and ossuary. Why else would Helena have included it in the collection? It’s just a shame that the bones have vanished.”

“That’s a mystery I’ll leave to you,” Pitt said. “Speaking of which, Summer tells me that you’ve found a new clue regarding Lord Kitchener and the Hampshire .”

“Yes, indeed. Summer may have told you how we found letters from a Bishop named Lowery who hounded Kitchener to turn over the Manifest shortly before the Hampshire ’s sinking. Lowery was disabled in an automobile accident a short time later and ended up taking his own life in a bout of depression. I found a suicide note in his family’s papers in which he admitted to his role in the Hampshire disaster. The ship was intentionally sunk out of fear that Kitchener was taking the Manifest to Russia for public release. At a time when the First World War was at a stalemate, the Church of England was apparently terrified of its contents, particularly in regard to the ossuary of J and its paradox to the Resurrection.”

“I guess the Church is going to have a bit of explaining to do.”

As they talked, Loren drifted over to a small painting displayed behind velvet ropes. Easily destined to be the most popular item of the exhibit, it was a contemporary portrait of Jesus on a wooden panel, painted by a Roman artist. Though lacking the skilled hand of a Rembrandt or a Rubens, the artist nevertheless had created a strikingly realistic portrait of a reflective man. Lean-faced, dark-haired, and bearded, the subject stared from the panel with a striking aura. It was the eyes, Loren decided. The olive-colored orbs nearly jumped off the panel, gleaming with a mixture of intensity and compassion.

Loren studied the painting for several minutes, then called Summer to her side.

“The only known contemporary image of Jesus,” Summer said reverently as she approached. “Isn’t it remarkable?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Most of the Roman paintings that survived from that era are in the form of frescoes, so a freestanding portrait is quite rare. One of the experts believes it may have been created by the same artist who painted a well-known fresco in Palmyra, Syria. The artist likely painted frescoes in the homes of the wealthy of Judaea and supplemented his income with portraits. The historians seem to think he captured Jesus at the height of his ministry, shortly before he was arrested and crucified.”

She followed Loren’s gaze and studied the subject.

“He has a true Mediterranean look about him, doesn’t he?” Summer said. “A real man of the sun and wind.”

“Certainly nothing like the images created by the master medieval painters depicting Jesus as though he was born in Sweden,” Loren said. “Does he remind you of someone?” she asked, entranced by the image.

Summer tilted her head while studying the painting, then smiled. “Now that you mention it, there is a resemblance.”

“A resemblance to whom?” Pitt asked, stepping over to join them.

“He has wavy black hair, a lean face, and a tan complexion,” Loren said. “The same features as you.”

Pitt looked at the painting, then shook his head. “No, his eyes aren’t quite as green. And judging by the background, he couldn’t have stood more than five foot three and weighed much over a hundred pounds. On top of that, there’s another big difference between us,” he added with a slight grin.

“What’s that?” Loren asked.

“He walked on water. I swim in it.”

100

The afternoon heat had passed its zenith, and the sun was casting long shadows on the Jerusalem District Court Building when the final jury verdict was read. The television and print reporters were the first to exit the building, anxious to file their stories on the trial. The courthouse hounds and curiosity seekers who had filled the courtroom gallery filed out next, gossiping among themselves about the outcome. Last came the witnesses and attorneys, thankful that the long trial had finally reached its end. Noticeably absent, however, was the defendant. Oscar Gutzman would not stroll freely out the front door of the courthouse. Cuffed and under heavy guard, he was quietly escorted out the back door and into a waiting police van, which whisked him away to Shikma Prison to begin serving his sentence.

Dirk Jr. and Sam Levine lingered in the foyer, thanking the prosecuting attorneys for their good work, before stepping out into the fading sunlight. Both men wore the look of bitter justice on their faces, knowing that the verdict would never fully make up for the deaths of Sophie and her fellow antiquities agent.

“Fifteen years for aiding and abetting the death of agent Holder at Caesarea,” Sam said. “We couldn’t have done much better.”

“It should ensure that he dies in prison,” Dirk replied impassively.

“In his poor health, I’ll be surprised if he survives the first year.”

“Then you better get moving if you’re going to try him on antiquities charges,” Dirk said.

“Actually, we’ve already cut a plea deal with his attorneys. Although we had a solid case against him for trafficking in stolen antiquities, adding a few years to his sentence would have been an academic exercise.”

“So what did you get out of him?”

“All charges were dropped in exchange for him cooperating in the ongoing investigation into the sources of the stolen artifacts in his collection. In addition,” Sam said with a smile, “Gutzman has agreed to bequeath his entire collection to the State of Israel upon his death.”