Walk in the Darkness
DAY ONE THE PRESENT
CHAPTER 1
DANIELLE BARNEA FLIPPED the air-conditioning switch up higher as the hot sun of the Judean Desert baked her through the car's glass. The wave of nausea she had felt passed quickly, and she returned all of her attention to the road. She had gotten the call while sitting in the doctor's waiting room and had driven from the clinic straight to the West Bank.
The final stretch of the drive to the crime scene took Danielle east through the Judean Desert toward the Dead Sea along a flattened dirt route. Around her the land was arid and scorched, only thin patches of gray vegetation scattered across the rock-strewn landscape. She could feel the dryness even in the cool air flooding the Jeep's cabin. Besides occasional nomadic bedouin tribes, she knew there were no settlements anywhere for miles.
At length, Danielle approached a makeshift military checkpoint just up ahead. She flashed her ID and an Israeli soldier swiftly waved her through toward a campsite set in the lee of the hillside another mile up the road. Israeli DefenseForces vehicles rimmed the encampment, along with enclosed jeeps bearing medical markings. White rectangular tents erected over worktables fluttered in the wind. Four miniature Quonset huts with canvas flap fronts rose haphazardly out of the desert like unwelcome brush, now watched over by armed soldiers. Danielle noticed wooden plates nailed to boards driven into the desert ground named three of the huts after American hotel chains in hastily scrawled printing: HOLIDAY INN, MOTEL 6, and HOWARD JOHNSON'S. A trio of old Land Rovers were parked to make use of what little shade there was, while not far away a pair of covered cargo trucks roasted in the sun. Up a steep rise, just beyond the camp, she could see a doorway-sized opening into the jagged stretch of hillside, also guarded.
As she drew her Jeep to a halt near the others, Danielle got her first glimpse of the bodies covered by white plastic that crackled in the heat and wind. She climbed out of the car and walked toward the scene slowly. She noticed an Israeli army captain conferring with an old bedouin man in flowing white robes that billowed outward and headed toward him. The bedouin's hands trembled badly, his eyes red, drawn, and gazing somewhere else. The Israeli captain saw her and slid away from the old man.
"Pakad Danielle Barnea, Captain," Danielle greeted, handing him her ID.
The man took it reluctantly. "Captain Dov Aroche. We weren't told anyone from National Police was coming," he said, returning her identification after a cursory inspection.
Danielle chose to ignore his words. "You were first on the scene?"
"Yes."
"Then someone from your office was simply following procedure."
Captain Aroche did not relax. "I was under the impression this was a military matter, military jurisdiction."
"If there are security issues, yes. But the murder of foreign nationals is a civilian matter, unless terrorism is involved. Do you have any reason to suspect that here?"
"We have fourteen bodies, all shot to death, apparently from very close range as they slept. Beyond that, I don't know what to suspect at this point, Pakad."
"How many were American?" Danielle asked Aroche.
"Twelve."
"Archaeologists, I was told."
The captain nodded. "I guess no one told them these hills were picked clean years ago."
Even though no stranger to carnage, Aroche sounded plainly unsettled. Danielle could smell tobacco smoke on him and a half-empty cigarette pack protruded from the lapel pocket of his shirt, the plastic hanging down over his name-tag.
She looked over his shoulder toward the old bedouin man. "He found the bodies, I take it."
The captain nodded. "There were four bedouins bringing supplies not long after dawn. The old man sent the others to go for help. They came upon one of our patrols three hours ago now."
"What else has he told you?"
"Nothing. We can't make sense of his language, even if he stopped ranting."
"Ranting?"
The captain nodded. "He seems to know one of the dead. We have just finished compiling a list of their names from IDs we were able to recover."
"Show me this list."
Aroche hedged. "I'm not sure if I have--"
"Now, Captain."
Aroche shrugged and reluctantly led Danielle to the hood of a truck that had become his temporary headquarters. Atop the hood lay an assortment of wallets, passports, and identification cards. Aroche snatched a pair of pages from beneath a rock that had kept them from blowing away in the breeze.
"It's preliminary," he explained, handing it to Danielle with some reluctance, "but we still believe it to be complete."
"Very good, Captain," Danielle said, grateful for the time Aroche had saved her.
She scanned the handwritten list cursorily, until the ninth _ name stunned her. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and felt the hot, dusty air burn her mouth.
Copyright © 2000 by Jon Land
