The Moses Riddle (Thomas McAllister 'Treasure Hunter' Adventure Book 1) Read online

  “Wait!” The President interrupted. “What? What’s that you said? Tied to the Arab world? I don’t understand. I get the tie to Israel, Moses is the great Jewish prophet, his story—the first five chapters of the Bible, or the Pentateuch, is the Jewish Torah, but how are the Ten Commandments tied to Arabs, to Muslims?”

  Hargrove continued. “Oh sir, Moses is not only . . . .”

  Suddenly Rashid thrust a resolute index finger in the air. He spoke with the confidence that had evolved from advising people with little institutional, and no innate, knowledge of his subject of expertise. “Moses is one of the great prophets of Islam.”

  The President looked at Rashid, bewildered. “What? Muhammad is the prophet of Islam!”

  “Allah rewarded Islam with many prophets. Moses was given the Law, the Ten Commandments; David was given the Psalms; Jesus was given the Gospel. Yes, Muhammad, revealer of the Qur’an, is the most revered prophet, but of the lesser prophets, gentlemen, Moses is the most important. Both Moses and Muhammad are direct descendants of Abraham’s two sons, Isaac and Ishmael. They are inextricably linked. They’re blood brothers. All Muslims know this.”

  Rashid had stolen Hargrove’s thunder by delivering the news that Moses and Muhammad were linked. Hargrove said, “It’s true, Mr. President. Unfortunately, here again, we have something that both Israel and Palestine, and therefore all Muslims, will lay claim to. If the Ten Commandments are found, both cultures will demand we hand them over.”

  The President looked at Rashid. “Is this true?”

  “If you find the Commandments, and the revered Ark that holds them, the Arabs will lay claim, as will the Jews. They consider it their duty to strive for possession of all significant religious icons. Moses is the supreme figure in Israel, he is to the Jews what Jesus is to Christians. Moses is also a central Muslim prophet with direct links to Muhammad.”

  “Israel and Palestine have a long history of bloody fighting over religious objects and holy sites. As you all know, the most contentious battles have been over the hill in Jerusalem called Temple Mount by the Jews, and Haram al-Sharif by the Muslims. Both consider it an extremely holy location and time and time again it has caused peace negotiations to break down. Yes, Mr. Hargrove is correct. They will fight over this too. If an American finds it, both will demand that it be handed over to them. Of course there is only one Ark, only one set of Commandments.”

  Rashid reflected for a moment and then smiled. “Actually, they might view this as the perfect way to make the U.S. chose between Israel and Palestine: between Jew and Muslim. A very dangerous situation, similar to playing against the fork move in chess. No matter what move you make, you lose.”

  The President grimaced. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize relations with Israel, they were a key ally and gave the United States a reliable military presence in the incredibly volatile Middle East. Israel had been at war for much of the last fifty years with Palestine, a country that was 97 percent Muslim. The war had effectively pitted Israel against all Muslims. And, since the United States had always supported Israel, Muslims worldwide resented the United States. Because of that, the President needed to continue to walk the tightrope to maintain the limited support from Muslims that he currently had. It was the only way he’d be able to continue the campaign against terrorism without serious worldwide dissension. Choosing between the two was something that he couldn’t do. No President had ever chosen between Israel and Palestine, between Muslim and Jew, and if at all possible, they never would. It could spark World War III.

  “Then we just won’t give it to either of them.” Almond spoke up.

  “Then both will be angry,” said Rashid.

  “Why do we have to announce this at all? For Christ’s sake this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.” The President looked at Hargrove.

  “I have a plan, sir. I’d like to review it with you in a minute. But first I’d like to call your attention to two more potential risks. Both domestic.”

  “More?”

  “Yes, two more. One could effect the economy, the other our crime rates. The one that could effect the economy is called the Jesus-Mary Effect. I’m sure you’ve heard of people who find these figures of Mary that cry or statues of Jesus that bleed? Or of the occasional images of Mary that mysteriously show up on buildings?”

  The President nodded, he had heard of such things.

  Hargrove continued, “People flock to these locations in droves. The media moves in and then there’s a snowball effect. Before you know it, there are pilgrimages, tours, vendors hawking plastic crosses . . . you name it.”

  The President nodded again and Hargrove leaned forward. “I had someone on my staff look into this phenomenon, sir. A great deal of research has focused on the economies of the cities where these events occur. Studies show, overwhelmingly and conclusively, that overall spending in these cities drops by 20 to 30 percent. The economies tank. People stop buying durable goods and start buying candles and Bibles and rosaries. An economic disaster occurs every time one of these weird things show up. We already have serious economic concerns in this country. The last thing we need is for some guy to unearth the Ten Commandments, which have been missing for a few thousand years, and to have everybody in the country suddenly find religion and stop spending. Finding the Ten Commandments is big. Thousands of times bigger than a shadow on a wall that looks like Mary. Our economy could really be impacted, GDP growth could further deflate. We’d have an economic disaster on our hands. As you know, sir, it only takes a small percent decrease in growth for people to start screaming about the economy worsening, recession, and depression.”

  Hargrove paused. The President looked reflective. He leaned back in his chair and focused on the ceiling. “‘It’s easier for a rich man to fit through the eye of a needle than through the gates of heaven.’ Or something like that. You’re right. This could be a nightmare. It could erase everything we’ve implemented to get things going again. Religion and the economy don’t mix. You said there was another concern?”

  “Yes, sir. The other issue was brought to my attention by the biblical expert who advised me on this. It’s a little known fact that the Ten Commandments, which we commonly accept today, are not the real Commandments.”

  “What kind of statement is that? Sure they are. I’ve been hearing the same Ten Commandments preached at me my whole life!” The President reached for the seldom-used Bible he kept in his desk drawer.

  “I’ve got them right here, sir.” Hargrove held up his briefing sheet. “These are the accepted Commandments.” He read them aloud. “One: You shall have no other Gods before me. Two: You shall worship no idols or graven images. Three: You shall not take the Lord’s name in vain. Four: You shall keep the Sabbath day holy. Five: honor thy father and mother. Six: You shall not murder. Seven: You shall not commit adultery. Eight: You shall not steal. Nine: You shall not bear false witness. Ten: Do not covet thy neighbor’s house or wife.”

  When Hargrove had finished reading them, he rose from his chair and moved to the window. “But, Mr. President, these are not God’s Commandments. Yes, they are ones Moses recited verbally in Exodus 20 all right, but . . . Moses made a few of them up. No one ever saw the original commandments because Moses broke them. After Moses broke the first set of tablets, God put His Commandments on a second set of stone tablets. The Commandments on the second set were the same as the ones on the first set. They are reviewed in Exodus 34. They are very very different from Moses’ version, the Commandments I just read to you. This . . . discrepancy . . . is evidently one of the reasons Moses broke the initial set of tablets. He had to break them! They would have proven that he lied to his followers.”

  “You’re saying Moses . . . lied?”

  “I’m saying that when he came down off that mountain and saw his people worshiping golden idols, he was so mad and disgusted, he came up with some commandments that would put them on the straight and narrow again. Call it a lie, call it a fib, I don’t
know. All I do know is he didn’t recite the same ten that God had written in stone. The bottom line is that Moses’ version was more strict than God’s. Wait until I tell you which four he added. They are more strict than anything else on the list.”

  The President said, “You know, all I can think about is how Charleton Heston broke the tablets in that movie where he played Moses. It never occurred to me that once they were broken, a second set would be made.”

  “Yes, sir, and the second set has never been found.”

  “So, what is the issue?”

  “Sir, the real Commandments, God’s version, do not include the following rules: You shall not kill. You shall not lie. You shall not steal. You shall not commit adultery.” Hargrove paused, to let them sink in. “These Commandments are the cornerstone of our criminal justice system and the basis of our entire moral structure. Think of it. They are not included in the real Commandments. You can check for yourself in Exodus 34.” He paused again and then repeated, “They are simply not included in God’s version. It’s pretty scary, when you think about it. The most stringent rules we have, the ones that govern our country and have historically kept our people from becoming uncivilized heathens, are null and void. Not real. If this archeologist, McAlister, is successful in finding them and the media gets a hold of this . . . they’ll have a field day.”

  The President was speechless. He knew Hargrove well enough to know he’d done his research. He could be confident the information was accurate. He ran his fingers through his hair. The implications were clear. An escalation of the tension with Israel. A possible fatal blow to the fragile Arab alliance, the implications of which were too numerous to contemplate. Negative impact on the economy. As for the effect on crime; killing, stealing, lying, and committing adultery were fundamentally accepted as some of the worst crimes any American could commit. Staples of hard crime. Since the terrorist attacks the American people were already spooked. They were dangerously nervous. Everyone had been given a lesson in how fragile the system was. He’d heard briefing after briefing on how if consumer spending were to get any lower the country could enter an economic chasm the likes of which had not been seen since the Great Depression. It could be the beginning of the end. How could this be? How in the world could this be? He’d been through so much. He wasn’t sure he could deal with another big crisis.

  The other men sensed his panic. Almond, who knew him best, could see that he was nearing his breaking point. Could this be the straw? he wondered. He was ready to suggest a solution when the President looked up.

  “Recommendations, gentlemen?”

  Hargrove jumped in, “Sir, my best agent recently concluded a case. He’s retiring soon, but he has time for one last assignment. He’s already got the archeologist under surveillance. I recommend as soon as the archeologist locates the Commandments, we move in and grab them. Total surprise. No one gets hurt. No one knows it was us. In and out, and we’ve got the Commandments.”

  The President thought it over. He was looking up at the ceiling and without moving his head he looked at Almond and raised his eyebrows.

  “If we ask him, would the archeologist just give them to us?” Almond asked Hargrove.

  “Never. It’s the find of a lifetime. For an archeologist, it’s bigger than finding King Tut’s tomb. It means he’d be rich and famous. A legend. We’re asking the public to go on normally with their lives. To turn around and ask this man to give away the biggest archeological find of all time would not work. Plus, we have a profile on him. Apparently he’s . . . stubborn.”

  Almond looked at the President, “Then it’s simple. We take it from him. We take it, stash it away, and the whole issue is averted. We simply cannot allow anything to happen that would piss off the worldwide Muslim community even more. Hell, the people running those governments are itching for us to screw up so that they can pull back their support.”

  Silence.

  Inwardly Hargrove prayed the President would approve his plan. This was an assignment he knew he could complete successfully. And he so desperately needed a success.

  “What’s his name? The archeologist?” The President asked.

  “Thomas McAlister, sir.”

  “Poor bastard. We’re going to take one of the greatest treasures ever known to mankind right out from under his nose. After we’ve got it, if he talks, even to the media, they’ll think he’s lost his marbles. Do it, Hargrove. Keep it tight. No leaks. I don’t want to hear about it again until it’s done.”

  Hargrove nodded, thanked the President, and quickly left the room. Finally, a slam dunk. This was what he needed. A project with a beginning and an end. One that would give him something to hang his hat on, when some of the others went wrong—which they inevitably would. He smiled on the way back to his office. “McAlister, you’ll never know what hit you.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Special Agent DJ Warrant methodically wove through traffic on his way to the McAlister house. Not being present when the surveillance team broke in had been a rare mistake. It was minor, but he’d wanted his people inside McAlister’s house as soon as possible, and he hadn’t wanted them to wait for him to get there.

  DJ was the FBI’s number one field agent, but many high-level FBI employees were at a loss as to why. He had been extensively profiled— more than once and without his knowledge. They’d found that he had very few of the traits that the most successful agents typically possessed. Yet, he was the FBI’s most successful.

  But DJ’s key success factors were difficult to measure and even when identified, did not fall within the standard definition of the superlative agent. He was disproportionately stubborn and dogged. He owed much of it to his father, who had been a bronco rider in a West Texas rodeo. DJ’s father’s often repeated motto, “Once you get on, don’t ever let ‘em buck you off,” was exactly how DJ approached each case. True, there were other agents who were stubborn and had plenty of perseverance. The difference was that DJ applied these qualities to a greater degree than anyone else. He had long since separated from his family, and he had long since given up every hobby and bad habit that he’d ever had. As a result, his stubbornness and his ability to tirelessly pursue his prey knew no bounds. When most agents were heading home for dinner with their families, DJ was passionately beginning the second half of his day. This made him twice as productive as other agents.

  He also had a unique ability to be his own profiler. Through experience, and a sort of osmosis, DJ was often able to understand the thoughts, and predict the actions, of his prey. He understood the criminal mind, its fears and motivations, and could save time by not bringing in professional profilers.

  His best quality, however, was one he never, ever, talked about it. In fact, he rarely allowed himself to even think about it, for fear of jinxing himself and losing it. DJ was not clairvoyant, but once he understood all the aspects of a given case—the players, their backgrounds, their motivations, the crimes they’d committed, what time they woke up and went to sleep, what they ate, and wore—he often got “feelings” that would help him solve the case. He thought of these feelings as a high-grade intuition, but people at the Bureau called him “The Witch.” They said he cast spells on criminals, causing them to fall into his hands. Yet it was these premonitions, combined with his stubbornness and his free-ranging ability to endlessly pursue his prey, that had given him the highest percentage of solved cases in the history of the agency.

  He was sorry he’d missed busting into McAlister’s house. The breakin would have been the only fun—the only spark—in what had been a boring last assignment. Surveillance in Phoenix. Hargrove had put him on this project for two reasons. The first was because he was retiring in three months and didn’t have time for a long-term assignment. The second reason was as a thank you for the job he had done on his last case.

  DJ was in the FBI’s Special Projects group. They were given assignments that were either too confidential to run mainstream or that simply didn’t fit under any ot
her department. He’d just been given a commendation for breaking up a cult ensconced in a farm house in Western Kansas. They had four semi-automatic weapons per person and enough dynamite to fill the back of a pickup truck. The real problem was the kiddy-porn they’d been using to fund the purchase of all the guns and dynamite. He put all of that in the search warrant and one night, at 3 a.m., he and his team tore that farmhouse apart. He shook his head as he thought about it. A religious group selling kiddy-porn to buy weapons to kill people. It made him happy to be retiring soon.

  At least it had been a challenging assignment! Moving on to this one had been like going from Vietnam to Disney World. But now things had changed. This assignment had become a real problem. If McAlister had gotten out of their surveillance net it meant that DJ had been outsmarted. It meant that McAlister had not only figured out that he was being watched, but that he was crafty enough to escape.

  DJ dreaded having to tell Hargrove that the archeologist had escaped and that they might never find the treasure. But McAlister couldn’t have gone far, and there was the slight chance that DJ could find him again before his next update to Hargrove. In a rote motion, he rubbed the handle of his gun, similar to the way a devout person might pray for divine intervention when faced with a crisis.

  For the tenth time in an hour he tried to figure out how McAlister could’ve gotten through the curtain of surveillance that he and Scott, his surveillance team leader, had custom designed. Where had the weak point been? Finally, he said, “Forget it!”.

  “Forget what?” Elmo asked. DJ had forgotten that Elmo was sitting next to him. Elmo was his case partner. They were polar opposites and worked together perfectly. Elmo was short, had pasty white skin and black oily hair. He wore blackframed glasses and always seemed to be wearing a light blue, shortsleeved polyester shirt. He was also beginning to go bald on both forehead and crown. His entire wardrobe looked like it had cost less than twenty dollars. But Elmo’s defining feature, his emblem, was the Phillips 66 pocket protector that he’d gotten for free from the gas station where he gassed up his seldom used Honda Civic. Sometimes DJ chided Elmo about the pocket protector, but it never bothered Elmo. It had saved far, far too many shirts when one of the green, black, blue, or red felt-tip pens that he carried had broken open.