The Samson Effect Chapter 20

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"PLEASE COME IN and sit down." Hazan extended an inviting hand inside and stepped aside to make way for the three men to enter.

Judas shifted his eyes from Tobin to Aaron, both of whom awaited his instructions. The menacing sirens remained in the background, but still worried Judas enough that he warily nodded to his host and led the others in. They all took a seat on the extended sofa.

"May I offer you something to drink?" Before they could answer, Hazan's enthusiasm erupted. "I'm honored to have you in my home." With a juvenile smile and trying to hide his giddiness, he turned to Judas. "Especially you, Rabbi."

The three men looked at each other quizzically. Judas stood and stepped to Hazan. "Who are you, and what do you know about me?"

The expressions of joy morphed into confusion, accentuated by his shrinking smile. Then, as if baptized with understanding, his eyes widened, and his smile stretched to full length. "The rabbi hadn't revealed the Council to you. Of course."

Hazan's nonsensical comments began to stir the seeds of Judas's anger. Hazan apparently sensed Judas's growing aggravation and motioned for him to sit again as he himself slid into the chair facing the couch. "Let me explain." He nervously eyed Aaron and Tobin. "May we speak alone?"

"No," came Judas's adamant reply. "What you need to say, you may say in front of these two."

All joy washed from Hazan's expression, replaced by nervous indecision. "You don't understand—"

"That's right, and you're not helping me to understand. Now tell me what you wish, or my friends and I will handle our affairs on our own."

"No! You mustn't risk it. Please, Rabbi, it's for your own protection."

Judas stood and unceremoniously strode to the door. "Tobin, Aaron, we're leaving."

"Okay, okay." Judas stopped and turned to the detective. Hazan wiped his brow with his sleeve. "The Council won't like this at all."

They seated themselves, and Hazan let out a sigh. "There's a council of ten who guards the Protector and takes care of his needs. We're all in positions of influence in Israel, and we were to be introduced to you by the rabbi next week."

"The rabbi never mentioned a council to me, either orally or in writing."

"He wouldn't have. For centuries, the Council has existed without written record or awareness by anyone except fellow members, an enforcer, and the Protector himself." His eyes shifted to Tobin and Aaron. "That is, until today. The Council is not going to be happy at all."

"How do you know my sister?" Tobin interrupted.

"When the rabbi told the Council two months ago he'd be choosing Judas or Simon to pass on his responsibilities, I took the opportunity to create friendships with families of both."

"So, she doesn't know about the Council?" Judas asked.

"Heavens, no. She only sees me as a trusted friend."

"I suppose you've heard of the rabbi's death, then."

"Yes. It filled the Council with panic since we weren't sure if he'd chosen his successor and passed on the secret." A smile swept across Hazan's face. "And then we heard stories of a man in Hebron who bent a rifle barrel. Our emotions were mixed, with relief he'd apparently made his choice and with apprehension from the public display of power. It was only when we looked into the rumors that we learned of the rabbi's death."

Judas felt overwhelmed by what he had just heard. Until now, he had believed he, Tobin and Aaron were alone with their great responsibility. A wave of relief washed over him. However, he felt he needed to put Hazan to the test in order to confirm the detective's legitimacy. If there was, indeed, a council as Hazan had described, Judas knew it would not want the secret hiding place of the source of the Lord's Strength revealed to them. The rabbi had insisted he and Judas were the only two people on earth who knew the location.

Judas stood and paced thoughtfully through the room. All was silent as each man watched and waited. He finally stopped and turned to Hazan. "I want you to send someone to bring the secret to me in Jerusalem. It's in danger of being discovered."

"What?" Hazan flew to his feet, and years of tough-nosed interrogation experience took over. "What do you mean, it's in danger?"

The depth of the paleness that washed over Hazan's face surprised Judas. "First things first; I want you to have it brought safely to me now."

Hazan violently shook his head. "But we cannot. We don't know where it is."

Judas peered into Hazan's frightened, dilated eyes. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "I'll tell you—"

Hazan covered his ears with his hands and cried out. "No! No! You must never, never share that information with anyone except your successor!"

Judas smiled and waited for Hazan to remove his hands. "I now believe what you told me." He watched as the color slowly returned to Hazan's face.

An audible sigh escaped from the detective's mouth. "For a moment, I feared you were telling the truth about the secret's location being in danger of being compromised."

Judas pulled out the cover page of Dr. Thomas Hamilton's article and handed it to Hazan. "Do you know the man in the photo?"

Hazan gave it a cursory glance. "Yes. I spoke with him today, as a matter of fact. Why?"

"Because I was telling the truth about the secret being compromised. This man has directions to the secret, and the means to access it." He watched Hazan stumble into the chair as the color once again drained from his face. "I need your help in getting it back."

For a moment, Hazan seemed paralyzed. Then, suddenly, he snapped into action. He grabbed the phone and dialed. Placing his hand over the mouthpiece, he said, "We must convene the Council first thing tomorrow morning."

* * * *

Light from the lamp poured over the table in Thomas's room. He and Michael sat spellbound, poring over the contents of the envelope. Not only did the material in the notebook confirm the ancient writings about the Samson Effect, it also revealed Protectors were still searching for and guarding the secret. A chill ran through Thomas's body as he imagined that somewhere, someone at this very moment had intimate knowledge of this "ancient" secret.

Thomas watched Michael examine the metal key that had weighed down the envelope. "What do you think it is?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't know. The notebook calls it a key that leads to the altar room and then to the secret of the Lord's Strength." Michael turned the key around in the palm of his hand and examined it from every angle. "Doesn't look like any key I've ever seen."

"Let me see it."

Michael tossed the key to Thomas, who examined it for the first time. It was cylindrical and the size and weight of a small stone. There were no carvings on it, only ridges and grooves of varying thickness around its circumference. Thomas imagined if he rolled it on an inkpad and then onto a white sheet of paper, he'd find a pattern that would look like a common UPC bar code. One end of the cylinder was flat with tiny scuffmarks embedded in the surface. The other end was hollowed out. To Thomas it looked like a large thimble.

He absentmindedly stuck his forefinger and middle finger into the hollowed end and began tapping the "key" on the tabletop. He pursed his lips and looked up at Michael. "Do you suppose this really does unlock the hiding place to the surviving sample of the Effect?"

"Are you kidding? Solomon reigned about 900 BC or so. What vegetation do you know of that could have survived for three thousand years?" Michael let out a quiet chuckle. "At least I was on the right track. The Samson Effect is a plant, and if the notebook is correct, the seeds have been lost since the Protector during the reign of King Rehoboam died before letting his successor know what he'd done with them. Apparently, no Protector since has been able to solve the riddle of the seeds being hidden in Satan's belly."

Michael rubbed his eyes with his palm. "I hope that if we find the seeds there's enough left to identify the type of plant they came from."

"If we're really lucky, we'll find dormant seeds that can germinate."

Michael's laughter bellowed out and filled the small hotel room. "You actually think three-thousand-year-old seeds can survive and remain fertile?" He smiled. The slight nod of his head teased Thomas, who knew he was about to be the butt of unmerciful banter. "You're the archaeologist. Ever hear of King Tut's wheat?"

Thomas's cheeks grew hot. "Of course I've heard of King Tut's wheat, but apparently your knowledge of botany and seed viability is pretty limited."

Thomas stared at Michael and shook his head at his friend's implication. Every archaeologist knew of the American airman who, during World War II, came across a street vendor in Egypt who sold him thirty-six kernels of grain he claimed was found preserved in a pharaoh's tomb. The young man sent the kernels to his father, a farmer in Montana, who successfully grew the seeds. Eventually, the public went crazy over what was dubbed "King Tut's wheat."

Science, however, disproved the theory that the kernels came from an ancient tomb, and it eventually identified the grain as a little-known grain from Egypt now known as kamut. Grains such as wheat, the scientist had explained, can remain dormant and viable for about thirty years, maybe ninety under ideal circumstances, but certainly not for thousands of years.

Michael continued his relentless jabs at his educated friend. "Have you ever heard of grain remaining viable after being found in an ancient archaeological site?"

"Not exactly," Thomas intoned in a deep, steady monotone. "But for your information, lotus seeds have been found in ancient lake beds in Manchuria, which carbon 14 has dated as between 830 to 1,250 years old. And guess what? When planted, they sprouted, and some even flowered!"

The smile slowly faded from Michael's face as he took on the appearance of a man lost in deep thought. It was not until now, in silence, that Thomas realized he was breathing heavily. He couldn't believe how easily Michael had pushed his buttons. But, he thought, so what if it showed he was a little ruffled. It was worth it to see Michael's expression right now.

To Thomas's satisfaction, Michael cocked his head and nodded, apparently conceding the point to Thomas. "I see. You may be right. All we need to do is find under which river the Samson Effect seeds are buried …"

"I'm just saying—"

"No, no, no," Michael interrupted. "I agree. You're correct. The seeds must be as big and as rock hard as those thousand-year-old lotus seeds."

"I get your point," Thomas fumed. "I didn't say it was probable, just possible."

"Wow. You might be the first archaeologist to ever find ancient, dormant, viable seeds hidden away by another culture."

"Look, Michael, can we just drop this, please. It's getting old."

Michael's eyes grew as wide as saucers as he mimicked the starstruck expression of a groupie who just ran face-to-face into her idol. He slid a piece of paper to Thomas and, without breaking eye contact, asked, "Would you please sign your autograph for me?"

Thomas's bubbling anger quickly cooled as he took control of himself and realized Michael was just trying to get a rise from him. He whipped a pen from his pocket, scribbled illegible squiggles on the paper, and floated it back to Michael. "You'd better hang onto that. It'll be worth something some day."

There was a light rapping at the door. When Thomas got up to open it, he heard the unmistakable crinkling sound of paper being wadded up. He smiled, shook his head, and opened the door. Delia and Hanna stood side by side, neither looking particularly happy.

Thomas held the door wide open and stepped out of the way. "Looks like we've got company."

Michael craned his neck to watch the women walk through the door. "They seem to be okay. No blood, no bruises." Delia's icy gaze silenced Michael and forced him to sink into his chair.

Thomas closed the door and slipped to the perceived safety of the table next to Michael. "So, what did you two decide?"

"We decided you're right," Hanna said coyly. "Frankly, we're offended you treated us like children, but we both know it's important not to create added burdens on you."

Thomas's apprehension melted away. He looked at Michael and smiled. "Great. It's amazing what we can do if we just act like adults."

"I must say, I'm pleasantly speechless," Michael confessed.

Thomas was relieved that the tension between Hanna and Delia was resolved. He actually looked forward to the morning trip the four of them would make together to the caves. He was about to suggest Hanna accompany him to the lobby for a nightcap when he caught sight of her furious expression. Instead, he froze, not quite knowing what to say.

Apparently, Michael didn't think the anger daggers were aimed at him because he got up and confidently approached Delia. He reached out and gently gripped her arm. "Come on, Delia. Let's get some sleep. 5:00 a.m. comes awfully early."

Delia shrugged her forearm from Michael's grasp. "Hanna and I have booked the last room left in the hotel. We decided it would be better to spend it with each other than with you two. We'll see you boys at breakfast at six."

Together, they turned and marched to the door. They stepped into the hall; but before closing the door, Hanna looked at Thomas with a mischievous grin. "And if either of you want anything more than a cordial, professional relationship over the next few days, we'd suggest you learn real quickly how not to speak to us in the future."



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