In the Beginning: Mars Origin "I" Series Book I (8 page)

Cleveland
Hts., Ohio

So, I had decided to calm down and act
rationally like Dr. Margulies said. He’d been right. There really wasn’t any
need for me to stay in Jerusalem. There wasn’t anything I could do with all the
other scholars leaving. And, I decided, despite Dr. Margulies’ belief that it
wasn’t a cover-up, it would look too suspicious for me to stay.

I got back home August 1. I had only been
gone for two weeks. I was supposed to stay a month. Dr. Margulies had stayed
behind to procure artifacts for the tour. Getting the Dead Sea Scrolls, I guess,
was now out of the question.

Me trying to get back into the swing of
things proved very difficult. Those feelings of gloom had almost vanished with
the excitement of the trip and now - - now, I didn’t know how I was going to
make it. I just couldn’t get it together.

I had a million things to do at work, with
getting the tour together and everything, and I still had to finish getting the
house back in order after my specious move. But I couldn’t do anything. I was
too obsessed with the idea of getting those journals.

Yes,
obsessed
, that was the right
word.

Over the next couple of weeks I tried to
work on the museum tour, but the days just seemed to drag on. I spent a lot of
time with Dr. Margulies after he got back, and we took a couple of overnight
trips together to other museums in the consortium to prepare for the tour. But
I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t have cared less about the tour. Dr.
Margulies worried about me and I worried about the manuscripts. I didn’t tell
him that I was obsessing over what happened in Jerusalem because he might not
get me those journals. If he knew how daft they were making me, he would
probably destroy them himself. He had always been so protective of me. So, I
just let him think that it was my old craziness that was making me act so
weird. But, that wasn’t true. This was a new mania.

How could that man have destroyed the manuscripts?
I couldn’t think of one thing that would’ve caused such great concern to the
world, mankind, or to this man, that would prompt him to destroy historical
evidence. It just couldn’t be possible. They still had to be around - somewhere.
I just knew it because no one would consciously destroy an artifact, especially
one that valuable.

Okay, so there was a big cover-up in 1949.
That I was sure of. But just as intriguing (and nerve wrecking) was that it
seemed to still be going on today. It had to be with them sending people home
early, seminars being canceled, manuscripts being destroyed, one of the
interpreters dying - - who knows, maybe even
murdered!
And what else
might have happened that I don’t know about? And what was it that this Dr.
Yeoman didn’t want anyone to know? This was driving me nuts. Oh, but I was
going to find out, as soon as Dr. Margulies got me those journals. I was going
to find out and let the world know exactly what “Mr. Editor-in-Chief of
Operation Watergate” had done.

And then, the tiny thread that was holding
it all together for me snapped.

It was the sixteenth of August at exactly
1:15 in the afternoon. I’ll never forget.

I was in the artifacts storage room
sitting at a stainless steel examination table, on a four-legged metal stool,
supposedly working when Dr. Margulies came by. His usual cheery disposition
seemed stained with an edgy uneasiness. He pulled up a stool and sat down next
to me, took my hand and looked me in my eyes. “Lizzy,” he said. Then nothing.
He searched, it seemed, for the right words to say. And, in that stretched
silence, I feared the worst. I didn’t know what the “worst” could be, but it
scared me all the same.

He told me we wouldn’t be getting the
journals for the tour. And no matter how many times Dr. Margulies told me the
“real” reason we couldn’t have them, (they were a gift to the University with
instructions that the University kept them on campus in perpetuity), I knew
that it was a “cover-up.” I snatched my hand out of his, and placed my elbows
on the cold metal table and covered my face with my hands.

I felt dizzy and my mouth was so dry.

“Lizzy. I knew you’d be upset. I hated to
tell you although I can’t understand why you are so captivated by this thing.”

Still holding my head, I turned so that my
face was facing his. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

He brushed his hands together. “It’s
done,” he said, and stood up with a jolt. “Nothing else to do about it.” He
leaned over, kissed me on my forehead, patted me on my back and then leaned
down farther to look at me at eye level. He stared at me for a long moment and
then turned and walked away.

I bit my lip to try and keep from crying.
No matter what he said I knew that we couldn’t get them because they were still
trying to conceal the information in them. I also knew that whatever lay in
those manuscripts was something important to man, mankind, the world
and
to my sanity. I had to see the rest of those journals.

Then it hit me like a lightning bolt. I
bolted upright. I would go back to Jerusalem. I would go to that journal since
it wasn’t coming to me, to all the journals, and find out about this whole
thing myself. And while I knew I had to go, I didn’t know how I would I do it.
How would I get back into the University, into that locked room? I had been too
scared before. I knew I couldn’t tell Dr. Margulies, he wouldn’t think it was
such a good idea. And, I really couldn’t go by myself. I needed help.

I decided not to ask Mase to go. He was
traveling back and forth from to the training camps of pro-football teams on
some kind of assignment.  Besides, he has no sense of adventure.

There was only one thing to do.

I had to enlist the help of my siblings. I
knew I could count on them. But after I told them about this, would they think
I had really gone crazy. Had I gone crazy?  Good question.

I decided to ask Greg and Michael. Michael
would help me without too much resistance but Greg was a different story. With
him, I would be met with opposition. He would bemoan, and chide me and tell me
how I was going to go to jail or to the insane asylum (do they even have those
anymore?) But he was always ready to get into a little devilment (my mother’s
word), so hopefully this would be fuel for his intrusive nature. Plus, I really
needed Greg to help me keep some sense about this whole thing. He would stop me
from doing anything completely insane. He always looked at all sides of a
situation. I was beginning to be so consumed in all this that I was starting to
act wacky. Greg would be the calm in my stormy sea.

And I would ask Claire. I knew she would
do whatever I asked her without hesitation, cheerfully and enthusiastically. I
decided I would talk to Michael and Claire first because they were easy to
convince. I would ask Greg last.

After I made up my mind to go back, time
flew by. I was on a mission.

Joy oozed through me like warm pudding
inside a molten chocolate cake. I couldn’t wait to get back to Jerusalem and
those journals. As I plotted and planned, I remembered a medical convention at
the University in October. Claire’s many degrees were going to serve me well.
She was to be our decoy.

The end of August arrived and I had yet
mustered up the nerve to ask Greg to go. Claire and Michael had told me they
were in. I decided Courtney’s going away party would have to be the time to ask
Greg. I couldn’t wait any longer. October was fast approaching.

I ran through words in my mind again and
again trying to decide what to say to him. But I knew no amount of practicing
would help me through my quest to get him on board. Talking to Greg would just
upset me so much that I wouldn’t remember anything I had practiced.

Callie wanted to have Courtney’s party at
her house, amidst Claire’s petulant protests, because, Callie insisted, we had
all just been to Claire’s house for a get together, so now it was her turn. I
didn’t quite understand what this ‘turn’ thing was, but I hoped they don’t
think my
turn
was next. I couldn’t handle all those people at my house
at once. Just the immediate family was enough to start a small country.

Callie was a moon child at heart, she and
her house resided in the sixties. Outside there were wind chimes twinkling and
clinking, a huge vegetable garden and wild flowers growing up everywhere.
Inside pillows on the floor, bright, airy rooms and the artwork of her six
children plastered on every wall made her house look like a commune. When we
got there people and children were everywhere. I got through all the kisses and
hugs, and the, “My, haven’t you grown” greetings, and chatted with my mother
while keeping an eye out for Greg.

I cornered him in the kitchen going
through the covered dishes trying to find something he could eat. I grabbed
him, chicken leg in hand, and steered him to the sofa in the sunroom. I sat
down in the chair next to him and told him what happened in Jerusalem. Nervous
at first, my momentum quickly picked up pace. Then just like opening a can of pop
that had just been shaken, my words spurted out with force.

“It’s some kind of cover-up, Greg. I just
know it. One guy died, I think he was murdered. There’s missing manuscripts,
the seminar was canceled so now no one can look at the Scrolls. I’ve been going
over and over this in my mind. Think about it, something weird is going on.”

I paused and stared straight into his
eyes, “I want to go back to Jerusalem and look through the journals, or
anything I can find that will help me understand this. I really need to find
out why the seminar was cancelled, what happened to those manuscripts and, more
important, what was in them. It’s important to mankind’s history and probably
our future.

He didn’t say a word.

“Greg, this is so important to me and I
can’t go by myself because I would be too nervous to do it alone.” Maybe a
personal
plea would get more consideration. “I want you to go with me and help me get a
copy of the journals. The journal I read said the Editor-in-chief destroyed the
original manuscripts. But I figure whoever interpreted the manuscript may have
left a
translated copy
of his work or some part of it in one of his
journals. And maybe that translated journal is there. I have to find it.”

He never said a word the entire time I was
talking. He just slowly chewed each bite that he took from that chicken leg,
focusing only on it. Maybe he was just dumbfounded. Or maybe he didn’t talk
because he had a mouth full of chicken. Whatever the reason, his silence caused
a slight ache in my right temple. I wanted him to say something.

He finished the chicken, and then slowly
and methodically licked his fingers and wrapped the bone in the napkin he had
picked up as I pulled him away from the food. He laid the neat little package
on the coffee table and after a very long pause he said, “You want me to go to
Jerusalem and
break
into a scientific institution -”

“It’s a university,” I corrected.

“Okay, a university.” He started again,
speaking slowly and deliberately. “You want me to go to Jerusalem and
break
into a university and help you
steal
a journal that no one else thinks
has any significance?”

“We won’t be breaking in, well, not
really. And I know they know it has significance, that’s why they’re hiding the
journals. That’s why they canceled the seminar. That’s why no one’s talking.”

“Talking?”

“Well, actually no one has even mentioned
the journals. They act as if they don’t even exist.”

“Whoever this ‘they’ is that you keep
referring to, maybe they haven’t mentioned it because the journals have no
significance?”

“I told you that they canceled -”

“The seminar, yes I know, you said that a
couple of times. But, that doesn’t really mean anything. And, even if that were
true, that they cancelled the seminar because
you
found some journals,
which I highly doubt, how could you even think to want to include
me
?
This is crazy, Justin, and so are you.” He made the last comment as more of an
afterthought than a revelation.

I started pouting.

“No way, Justin. Count me out. You can
pout all you want.” He looked at me and smiled. “I really do think that you
have
gone insane.”

“Greg, I need your help,” I whined.
“Everyone’s being so secretive.”

“Who is everyone, Justin? Who’s being
secretive?”

“The people at the University.”

“What did they do?” He didn’t believe me.

Why does everyone act as if I make things
up all the time? He sounded just like Mase.

“I told you, they canceled the seminar.”

“Justin,” he almost yelled my name, “if
you tell me one more time that they canceled that seminar, I am going to choke
you. Is that all the evidence you have? Because if it is no jury would take
more than ten minutes to deliberate before coming back in with a not guilty
verdict.”

I hate when he gets all
lawyery
.

“There’s more. I told you that they’re
hiding very important journals inside of a locked room.”

“And how does that make it your concern?”

“I don’t know.” Each question made me
flinch as if he were pinching me. My stomach and my throat felt like a bee was
buzzing around in it trying to get out. I just wanted him to say, ‘Yes,’ he
would go. 

“I don’t know,” I repeated. “But something
is telling me that it
is
my concern. That I need to see about this. And,
we’re not
stealing
journals, either.” Figured I better clear that up.
“We would take pictures of the journals. Maybe get a real small camera, like they
have on those spy movies . . .” he gave me an odd look, I was losing him again.
“Okay, a copier, we could just do a copier, a portable one. I have one in my
office that’ll work.”

“You want to carry a copier in on a
burglary?” He was squinting his eyes, shaking his head and making some sort of
grunting sound. This time I was sure he was dumbfounded.

“It’s not a burglary. I told you that
technically we’re not
taking
anything.”

“Why can’t you use the copier there?”

“Because, you have to have an account
number and I don’t have one. Unless you know how to rig a copy machine?
Besides, I don’t want anyone to see me walking around.”

“If you don’t want anyone to notice you
walking around, then carrying a copier in on a burglary is not a very good
idea. And now that I think about it, why don’t you just look at the journals
and remember what’s in them. Why copy anything?”

He was referring to my photographic
memory. This just was not going the way I hoped.

“I can’t remember all of that.”

“All of what? You don’t even know what’s
there, if anything. How can you say you can’t remember it?”

“Something is there.”

“So, you look at it. Remember it. And then
when you get out of there you write it down. Presto, you’ve got a copy of it.”

“I won’t be able to remember it,” I said
flatly.

“Yes you can. You just like to make things
difficult.”

“Well, I don’t want to have to remember it
and write it down. I’m really not all that good at it anymore.”

He gave me this look that told me he knew
I was lying. I stuck with my story.

“Really, Greg, it’s too much to do to see
it in Hebrew, write it down in Hebrew and then translate it to English, it’s
just too much. I got too many other things to worry about, like not getting
caught.”

“I thought we were looking for a
translated
copy
.”

Couldn’t get anything past him.

“And aren’t you fluent in Hebrew? Why
would you have to translate it?”

Maybe I should just start crying, that
might work better, because trying to persuade him was getting me nowhere.

“Could we just take something to make a
copy with? Please?” I resorted to begging instead.

“Yeah, alright.” Finally he agreed to
something. “So, what did this journal say was in the manuscript that’s got you
so worked up?”

“One race of people populating the world,
believing themselves to be gods. That was sort of the gist of it.”

“So, what is this the ‘Aryan race’ idea
all over again?” Funny, I thought, Dr. Margulies had related it to Nazi
Germany, too.

“Yeah, I guess. Only this was long before
the Nazi party came into being.”

“Well, Justin, you’re the historian. You
know that man has always tried to conquer the world and take it for himself.
You shouldn’t find that to be so alarming. If that’s what the thing said then
it expresses sentiments that men throughout time have had.”

“It was a lot more than that Greg, and the
information from the manuscripts was hidden. We’ve never hid any information on
any part of history that I am aware of, no matter how bad it was. We may try to
smooth it over, excuse it or lie about it, but we know about it. Nothing was
purposely destroyed because someone thought it would be a ‘disturbing
revelation’ to the world. That’s why it’s so important to get back to Jerusalem
to find out what could’ve been so devastating that he would destroy it and then
maybe even kill someone over it.”

“So why don’t you take your husband on
this little caper of yours?”

“Because he thinks I’m sane. You’re the
only one who knows the truth.”