The Navigator (NUMA Files 7)

“Hello, Hank, this is Evans. Wondered if you had a few minutes.”

Douglas replied that he had an hour before his next appointment and invited him to stop by his office. “Okay,” Evans said. He hung up and said to DeVries, “Hank’s busy right now. I’ll see him this afternoon.”

DeVries stood and extended his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “If you ever need anything from the NSA, I’m sure we will be similarly accommodating. I’ll call you later today.”

After DeVries took his leave Evans stared at the closed door for a moment, then he sighed and picked up the packet of Jefferson material. Passing the buck had its hazards. As he left his office, he thought that he would have to be careful how he handled this hot potato.

DOUGLAS WAS a genial African American in his fifties. The circular bald spot on the top of his head made him look like a tonsured monk. He had been a history major at HowardUniversity, where he’d excelled at his studies. His office shelves were lined with books encapsulating the history of homo sapiens going back to Cro-Magnon times.

He was one of the most respected people in the bureau. He backed up his diplomatic skills with practical knowledge, having spent several years in the Near and Middle East. He was an expert on the region’s politics and religion, the two often entwined, and spoke Hebrew and Arabic.

Evans had figured out a face-saving approach: derision. He puffed out his cheeks as he stepped into Douglas’s office. “You won’t believe the odd conversation I just had.”

Evans rendered a reasonably accurate description of his talk with DeVries. Douglas listened intently as Evans did his best to portray himself as the victim of an encounter with a nutty professor. Douglas asked to see the file DeVries had delivered. He studied the pages for several minutes.

“Let me see if I understand what your professor is saying,” Douglas said as he finished the last page. “A code expert from the NSA has deciphered secret correspondence between Thomas Jefferson and Meriwether Lewis. The material suggests that Phoenicians visited North America.”

Evans grinned. “Sorry to take your time with this. I thought you’d find the story amusing.”

Douglas neither smiled nor laughed. He picked up the copy of the artichoke garden layout and gazed at the strange words. Then he reread the translations made so long ago by Jefferson’s professor friend. He said the first one out loud.

“Ophir,” he said.

“I saw that. What does it mean?”

“Ophir was the legendary location of King Solomon’s mines.”

“I always thought that was something somebody made up,” Evans said.

“Perhaps,” Douglas said. “The fact is, Solomon amassed great amounts of gold in his lifetime. The source of that gold has always been a mystery.”

“Based on what you say, and this material, Jefferson believed Ophir was in North America. Isn’t that crazy?”

Douglas didn’t answer. He read the second translation.

“Sacred relic.”

“More craziness. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not sure. The most sacred relic associated with Solomon would have been the Ark of the Covenant.”

“You’re saying Jefferson’s biblical object is the Ark?”

“Not necessarily. The sacred relic could be Solomon’s sock.” Douglas fiddled with a ballpoint pen. “God, I wish I could smoke my pipe at times like this.”

“What’s wrong, Hank? Jefferson or not, this thing about the Ark sounds like a fairy tale. There probably isn’t a word of truth in this stuff.”

“Makes no difference if it’s true or not,” Douglas said. “It’s all about symbols.”

“I don’t understand. What’s the big deal?”

“This is trouble any way you look at it. Remember what happened at the TempleMount in 1969, and again back in 1982?”

“Sure. An Australian religious fanatic set the mosque on the mount on fire, and later a religious group was arrested for plotting to blow it up.”

“What would have happened if they had been successful in clearing the mount to make way for the rebuilding of Solomon’s third temple?”

“Their action could have provoked a strong reaction, to say the least.”