silence.
Something strange is at work here. When I consulted my sources at Yemrehana Krestos, they were reluctant to discuss it. They demanded to know where the inscriptions were found and who else knew about them. I told them nothing, of course. I have never known these peaceful men to be so unsettled.
I caution you and Sarah to be vigilant. It seems these are murky waters you are treading.
Best wishes,
Rada Kabede
After reading the letter, Sarah was more convinced than ever that the tenth saint lay prostrate before her. In silence she surveyed the skeleton, fixing her gaze on his severed rib cage. The eternal silence. Death. Could he have been describing his own fatal moment? Could he have foreseen it before he fell to the lance-blade? Perhaps he was a prophet of some sort. That could explain his sanctity.
To complicate matters, the report from the radiocarbon dating lab arrived in her in-box sometime during the night. For the most part, it was consistent with her suspicions, but some things still didn’t make sense.
When her phone rang, she already knew who it was. She was certain Professor Simon, whom the lab had copied on the report, would want to discuss the curious nature of the findings.
She answered cheerfully. “Professor, did you receive—”
”Are you alone?”
“I’m in the lab. There is no one else here. Is something wrong?”
“Listen very carefully, Sarah. I had a call from the Minister of Culture today. Apparently, your expedition has been the subject of discussion in very high circles. It seems there has been a little too much attention on the Cambridge project, thanks to this Mr. Kabede’s murder. Yesterday, investigators went through his office and found certain objects that connect him to you. There were files in his computer marked Aksum Expedition. They contained only notes, but that was enough to rouse their suspicions. Then they snooped around and got eyewitness reports of his dining with you and Daniel Madigan. The final blow came when his secretary confessed that on the night before his death Mr. Kabede handed her a letter to courier over to Dr. Madigan.”
Sarah went numb.
“Sarah? Are you there?”
It was as though an invisible hand had gripped her throat. “I’m here,” she whispered.
“Where is this letter?”
“I have it. It arrived this morning.”
“Well? What does it say?”
Sarah read the contents to the professor.
“It is just as I thought—bad news.” His voice shook. “Why you insist on defying authority, I will never know. Now hear this, Sarah. You must turn this letter over to the police. Surely they are on their way as we speak.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It will only make matters worse.”
“No. What will make matters worse is your lack of cooperation. The expedition is already in hot water, and not cooperating would jeopardize the delicate diplomatic relationship between Ethiopia and England, to say nothing of Cambridge and UNESCO.”
“Professor, you don’t understand. This letter will be ammunition in their hands. They have been looking for an excuse to shutter the Cave I Tomb. This could be it.”
“That tomb is the least of my worries. Our predicament, young lady, is much worse than that. The Ministry want everything turned over to the government. They are pulling our permits until further notice.”
Her worst fear had come true. “What?”
“You heard me. We must shut down operations. I want you to send the crew home, effective immediately. We will then make arrangements to have artifacts already excavated shipped to the national museum in Addis, where they will be studied by an Ethiopian team.”
“This is bollocks! They have absolutely nothing to warrant shutting us down. The fact that we consulted Rada does not make us guilty of his murder. We have done nothing wrong.”
“Well, sneaking around on unofficial business with an Ethiopian linguist who turns up dead a few days later certainly does not look
Something strange is at work here. When I consulted my sources at Yemrehana Krestos, they were reluctant to discuss it. They demanded to know where the inscriptions were found and who else knew about them. I told them nothing, of course. I have never known these peaceful men to be so unsettled.
I caution you and Sarah to be vigilant. It seems these are murky waters you are treading.
Best wishes,
Rada Kabede
After reading the letter, Sarah was more convinced than ever that the tenth saint lay prostrate before her. In silence she surveyed the skeleton, fixing her gaze on his severed rib cage. The eternal silence. Death. Could he have been describing his own fatal moment? Could he have foreseen it before he fell to the lance-blade? Perhaps he was a prophet of some sort. That could explain his sanctity.
To complicate matters, the report from the radiocarbon dating lab arrived in her in-box sometime during the night. For the most part, it was consistent with her suspicions, but some things still didn’t make sense.
When her phone rang, she already knew who it was. She was certain Professor Simon, whom the lab had copied on the report, would want to discuss the curious nature of the findings.
She answered cheerfully. “Professor, did you receive—”
”Are you alone?”
“I’m in the lab. There is no one else here. Is something wrong?”
“Listen very carefully, Sarah. I had a call from the Minister of Culture today. Apparently, your expedition has been the subject of discussion in very high circles. It seems there has been a little too much attention on the Cambridge project, thanks to this Mr. Kabede’s murder. Yesterday, investigators went through his office and found certain objects that connect him to you. There were files in his computer marked Aksum Expedition. They contained only notes, but that was enough to rouse their suspicions. Then they snooped around and got eyewitness reports of his dining with you and Daniel Madigan. The final blow came when his secretary confessed that on the night before his death Mr. Kabede handed her a letter to courier over to Dr. Madigan.”
Sarah went numb.
“Sarah? Are you there?”
It was as though an invisible hand had gripped her throat. “I’m here,” she whispered.
“Where is this letter?”
“I have it. It arrived this morning.”
“Well? What does it say?”
Sarah read the contents to the professor.
“It is just as I thought—bad news.” His voice shook. “Why you insist on defying authority, I will never know. Now hear this, Sarah. You must turn this letter over to the police. Surely they are on their way as we speak.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It will only make matters worse.”
“No. What will make matters worse is your lack of cooperation. The expedition is already in hot water, and not cooperating would jeopardize the delicate diplomatic relationship between Ethiopia and England, to say nothing of Cambridge and UNESCO.”
“Professor, you don’t understand. This letter will be ammunition in their hands. They have been looking for an excuse to shutter the Cave I Tomb. This could be it.”
“That tomb is the least of my worries. Our predicament, young lady, is much worse than that. The Ministry want everything turned over to the government. They are pulling our permits until further notice.”
Her worst fear had come true. “What?”
“You heard me. We must shut down operations. I want you to send the crew home, effective immediately. We will then make arrangements to have artifacts already excavated shipped to the national museum in Addis, where they will be studied by an Ethiopian team.”
“This is bollocks! They have absolutely nothing to warrant shutting us down. The fact that we consulted Rada does not make us guilty of his murder. We have done nothing wrong.”
“Well, sneaking around on unofficial business with an Ethiopian linguist who turns up dead a few days later certainly does not look
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