Treasure of Eden Read online

  “Exactly. As for personal wealth, well, the Bible never says money is the root of all evil.”

  “The love of money, on the other hand…” Jaime smiled.

  “Causes many problems,” agreed the older woman.

  “So agents of Eden were present when Jesus was teaching?” Jaime asked.

  “Of course. Part of what the Integrators do is pay attention to who is in the Terris world that deserves special attention, who we can learn from, who we can share wisdom with, who should be invited to come into the gardener community.”

  Jaime knew that those in Eden referred to themselves simply as gardeners.

  Andrea continued, “If you look at any history book, you can know that when many important things happened, gardeners were there as facilitators and guides. We can’t change human nature, we can’t force people to act in courageous and compassionate ways, but we can equip and support those who do.”

  “So gardeners knew people like Abraham Lincoln?”

  “One helped persuade Lincoln to run for office.”

  “And gardeners were present during the ministry of Jesus. Oh, I would have loved to have been there! And I can only imagine that they might have understood some things differently, or more completely.”

  “As a matter of fact, a gardener was known to be in Jesus’ inner circle. He wasn’t one of the twelve who became known as apostles, but he did spend time alone with him. Can you imagine the kinds of conversations they must have had?” Andrea said.

  “It reminds me of what Jesus says in the book of John: ‘There are so many other things I want to tell you, but you could not bear it.’ I’d give anything to hear some of those ‘other things’!” Jaime added, “The gardener who was there didn’t report back about the content of those talks?”

  “The gardener’s name was Yacov, and he did talk with some of the other Integrators about what he heard, and what it meant. They urged him to write it all down and send it back into Eden. The other gardeners said economic discussions were part of their conversations–among many other topics,” Andrea added, almost wistfully. “Because it’s my area of interest, I can only imagine how that information might have impacted Eden economic theory, not to mention theory here in the Terris world. For example, the very purposeful decisions after World War II to make the United States into what we now know to be a toxic consumerist society might never have happened. In fact, the Forum that we’re headed for right now might have looked completely different.

  “But Yacov was killed–one of those senseless, stupid things. A couple of Roman soldiers found a woman from his village alone at a spring. They attacked her. Yacov came to her defense, and they stabbed him. They probably didn’t even mean to kill him. As I said, we can’t force people to act in appropriate ways.”

  Jaime drove, lost in her thoughts. How exciting it could have been to be present at many of the defining moments of history–and probably at many moments that were defining but never made it into the history books. Like when Lincoln had the series of conversations that convinced him to run for office. To hear what Jesus said, and the tone in which he said it. To see him smile. Just to be there.

  Wow.

  “How are you doing? Are you awake?”

  “So far, so good,” answered Jaime.

  “What will you do once this assignment is successfully completed?” Andrea asked. “I’d ask if you planned to stay in Davos to ski, but I hear they’ve hardly had any snow this winter!”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the same thing.”

  “Your great-grandmother tells me she feels you’ve found your calling as an Operative,” Andrea said.

  “I’m glad she feels that way,” Jaime said truthfully.

  The women realized they were getting close to Davos as they drove into the Gotschnatunnel. They were almost there–Jaime was starting to relax.

  Andrea was also in a good mood. She leaned in, and in a confidential friend-to-friend voice she said, “I also hear you’ve worked with Sword 23. How incredible is that for a young Operative?”

  She hadn’t expected this reference to Yani. Yani, whom she was working so hard to keep from entering her conscious thought, and who was always close to doing so.

  Thus Jaime was sputtering, her blood pressure spiking, her mind suddenly searching for any kind of rational response, when they emerged from the Gotschnatunnel on the south end of Klosters, Switzerland, into a blinding snowstorm.

  She had not expected this. And under the snow a layer of ice.

  Jaime fought to keep the wheels from spinning as they rounded a curve and headed up a steep incline. There was an inch of snow on the road, and the wheels were not getting good traction. She tried to downshift to give the wheels a better chance to grip. That split second of slowdown was all it took for the car to lose its momentum.

  It began to slide backward.

  “Shit!” she said, trying desperately to regain forward traction–but the tires wouldn’t bite.

  Helplessly, she struggled to maintain control of the vehicle as it slowly slid backward toward the curve.

  January 24, 2007, 9:38 p.m.

  (2 days, 12 hours, 52 minutes until end of auction)

  Judean wilderness west of the Dead Sea

  Israel

  * * *

  The Hajj had sent Asad back to her tent after their encounter. He had not really suspected her when his dearest treasure had gone missing, and he had honestly wanted to protect her from any accusations should the news ever get out.

  Omar sighed. He knew it would not be easy for her to attend his wedding to a younger wife.

  He also knew what the women were saying about his upcoming wedding, specifically about his new wife. He expected them to talk. His bride was beautiful, and she was fifteen. He was not beautiful, and he was not fifteen. The fact that she’d agreed to marry him–willingly agreed–had set tongues wagging for many miles.

  They were saying she was a gold digger. They were saying he was an old goat.

  The men were more charitable.

  The first time Hajj al-Asim had noticed the girl looking at him, he’d been sure he was mistaken. He was visiting the camp of her clan; he was doing business with their chief concerning an olive grove. When the Hajj had paced off the property in question, he had gone past the tent of Yasmin and her mother.

  Yasmin had been looking at him. Once their eyes locked, she had modestly looked at the ground. But then she had glanced up again, through thick lashes, to see if he was watching her.

  He was.

  He came back again to contemplate the olive grove deal. This time he looked for Yasmin. She still sat with her mother, in front of their tent. But this time, when their eyes locked, she smiled before looking away.

  The Hajj made many trips to decide whether to purchase the grove.

  On his last trip, Yasmin was nowhere to be seen.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said to the clan chief, who was also the girl’s uncle. Her father had died in a fall; her stepfather did not have standing as a man with whom to deal. “As you know, my first wife died two years ago. I’ve been thinking of taking another wife. A favored wife.”

  “You would do honor to our clan, to any woman,” said the chief. The words were scripted, the polite answer to the Hajj of the tribe. “Who pleases you?”

  The Hajj couldn’t tell if the chief knew exactly whom he had in mind or hadn’t any idea. Those words were always spoken with slight hesitation, in case the request would turn out to be problematic.

  “Yasmin, daughter of the late tribesman Yusef.”

  “Yasmin?” It was clear the chief hadn’t known. “There are so many girls who would be more suitable.”

  The Hajj treaded lightly. It was not characteristic for him. But something about this girl touched him, brought out the best part of him. “I would speak with her,” he said. “And if she does not wish it, I will choose elsewhere.”

  “You will speak with her, and if she does not wish…?”

  The ch
ief was clearly flummoxed.

  “When should I return?”

  “A week,” he said. “You will honor us if you return in a week.”

  January 24, 2007, 9:40 p.m.

  (2 days, 11 hours, 50 minutes until end of auction)

  Highway 28

  2 Miles northeast of Laret, Switzerland

  * * *

  The sky was pitch-black, the snow swirl cut visibility to near zero, as the sedan continued to slide backward down the mountain road. To make matters worse, Jaime remembered crossing a small bridge just before that final curve. That meant there was no room for error. It was essential to keep the car on the road.

  She managed to keep the car straight. Much to her relief it slid backward across the bridge. She knew there was a sharp turn behind it, but before she could see the turn, they hit the curve and skidded toward the guardrail. Reacting too quickly to this danger, she overcorrected, cutting too hard on the steering wheel and sending them directly toward the craggy hillside.

  Jaime quickly regained her composure, and this time she pulled the wheel back just enough to help them miss a large rock outcropping. They slid instead into a widened area of the shoulder used for emergency parking. Fortunately, the road flattened out and the auto slowed to a stop inches from the mountain that rose behind it.

  “Well, that was exciting,” said Andrea with a deadpan expression. “Thank God there’s no other traffic! But then, who else would be crazy enough to be out in a blizzard?”

  “And who said anything about a blizzard! No snow all season, that’s the word I got!”

  Jaime rested her forehead on the steering wheel as she caught her breath.

  No matter what the conditions, they couldn’t stay there; they had to press ahead. She took a deep breath.

  At that moment, Jaime would have given anything to be able to fly into Davos. She had been studying for her pilot’s license for the past year, but she couldn’t accrue flying hours while deployed, and the flight through the mountains would have required an instrument rating. Well, this snowstorm would have nixed the deal, anyway, but maybe if they’d flown they’d already be there.

  Enough. Enough wishful thinking.

  Jaime lifted her head, ready to attack the hill once again.

  “I’m going to back up a little further and get a good running start at this hill,” she said to her passenger. “If you’re in a praying kind of mood, now would be a good time!”

  Jaime started her run, keeping the car in a low gear and getting just enough speed to keep the tires from spinning. She kept steady pressure on the accelerator, and did not back off when she hit the steepest point of the hill. Just as the car reached the peak, the road took a sharp curve, causing the back end of the car to fishtail. But she saw it coming, and maintained control.

  Andrea smiled. Her shoulders relaxed.

  Disaster avoided. The snowfall was slowing. And while the caffeine was gone, Jaime’s new surge of adrenaline would carry them quite a ways. She expelled the breath she realized she’d been holding, and thought how nice it would be if this was the gravest danger they’d face on their sojourn to Davos.

  January 24, 2007, 11:32 p.m.

  (2 days, 10 hours, 58 minutes until end of auction)

  Judean wilderness west of the Dead Sea

  Israel

  * * *

  In the still hours of the night before the major celebrations for her wedding started, Yasmin lay awake in her mother’s tent, remembering the sound of her father’s laugh and then gentle exasperation in her mother’s voice as she scolded him for one thing or another. Yasmin didn’t know which she missed more–her father or the family life they’d known before he died.

  Now, instead, she heard the aggressive staccato of her stepfather’s snores, and prayed she’d made the correct choice, that she wasn’t leaping off of the saj into the fire.

  Yasmin vividly remembered the day she turned fourteen. That was the day she knew she was running out of time. Her hair was braided, and she wore a red sash, denoting she had come of age. But her women’s cycle as yet came very infrequently. Her mother told her not to worry, it would become regular in time. But Yasmin thanked God that she was maturing slowly. For when the day came that she became pregnant, her life would be over. By tribal law, her stepfather could not marry her. Instead, he would undoubtedly show outrage and disown her. She would either be killed or be cast out, shunned, friendless, and without prospects, to carry and care for a child known as her shame.

  Her father had been the younger brother of the chief. Yasmin imagined her mother must have angered the chief in some severe way for the chief to allow the Monster to marry her after his brother’s death. Yasmin knew they could not count on the chief for help.

  Life in the small tent that was her family’s world had become unbearable. The Monster beat her little brother, but not as often as he beat her. From the time her stepfather had married her mother when Yasmin was eleven, he had found fault with everything. He backhanded his stepdaughter casually and had beaten her once or twice a week. The Monster started fondling her, as well. When she turned thirteen, he forced himself on her, although infrequently. He did it only when he thought her mother would not notice.

  Yasmin’s mother, while not acknowledging any impropriety, stayed close as much as she could. Even when her new husband ordered her off with the sheep, she would try to take Yasmin with her. Sometimes it would be allowed; sometimes it would not.

  When Yasmin turned fifteen, she knew her time was nearly up. Her menses were much more regular, as was her stepfather’s attention.

  Once she thought she was saved. A young man, a distant cousin, had asked for her hand in marriage, but her stepfather had refused, saying the prospective bridegroom had nothing to offer. Yasmin came to understand her stepfather would say this to anyone young, no matter how good his prospects, how good his family.

  So when the Hajj himself came to do business with their clan, Yasmin saw her last chance–her only chance–for escape.

  Someone as lowly as her stepfather could not dishonor their clan by refusing a marriage offer from the Hajj. It would not be allowed.

  Yasmin had not heard good things about the Hajj personally, nor had she heard bad things. She counted on the fact that the talk among the girls would have reached her if the Hajj were also a monster. In any case, she had to escape the brutality of her current life. If she did not, there was no future for her.

  There was a meeting of the men in the chief’s tent. Her stepfather was the one who brought her the news. “It seems the Hajj is blind as well as stupid,” he said. “He has taken a liking to our own little whore, Yasmin.”

  Both Yasmin and her mother kept spinning thread, neither one looking up as he spoke.

  “It seems…,” he let the word hang, as if it were an accusation, “the Hajj would come and speak to the little whore in person. It seems if she agrees, he will take her to wife.”

  The Monster towered over Yasmin as he spoke. “So, your promiscuity is obvious to all. You have no shame. You have even ensnared the Hajj!” The back of his hand came down across her face with brutal force. She cried out but then continued spinning.

  “Then you will be well rid of her,” said Yasmin’s mother.

  “What did you say?” bellowed the Monster.

  “I said we’ll be well rid of her,” said her mother again. Yasmin saw one single tear run down her mother’s cheek as she continued to spin the thread.

  January 24, 2007, 11:40 p.m.

  (2 days, 9 hours, 50 minutes until end of auction)

  Steigenberger Hotel Belvédère lounge

  Davos, Switzerland

  * * *

  To the casual observer, Jaime Richards and Andrea Farmer were two Forum attendees who’d met for a drink in the lounge of the Hotel Belvédère. The two women sat in boxy gray chairs, Jaime nursing a drink that looked very much like a gin and tonic, complete with two lime slices. Andrea was sipping a red wine.

  In actuality, Ja
ime’s tonic had no gin and the BlackBerry she seemed to be fiddling with was a communication link to her partner, who was out of sight but nearby.

  They had chosen the perfect location. From their seats they could easily see both the bar and any traffic coming into the hotel lobby and up to the front desk. Dr. Andrea Farmer looked chic and comfortable in a floor-length gray knit dress with mock turtleneck and a red wool blazer. Jaime thought the red enhanced the look of Dr. Farmer’s beautiful white hair and elegant features, and hoped that when she was even half this woman’s age she would look as good.

  When she and Dr. Farmer had finally arrived and gone to their shared hotel room, they’d found the door to the adjoining room open and Jaime’s partner and the head Operative on this mission, Eddie Williams, anticipating their arrival. Jaime had joined Eddie in his room, closing the connecting door so Andrea could change into evening wear.

  “What’s the latest?” Jaime had asked. His ebony skin and gelled hair looked dapper above a starched white tux shirt with black tie.

  Eddie told her the secret meeting, originally scheduled for that night, had been postponed. Weather-related delays had closed the airports for a few hours, and many guests were arriving late. “Still,” he said, “Woodbury is an impatient man. We’re looking for it to take place tomorrow morning at the latest. But don’t worry. Between you, me, Dr. Farmer, and the other unseen Operatives, Woodbury’s crew can’t make a move without detection. Not to jinx anything, but this assignment is what I’d call on the cushy end.”

  Jaime laughed and agreed, “Well, except for the part where Dr. Farmer was nearly killed for discovering a similar meeting–and, from what you told me earlier, these folks seem entirely capable of doing so with us–comparatively speaking, I’d call it a Swiss holiday!”

  “Especially for you,” he said.

  She looked at Op 1, wondering if he was making reference to her relative inexperience. “Especially…?”