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“Breaking the seal? Dear God, no, that would be—” “Fine, I’ll do it.” Halstead, with a confirming glance at the cameras, picked up the trowel once more and this time inserted it within the gap between lid and jar. The dried guano that formed the seal broke loose easily, and Halstead was effortlessly removing the lid within moments. “Now would you like to have the honor, Doctor?” Albright walked over to the edge of the fresh pit surrounding the jar, and hopped down to stand opposite the waiting Halstead. Albright very slowly peered within the jar, then gingerly reached a hand and wrist within. As predicted, out came a sheaf of paper, bound in tooled leather. Albright’s holding hand was shaking, and he fell back against the edge of the pit to steady himself. “The leather is gazelle. Go ahead and read the pages.” Albright stared down with wide eyes. “No. We had better stop here—” “We can take the jar with us,” Halstead suggested. “Let you examine the writings in a more controlled environment.” “Yes.” Albright was staring at his surroundings with an otherworldly gaze, as if he was trying to envision the scene of nearly two millennia before that had made this moment of triumph possible. “Yes, let’s get out of here and take the jar with us.” “Gentlemen, you heard the good professor,” Halstead called to his cameramen, with a grin. “Let’s get out of here.” Halstead threw the shovel in Hess’ direction, waited for Albright to replace the topmost codex within the jar, and then replaced the lid. The four men returned the way they had come, the jar and its contents making the journey in a saddlebag beneath an afternoon sun. Halstead and his three followers returned the camel to the innkeeper from whom they had rented it, purchased a wooden box and straw in which to lay the jar, and caught that evening’s train back across the Nile, the train that would carry them to an overnight’s stay in Luxor. |