Chapter 6 - Israeli Adventure

February 2053

A month after the official contract awards were announced, Stephanie called Luke and me to her office for a meeting. Barbas was there.

“Gentlemen,” he said soberly, “The news will soon feature the Hawking Plan once more.”

“Great!” I replied, “There was quite a bit of good press last month when the study contract awards were announced. What’s this news report going to focus on?”

“Your God-damned butt-gas!” said Barbas, “The news will be all about your stinking butt-gas! About the underside of the Hawking Plan – your idiotic modification of the scriptures of all the world’s major religions! My security contacts in CentAsia and the MidEast gave me a heads-up that Tsar Sahbaka and his unlikely team of conservadores fiscales, advocates of the poor, profesoros de la Universidad for integridad académica, and religiosas locas will announce that TABB has been systematically modifying the scriptures of all the world’s religions. The news could come out this week or this month, as soon as Tsar Sahbaka and his cohort gain access to the proof.”

Luke shook his head from side to side. He started to ask a question, but he seemed to change his mind and remained silent. That confirmed for me he had no idea of the máquina del tiempo aspect of the Hawking Plan.

Barbas manipulated the codip and the before and after photos of the Dead Sea Scrolls appeared on the display wall behind Stephanie’s reclining chair.

“As proof,” he continued, “They will show the film negatives of these photos and correlate them with changes they say they have detected in the e-texts used for religious services.”

“Did Sahbaka get the film negatives?” asked Stephanie.

“My sources are not sure if he has them,” replied Barbas, “But the word is the guy who queried all your PIDs, Yitzchak bar Mats, is the source of the information and he’s probably the guy who took the photos and has the negatives or knows where they are.”

Stephanie manipulated her codip. A moment later information about Yitzchak bar Mats was displayed on the wall behind her. He was 53 years old and worked as a document custodian at the Shrine of the Book museum in Jerusalem. There were two locations where he had recently lived:

Mats Camp: West Southwest of Be’er Sheva, at 31” 13’ 37.00º N, 34’ 44’ 59.25º E.

Mats House: Southwest corner of Be’er Sheva, at 31” 13’ 17.45º N, 34” 45’ 46.52 E.

A moment later, satellite maps of the area appeared on the display wall. The camp was about a mile, as the crow flies, from his house. However, the walk along the dry river bed between them was about three and a half miles because the river curved. There was a dirt road north of the river bed between his house and camp that was about the same length.

“Good,” began Barbas. “Let’s assume, at least for the moment, this is the guy who has the film. He would probably not keep it at his house or camp because he knows we are suspicious of him and we could get a warrant and search for it.”

“Barbas,” I asked, “How could we get a warrant to search? It’s not illegal to have film is it?”

“Luke, or are you Jim?” Barbas asked.

“I’m Jim.”

“OK, Jim. Bar Mats’s employment contract at the Shrine of the Book prohibits taking unauthorized photos. If he did so, he violated the rules of his job. Even if he did not, I know some guys in Israel who owe me a favor from years back who probably have the contacts to get a warrant. If I was the guy with the film, I would put it in a metal can and bury it in the desert.”

"Why a metal can?" asked Luke. "Wouldn't plastic be better?"

"God-damned engineers!" blurted Barbas. "He'd put it in metal so he could find it with a metal detector. Some of my engineer colleagues at the TBI once buried a secret code gadget for me while I was on a clandestine mission. It was in a plastic baggie and I had to dig up a wide area to find the thing! That almost gave away my identity. Idiot engineers! If they had put it in a metal can I could have located it accurately in a minute! You can't get along with 'em and you can't get along without 'em. Worse than my ex-wife, may she rot in hell."

"Thank you," replied Luke. "I once did a project for the TBI and I was impressed at how the secret agents sometimes were smarter than my fellow engineers. One time I even ..."

“So,” interrupted Stephanie, “Assuming bar Mats is the guy with the photos and assuming he buried them somewhere near his house or camp, what shall we do?”

Go dig them up!” I replied. Everyone looked at me!

I was surprised to hear myself say that. I had intended to simply think it to myself. I put my hand to my mouth.

“Jim,” said Barbas enthusiastically, “I like that idea! While we’re over there we can contact some of my old amigos en persona and we may get some real leads. Stephanie - let’s make it look like a TABB team building exercise!”

“Whoa,” I cried. “I didn’t mean we should do it – as in me – don’t we have TBI guys who do that stuff?”

“Yes we do,” answered Stephanie, “But we’ve got no real evidence to get the TBI officially involved at this time. We don’t know if this bar Mats guy has the photos or even if he has anything to do with this. He’s our only suspect so far, but we shouldn’t focus down too narrowly too soon. In any case, why don’t we do it? The studies are in process and you have worked so much unpaid overtime evaluating the proposals and all, and I’m no longer carrying that baby around, why not take a paid vacation?”

“What about your new baby?” asked Luke, “Don’t you want to be with Diega as much as possible?”

“I hate to listen to her crying!” shouted Stephanie. “I can easily afford to pay the nanny to work full time. DG - that's what we call Diega - is cute when she’s happy and clean, but she sleeps most of the time and cries and poops and pees a lot. I need a break from both DG and work!”

“Why am I in on this thing?” asked Luke, “I had nothing to do with the religion aspect of the Hawking Plan.”

“You were at the DoHiMuTo,” said Barbas, “The Documentary History Museum of Tokyo when the Dead Sea Scrolls were supposedly modified, right?”

“No!” shouted Luke, “The PID records are false.”

“Luke,” replied Stephanie, “I believe you. You’ve never lied to me and I know you are religiosas locas and don’t ever lie. But the PID records are what they are. No one in authority will believe you were elsewhere. If those documents were actually modified, you and Jim are the guilty parties!”

Religiosas locas?” Luke asked, “That means ‘crazy religious’ doesn’t it? Even if my Latinized first name is Lucas that doesn’t make me locas! And, who the heck said the Dead Sea Scrolls were actually modified at the DoHiMuTo? I thought we concluded they were photo shopped or the film negatives were changed or something like that.”

“Luke,” said Stephanie, “Are you by any chance familiar with the contra-terror program of the TBI?”

“Sure,” Luke replied, “The TBI lead the heroic war against the crazy Islamistas in the mountains and deserts. One of my former college roommates who went to work for the TBI told me personally how he was tortured. That covert war plus the positive ID technology finally put those terrorists out of business. Everybody knows that.”

“There was another TBI aspect to the contra-terror program,” continued Stephanie. “It is still TBI-Secret and must not be revealed to anybody without an official ‘need to know.’ As I’ve told you before, I was at the TBI before I came to TABB to be Chief of the Infinite Future Branch. Barbas, here, was one of my mentors. In his younger days he was personally involved in some of the most heroic parts of the contra-terror program.”

“At the time,” said Barbas, “I was young and foolish.”

“Now,” replied Stephanie with a smile, “You’re old and foolish.” With that she rushed over, sat on his lap, and gave him a big hug and a warm kiss on his cheek.

“Well, Luke,” she continued, as she returned to her chair, “Barbas and the other long-toothed barbas grises at the TBI took me under their wing. At first I was an intern, then a graduate student doing part-time work-study for them, and then they gave me my first job after my PhD. They told me about their máquina del tiempo, which means ‘time machine.’”

“Engineering technology,” replied Luke, “Has not yet been developed to reverse time and I don’t think it ever will.”

“These were not physical time machines, Luke,” she continued, “Rather; they went and modified the scriptures of a certain religion as they appear in the e-texts and e-photos on WIN, which is equivalent to going back in time and changing history.”

“Good idea,” said Luke, “The Quran could stand some heavy editing. I’ve heard it was the moderate Imams who finally tamed the Islamistas and called off the suicide bombers. I didn’t know about the TBI ‘time machine’ program but it seems they did some real good there!”

“Thank you Luke, on behalf of Barbas and the others at the TBI who gave their lives to defeat religion-based terrorism. It wasn’t my idea and they did it before I joined the TBI. Barbas told me they had to make the same changes in the originals or oldest extant copies of the scriptures to prevent religious historians and literal believers from proving that the changes had been made.”

I watched Luke closely, hoping against hope he would not make the connection between the TBI máquina del tiempo project and the claim the Dead Sea Scrolls had been modified at the DoHiMuTo, which, of course they had at my direction. Luke's head was bobbing up and down and he was smiling broadly. He gave Stephanie an enthusiastic thumbs up!

Suddenly the smile vanished. Luke put his right hand to his face and glared at me. “Stephanie," he began in an even, forboding tone, "Are you about to tell me you hired and authorized Jim here to play ‘time machine’ with scriptures to promote human space travel?”

Before Stephanie could reply, Luke continued, “Jim, my friend who I thought was honestly searching for his true faith, are you going to tell me you directed changes to the scriptures of the world’s religions – including Judaism and Christianity? I mean – now I think you even changed the Dead Sea Scrolls! You put space travel words into the Dead Sea Scrolls? You modified documents that are 2000 years old and were only discovered a hundred years ago? You, an historian for God's sake? You, a rabbi? What were you thinking man? Was that why we visited the DoHiMuTo? It's true, isn't it?"

I looked down, too embarassed to face my dear friend. Silently, I shook my head up and down, very slowly, up and down.

Luke stood up and punched at the air. We all remained silent wondering what he would do next.

He turned towards me, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look him in the eye. "Hola Diego, he began, uncharacteristicly using Inglañol, "Did you also change the oldest existing copy of the 1611 King James Version? Diego, say it isn’t so!”

Before I could answer, Barbas interrupted. “I have a retired amigo who has done antiquity digs in the Egyptian desert. I’ll bet she’d love to come along and help us look like university archeological researchers.”

"Not yet," I replied to Luke, "But, I confess it is on my to do list. I promise to take it off and ..."

Luke gritted his teeth. He held his hand up to my face like a stop sign. "Get thee behind me Satan. For it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve. Say no more about your evil works to me."

That was the worst moment of the worst day in my entire life.

Luke and I protested but Stephanie was the boss, after all. So, by March 3rd, five of us, Barbas, his lady friend Betsy, Stephanie, Luke and I were off on a “team building exercise” to the area west southwest of Be’er Sheva in Israel.

Barbas and Betsy rented a four-wheel-drive vehicle and two camping caravans. They set up an “archeological dig” camp along the dry river bed about three miles south-southwest of Be’er Sheva and had the camp stocked with freeze-dried food and barrels of fuel and water. They also rented appropriate digging equipment, clothing and footwear for us.

When Stephanie, Luke and I arrived, we were pleased with the setup. Using the powers granted by her scepter, Stephanie had created a false identity for herself, under the name “La Reyna Abeja” and one for Barbas, under “Barbas Grises.” La Reyna and Barbas posed as archeology Professors from Yale and Princeton.

Betsy used her true identity, as a Professor Emeritus at Harvard University, which I suspect was her cover while she was a TBI agent. Luke and I used our true identities as TABB employees being rewarded with a team building exercise for our work on the Hawking Plan.

La Reyna named the two caravans after my daughter and son, Rebecca and Adam. “Why?” I asked, “Did you choose those names? Why not just ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ or ‘Adam’ and ‘Eve’? Why my kids names?”

“Jim,” answered Stephanie, “I thought you would like it! I met Adam and Rebecca at the TABB family picnic last summer, and I thought they were both delightful kids. You and Esther have done a fine job raising them.”

The Rebecca caravan was to be shared by La Reyna and Betsy, with La Reyna assigned to the private bedroom at the rear, and Betsy sleeping in the bunk over the driver’s and passenger’s seats. The Adam caravan was for Barbas, Luke and me. For the first week, Barbas would get the rear bedroom, Luke the mid-bunk over the dining table, and I would sleep in the bunk over the driver’s and passenger’s seats. We would rotate positions each week.

Barbas showed us maps and satellite photos of the area between the Mats House and Mats Camp. He had arranged with former TBI colleagues to have NASA review monthly satellite views of the area to identify any evidence of digging for the period from June 2052 through February 2053. Sophisticated TBI software compared detailed satellite photos of the same areas and noted any changes, such as those that might have been made to bury a can of film.

Barbas reduced the set of two-hundred candidate sites to a manageable number by considering what he would do if he wanted to hide a can of film. It would be within walking distance of the Mats House or Mats Camp, not too close or too far from the dirt road, and relatively isolated by the terrain, such as in a hollow or a dry canyon.

The top twenty candidates were indicated and located on his map. He proposed that our team would stage an “archeological dig” at each site while he used a metal detector to search for the can of film. He estimated it would take two days at the first site and a day for each additional site, for a total of three weeks, unless we found the film sooner.

The first day, our eager team went to “site Able” where Betsy gave an informative lecture on the flora and fauna of the desert around Be’er Sheva as well as a primer on archeological digs. Then, while Barbas scoured the area with his metal detector, which was disguised as a walking stick, Betsy set up the archeological dig grid and explained how archeologists keep track of everything they find.

Just after the noon meal, Barbas detected some metal and we amateur archeologists extended the grid to that area and began to dig in earnest. Within a half hour we found an old bullet casing – not the can of film. However, Betsy insisted on taking photos, marking it as a “find” and listing it in her record book. This process went on for the remainder of that day and the next. Other than the photos and the records in Betsy’s book, as well as a box of scrupulously labeled old metal junk, site Able yielded nothing but sore hands, arms, and backs.

At camp that late afternoon, Barbas announced we were in for a treat, an old-fashioned camp cookout. He had gathered some fallen tree branches and built a fire ring of rocks. The menu was simple, some hot dogs and buns and a bottle of kosher wine. He had to obtain special permission from La Reyna to allow us to drink the wine and had used the excuse that it was kosher and we were in the Holy Land. He poured a small cup of wine for each of us and toasted with "to our health, may it never be worse!"

Luke was hesitant to drink the wine because his church forbad alcohol. "Isn't the wine supposed to be Christ's body and blood according to the Old Testament?" asked Stephane.

"Yes," replied Luke, "I realize they probably used alcoholic wine in Jesus day, primarily to preserve the wine from spoiling. But in modern times, with good sanitation and refrigeration, we use grape juice at our church. However, in honor of being here in the Holy Land, where Jesus Himself may have consumed wine, and after all this is kosher wine, I'll have some!"

As dinner proceeded, I noticed that Barbas consumed a second and third cup and then drained the bottle. He arose and danced around the fire. "Say Jim, or is it Luke?" he asked, "Who brought the yellow manual toothbrush? I saw it in on the shelf of the head of the Adam caravan."

"It was me," I replied, "I wasn't sure we'd have reliable electricity in the antiquity dig camp so I went to a camping store and bought it." Both Luke and Barbas had brought their ultra-violet laser supersonic tooth wands that stimulated the gums, killed germs, flossed and cleaned the teeth.

"Reminds me of an old camp song," said Barbas cheerfully:

That old yeller toothbrush with bristles so fine,
That old yeller toothbrush with bristles so fine,
My father he used it,
My mother refused it,
My sister abused it,
And now, now it is mine!
La Reyna joined Barbas in a hearty laugh and I half-heartedly went along. Betsy seemed embarrased by the song and Luke smiled and tried to chuckle but it was clear he didn't understand it.

La Reyna stood up and danced with Barbas around the fire ring, singing the key line and adding some of her own:

My sister abused it, she surely confused it,
My sister abused it, t
hough no one excused it,
My sister abused it, she sorely misused it,
And now, now, now, now - now it is YOURS!

She pointed to me as she sang the final line. Then, she skipped over and sat side-saddle in my lap, giving me a strenuous hug and a kiss on the lips.

That evening as I prepared for bed I considered how I could use that lap dance and hug and kiss in my autoerotic routine. While brushing my teeth I thought I detected a strange taste. Had Barbas put something on the toothbrush as a mean joke?

The third day was spent at site Baker. There we dug up more junk, plus a badly gnawed bone that could have come from an animal or possibly a person, Betsy was not sure.

The fourth day, at site Charlie, we found evidence that Betsy interpreted as very recent digging. She estimated it could not have been more than a month ago, and probably just days. She critiqued their technique as not compatible with good archeological practices. Barbas worried that the recent digging was evidence that bar Mats had returned and recovered his can of film.

La Reyna suggested our team spend an extra day at site Charlie, seeking evidence of who the recent diggers might be and what they were looking for. The only unusual things we found were a few beer cans and food wrappers as well as some buried human scat. These finds confirmed the digging was quite recent, but were inconclusive as to their purpose. They were consistent with anything from a family picnic to a high school level “archeological dig” to bar Mats recovering the film can. La Reyna decided to simply record what we found and move on.

That evening, as I returned from my evening walk, I saw La Reyna hurriedly exiting the Adam caravan. I wondered what she had been up to in there. That strange taste on my toothbrush persisted throughout our Israeli adventure.

The sixth day at site Dog, the seventh at Echo, and the eighth at Fox were similarly unproductive. I had been looking forward to the evening of the eighth day because that was when Barbas had to give up the private bedroom in the Adam caravan to me. I was delighted to find there was a real mattress on the queen-sized bed, unlike the thin foam mats in the forward bunks.


I was sleeping peacefully when I was awakened by the squeek of my bedroom door opening. The scent of lemon blossoms greeted my nose and I sensed the presence of an intruder. Before I could react, the bed rocked a bit and I felt a warm body sitting astride me. With a tremendous push, I shoved that person, who turned out to be La Reyna, off of me and the two of us crashed to the floor in the narrow aisle beside the bed.

A moment later Barbas came storming into the room, a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. “What in hell is going on?” he demanded.

I got off of La Reyna and back onto the bed. I didn’t know what to say. La Reyna stood up and, quite calmly, spoke to Barbas.

“I’m sorry for the commotion,” she began, “This was entirely my mistake. I had trouble sleeping and took a walk in the desert. When I returned, I got a bit confused and thought this was the Rebecca caravan. I went back to what I believed was my private bedroom and jumped into bed, apparently startling poor Jim here. His reaction was quite normal.”

“Right!” said Barbas, as he dropped his gun and turned on the safety. “My dear, I could have killed you. Please be more mindful in the future, my love.”

Barbas and I walked La Reyna to the caravan door. Luke, in the bunk above the driver and passenger seats, had slept through the whole event. La Reyna gave me a hug and a kiss and then did the same for Barbas.

I returned, and, in the privacy of my bedroom, had a wonderful autoerotic fantasy with Stephanie. I slept very well the rest of the night.

The next three days, at sites Golf, Hotel and India, we found nothing of interest. What had started as a grand adventure deteriorated into mere back-breaking labor. At one point, Luke inadvertently tossed a shovelful of sand into Barbas’ face and tempers flared. Barbas drew his gun and threatened to kill him.

Betsy reverted to her professorial demeanor and began making ridiculous demands regarding the accuracy of locating and recording our “finds.” La Reyna, for her part, worked extremely hard – this, she explained, was a good substitute for her normal physical exercise regimen. She scrupulously followed Betsy’s archeological dig rules. She tried to keep our team spirit up. Luke and I simply wanted it all to be over.

On the morning of the twelfth day, at La Reyna’s request, Betsy and Barbas prepared a more sumptuous breakfast than usual. La Reyna announced there would be no digging that day. We team members would spend our morning at leisure and then go into Be’er Sheva for a nice lunch at a café.

Betsy offered to lead an adventurous morning hike where she would give us more information on the geology of the dry river bed and the surrounding area. La Reyna urged Luke and me to come along. Somewhat reluctantly, we agreed. Betsy packed a couple of knapsacks with water and energy bars and we all piled into the four-wheel drive.

Barbas drove us down the dirt road, heading west, about a mile beyond the Mats Camp, to an area we had not previously explored. He followed the dirt road and then drove off to the north along a dry canyon for a couple thousand yards. We got out of the four-wheel drive and walked further north along the canyon and then east to a high point where we could get a better view of the area. As we hiked along at a leisurely pace, Betsy gave an interesting lecture about the geologic history of the area and answered the questions La Reyna, Luke, and I asked.

Suddenly La Reyna urgently motioned to our group to stop talking and drop to our knees. “I hear voices,” she whispered, “off to the east.”

The voices continued but were too distant to make out. La Reyna took her scepter out of her jacket pocket and pointed it in an easterly direction, down into the hollow from which the voices originated. She explained that a scepter had the ability to directly query PIDs of anyone within a narrow cone of its axis and up to about 100 feet away without any need for WIN coverage. “We’re too far away to get a direct PID reading,” she whispered, “You all say right here and I’ll sneak closer.”

A few minutes later, the voices suddenly stopped. Several moments after, La Reyna came running back to us. “They heard me and I think they saw me,” she said quietly. “They were digging, about six to eight men and women, speaking a language I couldn’t identify. I got a few direct PID readings but couldn’t decode them because there’s no WIN coverage down in that hollow. There may be some weak WIN coverage from Be’er Sheva atop that hill to the north. I’ll go up there and meet you all at the four-wheel drive.

Barbas, Betsy, Luke and I hiked back to the four-wheel drive as quietly as possible. A quarter hour later, a white-faced La Reyna joined us. “I got some WIN coverage and decoded the PID readings. Four of them are from the same southern Russia border area with Kazakhstan. That is where our CentAsian conservadores fiscales adversary Tsar Sahbaka is from. The other two are from Iraq. I don’t recognize the names and I couldn’t do a search on them because the WIN coverage is so spotty it would have taken too long. What shall we do?”

Barbas thought for a while and then spoke. “They are probably Tsar Sahbaka’s team also looking for that God-damned can of film bar Mats hid in the desert. Obviously they saw you and probably detected the direct PID queries transmitted by your scepter. It’s too dangerous for you, as a scepter-holder, to be out of contact with the WIN under these circumstances. If they capture you and the scepter in a non-WIN area, the authorities will not be alerted to come look for you. If they do it in a WIN area, the authorities will come to look for you which would blow our ‘archeological dig.’ Either way, you have to stay here where it’s safer.”

“So,” said La Reyna after a bit of contemplation, “Should we just return to our camp or go into Be’er Sheva as we originally planned for lunch at a café like nothing happened?”

“No,” replied Barbas. “If they saw you they’re probably organizing a search party and may set up an ambush along the dirt road back to town. You stay here with the boys, and Betsy and I will don our knapsacks and take a little hike in that direction. If they discover us – and we’ll make enough noise so they are sure to do just that – we’ll appear to be a couple of ancient Americans out on a desert adventure. Betsy is slim and fit like you and, from a distance, they’ll assume it was Betsy they saw twenty minutes ago and call off their search.”

“OK,” replied La Reyna.

Betsy and Barbas put on the knapsacks and headed out. He turned back and shouted, “If we don’t return in an hour, you can just go into town for lunch as if nothing happened. We have enough energy bars and water to survive in the desert this evening and even into tomorrow. If need be, we can hike the three miles to our camp. Don’t worry about us!”

La Reyna, Luke and I sat silently in the shadow of the four-wheel drive. About ten minutes later we heard three closely-spaced shots from somewhere east of our location. Then a few minutes silence and two more shots.

“You boys stay here,” said La Reyna firmly, “If I’m not back in an hour and Barbas and Betsy don’t return either, drive to our camp and wait there. I’ve authorized your PIDs as ‘keys’ to this four-wheel.” She took a water bottle and stuffed a couple energy bars into her jacket and ran in the general direction of the shots.

Luke and I sat silently for several minutes and then Luke whispered, “We can hide over there,” he said, pointing to a shady area of boulders about fifty feet away. “Someone might come by and see the four-wheel but we’ll be safe if we hide.”

We each found a suitable rock to sit on where we were unlikely to be spotted. Luke sat so he could see towards the east, where we expected La Reyna, Barbas, and Betsy to return. I sat where I could see the four-wheel.

“If I see anyone coming,” said Luke, “I’ll tap you on your left shoulder, and if you see anybody you tap me on my right. That will be a signal to be silent and turn around and observe.”

We sat there in silence for a while and then I spoke. “What do you know about the scepter-holders, Luke?”

“Only what’s been made public, plus some informed speculation on my part,” he replied. “I’ve never worked on that technology or been read into the secret parts of that program, so I’m free to talk about it!”

“All I know,” I replied “Is that Stephanie is a scepter-holder, that they call themselves the ‘700 club’ but there are supposedly sixteen-hundred of them, and they have some special powers. I didn’t know about the power of scepters to directly query PIDs, for example, until Stephanie did it back there. Ordinary PID readers can query other PIDs but those PIDs won’t respond unless the querying PID is on their authorized list. Apparently Stephanie’s scepter can read any PID.”

“Jim, on this mission, we’re supposed to call her ‘La Reyna Abeja’ – ‘the Queen Bee’,” replied Luke.

“OK, sorry,” I said. “What do you know about La Reyna and the other scepter-holders?”

“If I tell you everything I know,” said Luke with a sly wink, “Will you tell me everything you know?”

“Sorry, Luke,” I replied, “I have certain information you don’t have an official ‘need to know.’”

“Does it have anything to do with that phony PID data about me being at the DoHiMuTo on June 11th last year?”

“I can’t say,” I said sheepishly, looking at my hiking boots, “I just can’t say.”

“That sounds to me like a ‘yes’,” replied Luke, a bit testily.

“Let it sound any way you want,” I replied, in as friendly a manner as I could manage under the circumstances.

After a period of silence, Luke spoke up. “Sixteen hundred people are way too many for there not to be a hierarchical structure,” he began. “If the scepter-holder system was properly designed, according to system science theory at least, there would have to be several grades above the lowest class of scepter-holder.”

He took out his read-WINs and put them on.

“Luke,” I observed, “There’s no WIN coverage in this area …”

“Right,” answered Luke, “But there are processors and software in my read-WINs that allows them to operate independently. I’ve got a program for ‘optimal span’ – you know the ‘magical number seven plus or minus two.’”

“What the heck is that?” I asked, “And why would I care? Where are we going here?”

“Well, back about a century ago, a psychologist named Miller discovered that human perception, such as sight and smell and taste and memory and so on, is limited to five to nine gradations. He called it 'the magical number seven, plus or minus two' or, more scientifically, the 'span of human perception'."

“Another guy, an engineer named Glickstein, about sixty years ago, proved the optimal span for any structure is one plus the degree of the nodes times 2.71828459, the natural number ‘e.’ For a one-dimensional string, the degree is two and the formula comes out to be around six and a third, or a little more. He also showed with Shannon’s information theory that the range five to nine was, at least theoretically, over ninety-six percent efficient and four to twelve was over eighty percent efficient. And that’s not just for control hierarchies like a management chain, but also containment hierarchies in all types of physical systems and even software systems like …”

“You just told me how to build a clock,” I laughed, interrupting Luke. “All I want to know is what time it is! Please, tell me why I give a hoot about the range five to nine or the number six and a third or a bit more?”

“About forty years ago,” continued Luke, “A management expert rediscovered the optimal span theory and proclaimed that all management structures must adhere to it! Did you ever notice how nearly all departments at TABB have either six or seven workers to each manager? How each second-level manager has six or seven first-level managers working for him or her?”

“Yeah, come to think of it,” I replied, “That’s how it is. On the other hand, when I worked in a factory as a college summer job, we had about a dozen guys and gals in our team.”

“Well,” replied Luke, “The lowest level, like a platoon in the military, can have ten or twelve or sometimes a bit more. The theory only applies when the workers have to interact with each other in complex ways, not when they’re doing grunt work.”

“OK,” I replied, “So, as I asked before, where are we going here?”

“If you’d quit interrupting, I’ll tell you,” Luke said good-naturedly, “According to the optimal span program in my read-WINs, sixteen-hundred scepter-holders would break down into about two-hundred-fifty first-level ‘departments,’ each with six or seven scepter-holders and one higher-level scepter-holder ‘managing’ them. The two-hundred-fifty second-level scepter-holders would report to thirty-six third-level scepter-holders who, in turn, would report to six fourth-level scepter-holders who would report to the top dog scepter-holder if there was one.”

“OK,” I replied, “So the scepter-holders are hierarchically organized … Wait a minute, did you say thirty-six?”

“Yeah,” replied Luke, “There should be thirty-six scepter-holders at the third level. What about it?”

“Well,” I began, very seriously, “We have a tradition in Judaism that there are thirty-six ‘tzadikim’ or ‘righteous ones’ for whose sake the world exists. No one knows who they are. When one dies, he, or she I guess, is replaced by another, chosen by God. They are sometimes called the ‘Lamed Vovniks’ because, according to gematria, which we discussed some months ago, the Hebrew letter Lamed stands for thirty and the letter Vuv for six, which adds up to thirty-six.”

“So,” replied Luke with a level of interest that surprised me at the time, “There would be thirty-six especially powerful scepter-holders who would regulate the rest! And they do need regulation. I’m not one-hundred percent pleased with Stephanie’s ethics – I should say La Reyna’s ethics – and I’ve wondered why the higher-level scepter-holders don’t rein her in.”

“Neither am I,” I replied, “But, sadly, when she gives me an assignment, such as altering the scriptures of all the world’s great religions, despite my better judgment, I go along with it!”

I opened my mouth and then covered it with my right hand. “Dohi muto!” I exclaimed, “I’m a ‘misguided servant.’ My ‘guiding lights’ have gone out.”

“What are you saying about that museum in Tokyo, the DoHiMuTo?”

I lowered my head to my chest and rotated it left and right. “Luke,” I began, “Let me confess that, yes; as you guessed back in Orlando some weeks ago, I did order changes to be made in the oldest extant copy of the 1611 KJV. After you found out about the máquina del tiempo I countermanded that order. No changes have been made to the 1611 KJV relic.”

“Jim,” said Luke very quietly, “At that time I’ll admit I was a bit angry with you. However, after thinking about it, I came to the conclusion it was not my role to protect the 1611 KJV or any other copy of God’s words. I have absolute faith God will protect what needs protection and allow modifications to what needs to be modified. I forgave you a month ago.”

“Thank you, Luke. Thank you very much. Perhaps you believe having you find out about the máquina del tiempo and my feeling guilty about ordering changes to the very relic you considered the absolute word of God, and my countermanding my order to change the 1611 KJV was God’s way of protecting it?”

"Perhaps,” answered Luke, “And, have you considered the possibility this whole event, and our adventure in the Israeli desert and the danger we face from the recent shooting is God’s way of giving you the gift of faith. I pray to God it is!”

“Are you trying to convert me to belief in God? Do you expect me to embrace Christianity?” I asked.

“It is the mission of every Christian to spread the Gospel. In these anti-religious times it is dangerous to do so except in private in the company of friends. Please take my efforts to help you find God as a positive compliment. As an indication of my high regard for you and my trust in your judgment.”

“This talk of conversion reminds me of this guy who goes to his rabbi,” I said. “He tells the rabbi his son is converting to Christianity and he can’t argue him out of it. The rabbi says, ‘What a coincidence you came to me! I also had a son! He also converted!’…”

“Is this one of your jokes?” asked Luke, a frown on his face..

“So,” I continued, ignoring Luke’s question, “The rabbi tells the guy what he did when his son converted. He prayed to God and God answered! Do you have any idea what God said?”

“Yeah,” replied Luke, “I know what God said. He said ‘What a coincidence you came to Me! I also had a son!’ Right? Very funny. I’ve noticed every time your faith is in danger of being awakened you make a joke about it. I think you are afraid to allow your true faith and religious feelings to come out!”

Luke stood up and looked to the east, from where we expected La Reyna to return. He shook his head and sat down. We remained silent for a moment.

“Luke, I’ve been thinking about your faith in the Genesis creation myth in the face of your detailed knowledge of biological evolution. I assume you also believe in so-called ‘intelligent design’? I’ve heard there are qualified scientists who believe in that pseudo-science but I’ve never had the opportunity to talk to one, face-to-face."

"Well, I do have some special knowledge of biology and genetics, due to my role in the Hawking Plan and some biotech work I did ten years ago. However, I’m not an expert by any means.”

Luke stood up again and flexed his legs. “As I understand the scientifically accepted explanation of the origin of life on Earth,” he continued, “Mainstream scientists believe that atoms naturally join together into molecules, such as two hydrogen atoms joining with an oxygen atom to form H2O, which is water. Some molecules form long chains, and some of these can create what are called ‘autocatalytic cycles’ that can sustain themselves if they happen to be trapped in porous rock or some other semi-pervious material. That, of course, is all scientifically true.

“The next step in the mainstream scientific explanation is where I, and the ‘intelligent design’ scientists, have problems with it. The mainstream scientists say some of these long-chain molecules randomly happened to form some kind of primitive RNA, which, though not quite alive, can reproduce itself and also act as catalyst for the formation of some proteins. The step from RNA to some kind of primitive DNA is, they claim, almost inevitable, although it has never been reproduced in a lab.

“Once these random events produced DNA, which due to the double-helix is more stable than RNA, according to their theory they claim primitive prokaryotic cells, such as blue-green algae which are truly alive, came into existence. According to their timeline, it took a couple of billion years for the prokaryotic cells to evolve, by random mutations and genetic crossover according to Darwinian evolution and natural selection, into eukaryotic cells. Once that happened – eureka! they claim – you have multi-celled plants and animals and, eventually, some billion years later, Homo sapiens!”

At that moment we heard a sound from the direction of the dirt road, and we soon saw a plume of dust. Apparently, a car or truck had passed on that little used road. We dropped down on our knees and remained silent until it became apparent we had not been observed.

“Please continue,” I said. “It’s a bit technical for me, but I want to understand.”

“OK, the scientific ‘intelligent design’ proponents, a few of whom happen to be members of my church, do not believe that random processes are or were capable of creating the first prokaryotic cells. Most scientific ‘intelligent design’ advocates do not believe, even given prokaryotic cells, they could ever evolve into eukaryotic cells for multi-cell plants and animals. Not even given two-billion years. Even the most primitive biological cells are so complex they could not have come into existence via random processes. A design that complex demands a Designer!

“Therefore, ‘intelligent design’ requires God at least for Creation of the first prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells. He planted them here on Earth. After that event, ‘intelligent design’ says it is possible random mutations and genetic crossover could explain the evolution of life on Earth. Of course, those of us who are believers do not think God went away after the first biological cells were planted on Earth. We believe He continued to intervene in the process of evolution all along the way and He continues to do so to this day.”

“So,” I replied, “God is not dead?”

“You are paraphrasing Nietzsche,” replied Luke, “Who claimed something like ‘God is dead.’ Of course God, after due consideration, came back and said ‘Nietzsche is dead.’ Of the two assertions, only the latter is certainly true!”

“Well,” I said, a satisfied smile on my face, “If primitive cells are too complex to come into existence by random processes and require a God to create them, who created God? I mean, God is certainly more complex than primitive cells, so He must have been created by a Super-God. Then, who created Super-God? Is it Super-Duper-God, is it an infinite regress of ‘Gods all the way up?’ Now I know you are going to give me the standard answer: ‘God is eternal, He has always existed.’ That, if you don’t mind me saying so, is the ultimate ‘cop out’.”

“I do believe God is Eternal, and we will never know how or why. It is something we have to accept by faith.”

“Why not accept the scientific account of the origin of life on Earth that you so nicely outlined for me? In billions of years, random mixing of atoms and molecules could, according to the Laws of Nature, result in primitive RNA, then DNA, and then living, reproducing biological cells.”

Luke smiled. “Jim, my friend, I have two questions for you. First, if some ‘scientist’ told you a tornado had swept through a junk yard and, through random mixing and matching of bits and pieces of hardware junk, a shiny spaceship had come into being, what would you say?”

“I would say it was possible – particularly if it was a 2040 Toyota that had come together, rather than a spaceship,” I replied, “But so unlikely that I would rather believe some competent engineers had designed and built that automobile or spaceship or whatever. I would not believe it happened by random mixing and matching because hardware junk – bolts and metal sheets and so on – is not on a small enough scale to come together on its own. However, I believe long-chain molecules, given sufficient time, could come together. More than that, as you explained with reference to the RNA and DNA, those types of molecules can have sufficient stability as well as flexibility to evolve.”

“That is a good answer,” admitted Luke, “And one I have to accept. The ‘tornado in a junk yard’ thing is a ‘cheap shot’ and I only mentioned it to test your understanding of my brief outline of the accepted scientific explanation for the origin of life on Earth. Although some of my fellow church members would disagree, I have to admit the scientific explanation is possible, though I disagree with it!”

“OK Luke. You said you had two questions for me. Now that I’ve passed your test with the first one, which you admit was a ‘cheap shot,’ I’m ready for the second!”

“Great. Here it is: where did matter and energy and the Laws of Nature come from? They are certainly quite complex. Who created them?”

“Well,” I replied, “Don’t scientists accept that they have always existed? Don’t they believe the Laws of Nature are unchanging and unchangeable, the same at all times and in all places?”

“Exactly,” said Luke, “Isn’t that as much a ‘cop out’ as believing God is eternal and unchanging?”

“Well,” I replied, after thinking about it for a moment. “It saves a step or two. But I guess we have to accept, on faith, the basis for our existence. You are right! At least with your system, which I wish I could believe in, bad people will get their just deserts …eventually. Speaking of which, where in hell is La Reyna?”

“I wish I knew, she’s been gone for nearly twenty minutes,” replied Luke. “I do know La Reyna is an evil person and I have absolute confidence she will get exactly what she deserves.”

Before I could respond, we heard five more sharp shots, also from the east. I felt a warm sensation in my crotch and realized I had peed my pants. We sat silently for a few minutes.

"What if La Reyna doesn't return?" I asked, breaking the silence. "And Barbas and Betsy? What will happen to us? What if we get shot and killed out here in the desert? What will happen to our families? They could be widows and orphans tomorrow ..."

"Don't worry Jim," interrupted Luke, quite calmly. "Don't worry about the future, God is already there! God provides. The Lord givith and the Lord takith away, Blessed be the Lord!"

“I’m a very weak person,” I whispered sadly. “She’s a God-damned temptress tool of Satan, and I’m her willing accomplice, her dohi muto. If I get shot out here in the desert, I surely deserve it. May God forgive me for I have sinned. Sh’ma Yisra’el, Adenoi Eloheynu, Adonoi Echod.”

Hola Diego,” whispered Luke, using my Latinized name to signify the unusual nature of my utterance, “It looks like you’ve finally found both God and Satan – a ‘foxhole conversion’ – those gunshots and our dangerous situation here have finally scared some sense into you …”

I did not reply. Instead, I kneeled and traced the words of the Sh'ma in Hebrew in the dust on the stone next to me:
שמע ישראל יהוה אלהינו יהוה אחד
Luke watched intently as I did it. He too bent down and pointed to each letter, right to left, mouthing each sound "Sh .. Muh .. Yuh .. Ess .. Ruh .. El .. Yuh .. Huh .. vuh .. Huh ..." . I recalled him telling me he had once tried to learn to read Hebrew and he apparently still remembered the letters. He looked at me with a "spiritual" expression on his face. We stood briefly and hugged each other. I was trembling but he was calm. We then sat on our appointed stone seats.

A few minutes later, Luke tapped me on my left shoulder. I turned around to see La Reyna running towards the four-wheel drive. We scampered towards her.

“Luke! Jim! In!” She urgently motioned to us as she jumped into the driver’s seat. “I’m really angry! Good Lord I could kill Sahbaka! The enemy is near!”

We took off down the dry canyon to the dirt road.

Luke and I looked at each other. We silently mouthed messages: “What happened?” “Should we ask her?” “No, silence is best right now.”

Once on the dirt road, she drove as fast as possible given the rough conditions. We buzzed past Mats Camp and, a mile later, flew into ours. “Go into Adam and grab your laundry and also Barbas’ dirty clothes,” ordered La Reyna, “And get back here pronto!”

Some moments after Luke and I returned with our laundry, La Reyna emerged from Rebecca with her laundry and Betsy’s. She was wearing a different shirt, jacket, shorts, and shoes. Why didn't she tell me I had time to change clothes? I could have changed my pissed pants for something more comfortable.

We all jumped back into the four-wheel with our laundry and La Reyna drove us into Be’er Sheva. She said absolutely nothing. We could see by her demeanor we were to remain silent as well.

We drove around the southwest neighborhood of Be’er Sheva until we came upon a non-descript café. She parked the four-wheel, and turned to us.

“Act totally normally,” she said. “We’ve been on an archeological dig with Barbas and Betsy for a week and a half as a TABB-sponsored team building exercise. We took today off and Betsy led us all on a nice geological exploration in a canyon west of Mats Camp. We’re not exactly sure where we hiked because the plans were made by them.

“Barbas and Betsy packed their lunch because they wanted to be alone together. They’ll hike back to our camp this afternoon. We three came into Be’er Sheva to have a nice café lunch, do our laundry, and buy some things. This is the first time in a week we’ve had solid WIN coverage, so we’re also going to send messages to our families, amigos and colleagues back in Orlando.”

It was clear to me something terrible had occurred in that canyon. I had no idea what it was. Why did La Reyna choose to come into town and have lunch precisely during this crisis? Luke and I shook our heads up and down and remained silent.

The café proprietor looked at the rough clothes and dirty boots Luke and I were wearing, and my wet pants, and sat us at a rear table, adjacent to the restroom. I excused myself and retreated to that room to try to dry my pants.

While sitting on the “throne” I used paper toweling to blot up some of the urine from my underpants. As I did so, I noticed my hands were shaking. I was also a bit light-headed and felt some chest pains. Fearing I might faint, I stood up and staggered to the sink. I washed my face with cold water, getting some more liquid on my pants.

As I stood there, looking at myself in the mirror, I heard Luke’s voice bellowing through the thin door:
How beautifully blue the sky,
The glass is rising very high,
Some people say I know not why,
That we shall have a warm July.

I recognized Luke’s words as the song of the Major General’s daughters from Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Pirates of Penzance.” I wondered why now, of all times, Luke would be singing it, and so loudly in a public place! Then, I heard La Reyna answer with the following verse about pirates and dreaming! “Has the whole world gone mad?” I asked myself.

I emerged from the restroom not a whole lot dryer than when I went in. I stormed over to the table and asked, “What the hell are you doing? Everyone in this café is looking at us!”

La Reyna responded brightly:
Things are seldom what they seem,
Sing together as a team.

She excused herself and went into the rest room.

“Luke,” I demanded as I sat down, “What the hell is going on?”

“Jim, my hiking and digging buddy,” he exclaimed, “La Reyna said we should ‘talk about the weather’ so I remembered that song from ‘Penzance’ and she joined in.”

“Have you two lost your minds?”

“Jim,” Luke whispered, “She wants to be noticed. Something awful happened in the canyon and this is her alibi. Don’t worry; you and I did not commit any crime so we won’t be punished. God will take care of us. He will ‘let the punishment fit the crime’.”

Suddenly, I understood the game. I reared back and began to sing in a loud voice:
My object all sublime,
I shall achieve in time,
To let the punishment fit the crime,
The punishment fit the crime.

Restaurant patrons turned and stared at the “crazy Americans.” Luke replied in song:
The billiards sharp that anyone catches,
His fate’s extremely hard,
He’s made to dwell in a dungeon cell
On a spot that’s always barred.

And there he plays extravagant matches
In fitless finger stalls,
On a cloth untrue, with a twisted cue,
And elliptical billiard BALLS!

I joined in for the final line, over-emphasizing the “balls!” As we two friends laughed together I felt a lot better. I had done nothing wrong and Luke was right, God, however He (or She) might be thought to exist, would protect us! Don't worry about tomorrow - God is already there!

La Reyna returned and we three “buddies” laughed and sang and ate the excellent café food. It sure tasted good after a week and a half of freeze-dried camp food.


While we were eating, I brought up the topic of the Ten Commandments. “You know, Luke,” I began, “On my first day at work, La Reyna asked me about the Ten Commandments, mentioning that the Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant traditions included three different versions of them. Since we are here in the Holy Land, I’ve been meaning to ask you which version is the one God gave to Moses not far from where we are now.”

“The version in the King James 1611,” replied Luke.

“Well,” I countered, “Now that we have good WIN coverage, I’ve brought up the Ten Commandments. I’ll beam them to your read-WINs and La Reyna’s. There are three different versions in the KJV! Look at Exodus 20 and 34 as well as Deuteronomy 5.”

“OK,” replied Luke. “I have them on my read-WINs.”

“So do I,” added La Reyna.

“Please notice,” I continued, “The keeping of the Sabbath is found in all three versions; however it is number four in Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5, but number five in Exodus 34! Also notice Exodus 34 has only three Commandments in common with the Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5 lists of Commandments. It is missing some of the ‘biggies’ – the ones about ‘honor your father and mother’ and prohibition of killing, adultery, stealing, lying, and coveting!”

“I guess,” laughed La Reyna, “They invented máquina del tiempo well before my graybeard mentors!”

“This café is not the place to resolve this issue,” said Luke. “I’ll have to get back to you on it after I have had time to do some more checking.”


La Reyna drove the four-wheel all over Be’er Sheva on a “sightseeing” tour. She found a motel with a laundry room and we filled both machines with our dirty clothes. Having solidly established our alibi, we returned to our camp.

While Luke and La Reyna hurriedly strung a rope line and hung all the damp laundry out to dry, I headed into the Adam caravan to take a shower and don some dry clothes. As I left the Adam caravan, a grim-faced Luke entered it.

“I’m going to take a shower,” said Luke, “And then I’ll be seeing you after a while. It might be quite a while.” I assumed Luke meant he was going to take a nap after his shower or perhaps a walk or something. I entered the Rebecca caravan and was greeted by La Reyna, who was also grim-faced.

“Jim,” she began, “Please have a seat, I have to tell you exactly what happened in the canyon.”

I sat down in the dining area of the caravan with La Reyna opposite. “Barbas and Betsy are dead,” she said, “Killed by Tsar Sahbaka’s people.”

I sat there dumbfounded, panicked. I didn’t know what to say or do.

“After we heard the gunshots,” she continued, “And I left you and Luke by the four-wheel, I went looking for them. I heard joyous voices and snuck up on them. There were five men and one woman dancing around the lifeless bodies of Barbas and Betsy. I saw one of the men run away to the east but the others continued to shout praises to Allah as the woman pulled Betsy’s jacket off of her. Finally, one guy took Barbas’s gun out of his hand and tried to fire it at him.

When it didn’t work, he stuck it in Betsy’s crotch. Then they headed east, singing a song!”

I shook my head and said nothing. I took my trembling hands off the table and placed them on my lap.

“As soon as they were gone,” she continued, “I grabbed Barbas gun. Tsar’s people couldn’t use it since it was coded for his grip and fingerprints. Barbas also had it coded for Betsy and me. I took the gun and ran towards the happy voices. I quickly caught up with the murderers. I was so angry I shot them, one by one, without giving any warning. I shot the woman last, as she drew her gun and turned to face me.”

Sh’ma Yisra’el,” I cried. “What will happen to us now?” My hands began to quiver and I felt faint once more.

“I took Betsy’s jacket from the dead woman,” La Reyna continued calmly, “And used it to gather their guns. Only two of them had guns, that bitch and one man. I used the jacket to carry the guns back the short distance to where Betsy and Barbas lay. I dumped the guns near their bodies.

“I used the jacket to wipe Barbas’s gun clean and placed it in his hand. Rigor mortis had not yet set in. Since he had fired his gun during his battle with them, he had powder burns on his hands and clothing. If anyone finds his body before we dispose of it, they’ll assume he shot Tsar’s people before he passed out and they died from their wounds a short distance away. I covered Betsy’s body with her jacket.”

Feeling faint, I stood up and tried to walk to the sink to splash cold water on my face. On the way I fainted, striking my head on the dining table as I went down.


I awoke several hours later, finding myself in La Reyna’s bed in the Rebecca caravan. She was beside me reading an e-book. As she saw me stirring she threw it to the floor and quickly sat astride me. I was helpless to resist her seduction.

After we were done, I noticed it was ten PM and I felt hungry. I prepared three cups of instant noodle soup and went to the Adam caravan to get Luke. I found the following note in Luke’s empty bunk:
I’ve had enough of this adventure. My wife and children come ahead of my job and I’ve decided to go home to them. I took some of my personal things and plan to walk the three miles into town and get a bus or taxi to the airport and catch the next sleeplane back to Orlando. Good luck and may God bless.

I took the note to La Reyna who accepted it calmly.

“OK,” she said, “Here is the story we’ll use. Luke had been missing his family and planned to go home early. That was why we took today off from digging. It’s also the reason we went on a final geological tour and had lunch at the café in town. When we got back to our camp, Barbas and Betsy were not yet there. We had to wait for them, so, instead of having us drive him to the airport, Luke volunteered to walk into town and take a taxi or bus from there to the airport.

“When Barbas and Betsy still hadn’t hiked back and it was sunset it was too dark for us to drive the rough dirt road into town to get help. We knew they were experienced hikers and had ample food and water and warm clothing and so on, so we didn’t think it was urgent to seek help.

"Tomorrow morning we’ll go out and call to them. Then, we’ll drive along the dirt road and look for them. When we don’t find them, we’ll drive into town and report them missing to the authorities.”

I rotated my head up and down. We each ate our noodle soup in silence. Then, we split Luke’s cup. I retired to my bed in the Adam caravan and slept soundly until I was awakened by La Reyna in the morning.

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