The Terminal Inception

PROLOGUE TUESDAY MORNING, JULY 7, 1966 Climbing the dusty trail, Demetrio sensed the crimson sky peppered with gray clouds was a clear indication of the day he was about to experience. “Nonlo lasci prego piovere,” he mumbled in Italian, begging the heavens not to rain. Following his ascent, Doug ran up from behind. “What are you complaining about?” Rough English sputtered from his lips, “I hope that no rain comes.” Doug’s eyes darted toward the sky, “Well, Friend, a little rain might break the monotony,” he laughed, slapping him on the chest and running ahead. “Come on, we’re late.” In the distance, the gathering clouds rumbled with authority. Cresting the summit, the portly Italian worked his way through the ruins toward the tent filled with a dozen or so other doctoral students receiving their assignments for the day. Looking outward from his elevated vantage point, he grumbled, “So che sta andando piovere ,” he switched to English again, “I know it’s going to rain. And soon. On us.” He stepped down into the tented area. “Rain will not be your only problem, Mr. Giancoli,” the expedition leader spoke with his eyes still on his thick pad of assignments. “And yes, I said “mister.” The word “doctor” may never work its way to the front of your names if Mr. Taylor and yourself cannot be in attendance at 7:00 sharp.” Snickering from fellow students filled the tent as Doug glanced over at Demetrio sheepishly. The Friar returned to his clipboard and then offered a wink to his tardy friend. Friar Virgilio Canio Corbo had been the expedition leader at the Herodium for close to four years. For every student researcher, it was a true privilege to work for the man who had excavated everything from the Shepherd’s field in Bethlehem to the Mount of Olives. However, along with the honor came the strict regimen of working under his supervision. Friar Corbo dominated time and used it as his weapon. A firm breeze swirled through, pushing clouds into the last open patches of sky. “Where was I?” the Friar called with just enough of an Italian accent to make him sound even more intelligent than his I.Q. already proved. “Yes, here I am. John and Mohammed, please spend your efforts in the Triclinium.” His eyes lifted above his spectacles. “Excavate around the benches. We are trying to determine whether Herod had the benches built or the Jewish Zealots added them during the uprising in A.D. 66.” They quietly wrote down their orders and moved toward the edge of the gathering. “Nicole, you will be paired up with Yehoshua. Work in the Miqveh.” Nicole’s hand went up, “What are we to find? The ritual bath has been thoroughly excavated and researched,” she replied with an air of confidence. “Yes, Miss LeClaire, it is vital we discover whether that particularly important feature was added during the first or second Jewish occupation; either A.D. 66 or 132. That three to four generational difference will shed much light on many other areas within the site. Look for anything that will solve that puzzle. Are there any other questions?” he asked in such a way as to not expect any. “No sir,” came the meek response. Thunder rolled off in the distance causing a shiver down Demetrio’s spine. Something niggled at the back of his mind telling him this day would be anything but normal. “I believe we have gone through the list except for Mr. Giancoli and Mr. Taylor.” Cradling the clipboard with both arms to his chest, the professor looked up with a smile. “Gentlemen, I have special work for you. Please put forth your efforts in the first bathhouse; the mosaic there needs more cleaning.” Both men groaned while the other students tried to keep from smiling. “It will be a slow process, so take small brushes and try not to dislodge any of the thousands of tiny little tiles.” Doug responded with a kindergartener’s disappointment in his voice, “Yes sir.” “Well my friends, those are the assignments for the day. Next Friday is your final opportunity to turn in Chapter One of your dissertation. Many have already handed them to me, so I will be leaving for the Studium Biblicum Franciscanum in Jerusalem to begin my reading: a reading that I know will be, well, enlightening.” The students collectively felt uneasy. Looking at his watch, he continued, “Those who have not given them to me still have a little over a week to turn in a work that should be at least 40 pages in length. If there are any questions, I will be here for a few minutes. If not, please progress to your assignments and begin to uncover history. Thank you.” The students broke off in all directions, and Doug met up with Demetrio who was already plowing full steam ahead. “Dem, do you think he has it out for us?” “I would think we are not his favorite students,” he answered with a small smile. The wind changed direction and dropped a few degrees in temperature. “Yeah, I bet we aren’t on his Christmas card list.” Doug looked up toward the sky to see the clouds rolling like waves. “I haven’t ever seen a morning like this. It’s creeping me out.” “I hoped it would sprinkle just a bit to break the monotony, but I don’t like the look of this.” Demetrio responded. “Yeah, this isn’t normal. The sky is changing so quickly. There’s something, uh, ominous about those clouds.” Doug cleared his head with a shake. “I’ll get the trowels if you’ll get the brushes.” “As you say, ‘that’s a deal.’” The men selected their equipment and started down the mountain. “Can you believe that Herod built this fortress?” Doug asked trying not to think about the way the storm was drawing in about them. “He actually took the peak of that mountain over there,” pointing off to a hill that appeared to have the top sliced away, “and put it on this mountain; just because he could. He built a multiple story fortress in the desert with dining rooms, porticos, and interior and exterior gardens. The earliest known domed room is here, and then he had that pool,” he said gesturing off in the distance, “that makes the Olympic sized one at the community center look like a kiddie pool. Wow, what a guy.” “It is not hard to do things such as this, with thousands of Jewish people at your disposal,” Demetrio rolled down and buttoned his sleeves. “These people knew that they, and most of their family, would be killed if they did not, how do I say, volunteer their efforts.” “Just a technicality.” Doug smiled. “I say this place is amazing.” The sky began to darken and now clearly encircled the ancient mound on which they stood. Having walked the mile to the bathhouse, they continued through the main entrance and stopped. Demetrio moaned as he sat next to the large circle enclosing a geometric design. Staring at the mosaic, “It is certainly beautiful. But still, I would rather work at another location,” “You said it. While we’re cleaning an old mosaic, everyone else is digging up ancient pottery and jewelry. Who knows, they might find Herod himself. Josephus said he’s buried here.” “Doug, I doubt they will find Herod today.” “Who knows? I tell you, I won’t be late tomorrow,” he joked picking up his brush. Sweeping one of the large pomegranates located on the outer edge of the mosaic Demetrio responded with a grin, “I think that was Friar Corbo’s idea.”