Sharm el-Maya Bay

My Blackberry rang vibrated in my jacket pocket. Pleased to hear the familiar voice of my closest friend, Sean, second only to Liz, I was with Joseph as our taxi was pulling up outside Caleb's retirement apartment in the town of Ofira overlooking the Sharm el-Maya Bay.

"Yeah, we just got here," I said. "We haven't seen Caleb yet." Seagulls soared in a clear blue sky, cawing . Wooden and straw beach shelters stretched for miles along the sandy beach. Waves battered granite cliffs beneath us.

"How are you getting on? You made contact yet?" I asked Sean.

"This colonel is something else, John," Sean said. "A small man made of rock. He knows almost everything so I can't bullshit him. You know me, John, I'm no diplomat."

I smiled. 'Sean the diplomat?' I thought. "But will he help, do you think?"

"Yeah, I feel in my gut he will, John. He's given me a sergeant babysitter called Joshua, but I think Mossad's onside. The colonel is interested in the box. I think that could be bad news, John. We may have to give it up."

"OK," I said. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"But the sergeant seems eager to help us with finding Simeon," Sean said, "so that's a bonus. I'm just surprised they're working alone, with no police involvement. .oh...and you may find a family support officer at Simeon's."

"That's good. Esther will need that. I think the young thug's seen to be a local problem, and the drug dealer I guess. But maybe the box is viewed as a national issue."

"OK. Gotta go, Boss, Joshua is back." Sean hung up before I could wish him good luck.

The news that Colonel Balak had an interest in St Peter's box and the scrolls was no surprise, although it was disconcerting. I knew that others suspected the box had important details. When I'd first seen the maps and parchments, I'd realised they contained information about finding the mysterious place called Eden. Whilst the healing leaves were effective in healing Wesley, the cloth bag's contents had lessened by a third. What if during some crisis we needed more? I had hoped Mossad would offer assistance in the rescue of one of their citizens, without conditions.

Joseph greeted his Uncle Caleb at the door and waved me up the steps towards a ground floor apartment. The complex was built on the rock and overlooked the bay. A portly jovial man kissed me on both cheeks and introduced us to Miryam, his wife of many years.

"Joseph, you must visit us more often," she chided. Then she directed herself to me, obviously thinking I must be here as a tourist. "The famous old market is within easy walking distance. There's a network of streets, shops and vendors selling everything from tourist tat to delicious Egyptian spices. By the way, how is Simeon? Why hasn't he come?" she asked Joseph. It was clear that neither Miryam nor Caleb knew anything about what was happening.

"Please, Uncle, Aunt, let me start at the beginning," Joseph said.

While he narrated the recent events, there were gasps, looks of astonishment and the words "my diary" repeated. Miryam sobbed into a white tissue.

Blowing her nose, she proclaimed loudly, "You must do something, Caleb!"

It struck me that Caleb was otherworldly and naive. He appeared to live in a cocoon of antiques, languages and artefacts. He listened to us both but it did not appear to compute in his brain.

"You hear what they're saying, you dreykop! You're always facing both ways!" Miryam said. "Caleb, fetch your laptop now!"
Like a scolded dog, Caleb left us and returned holding a black carry case marked Toshiba.

"Thank you, Uncle," Joseph said, "the people who have Simeon are very dangerous. Please be careful."

"I'll drive you to the airport," Miryam said, "I can see you're in a hurry."