Selected Detective
GOA OLD SALT MINE VIII

Khalifa's body hung from her shoulder like a giant doll. Behind him Har-Zion shouted, brandishing his weapon.

“We have to save him! Don't you get it? It's faith! Your faith!” Ben-Roi continued to climb, all his attention focused on the task at hand, climbing the iron steps one by one, trying to be strong, embers flying around him, burning his arms and cheeks. A quarter of the journey went well, but in the middle it loosened fatigue. The pain attacked the muscles of his legs and arms, his steps getting slower as the weight further drained his strength. He began to think about Gaul, his family, Al Pacino anything to release his mind from the pain that torments his limbs, so that his body thinks that this is not as severe as it is. He tried to pull himself up, three-quarters of the way, three meters under the court, but there he came to a halt and knew that he could not go any further, that there was no more gas in the tank, not even enough to make it go down again.

“I'll take it down,” he thought, with trembling hands, trying to stay on track, with bent legs. “I was forced to lower it or I was about to fall.” why, in such a desperate situation, he suddenly started reading shema, he did not know. He didn't even realize he was doing it until he finished a few lines. It seemed to be present just like that from somewhere inside him, like water from a dry spring. Before Gaul's death, Ben-Roi used to read it every day. This last year the verse never came out of his lips. But now he is saying it to himself again, a great prayer for the Jews, his people, the Proclamation of their faith in God.

Look, O Israel, God is our God, God is one.... His voice grew louder, the murmur grew into a song, and the song became a song, as Rabbi Gishman taught in a Hebrew class a few years ago. And you must love God, your Lord, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength.

And these words that I command you today must remain in your heart. And as he sings, he feels the strength back in his limbs, at first slowly, but then steadily stronger. The energy grew and spread throughout his body, so that without realizing that he was doing it he had moved up again, the next iron rung and the next and then suddenly he was already in the courtyard and ran really running in the first hallway back into the open world. He reached a gap in the wall, crawling, across the main tunnel, Khalifa churned on his shoulder, the echoes of explosions in the distance bursting behind him, constantly until he finally crossed the mine door and went out to meet the night. His feet slid into the clear white snow, the sky above his head strewn with stars.

He stood there breathing cold, clean air after the smoke-filled interior of the cave then carried Khalifa across a small pile of rocks at the edge of the open and laid her on the ground by his side. He murmured something, but Ben-Roi did not have time to listen to it, only clearing the snow on the Egyptian's face to recover and, turning around, ran into the mine again.

As he was in the stone court again the whole cave seemed to be filled with blazing and blazing flames and flew everywhere he looked, licking the coffin rack, clawing at the walls and ceiling. In Ben-Roi's absence, Har-Zion seems forced to climb upwards to get to the court and leave the end of the rope there to use when descending again. He was now standing below on an elevator platform like he was on a small island in a sea of fire, looking wildly at the rapidly approaching flames. Ben-Roi.

“I tried to raise it myself but it was too heavy!” screeched Har-Zion as soon as he heard the detective's voice. “Come pull! I'll push him from below.”

By shielding his face from the heat the fire inflicted, which is now unbearably high, Ben-Roi grabs the rope and, while retreating a few meters, begins to pull, slowly, Menorah from the platform, and, while Har-Zion grabs the base and lifts it. When he was high enough, he was now fully below him and supported him with his shoulders, beginning to climb through the elevator track, iron by iron while wailing in pain as behind his jacket his skin cracked, split, split, and it was torn like tissue paper, and blood ran down his arms and legs, into his gloves and shoes.

“Oh Lord,” shouted, “Oh Lord, please!” They had raised the Lamp about three meters from the cave floor before a huge explosion sent heat crashing down on Ben-Roi's face, making him fall backwards. The rope slipped from his grasp and Menorah fell onto the platform again. He lay down where he was for a moment, staggered, then stood up again and staggered to the edge of the cave.

“Oy vey,” he whispered. Beneath him, Har-Zion was lying under the Light rod, looking up through its branch as if through the cage bars, droplets of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, although he was clearly still alive because his lips were still moving, his glove-covered hand tightened and loosened around the outermost curved arm of the Menorah. The fire now creeps onto the platform, and when Ben-Roi looks at it with fear, the fire slowly rolls up and devours it.

Menorah collapsed and revolved in the heat, her arms twisted in all directions, the gold seemed to wrinkle like peeling skin and showed something gloomy and black underneath until finally it melted completely, collapsed and smelted into Har-Zion's body. Ben-Roi notices that until everything passes, then can't stand the heat, he turns around and re-enters the hallway. When he did so another huge explosion rocked the cave behind him. The next explosion rang out, gradually becoming a deafening cataclysmic explosion, thick flakes of fire licking the corridor behind him. He ran fast, crawled in a hole in the wall, crossed the main tunnel of the mine and got outside to meet again the other night. He only had time to return to Khalifa again and pull him away from a small pile of rocks before a massive explosion and, like a fast train out of a tunnel, he said, fire gushed from the tunnel entrance and burned everything in the open area, devouring trees on the edge of the pine forest and making them bright.

It seemed like it was going to last forever, the ground beneath them shook, flakes of fire falling down everywhere, before finally subsiding. The fire slowly withdrew by itself until nothing more than dubious glimmers around the shattered mining gate were scattered.

Behind the pile of rocks, Khalifa, who had been knocked out, stuck out her hand and grabbed Ben-Roi's arm.

“Thank you,” he said in a raucous voice. “Thank you.” The Israelite shook his head, his arms dangling limply on both sides of his body as if he were floating in a pond.

“That thing is a hint,” he whispered. “The object was made from hints. Gold just coating it, hints are behind it.” He sighed and, while he coughed at the snow, stuck it to his injured ear.

“A typical Jewish character, eh? Never ignore the opportunity to save money.” They think that the best thing right now is to get out of Germany as soon as possible. Ben-Roi made several phone calls through his cell phone, unable to get a flight to Israel but getting a flight to Cairo charter plane from Salzburg, direct, departing at 6am. He also ordered tickets.

“I will try to find a connection flight to Ben-Gurion from there,” he said. “This is better than waiting here.” they drive a vehicle by convoy to the airport, get off the car, clean themselves and sleep a few hours, departing on schedule. Once they're in the air, Ben-Roi collapses again, sleeping soundly. Khalifa tried to do the same, but she was too tired to do so. So he just sat down, enjoyed his coffee and looked out the window, observing as far east as possible, a tinge of red slowly seeping across the sky, the longer it gets stronger and spreads until the entire horizon is brightly lit in light. Something was troubling his mind. It shouldn't have happened.

Last night's events almost brought the entire Schlegel case to a definite and possible conclusion for an investigation. Regardless, he cannot erase the feelings that bother him, not even the feelings, really, more as a kind of faint blips right behind his head that there was still an open end that still had to be linked, the last kind of small detail to fill in before the image was actually declared complete.

He finished his coffee, resisted the urge to sneak into the toilet to smoke, and stared out the window at the widening dawn. His mind dissolved into the various things that had happened in the past few weeks, alternating to and from people, places, as well as confusing events before finally ending up in the Valley of the Kings, the place where all this business began.

Ginger, Amenhotep II, little Ali were chattering about Pharaoh and his treasures and traps. What name did he propose? The terrible inkyman. He smiles. The terrible inkyman. Inestimable.

He blew his coffee and looked out the window all the sky was now like a red and golden expanse of his mind soaring here and there before finally being glued to the important meeting in Old Cairo, the Ben ezra Synagogue. What's that man's name? Shobu Ha-Or's. Shobus? No, Shomu. Shomers.

Therehewas. Shomer Ha-Or's. Strange, strange man. How he seemed to have been waiting for the arrival of Khalifa, had told him all about the Menorah synagogue.

Like all reproduced goods, that is what it is, except for its shadow, compared to the original. The seven branches, the flower-like form of capital, the buds like walnuts, the whole being made from behind a single solid gold the most beautiful thing ever.

It can certainly prove it is indeed beautiful.The work is admirable, although it was placed under In Babylon, that is what the inheritance tells us. In Babylon the true Menorah will be found, in the house of Abner. Behind him, the cabin crew began to serve breakfast. A stewardess' voice rang out in the alley as she asked passengers if they wanted cooked or continental cuisine.

Babylon. Single solid gold beam. Something teased.

Ankh-amun. Fake space. outwits the thieves. Totally annoyed him.

The food carriage was already aligned with their position and the woman began to serve. Ben-Roi wakes up from his sleep, asking for a cooked breakfast. Khalifa ordered a continental menu.

“Shomer Ha-Or.”

“What?”

“Name Shomer Ha-Or,” Khalifa said. “Does it mean something in Hebrew?” Ben-Roi is tearing off the foil packaging containing a plastic plate, taking the cutlery out of his cellophane packaging.

“Guard,” he replied. “Guard, protector, like that. Why?” The Egyptian did not answer, just stared at the bathtub. A while ago he was so hungry. Now, all of a sudden, **** his meal disappeared.

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