The Phoenician Code

by Karim El Koussa

  “Hiram,” the Padre resumed his talk, “learned that the eminent Architect, Hiram Abiff, set the foundation of the Temple of Solomon, as per the remarkable structure of a Phoenician Great Temple known as the Temple of Baal-Melkart, already built in the city of Tyre,” he paused for a thought. “Of course, with only few, but interesting distinctions, kept secret from King Solomon by the Architect.”

  Silence filled the place for a moment…

  “Being an Architect himself, that piece of information he had just learned was, indeed, incentive enough for him to start inquiring about the Phoenician secret, kept hidden by the ancient Architect. His search—in his own hometown: the city of Tyre—had led him nowhere. After giving the matter much thought, and suspecting for the longest time that this old secret could be just a myth, Hiram decided to quit. Then, something happened which stopped him from doing that.”

  “In fact, his thorough research had led him to know that the skillful Phoenician artisans and scientists, who had worked under Hiram Abiff in the construction of the Temple of Solomon, were mostly from the city of Gebel. This very thought brought him to life. He turned his eyes to Gebel, and reinitiated his search.” Padre Joseph took the cup of tea delicately in his hand, and drank the rest of the tea, before putting it back again on his desk.

  His three guests looked at each other intrigued for a few moments, before Maya broke the silence.

  “Did he find anything?” she asked the Padre, in excitement.

  Padre Joseph opened the right drawer of his desk, and took out a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, and lit it. He was not a heavy smoker at all, but he sometimes allowed himself to enjoy a cigarette, and only during a moment of reflection.

  “Well, last time I heard from him, he was on the verge of discovering something. He was working on the Sarcophagus of Ahiram, King of Gebel.”

  “King Ahiram!” That’s really interesting,” she exclaimed immediately.

  “Isn’t that the famous Sarcophagus that held some important Phoenician inscription on it?” Youmna looked at the Padre.

  He nodded and said, “And here comes your part of the story. Aren’t you a great expert in Alchemy? I believe anything related to ancient codes is your specialty. Isn’t it Youmna?”

  “Well yeah, that’s right,” she responded, looking a bit confused.

  “Alchemy, Padre! What has Alchemy to do with History and Archeology—Ms. Deeb’s and my own specialty?” Paul asked, surprised.

  The Padre didn’t respond to that. The two girls, however, looked at each other, and managed a melodious soft laugh, before looking back at Paul.

  “In fact,” Maya rejoined calmly but with a bit of irony, “I’m the crazy, digging-deep-into-the-mysteries-of-the-past Archaeologist, whereas my dear friend Youmna, well, she is a great Chemist, and indeed, the finest specialist in Alchemy I have ever worked with.”

  “That’s fine. I respect that, I truly do, believe me, but I still don’t see the link between History, Archeology, and Alchemy?”

  “Alchemy, Paul,” Youmna began with a smile, looking at her brunette friend—who nodded in approval—for something she seemed to want to add, “Alchemy is best described as a philosophical and spiritual discipline. We are a team of mystery seekers, Maya and I, not just some classical scientists you meet every day at the AUB Academy of Science. While Maya—a devoted Archeologist—looks at every stone we find, as a speaker of history, I look at it as if it were the Philosopher’s Stone itself.”

  “Aha… a seeker of the elixir of life… of Immortality, at the dawn of the 21st century… how eccentric!” Paul spoke, in defiance to her beliefs, yet with a warm voice that showed interest in her or maybe in what she said. She probably thought he had no idea what she was talking about. She simply shrugged her shoulders, and turned to look at the Padre.

  Watching that attractive young girl with green eyes and long blond hair gesticulating angrily, Paul shook his head, and grinned at her. She didn’t notice. With her beautifully perfect body, Youmna could be mistaken for a top model, when, in reality, she was a Ph.D. graduate in Chemistry, and an Alchemist as well. Quite a fascinating person, she sounded like a firm believer in the spiritual world, something unusual in scientists today.

  “How old is it? The Sarcophagus, I mean?” she then asked the Padre.

  “Very old indeed,” Paul advanced at once, startling her. “King Ahiram was a great King. History narrates that he probably died sometime around the year 1240 BC, so the Sarcophagus must have been built around that time.”

  “Aha… interesting conclusion!” She answered back with a hint of irony in her voice.

  Paul didn’t reply. He knew what she meant by that. He just smiled again at her, and she turned her face.

  “Very well… now… since you have just begun to get to know each other,” the Padre, a grin on his face, instigated in a smooth tone, “which is a good start, however, you must be wondering what the real reason behind my invitation is, and I will tell you everything now, as I have promised.” He took a pause to clear out his throat from the fumes of the cigarette. Their eyes turned on him, very curious to know what was on his mind.

  “After reading the sad news concerning the Architect, I gave the matter some thought, and decided to act. Two reasons made me decide, actually. First, Hiram Melki was a close friend of mine, and secondly, because he might have unlocked a very ancient code.” He breathed deeply.

  “In fact, it was a little hard to choose, who should inquire on the matter. I chose the three of you very carefully,” he paused, looked them straight in the eyes, and added, “You, my friends, are going on a mission to discover the truth about the murder,” he smiled.

  When the Padre had concluded what he had in mind, his last words were like a thunderbolt in their ears. Their faces went through a most remarkable series of changes, from admiration at his words to total confusion.

  “On a mission?” Youmna was the first one to react, verbally.

  “Yes, dear,” Padre Joseph cut in, firmly.

  “Why us?” Maya questioned.

  “As I said before, and I will repeat it once again: I chose each of you very carefully. Maya, you are an excellent Archaeologist. Your friend, Youmna, is an exceptional Alchemist, and Paul is a brilliant Historian. You are perfect for the mission, and I’m sure you’ll form a great team,” he explained with resolve.

  The Padre’s determination to know what had happened to his friend, and the conviction in his voice, finally made sense to Paul. He looked at the old man behind the desk, for a moment, then at his future colleagues, and nodded.

  “How shall we proceed?” he asked calmly.

  His question came as a surprise to the girls, who at first appeared astounded, as they looked at him for a moment, and then back at the Padre. Padre Joseph seemed to have sensed the exhilaration in their eyes, and knew they were eager to take on the mission at once. He knew that they had agreed.

  “I have previously talked with Dr. Nabil Hourani, the director of the Beirut National Museum. He has arranged everything for you. He will initiate contact with you, very soon, and will give you an official authorization permit to work at the Archaeological Site, under the Museum’s banner. No one should suspect anything.”

  There was silence for a few seconds until Paul suddenly invoked, “What about the Lebanese Ministry of Culture?”

  “Don’t worry. Everything has been taken care of.”

  “What site?” Maya inquired excitedly.

  “Gebel,” he stated, with sharpness.

  “When?” she then asked, thrilled by the idea.

  “As soon as you can. A week from now would be fine. We can’t really delay the matter longer than that. It’s urgent, you know?”

  Maya looked at the Padre in admiration, opened her little brown leather pack, and extricated a small notebook. On it, she seemed to have her schedule. She was mumbling beneath her breath, “that can be postponed… that too… and that.” She looked back at the old man sitting behind his
desk. “Fine with me,” she confirmed.

  “Me too,” Youmna followed suit, with a smile on her face.

  A moment later, all three sets of eyes were on Paul, who seemed a bit perplexed and uncertain about it.

  “Well, what about you, Paul?” the Padre asked in a prying tone. “Are you ready to accompany the girls?”

  “I’m afraid that will be impossible for me. I’m sorry.” He looked at the girls. “I have an important convention to attend at le Château de Chillon by Lake Geneva, next week. But, I will definitely meet up with you in Gebel, as soon as I return,” he smiled to them.

  “It’s ok,” Maya answered back.

  “Enjoy it there,” Youmna added nicely.

  “Very well then,” the Padre said with a grin, “Have a safe trip.”

  “Thank you.”

  The clock on the wall marked 6 PM.

  “Alright, Ladies, Paul, since everything is set, let’s get this journey started. Let’s go into the past…” The old man smiled. “And, uh, don’t forget to report back.”

  A moment later, the three guests, who came without any indication on the purpose of that sudden meeting with Padre Joseph, almost two hours ago, left the clerical office on a strange mission. A mission to crack a secret code, left unsolved for thousands of years in the land of the Phoenicians.

  .3.

  Geneva Airport, Switzerland

  Wednesday, 10:43 AM

  The captain flying the Airbus A321 had just announced to the passengers that the plane was nearing the Geneva International Airport at that moment, and would reach its destination in approximately ten minutes. “Please, fasten your seatbelts, and remain seated until we land,” a sweet, female voice followed. “Welcome to Geneva,” she then uttered.

  There was an immense relief on the faces of almost all the passengers, when the plane landed safely and smoothly at the Airport, a few minutes later. It was Wednesday, October 6th, 2010. The time read 10:45 AM on Paul Khoury’s watch. He smiled.

  The monitors on the walls of the Airport terminals clearly displayed the flight details to the people standing in wait for the arrival of their loved ones, friends, and visitors. A tall man, wearing a blue suit and a cap on his head, was standing among the crowd, reading the details of the flight he was waiting for.

  Origin: Beirut International Airport.

  Airline: MEA Middle East Airlines.

  Flight: ME213.

  Status: Arrived.

  The word ‘Arrived’ flashed in red in front of his eyes. He immediately paced the floor of the Airport, until he reached the arrival gate for that flight, coming from Beirut. He held a small electrical board in his right hand, where the name: Mr. Paul Khoury appeared clear-to-the-eye in its digital format.

  Standing in front of Customs with just a garment bag in his hand, and a laptop on his shoulders, Paul waited for the woman to finish monitoring his passport, photo, and visa for authenticity. A couple of minutes later, she gave him a cordial look, as she stamped the arrival notice of the Geneva International Airport on his passport.

  “Welcome to Geneva, Sir,” she expressed, warmly. “Please, enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you,” Paul replied with a grin, and headed for the arrival gate. Looking past the heads of the travelers—walking ahead of him, left and right—he noticed something a few meters ahead, though he was not sure what it was. As he rushed, further ahead, he spotted his own name on the electric board, and knew the man was there to pick him up, and take him to the hotel, where he would be staying during his short visit to Geneva.

  Paul made a gesture with his hand to the man standing by the pillar in the terminal, and walked forward to meet him.

  “I’m Paul,” he said, in a nice manner.

  “I’m Sebastian, your taxi driver, sent here to pick you up by the Bureau du Conseil of the Château.” The man thus introduced himself, in a convivial tone of voice. “Can I help you with your luggage, Sir?”

  “I don’t have any heavy luggage on me, just this rolling garment bag and my laptop. I can handle it quite fine. Thanks for asking, Sebastian,” Paul assured the taxi driver that he was ready to leave the Airdrome.

  “Very well, Sir, please follow me.”

  They went slowly in the direction of the exit gateway ahead of them. Paul seemed to be excited about visiting Geneva at last. It showed plainly on his face. As a Historian, he had always anticipated making such a trip, for in fact, Geneva stood as one of the very few countries around the globe that organized conventions of such high caliber.

  Sebastian was heading towards a brand new black Mercedes Benz with the registration plate: ‘GE717’. He had parked in a ready-to-go location, outside the Airport block. When they reached the car, Sebastian immediately stretched his hand to take the garment bag from Paul, opened the trunk, and put it delicately inside. He then rushed to open the backseat door for his client. Paul nodded with a grin to the tall man holding the door, and got in.

  On the road, a few minutes later, Paul suddenly asked, “Sebastian, how far is the Phoenix Hotel?”

  “It’s not far at all Sir, but we’re not going there anymore,” he answered quickly, glanced at the rear-view mirror, and found Paul in total confusion. “There is nothing to worry about, Sir.” He fixed his eyes back on the road again. “There has been a slight change in your residence plans here. I’m taking you to the Eden Palace Hotel on the other side of the lake, which is very near the Château.”

  “Ah… I see,” Paul rejoined, with a sense of relief. “And… how far is it?” he lifted an eyebrow.

  “Around 95 Kilometers, almost an hour’s drive from now. I can make it in less time, but I prefer to always drive safely.” His smile reflected in the rear-view mirror.

  “Very good.” Paul smiled back. “I guess I’ll have enough time to relax a bit, have a decent lunch—because I’m starving—take a shower, and get my papers ready for the convention tomorrow. That suits me pretty well.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Sebastian grinned. “First time in Geneva?” he asked, looking at the mirror again.

  “As a matter of fact, it is.”

  “Oh, then welcome to Geneva.”

  “Thank you.”

  The drive to Eden Palace Hotel, on the roadside of Geneva Lake, was very enjoyable to Paul, very smooth, actually. It was 12:30 PM when they reached the little district of Montreux. They stopped at 11 Rue Du Theatre where the beautiful huge white building that composes the hotel stood since 1895, as informed by Sebastian. Very European in style and architecture, it was almost a perfect combination of traditional Victorian and contemporary design. The Swiss red flag, with a white cross in the middle, seemed to hover in the wind at the top of the hotel, harmonizing with the red curtains that ornamented the windows.

  Sebastian parked the car to the right, on the front side. He got out of the car, opened the trunk, and extracted the luggage, handing it over to Paul, who was in total awe with the beauty of the place he had just reached. Somehow, he felt that he could enjoy his stay here, and it showed on his cheery face.

  The Hotel was located a few steps from the Lake, close to the city square and all the International organizations. The access to the Hotel was a big glass door, covered with a glass ceiling, stretching all the way to the outside. A white wooden plank with the name: EDEN PALACE appeared, attached to the door from both sides.

  “I’ll be here around 2:30 PM, tomorrow, to pick you up. The convention at le Château starts at 3 PM, so I don’t think I need to be here earlier, but in case you need me before that time, feel free to call me at this number,” Sebastian announced in a clear voice, and delivered his business card to Paul.

  “Thanks a lot, Sebastian,” Paul took the card, with a smile on his face; “I think I will not be in need of that. 2:30 will be fine.”

  “Very well. See you then,” the taxi driver grinned back, and took off.

  Upon entering the Eden Palace Hotel, it felt to Paul as if he were entering a presidential palace of some sort. The lobby was
elegant, nicely decorated with two pairs of luxuriously upholstered chairs, two side tables between them, and a set of three couches with fine glass-top tables in front of them, overlooking the outside terrace and the Geneva Lake, floating underneath. The reception was to the right. Beautiful granite pillars linked the floor—covered with a fine white-brown rug—to the agreeably decorated ceiling, lit by two classy chandeliers.

  Paul advanced towards the female receptionist, sitting behind her desk. She beamed at him a welcoming smile.

  “Good morning, Sir,” she intoned smoothly to Paul, “How can I help you?” Behind her, one of the most gorgeous paintings Paul had ever seen hung from the wall.

  “Oh… Good morning,” Paul looked at her cheerfully, while distinguishing the name written on the identity tag, attached to her white shirt. “Well, dear Fiona, I believe there is a reservation in my name: Paul Khoury.”

  “Certainly,” she nodded, “Let me check, please.”

  While that beautiful blonde girl with big blue eyes and long curly hair—nearly reaching her wide shoulders—inspected the Hotel reservation documents, Paul turned around to examine the Lobby. About twenty meters away, straight ahead, facing the Reception desk, two beautiful fine-art paintings, each on an elegant dark-brown wooden stand, appeared to decorate the entrance of the ‘Salon Belle Epoque’ from both sides. Paul could almost see the details of the two paintings from where he stood. They absorbed him into their world.

  “Sir,” Fiona’s sweet voice broke his attentive examination. He turned around. “Confirmed, we have a reservation for seven nights in your name. Please, sign here,” she handed him the Hotel register, and pointed with her finger where he should sign. He smiled.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she said, “Here you go… the key to your room. We usually get the rooms ready for new visitors at around 3 PM, but since your case is particular—like that of five other people visiting us today—special guests at ‘Le Château’, it has been made ready in advance.” She smiled.