The Shroud of Heaven

by Sean Ellis

  “I believe that David may have commenced the search to relearn the mysteries that Moses brought out of Egypt, handing them down to his son Solomon, who in turn used this newfound wisdom to acquire extraordinary wealth for his nation and to build a permanent structure which, like the pyramids, would channel the earth’s energies. Evidently his quest for knowledge offended some of the true believers. The Book of Kings records that Solomon left the God of his forefathers. Doubtless he realized the truth that Moses had so cleverly concealed. God was not a wizened old man in a heavenly abode, but an awesome omnipresent force that could be tapped as one might harness the wind in a sail.”

  Curious in spite of his skepticism, Kismet volunteered a question. “Are you saying that he found the Staff?”

  “Quite likely. Or else he learned how to make one for himself. The alchemists believe that he found or made a ‘Key,’ also sometimes referred to as the Philosopher’s Stone, with which, among other things, he could transmute base metals into gold. Since Moses’ Staff was a whole crystal of sapphire, no doubt a singular occurrence in nature, I’m inclined to believe that he located that original Staff or was given it by his father. But once again, the knowledge fell into disuse as the next generation, spoiled and self-satisfied, saw no reason to continue the pursuit of wisdom. There are a few noteworthy incidents recorded in the Bible that, if true, would suggest that the power was still there to be used: the miracles of Elijah and Elisha; the defeat of an Assyrian army numbering nearly 200,000. For the most part however, the power and certainly the Staff—or Solomon Key—was once more hidden away. When Nebuchadnezzar successfully overthrew Jerusalem, casting down her walls and carrying everything away as spoil, he no doubt took the Staff and likely the Ark of the Covenant along with all of the other temple treasures.

  “I suspect that Nebuchadnezzar might also have been adept in the power of geomancy, but evidently he did not recognize the significance of these items, or perhaps feared to use them, and hid them away in a vault deep beneath the ziggurat temple of the chief Babylonian deity.

  “That is where you come into the story, Nick. Whatever it was that Samir Al-Azir showed you twelve years ago, it convinced you that at least the last part of my story is true. And the artifacts that have begun appearing on the world market are identical to the utensils used in Solomon’s temple, as described in the Book of Kings. We both know that someone found that vault. Yet the most treasured artifacts have not reappeared on the world scene.”

  “Has it occurred to you maybe there’s another very good reason for that? If even half of what you’re suggesting is true, then this is exactly the kind of thing the Prometheus cult would be interested in.” Kismet drew in a sharp breath, still wondering if it was time to tell the old man the whole story. He chose his words carefully. “I can tell you this much—at least one of the artifacts you mentioned was taken by Hauser that night.”

  Chiron’s lips moved as if trying to form a word, but no sound was uttered.

  “Pierre, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but there’s almost no way that your Staff—or Solomon Key or whatever you want to call it—is still here. If someone had tried to fence it, the Prometheus gang would have pounced on them in about two seconds.”

  After the impassioned argument, Chiron seemed to deflate a little, but he stood his ground. “But if we could find the vault, at least that would give us a starting point, and perhaps we would find some clue to guide us on our way.”

  “It’s a long shot. Honestly, Pierre, what difference would it make? It’s not going to prove your theory, and even if it did, how is that going to… how will it ease your sorrow at losing Collette? I don’t think the answer’s here, at least not the one you’re really looking for.”

  “So that’s it? You’re giving up after only a few hours of searching?”

  “Pierre…” Kismet sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “If you had been up front about this, I probably would never have even started looking. A magic Staff? We don’t belong here, Pierre. It’s time to go home.”

  Chiron opened his mouth as if to continue protesting, but Kismet did not linger. He rose and headed across the ruin to where Hussein was laboring, pausing only long enough to switch the computer off. The brightly colored display abruptly winked into nothingness; a fitting metaphor for Chiron’s quest and its abrupt end.

  ***

  From a window on the fourth story of Saddam Hussein’s Babylonian palace, the woman calling herself Dr. Rebecca Gault watched the distant figures from the GHC expedition through a pair of 7 X 50 binoculars. The magnification was not good enough to allow her to pick out facial features at this distance, but it was easy enough to determine the identity of each person.

  Rebecca, along with her team, had trailed Kismet and the others from Baghdad, finding overnight lodging in Al Hillah to avoid discovery, and ended their travels in the early hours of morning. They had taken a station in the palace complex, content for now, at least, to simply observe. She had little doubt that the search upon which Kismet had embarked would not be quickly resolved. That was why she found the scene unfolding in the circular view-field of the binoculars so disturbing.

  After only a few hours of dragging the ruins, the expedition appeared to be packing up and leaving. When there could not longer be any doubt as to their intent, she lowered the glasses. This was one eventuality they had not anticipated. On an impulse she took out her phone, but paused without entering a numeric sequence.

  It wasn’t her place to determine their next course of action. Her controller was even more dedicated to the success of their expedition than she. He would know what to do and he would call with the next move. For now, she and her team needed only to stay out of sight. Putting the phone away, she resumed her surveillance.

  Nine

  Although centuries had passed since her fall, the ancient city of Babylon continued to suffer from what seemed like a divinely sent plague: mosquitoes. The marshy banks of the Euphrates teemed with enormous blood-sucking insects, and as the evening shadows began to cool the bricks of the palace, a great buzzing cloud settled in as well. Because looters had smashed every window in the massive edifice, there remained no overall defense against the swarm. The Marines not actively engaged in their duties sought refuge inside tents, which they had pitched in the interior rooms, or in the closed environs of their vehicles. Insect repellant compounds were effective, but in the face of such a constant attack, it made more sense to simply limit exposure.

  Kismet however found the small sacrifice of blood preferable to the company of his associates. Since his decision to suspend the survey of the Esagila, Chiron had been alternately contemptuous and desperate, insisting that the truth was there to be found, while Hussein seemed torn between his respect for the old man and the unarguable certainty that Kismet had made the right decision. Marie merely acted irritated that they had endured so much difficulty for no apparent reason, but she at least had not burdened him with reproachful stares. In any case, he was enjoying the seclusion of the open third floor terrace, and as the sky darkened, a slight breeze fluttered across the balcony, driving even the mosquitoes away. Stretching out on the bare marble floor, Kismet closed his eyes and enjoyed the rare moment of peace.

  “You made the right decision.”

  The voice intruding on his solitude belonged to Marie, and while he did not open his eyes or rise to greet her, he could tell by the sound of footsteps that she was alone. “I know,” was his simple reply.

  Her steps grew louder with her approach and when she stopped, it wasn’t difficult to conclude that she had lowered herself to sit beside him. “I have a confession to make. I was eavesdropping this afternoon.”

  Kismet slowly opened his eyes. For some reason, his heart had begun beating faster.

  “There’s obviously a great deal more to you then I had first believed, Nick Kismet.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, guardedly. “But there are a few things I prefer to keep private.”


  “Forgive me. I did not mean to intrude. In fact, I only came here to assure you that I am in full agreement with your decision. I heard what Pierre said…what he’s looking for. It’s crazy. He’s put us all in grave danger for the sake of…of a Bible story.”

  “Pierre is a complicated man. I may not agree with what he’s done, but I understand it.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend the old man, but the words poured forth unbidden.

  “Perhaps. But the Staff of Moses? It’s ridiculous.”

  “Probably.”

  “Don’t tell me you believed him?”

  Kismet finally sat up and looked at her. “I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t believe anyone else does either. But a whole lot of people in the world believe that Moses was a real person, looked a lot like Charlton Heston, and used his stick to part the Red Sea. Who am I to say it didn’t happen that way?”

  “You know that’s not what Pierre was saying.”

  He thought her argument strange. She wasn’t refuting the basic story, but rather Chiron’s elaborate interpretation. “No, Pierre believes in a slightly different version of events but either way, his belief that the Staff might be hidden here somewhere is not without merit.”

  She fixed him with a deliberate stare. “So you do think it’s here? Or that it was?”

  “I didn’t say that either. I don’t know.”

  “I don’t understand. If you thought it might yet be found, why did you turn away?”

  He frowned, and then jumped to his feet. The pleasant solitude was gone, and suddenly the idea of sitting still was anathema. He paced over to the balustrade and gazed out over the dark river. Directly below was an elaborately tiled courtyard with a large square swimming pool, partially drained since the occupation and overgrown with dark moss so that it now resembled a deliberately built mosquito fen. Kismet worked loose a piece of mortar from between the tiles and flicked it out toward the pool as he answered. “Because it was all wrong. I don’t know, maybe I was just mad at Pierre for dragging me out here under false pretenses. I’m no treasure hunter.”

  She joined him at the railing, standing close enough that their elbows were touching. “But that’s not what you said out there. You said that if it had been there, it was almost certainly gone…Wait a minute. I remember now. You said something about a cult of Prometheus? Who are they?”

  “Just one more unanswered question. And one of those things I mentioned that I prefer to keep to myself.”

  “But Pierre knows about it.” Her tone was insistent. Her curiosity, now aroused, would not be satisfied with a brush-off. “He used it to get you out here. What’s the connection?”

  “I don’t know. To be perfectly honest, all I know is what you probably overheard. There may or may not be a group of people out there with a particular interest in artifacts with religious significance. I’d like to find them, and there’s reason to believe that they may have already discovered what we were looking for.” Despite the deepening twilight, Kismet found that he could see the ruins of the temple in the distance off to his left. “Only we couldn’t prove it today.”

  “So if it can’t be proved, what does it mean? That this treasure vault doesn’t really exist? Or that is was never really discovered?”

  “Well, no. All we really determined was that there has been no significant change in the soil around the temple mound to a depth of thirty meters. If the vault exists there, it must be deeper than that. And if Saddam’s engineers found it, they must have gone in by a different route—” His fingers abruptly tightened on the railing. “Damn!”

  His sudden exclamation caught her off guard and she jumped back a step, breaking the subtle physical contact. “I’m sorry—”

  He shook his head, self-deprecatorily. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  He drew in a deep breath, willing himself to relax. “I first learned about this from a man who was involved in the project to rebuild the old city. He claimed to have been there when a discovery was made at the Marduk temple. But there hasn’t been any work done there.”

  “So he lied?”

  Kismet shook his head. “No. Don’t you see? He wasn’t working on the temple site at all when he made his discovery. He was doing something else…some kind of excavation that inadvertently uncovered the vault. It had to have been deep, because we didn’t detect any sort of cavity, but somewhere under that ruin is a tunnel leading to a secret chamber underneath the Esagila.”

  “Then where’s the entrance?”

  “That’s what we have to figure out. We assumed that after the discovery, the engineers simply filled in the hole, but if the discovery of the vault was incidental, then the excavation was an end in itself.”

  Marie blinked uncomprehending. “What end?”

  “We’ll know that when we find the entrance.” He peered once more into the darkness, as if doing so might reveal what hours of patient surveying had not. “It would have to be very well hidden. The UNMOVIC team scoured this place for underground bunkers and buried weapons caches.”

  “Could he have used the rebuilt ruins to conceal the excavation?”

  “Maybe, but that wouldn’t really permit free access to the tunnel.” Kismet shook his head, as if to clear away cobwebs. “Let’s try to think about this logically. We know there’s a tunnel down there. We know that it runs under the ruins of the temple and that it’s very deep. We also know that Saddam managed to build it in complete secrecy and a thorough search of the area didn’t uncover it. So, where didn’t the UN inspectors look?”

  “In the river?” Marie ventured.

  Kismet’s gaze involuntarily swung toward the ribbon of water passing below their vantage. “I don’t know. This whole country has been under satellite surveillance for most of the last decade. I doubt an undertaking that on that scale would have gone unnoticed. Still, you may have something there. The inspectors probably wouldn’t have looked in submerged areas, so water would be an excellent camouflage…”

  As his words trailed off, they both looked down at the courtyard three stories below. The square basin of the swimming pool was a shadowy void in the ornate terrazzo floor. Marie spoke first. “Surely not.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Kismet spun on his heel and raced into the palace.

  He had no difficulty navigating the corridors back to the ornate stairway and quickly descended to the main floor. He could hear Marie’s footsteps tapping out a rhythm but no one else seemed to be moving in the main hall of the palace. She caught up with him a few moments later as a shortage of choices forced him to rein in his eagerness.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as she reached his side.

  “That pool was just off this wall, right?” He gestured toward a broad expanse, decorated with antique swords and a gaudy mural which looked as though it might have been inspired by a pulp fantasy novel from the 1920s.

  “I think so.” She glanced back up the stairs to see if the descent had somehow turned them around. “Yes, that’s where it is.”

  “Well, it looks like we can’t get there from here.”

  Her gaze swung back to the wall and she instantly understood. Its entire breadth was solid. There were no doors or windows to the outside. “Perhaps you have to go through one of the adjoining rooms.”

  “I don’t think so.” The apparent setback had not blunted his enthusiasm. “Something tells me that we’re not supposed to be able to find that pool.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “It’s like a secret room. From the outside, say with satellite reconnaissance or a flyby, you would see an ordinary swimming pool. Nothing too suspicious about that. But there’s always a chance that a closer inspection will reveal its true purpose, so it was designed to be inaccessible from within the palace. My guess is that we’ll have the same trouble outside. I’d even bet that it doesn’t appear on the floor plan.”

  “So how do we re
ach it?”

  He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well, there has to be some way to get to it, but I’m in favor of the direct approach.”

  “Which is?”

  He flashed a grin, then headed back up the stairs, returning to the balcony. In the moments since their departure, the night sky had deepened to the extent that the floor of the courtyard below was no longer clearly discernible. He nevertheless peered down into the darkness, leaning out over the balustrade to get a better look at what lay directly below. After a moment, he turned to Marie. “I’ll be right back.”

  Without further explanation, he climbed up onto the stone railing and lowered himself out into the open. His initial moment of bravado faltered as the gravity of the situation quite literally asserted itself, but he forced away the instinctive reaction and surrendered himself to the drop. By first dangling from the lip of the balcony, he was able to reduce the distance between his feet and the terrace below to just over four meters. At nearly twice his own height, it was not an insignificant distance. The drop he had taken from a similar overlook at the museum had been only three meters and the landing surface had been softer, if somewhat thornier. Still, that leap had been in extremis, whereas this occasion allowed for a more cautious approach. Steeling his courage, he let go.

  He flexed his knees before landing and threw himself forward into a roll as soon as his feet made contact. A twinge of pain shot through his lower extremities, followed by a more pronounced hurt in his shoulder as he slammed onto the hard tile surface. Mindful that he was being observed—and by a woman for whom he could not deny a certain attraction—he jumped to his feet, disdaining the multiple aches that were starting to flare up all over his battered body.