by Darren Swart
****
It was just before dawn. Rock Thrushes warbled and chattered in the early morning air. Hans placed his hand gently on Marty’s shoulder. “Sir, it’s time to rise.”
Marty rolled over, grumbling, “Jeez Guy. Five more minutes.”
“I am terribly sorry, Sir, but we are on a tight schedule this morning. The plane leaves in thirty minutes.”
Marty rolled onto his back and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to clear the cobwebs. Grumbling, he said, “Thirty minutes? What’s the rush? It’s not like Jordan is going anywhere.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked naked to the bathroom. Hans tried to take no notice of him, as he walked.
Frau Schmidt quietly entered Gillian’s room to find her already in the shower. In most cases, she was lucky to find her wards out of bed by noon. Hurriedly, she made the bed and laid out her young charge’s outfits on the bed.
****
McPherson sipped on the strong black German coffee. He had worked steadily through the night, making all of the necessary arrangements. He assigned squads and squad leaders to the logistics of traveling to a foreign country. Advance teams had moved ahead to local coordinates. Local leaders had been bribed handsomely, or intimidated by kidnapping loved ones. Heads of state were found and instructed. More money would flow into the region in one night than they would ordinarily see in a decade. There was no pretense of discretion. There was no resistance to anything they asked.
The Transportation Team mobilized and deployed almost immediately. The hardened strike force team deployed like a small army to the region, fanning out like an invading army. There was no resistance and none of the usual pushback by the locals. Two sleek black Comanche Helicopters waited on the Castle’s Helipad. This would be enough for the onsite team and the duke’s guests.
The duke was already prepping his specially-trained clerics screened from thousands of religious scholars. The small group of eight was tasked with moving the Ark. No others would do. Each man was shaved and ritually cleansed in the esoteric ways of the ancients. Each of them held fiercely to their vows of chastity. None mingled with any of the duke’s staff. Their existence on the grounds was barely known and their backgrounds were a complete mystery to all but the duke. All were unwaveringly loyal to the duke who saw to their every need.
The Ark was carefully packaged in a container of lead crystal. It was both beautiful and necessary to fly the Ark in an aircraft. Without proper protection, its emanations generally destroyed most aircraft communications systems within seconds.
Franz sat miserably in his room. He had no attendant. He waited for the armed guard to arrive, so he could be moved to the aircraft, or at least that’s where he hoped he would end up this morning.
At precisely five-fifty AM Gillian, Marty, Digger and Franz filed down the long corridor toward the Helipad. This time, there were no attendants pampering them, only silent men in black jumpsuits keeping them in tight check all the way to the helicopters. Marty and Gillian discreetly linked their fingers, as they walked. She smiled up at him. Her face glowed in the early morning light. For what time they had left, Marty was glad it was with her. Digger seemed uncharacteristically distant. Gillian assumed it was nerves. She couldn’t blame him. Franz never looked up. He resembled a five year old who had been sent to his room.
A mere fifteen minutes later, the helicopter turbines throbbed, as they lifted the group high above the castle and turned west toward Innsbruck. It was a far smoother ride than Marty’s first trip, but the sudden ascent left him with the feeling that he’d left his stomach on the ground. The flight was short and uneventful as they hustled from the Comanche to a long slender tube of the custom-built EADS supersonic jet. The hardened outer layer of the aircraft was ballistic-resistant and more maneuverable than any commercial aircraft in the world. Complete with military grade phosphorus tracers to lure away heat seeking missiles and encapsulated escape pods, it was far beyond anything Gillian had ever seen.
They settled into the quiet comfortable cabin, while the duke was secured in a segregated chamber with the group of mysterious clerics. No one was allowed into the area. Marty and Gillian smiled, as Coco appeared with trays of breakfast treats and coffee. Digger stared straight ahead, without touching anything. He smiled at Coco and tenderly touched her hand. She was startled at the gesture, but said nothing and simply stared at Digger for a moment. Sadness filled his eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Gillian watched as her face drained of color for an instant before returning to normal. Without speaking, she walked away trancelike. Gillian munched on a croissant and resolved that this was going to be one weird trip.
Chapter 39
He watched helplessly, as the looming black figure glided steadily toward him in the dim light. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t cry out. He was paralyzed, as the form moved toward him like a predator to its prey. Its ebony skull was dotted with piercing red orbs where there should be eyes. Patiently, it moved toward him. There was no need for the creature to hurry. It knew there was nothing the old man could do to stop him, nowhere he could hide. It grew, as it neared closer, becoming so large that the room could barely contain it. Its intent was clear to the old man. It would drag him to a blistering hell, where the torturers were unbiased. They hated all equally. He would live in an eternity of pain, a purgatory without judgment. It was the worst of all possible ends, one reserved strictly for faithless Holy Men.
The old man sensed the creature before he saw him. He prayed. For the first time in years, he reached out to God. His body was powerless to move, but his mind was a locomotive of thought. In that moment, he could not utter a prayer. He came to full term with his anger toward God for taking the treasure from them. In that moment of powerlessness, he only asked for forgiveness and readied himself to have the flesh ripped from his body, as the monster delivered him into Hell.
A golden warrior appeared from the shadows. Both the old man and the demon were surprised by his appearance. He stepped between the creature and the old man. He wielded a single sword of fierce blue light. The young warrior’s head was crowned with ringlets of golden hair and his breastplate glowed blue like his sword. He held the sword before him, as he stepped into the path of the demon. In the voice of a thousand lost souls, the creature howled furiously, sputtering red flames from its mouth in an effort to intimidate the young warrior. Unabated the young man stood his ground. The demon swiftly circled trying to out-flank him. As it moved, the prince parried with lightning speed. The beast bellowed again in frustration. The old man could smell the brimstone from its breath. The young warrior smiled. The creature lunged at the young man. The blade moved so swiftly that the old man could hardly see it move. It cleaved the demon in two. Black puddles formed on the earthen floor where the ground shook and opened up. The black featureless ooze melted into the chasm before them. Finally, its angry, wrathful eyes were all that remained, they followed their every move until at last even they slipped away and the earth healed itself, sealing them away.
Smiling, the man turned to him. He reached out and caressed the old man’s cheek. The old man sighed in relief and touched the warmth of the warrior’s hand. The young man reached out with the back of his hand and faced the old man. The old man prepared to kiss the hand in respect when he saw the rich blue of the amulet drop suspended from a chain in the knight’s hand. He cupped his hand to receive it. The jewel ebbed and glowed, as it lay in the palm of his weathered hands. He felt his throat tighten with emotion, as the Sappire sang to him in a language forgotten before the birth of mankind. He looked up to thank the young prince, who was gone like a puff of smoke in the wind, leaving only the warm blue stone as evidence of his presence.
Gasping the old man sat upright in the bed. He sat for a moment, panting, his body drenched in cold sweat. His mind was still replaying the images of the dream. The face of the young man still burned in his mind. It was the most powerful prophecy of his life. All was coming full circle. The children were retu
rning home. He swung his feet over the edge of the wooden bed and sat for a moment, steadying himself. The bed creaked, as he rose. A full moon through the hut’s tiny window lit the way to the small wooden table in the center of the room.
The wooden match sputtered and hissed, as he struck it against the table’s rough wood. The warm glow from the lantern allowed him enough light to see the ancient key hanging loosely around his neck. He pulled the leather cord and took the key in his weathered hands. The tumblers clicked open, as he twisted the key in the lock of an ornate wooden trunk which rested beside the table. The trunk stood in stark contrast to the room itself. The black wood was delicately carved with roses in each corner. The rose designs merged creating an oval frame in the center. Within that frame, there was an amazing carving of a vast temple surrounded in tall columns. At the entrance, a heavy arch bore a carved angel its arms outstretched. In each hand, it held an object; a skull in one hand and a dove in the other.
He pushed open the heavy lid, which groaned in protest from not having been opened in ages. Inside, he pushed aside yellowed scrolls and looked for a small wooden box. His hands trembled, as they caressed the engravings on the lid. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when he opened the case to the emptiness within. The tears fell to the dimples in the empty satin below, turning it darker. The children soon would be home.
Chapter 40
The gate was roped off with large signs in several languages that stated, Closed for Repairs—Authorized personnel only. The Queen Alia International Airport was usually cramped for space, so the hastily closed section slowed the traffic to a hideous crawl. Controllers scrambled to keep the airport on schedule, as connecting flights began to back up in a landing pattern. People sat on the floors and on every available surface. Children ran and played, while their parents argued with ticket agents trying to catch another available flight.
None of it seemed to matter to five-year old Songee, who played hide and seek with her new Iranian friend. She slipped past the bold red satin rope with sign in Arabic reading, Section Closed: Keep Out. Giggling, she skipped into the cavernous terminal, as she searched for the perfect hiding place.
Her father argued with the flight agent. His Arabic was laced with a thick Assamese accent taxed the agent at the ticket counter who had not left his post for ten hours. All the while, Songee laughed, skipped and ran in long lazy serpentine curves through the empty terminal. She could stay here all day. She stopped dead in her tracks, as the sudden roar of a jet engine startled her. It sounded much different from the small Air India flight she had come in on. She darted over to the window to see what it could be.
The long sleek tube stretched as far as her tiny eyes could see. The plane had barely stopped and there were already people scurrying about it—lots of people. She watched fascinated, as men secured the giant wheels. Rolling stairs were moved to various hatches which popped open, while the plane was still moving. Workers scurried about with clipboards and tools. She watched, as men in black jumpsuits bubbled out of the plane like bugs from a rotten stump. They scurried about in all directions. They looked like they were trying to find something, but she couldn’t imagine what. One of the men spied her in the terminal window. She smiled brightly and waved. He scowled and spoke to his hand. She wondered if his hand would talk back. She had never played that game. She held her wrist up. “Hello hand. This is Songee. How are you?” His eyes narrowed to slits, as he looked at her. She watched, as another hatch opened. She moved away from the talking hand to see of anyone else talked to their hand. Many strange looking people walked cautiously down the second stair. This time, they were all dressed differently. All of them were very pale, like prisoners that had been locked away in a tower. A pretty lady watched everything around her. The man behind her was pretty, too. He had yellow hair. She had never seen anyone with hair like that. The next man was the strangest of all. He was larger than the others, with odd hair. It was yellow mixed with red, making it look almost orange in color. For some reason, he seemed different from the others.
They walked down the stairs and to the ground. Square black trucks waited on them. There were more men with guns and black jumpsuits standing outside the trucks. Maybe these strange people are villains that had to be guarded? They didn’t look like villains should look though. They looked quite nice. She waved again. This time, the man with the odd hair looked up at her in the window. She smiled brightly and waved harder. He smiled back. His hand raised in a return wave. Songee clapped and waved again. Giggling, she ducked behind the window frame, playing hide and seek.
When she came up, he was almost in the square truck. Oh well. She turned around to find a tall severe looking man in a gray uniform behind her. He said something she did not understand and pointed toward the door. She guessed he wanted her to leave. She breathed a long sigh and climbed off the chair. She walked toward the door, looking at as much as she could take in from her limited vantage point. She darted toward the exit to find her mother waiting. Her mother’s face looked drained. She scolded her, as they walked back to the terminal. “Where have you been?” Songee was not listening. She was lost in thought about the tall man with strange hair.
The roar of the Humvees echoed hollowly against the red walls of the canyon. The sandstone walls were modestly cooler than the scorching heat of the mid-day sun. The small caravan lurched to and fro, as they drove swiftly through the canyon. Only the truck carrying the Ark drove carefully to avoid jostling their precious cargo. The jeeps accelerated through the city. There were no tourists today. The Jordanian Government had declared it a Holy day of atonement. No tourists were allowed. This confused the locals who knew of no such day. The promise of monetary compensation for the declaration eased their concerns. Everyone stayed home.
The closer the group got to the mountain, the darker the skies became. By the time they had reached the bottom of the mountain, fierce lightning danced across the blackened sky. The pressure against them was immense, like the mountain was trying to repel them.
At the base of the mountain, the Litter Bearer Team assembled. They carried no weapons and they dressed in handmade robes fashioned in the same manner as the ancients. The duke left nothing to chance. With clockwork efficiency, they embarked on the steep winding path up the mountain. The group worked like a well-oiled machine. They were almost out of sight before the others were allowed to exit the jeeps.
It was a difficult trek for those not carrying anything. Marty struggled with how these men would carry the Ark. Undaunted, the team moved unfalteringly up the treacherous path. The skies swirled angrily above them. Lightning traced like a spider web above their heads. Marty had never seen such a vicious storm. The air was oppressive and thick. While it was a refreshing treat compared to the blistering heat of the desert around them, it unnerved them as they struggled to climb the narrow path. Marty wondered if they would even survive the short journey to the top. The duke followed the Ark closely. His body guards surrounded him in a ring. A bolt of lightning struck the ground next to one of the front Litter Bearers. He lost his footing and stumbled forward. The Ark began to tip forward.
One of the men quickly moved into position to steady the relic. He reached up with a gloved hand and touched the side of the Ark. His face turned ashen and his eyes bulged. His lifeless body dropped where he stood. Another man in black stepped forward and dragged the body to the side, while the team kept moving. The litter bearer steadied himself and the Ark, and continued with the team. The team silently exchanged glances, each wondering what they had gotten themselves into. The wind buffeted them, as they crested the plateau. There were tall thin eddies of dust that swirled and danced about the open stone crest. They reached a plane of flagstones the size of a football field. The Litter Bearer Team moved the Ark to a short raised slab centered in the expanse. Immediately, the plinth began to glow, energized by some hidden energy.
The duke stood to the side and donned his ceremonial garb. In the center was the Star of David. Gem
stones were embedded at each point of the Star and each intersection within the Star. Marty’s diamond was at the very top.
A small wooden table was placed beside the duke. On it were a series of eleven wooden containers like Marty’s. Each contained a Sappir. The duke began to remove the Sappirs, placing each one in a unique setting. The small evenly spaced settings were on all four sides of the Ark. He was seemingly untouched by the energy that was flowing through it. At the last setting, he stopped. He looked toward Marty. His eyes glowed with energy. “Mr. Wood, could I have your stone, please?”
Marty suddenly felt the hard steel of gunmetal under his chin. Carefully, he eased his eyes to his side and found McPherson standing there leering at him. In a decidedly Scottish accent, he began to goad Marty, “Come on, Lad. Let’s give it up. His eminence ’as waited a long time for this. No need to disappoint ’im now.”