by Robert Ryan
On the obverse side was a scene too worn to identify. Squinting, he guessed it might depict an animal with some human features, although he was not at all sure.
His archaeologist’s imagination started to soar, but the tether of reason yanked it rudely back to earth.
This could be the piece of evidence that killed the dig. Although the find was still valuable, and they still seemed to be uncovering an ancient civilization, the coin made it very unlikely that this could be Sodom and Gomorrah.
The earliest known use of coins was around 600 B.C. Sodom and Gomorrah would have existed at least a thousand years before that. Even allowing for the dates being off by plus or minus a couple hundred years, he couldn’t make the stretch to a thousand. Unless…
New discoveries were made every day that pushed back the timeline of the old ones. Could he be holding something that changed—not just changed, shattered—everything known about the use of money? Stranger things had happened.
Thorough analysis back at the War Room should give the answer. Quelling his irritation at having to wait that long, he continued turning the coin over but could glean nothing further. “Everyone come here for a minute,” he said.
Seconds later they were gathered around. Shelby waited as they took turns inspecting the coin, savoring one of the relative handful of moments of discovery in an archaeologist’s life. The coin came back to him and he placed it into a small waist pouch. “I saw some other spots glinting in the light. Let’s use the rest of our time to do some sieving in this area, see if there are more of these.”
He and Lev swam to the equipment bag they’d anchored to the bottom and took out two items that looked like pie tins with screen bottoms. Returning to the location of the first coin, they went to work. Like miners panning for gold, they used the sieves to scoop the mud, then shake it out until only solid objects remained.
Immediately Shelby found another coin. Then another. Then another. Lev began finding them as well. By the time the alarm on Shelby’s dive computer went off, they had found twelve.
As the team finned gently toward the surface, Jack Shelby wondered if the dozen coins at his waist might begin to unlock the secrets of a cursed people.
CHAPTER 38
Dig Headquarters
Electricity crackled through the dinnertime conversations in the lounge that evening. No one had ever been on—or even heard of—a dig whose first day was so successful. They had made great progress in uncovering The Wall, as they had dubbed it, and found potsherds and a pot from the Bronze Era.
The strongest buzz, however, was about the coins. Everyone hoped analysis would somehow confirm that they were digging in the right place, despite the fact that coin usage was unknown in the time of Sodom and Gomorrah.
As dinner wound down, Mordecai banged a spoon on his glass to get everyone’s attention.
“Thanks to today’s success, we have the best problem an archaeologist can have: a lot more digging to do. We’ll have to begin starting earlier, to make full use of the daylight. We’ll need to be at the boats by six, so we can be in the water by seven. Does this pose a problem for anyone?” No one said anything. “Good. Then I will see you all here early tomorrow morning. Leave yourself enough time to get to the boats by six.”
After dinner Zeke went to the War Room. About a dozen people were studying charts, staring at computer monitors, having animated discussions. Mordecai had a phone glued to his ear, enlisting more people for the dig. At the long table in the center of the room, Leah and Jack Shelby sat beside one another, studying the coins through magnifying glasses.
Zeke went over and stood beside Leah. A large reference book was open in front of her. Beside that was a Bible. “Figured anything out yet?”
“Yes!” she said, holding up the coin she’d been scrutinizing. “Jack just deciphered the inscription that identifies the face on this coin as Bera.”
“Bera? Doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”
She nodded toward the open Bible. “According to Genesis, Bera was the king of Sodom.”
Zeke remained silent for a long moment. “Excuse me,” he finally said. “This takes a minute to sink in.”
“Quite understandable,” Shelby said. “We had the same reaction.” He gestured at the small circles of rough-hewn metal carefully laid out on the table. “The significance of these coins is enormous. We have here the first direct proof of the existence of Sodom. Not a second-hand reference, but an artifact directly from the city itself. But they’re significant in other ways as well. For one thing, on our first day we may have pushed back the earliest known use of coins by at least a thousand, maybe fifteen hundred years. In archaeology a quantum leap like that is virtually unheard-of.”
Zeke tried to look impressed, but there was only one find he was genuinely interested in. “Does this confirm that where we’re digging is Sodom?”
“Almost certainly,” Shelby said.
“‘Almost’?”
“There is the possibility—remote, but possible—that Sodom could still be somewhere else, that some traveler from there might have brought their coins to this location.”
Zeke frowned. “What are the odds? I mean, how valuable could the currency of Sodom have been anywhere else but Sodom?”
Even as he asked the question he knew it was impossible to know the answer, but the patience necessary to establish a historical fact beyond any doubt was not his strong suit.
“The possibility is slight,” Shelby said, “but it is possible. We don’t know enough yet. Certainly Sodom was no world power like Rome, whose currency would have been good everywhere, like ours is today. But it is conceivable that a currency exchange could have existed, say, among the so-called five cities of the plain. Of which Sodom and Gomorrah were two.”
“So, at this point, we might still be dealing with any of those five cities?”
“Or even someplace else that we’ve never heard of. But don’t worry. At the rate we’re excavating, with any luck we’re bound to have collaborative proof soon.”
Zeke nodded, slowly allowing common sense to overcome his impatience.
“And I still haven’t mentioned what’s on the other side of this,” Shelby said. “It fits in perfectly with the legend of Sodom.”
Zeke squinted at the worn, crudely-fashioned coin while the epigrapher explained.
“It’s a picture of one of the legendary ancient Semitic gods. The inscription gives us his name.”
“Which is?”
“Baal.”
Zeke and Leah exchanged a quick uneasy glance, remembering Mordecai’s earlier mention of the pagan deity and its supposed ability to control the weather.
“There were countless ancient streams of Baalism,” Shelby said. “Each had different rituals associated with it. In some cases, Baal was worshipped as the embodiment of sensuality and lust.”
Leah indicated the open reference book. “It says here that homage was sometimes paid to Baal by copulation with animals, among other things.”
“Which by no means settles the case,” Shelby said, “but Sodom’s reputation for wickedness might not be just a myth.” Very pointedly he added, “In the Bible, temples erected to worship such false idols incurred God’s wrath.”
“So,” Zeke said. “What’s the bottom line?”
“We are definitely uncovering an ancient city from the time of Sodom and Gomorrah. The only question is, which one?”
Zeke made a small salute. “Great work. I feel really good having you both on my team. Looks like we’re off to a great start.”
“I’ll go out on a limb and say the best ever,” Shelby said. “I don’t want to jinx us, but if things keep going the way they are, we may know something fairly soon.”
“A dig for Sodom and Gomorrah getting jinxed?” Zeke said. “What are the odds?”
CHAPTER 39
With the new earlier start time, the evening broke up not long after dinner. Zeke asked Leah, Mordecai, and Hassan to meet him in the lounge. T
hey got beers and gathered around a table in the seating area of the home theater. As they settled in, Zeke fingered a small crucifix he’d started wearing around his neck. It had been blessed by a Bishop and given to him the day he became an altar boy. When everyone was seated he began.
“I’ve come to think of us as the Hell Squad, since we’re the only ones who know what we’re ultimately searching for. And since what I’m considering is directly related to that part of the dig, I wanted this discussion to be for us only. It would have a major affect on the dig, and I wanted your input before I make a decision.”
He took a quick sip from his beer.
“I’ve been giving a lot of thought to why we’re doing this. Wondering if our reasons are good enough. The four of us are here because of personal tragedies. Because madmen killed our loved ones. Don’t get me wrong. I believe our ultimate goal is a noble one, to cut off evil at its head and make the world a better place. But I also know that, human nature being what it is, we are also driven by a much less noble reason.
“Revenge. We want to make the one ultimately responsible pay. And I’m perfectly fine with that, if our actions only affected us four.
“But they don’t. They could have repercussions for everyone on earth. When I think of that, I inevitably start to think about forgiveness. Because as much as I crave revenge, I know that it only perpetuates the evil. Someone does you wrong, you retaliate, they get even, you get even…it never ends. Look at Israel and Palestine.
“Somewhere, sometime, forgiveness has to enter into it. Because even if we do find and defeat Satan—and, let’s face it, that’s a long shot at best—even with Satan gone, millions of people are still going to have to forgive horrible wrongs. Wrongs that in some cases go back hundreds, thousands of years. Otherwise we’ll just sink into the quicksand of hate that’s been pulling us down since the human race started.
“So that’s what we’re here to discuss. Can we forgive? Should we? In my case, the man who killed my family died in prison, so forgiving him seems moot. Not that I could anyway.
“But there is another man. One I have spent years despising. I have to speak carefully here, there’s an issue of confidentiality, of national security. He and I were once very close. We were involved in…a military plan that backfired, because…he went temporarily insane and gunned down an innocent family. I never saw him after that until recently. He seemed to have turned his life around. He’s become a forensic psychologist. An expert on death row murderers claiming Satan made them do it. Which he himself had claimed after he murdered that family.”
Zeke took another sip of beer and looked at the faces around the table.
“I’m considering asking him to join the dig. On a practical level, his expertise on Satan might be helpful. Might is the key word there. I’m not at all convinced of it. I’m not convinced there even is such a thing. An expert on Satanic behavior, okay, but on Satan himself? No one’s ever met him face to face, so how can they know? So maybe I’m rationalizing, or maybe he can be helpful. I’m not sure.
“What I do know is that forgiveness has to start somewhere. Perhaps it could start with me. Certainly having him here would put my forgiveness theory to the supreme test. If I failed that test—a distinct possibility—his presence could just bring out hatred in me that would poison the dig. It’s a huge risk, a tough decision I didn’t want to make without getting your opinions first. So let’s hear ’em.”
He leaned back and waited. Hassan finally spoke.
“Your point is well taken, Zeke. In principle I agree with you. In reality, I know I could not forgive the man who killed Norah, even though he is blown to bits and there is no one left to forgive. Even so, I wonder how much people ever truly forgive. In here.” He tapped his chest. “Or here.” He tapped his head.
“I agree,” Zeke said. “It’s much easier said than done. Still, if we say that change for the better is impossible, than we might as well quit now.”
“In our case,” Mordecai said, “forgiving the man who killed Norah is, what was the word you used?”
“Moot?”
“Moot, yes. As Hassan says, he blew himself up. That really only leaves the man you are talking about to test your theory. And I agree that forgiveness is much easier to talk about than to give. If you invite this man, think about this. None of us know him but you. He will be just another person to us. But to you he will be a mass murderer, a daily reminder of one of the two worst days of your life. It is a tough decision, the toughest. One I’m afraid only you can make. A decision that could—would, probably—affect the rest of the dig, yes, but I guess it depends on how much this forgiveness thing matters, how much you are convinced that you have to blaze that trail for humanity.”
There was a clicking noise and all turned in the direction of the television.
A picture began to emerge from the blackness.
Everyone got up and gravitated toward the screen, becoming transfixed as the image became clearer. Zeke wanted to believe it was a scene from a horror movie, or a death metal music video, but the image was too real, too immediate.
Too frightening.
And the TV had clicked itself on.
Looming into view was a grotesque face. The head lolled about as if trying to center them in its stare, like quarry in the crosshairs of a rifle scope. The leering face was long and narrowed to a pointy chin. Its cheeks were deeply furrowed and covered with wartlike growths. A sneer of inhuman contempt revealed long, needlelike teeth, obviously designed for devouring prey. A tongue moved around lazily behind the teeth, possibly on the verge of sliding out. All the while a low growl rumbled, the menacing sound of an animal getting ready to pounce.
Worse than all this were the black openings that served as the thing’s eyes. A hypnotic force emanated from them, as though pulling you into shadowy caves where underworld creatures lurked.
The eyes were locked onto Zeke. From the middle of each a fiery glow of red burned into him. He instinctively leaned away from their magnetic pull.
Suddenly the monstrosity spoke. It was the same inhuman voice from the plane, a throaty, oozing purr that sent tendrils of ice wriggling down Zeke’s back.
“Very noble speech, Ezekiel. Forgiveness. Despite what your Good Book says about loving your enemies, I’ve never believed in it myself. I prefer to devour my enemies. Devour them all, and you will have no more. As I will all of you. God’s little Hell Squad. And sweet little miracle girl Leah. Every now and then one dodges a bullet.”
A cascade of demonic chuckles came through the speakers in surround sound. The vile comment about Leah hit Zeke like the jolt of a taser. He moved to smash the screen but stopped when he realized it would solve nothing.
The face addressed them all now.
“You are not going to let little old me intimidate you. Good. You will never find me, but if you do, it will be my greatest pleasure to have all those delicious new souls to consume. And by all means, invite Mr. Price. A perfect test case. We will both tempt him and see whose power is stronger. He has succumbed repeatedly, I’m sure he will again.” The searing gaze bore deeper into Zeke. “Do not overestimate the power of your God, ‘savior’. Here is a sample of what you will be up against.”
The monstrous tongue burst through the screen without shattering it. Forked, black and glistening, it elongated across the floor. Snakelike, it flicked and slithered among the tables and chairs as if looking for someone to grab. Everyone backed away, as much from the putrescent smell as from its approach.
Suddenly it shot several feet farther and coiled itself around Leah’s ankles. It yanked and she fell hard. The tongue began pulling her toward the television screen. Zeke grabbed her hands and pulled her back. Stretched taut, she let out a cry of pain. Fearful of doing permanent damage, Zeke eased forward to create some slack.
He was losing the tug of war. The screen was now less than ten feet away.
“Somebody get something to stop this thing!” he yelled.
The others scattered to look for a weapon.
Leah continued to moan as her feet got closer to the screen, now only five feet away.
Four. Two.
The tongue stopped its retreat but still held onto Leah. The soles of her feet were inches from the screen.
Hassan came streaking back from the bar holding a small knife with a serrated edge.
“Use it!” Zeke yelled.
The tongue began pulling again. Zeke pulled in the opposite direction with all his might. Leah screamed in pain. The gap between her feet and the television screen continued to shrink. Three inches. Two. Zeke knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t dare release his grip, not knowing if this thing could actually pull her into the screen.
Like a crazed butcher Hassan brought the knife down again and again, hacking with all his strength at the point where the horror poked through the screen, pulling the knife toward him with each stroke to maximize the sawing effect of the serrations.
An unearthly roar filled the room. Foul black liquid spattered from the wound, burning and sizzling like acid. A few drops hit Zeke’s forearm. He groaned as they ate into his flesh. The pain forced him to let go of Leah.
Some of the drops hit Hassan and he dropped the knife, now only a jagged, misshapen strip of metal. The demonic roar suddenly changed to bellowing laughter, driving them to the brink of madness. As though staring at a scene out of Hell itself, Zeke watched the tongue wrench itself free where it had been slit and flop to the floor.
“A little something to remember me by.” The blazing eyes fixed on Zeke. “You cannot defeat me, savior.”
Zeke grabbed the crucifix he wore around his neck and thrust it at the demonic face. “I will not be fighting you alone. He will be with me.”
The severed tongue burst from the screen and yanked the crucifix from Zeke’s hand, breaking the chain that held it around his neck. The fleshy stump hurled it across the room, then snapped back and disappeared into the screen. The gloating voice spoke: