“It is in Bet Giyorgis, about five hundred yards up the hill to the west. But there’s a tunnel. We can get up there without being seen.”
“Then show us the way,” Tom said.
Cautiously, Tom, Hellen and Abiye left their hiding place and circled around the church complex, while Vittoria crept in the opposite direction. A short way to the west, beneath a small group of trees that gave the trio the cover they needed, they were able to slip into another of the hand-cut ravines. They moved slowly along the thirty-foot-high rock face, the deep water making it all but impossible to progress either quickly or silently.
Suddenly, at a corner, Tom’s fist shot into the air: HALT! His arm swung back, pressing Hellen, close behind him, against the rock wall. He signaled to her and Abiye to be quiet. One of Ossana’s soldiers was heading straight toward them. Tom motioned to Hellen and Abiye to retreat a few steps, while he waited for the mercenary. When the man’s assault rifle appeared at the corner, Tom grabbed hold of the barrel, yanked it forward and was able to swing around and grab the surprised man from behind. The audible crack of the man’s neck made Hellen recoil, and Abiye crossed himself again. The body slumped, lifeless. Tom quickly unstrapped the soldier’s tactical vest and put it on, then strapped the man’s holster and pistol to his own thigh. He checked the radio, but it was of no use: it was secured with a PIN code.
Next time I should make sure I get the code first, he thought. Then he checked the pockets of the vest and found something he could use.
“Let’s go. No time to lose,” he said, and looked back at two shocked faces.
They were only a few steps from the mouth of the tunnel. They slipped into the small hole in the ravine wall and began the climb to Bet Giyorgis. As they made their way along the passage, water shot out from openings on all sides, pouring through the extensive system of tunnels.
“Looks as if whatever gods are up there already know what Ossana and Noah are up to. I think they’re giving us a little taste of what’s ahead,” Tom joked, jabbing a finger skyward.
Soaked to the skin and ducking low, Tom, Hellen and Abiye trudged through the low tunnel, heading west.
71
Bet Giyorgis, Lalibela, Ethiopia
At first, the ascent through the narrow tunnel was hard going. But the higher they got, the less they had to fight against the water. Now it was down to ankle deep, and they made better progress.
“We are almost there,” said Abiye.
And then there it was, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Moments later they left the tunnel behind and clambered out into the open air again, to find found themselves face to face with the forty-foot stone wall of the monolithic church known as Bet Giyorgis.
“The Church of Saint George,” Hellen whispered reverently.
“Really? The Saint George?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Hellen replied.
“The one from back then?”
“Yes!”
“. . . with the sword of—”
“Ye-ess!”
“. . . and the dragon . . .”
“Of course!”
“Okay,” said Tom. He’d got it.
Like the other churches of Lalibela, Bet Giyorgis had been carved like a sculpture directly into the red volcanic tuff: first the outer form, then the huge block had been hollowed out and decorated. The elaborately hewn church was unofficially known as the eighth wonder of the world, and was actually the newest of this complex of churches, which had been intended to recreate Jerusalem. The spread of Islam through northern Africa in the 7th century had literally cut Africa’s Christians off from the original Jerusalem, so a second Jerusalem needed to be built.
“The first churches here were carved out about eight hundred years ago, during the reign of Emperor Gebre Meskel Lalibela, who gave his name to this place,” Hellen explained. “Not much is known about their construction, though it’s generally thought to have taken more than a century. According to legend, however, Emperor Lalibela, with the help of angels, carved the churches out of the solid rock by himself in just twenty-six years.”
The church was certainly an impressive sight. The cruciform building towered in the center of a forty-foot-deep hole that extended only a few yards beyond the walls of the church itself. Here, too, the water was running over the rock edges and pouring into the “churchyard.” The numerous small waterfalls would have been quite a spectacle, had they not been caused by a terrible storm and threatened the lives of the dozen priests trapped inside the Bet Amanuel church, farther down the hill. The inky blackness of the sky and the unrelenting thunderstorm only added to the apocalyptic atmosphere.
They walked up the few steps and entered the dimly lit church. Located as it was at the top of the mountain, the water could still flow down the path. The interior of the church was elaborately decorated; the floor was completely covered with carpets, and as in mosques it was customary to remove one’s shoes before entering. The rear section was covered by a heavy curtain. Tom stood in the center of the church and turned in a circle, intrigued by the unusual structure.
“It must be behind the curtain,” Hellen said. Abiye let out a small audible gasp. In over a thousand years, no one except Coptic priests had ever stepped behind the curtain. But in this situation, an exception had to be made. Abiye crossed himself and followed Hellen behind the curtain, where they found more carpets, a candlestick, books, scrolls and, out of sight beneath a cloth, a shrine. On top of the shrine lay an elaborate cross.
Hellen went down on her knees, moved the cross aside and carefully lifted off the cloth. Beneath it was an acacia-wood chest, decorated with gold. She moved her hands tentatively toward the ornate object and just before she touched it, a small spark zapped her finger. She flinched, but smiled. She lifted the lid and there it lay, atop a bed of soft cloth: the last fragment of the Philosopher’s Stone!
“Tom! I’ve got it!” Hellen cried, and Tom also stepped behind the curtain. Hellen lifted the stone carefully out of its box and held it out to him.
“Nobody move!” a voice suddenly barked. The command came from inside the church.
“Out! Now!” a second voice shouted.
Tom, Hellen and Abiye looked at one another. They’d been discovered. Tom was not particularly surprised. He’d suspected all along that he would have to face his enemies sooner or later and he had taken precautions. He winked at Hellen, opened a pocket on his vest, took out a small object and called to the soldiers outside: “I want to talk to Ossana, face to face!”
Tom stepped out from behind the curtain. In one hand he held the third piece of the Philosopher’s Stone. In the other he held something that scared the hell out of the soldiers outside.
72
The rock churches of Lalibela, Ethiopia
The two helicopters stood in a clearing to the northwest of the lower church complex. Only the two pilots had remained with the machines, and both of them were dozing. Vittoria observed two patrolling soldiers who had stopped at the helicopters, and overheard a radio message informing them that Tom and Hellen had been captured. A sense of panic bubbled up inside her, but her training allowed her to keep her emotions under control. Her sensei had always told her: “Thoughts are like seeds: you will reap what you sow.”
Tom and Hellen are okay, she decided, and shifted her focus back to her own task. Tom, at least, could look after himself.
Vittoria had last seen Tom four months earlier in Vienna. After the first time fate had thrown them together, he had recommended her for the job that had first been offered to him. Since then, she had been working as the first official special agent employed by the newly reorganized Blue Shield. Theresia de Mey, Hellen’s mother and Blue Shield’s new boss, had spent the last six months trying to breathe new life into the organization—but she had met with little success so far, due to a lack of funding. Now here Vittoria was, on her first official field assignment for Blue Shield, coincidentally working with Tom Wagner again. What could possibly go w
rong?
“Now that’s a job I’d like to have,” one of the soldiers said with a nod toward one of the dozing pilots.
“Yeah. Nice and safe. And dry,” the second added. With every step he took, water squelched out of his boots.
The second man suddenly jerked open the door of the chopper, and the startled pilot fell out and landed face first in the mud. The raucous laughter of the soldiers woke the pilot of the second helicopter, and he left his comfortably dry cockpit and ran across to see what was going on.
This was Vittoria’s chance. She crept cautiously out of her hiding place and over to the empty helicopter, keeping one eye on the soldiers and pilots. Silently, she slid back the door to the cargo hold and climbed inside. She needed a weapon, fast, and soon found what she was looking for. In a small case attached to the rear bulkhead was a Heckler & Koch pistol with a spare magazine. She took both. And then she found the jackpot. Just as she was about to exit the helicopter, she saw that the pilot was on his way back. She was trapped.
“These special forces guys are all kinds of fucked up,” the pilot muttered to himself, shaking his head and chuckling as he climbed back into the cockpit. He leaned back in the pilot’s seat and closed his eyes again.
Behind him, in the cargo bay, Vittoria lay flat on her stomach, petrified. She barely dared to breathe, let alone actually move. Time’s running out, she thought. Every second counted if she was going to save the drowning priests. She had to do something. And she had to do it soon.
73
Bet Giyorgis, Lalibela, Ethiopia
Ossana stepped into the gloomy church, followed a few moments later by two soldiers carrying Noah as if he were on a palanquin. Tom stood in the center, holding the stone fragment aloft, while Hellen and Abebe Abiye sat on a small bench a little to one side. The two soldiers who had radioed Ossana had their rifles trained on Tom.
“Looks like I was right,” she said, applauding sarcastically and stepping toward Tom.
“Not so fast, Princess,” Tom said. He turned the stone fragment around. On the back he had attached a small lump of C4 explosive, and in his other hand he held a remote detonator. He raised the detonator demonstratively in the air. “Here’s how this is going to play out,” he said. “We’re all going to go back over to the church where you’ve got the priests locked up. You’re then going to release them. When we’re all nice and safe, I’ll think about giving you the stone.” He spoke with more bravado than real confidence. This time even he was scared shitless. He was far from certain that his plan would work.
“Mr. Wagner.” Ossana moved around Tom, shaking her head. She took the pistol from the holster on his thigh and handed it to one of her soldiers. “You come here with a little lump of explosive and think that gives you any power to make demands? Well, you are mistaken. I have time. The priests, on the other hand, have thirty-five minutes. Maybe.” She looked at her watch and rocked her head side to side in time with the passing seconds. “Then they drown. And I can’t really see you blowing yourself up along with the rest of us. I know you’re bluffing, and I call. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She stopped directly in front of Tom and stared deep into his eyes. Tom swallowed.
“No,” Ossana continued. “This is going to play out a little differently. You give us the stone and then you help us find the Holy of Holies. Ideally . . .” she glanced at her watch “. . . in the next twenty minutes. That will give you enough time to save the priests. I give you my word about that.”
“The Holy of Holies?” Tom asked. “I thought the stone was—”
“She’s after the Ark of the Covenant,” said Hellen before Ossana could say another word. She stood up and saw Tom’s confusion. “Yes, the Ark of the Covenant, the one with the Ten Commandments. ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’. Indiana Jones . . .” Hellen rolled her eyes and shook her head. “In Nikolaus’s papers, she must have read one of his crazy theories about the Philosopher’s Stone, the one that says that the third stone tablet Moses is supposed to have received from God has to be replaced in the Ark of the Covenant to activate its power. Or some hocus-pocus nonsense like that.”
“There’s nothing hocus-pocus about it, Ms. de Mey. We are standing in the country that has claimed for centuries to possess the real Ark of the Covenant. Now, the Ethiopians want to make the rest of the world believe that it’s in Aksum. They even built a special building just to house it. But we happen to know that they’ve taken some inspiration from the Americans—the aliens aren’t really in Area 51, after all. They’re actually somewhere else, somewhere nobody suspects them to be, in a place nobody knows anything about.”
She had turned away from Tom and now moved slowly over to where Abebe Abiye was sitting. She crouched in front of him. “And they are guarded by people that no one would recognize as guards.”
She took out her pistol, placed it under Abiye’s chin and pushed upward. Both of them rose to their feet.
“Why do you think I would reveal anything to you? Like my brothers, I am willing to die for it.”
“You? Oh, yes, I believe you. But are you prepared to sacrifice innocent lives for it?” Ossana swung the gun to the left, aiming at Hellen’s head.
“All right. You win.” Tom tossed the remote detonator aside and positioned himself between Ossana and Hellen and Abiye. He handed Ossana the stone. “We’ll help you find it,” he said, and he turned back and nodded encouragingly at Hellen and Abiye.
“Tom, you old softie! You’re so easily manipulated. To think that I get to be on the other side when the great Tom Wagner screws up,” Noah said, deliberately mispronouncing Tom’s last name. He said it as a German would—“Vahg-ner”—knowing how much Tom hated that. “I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d see this day.”
He rolled over to Ossana and she handed him the stone. “Today you’ll see for yourselves that the stone and the Ark are no myth.” Noah suddenly raised his gun and shot Abebe Abiye.
Hellen screamed, but Ossana only rolled her eyes in irritation and said, “Now what was the point of that?”
Hellen caught Abiye as he stumbled and tried to support him as he collapsed. She knelt beside the dying man and pressed on the wound, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.
“I wanted to know if he was telling the truth. And I have to say, it looks as if he was,” Noah replied coldly.
Hellen held the Abiye in her arms as he breathed his last. In the meantime, Ossana had gone to one of her soldiers and whispered something in his ear. He and another soldier left the church.
Tom looked at Hellen with admiration and let out an audible sigh. “I wanted to try and save you,” he said to Noah, though his eyes stayed on Hellen. He couldn’t bear to look at Noah now. “I thought you’d just strayed from the path. But now I see that you’ve blown up every bridge you’ve crossed. What happened to you?” He took a deep breath. “We’ll meet again, Noah,” he growled. No specific threat was needed to make clear what would happen when they did.
“Since the day I woke up in the hospital and the doctors told me I’d be stuck in this thing forever”—Noah’s voice broke and he slapped against the armrests of his wheelchair angrily—“I’ve wanted my revenge. But I learned to wait. I learned to put on my brave-little-boy face until the opportunity came to make you pay for your incompetence.”
“Enough!” Ossana snapped. “We have more important things to do, and Mr. Wagner still has a few lives he’d like to save.” Moments later the two soldiers returned. They were carrying a large flight case, upon which lay a small silver suitcase. They set the flight case down on the church floor, and one soldier took the smaller case and stepped aside. The other crouched, opened the flight case and removed a very strange-looking piece of equipment.
74
The rock churches of Lalibela, Ethiopia
Vittoria cared little for her own life, but the twelve priests imprisoned in Bet Amanuel were running out of time. The water was rising relentlessly and their lives were in her hands. Somehow,
she had to get out of the helicopter. Just then, someone hammered on the cockpit window and her heart leapt into her throat. Two soldiers were standing outside the cargo hatch, about to open it up.
“You got that special gear in the back?” the soldier asked the pilot. Vittoria’s panic grew. Her hands trembling, she took aim at the door.
“It’s in the other chopper. I’ll give you a hand,” the pilot said, and he got out and went with the two soldiers to the second helicopter.
Now or never. Vittoria slipped the carrying straps of the bag she’d found over her shoulders, carrying it like a backpack. She jumped silently down from the cargo bay and pulled the sliding door closed behind her as gently as she could. Pistol at the ready, she crouched beside the helicopter, waiting and watching the men. The two soldiers seemed to have found what they were looking for. Carrying a large flight case with a smaller case on top of it, they jogged back up to the church of Bet Giyorgis.
Now what could that be? Vittoria thought. She waited until the pilot was back in the cockpit and the coast was clear, then hurried to the artificial ravine and followed it. She rounded a corner and suddenly pulled up short. In front of her, face down in the water, lay the motionless body of a soldier. She exhaled sharply, then bent down and searched the body, but she had little hope of finding anything useful. Tom—who else?—had done a thorough job.
She marched on through the flooded ravine, soaked to the skin, wading through the now knee-high water. Her training had certainly toughened her, but she could feel herself slowly but surely reaching her limits. But she could not allow herself to give up. The water might be up to her knees, but it had to be up to the priests’ necks by now. Tom had once told her how it felt to be about to drown . . . she had to pull herself together now and do her job. She took a cell phone from her jacket and studied a stored satellite image of the church complex. She quickly found her position—she was right where she needed to be. Here, on the other side of the wall of rock in front of her and surrounding this group of churches, was the churchyard, with water still pouring into it.
The Library of the Kings: A Tom Wagner Adventure Page 20