The Solomon Key

by Shawn Hopkins

  In that split second, Scott swung the pistol up and fired, dropping to a knee while pulling the man down on top of him, using him as a shield, and shooting the other three. Or at least that was what he was trying very hard to keep from doing.

  He blinked, looked around the room. “Where am I?”

  “Please, I can see that you are upset and understandably so. Why don’t you lower the gun, and we will have a civilized conversation.”

  “We do not have time for that,” one of the others spat.

  The bearded man ignored him. “Perhaps you would like some pants.”

  Scott could feel the knot in the blanket begin to loosen. “Pants would be nice,” he said, teeth clenched.

  “Then please, put down the gun.”

  The man Scott was holding at gunpoint joined in. “It is okay. We are men of our word.”

  His world spinning upside down, the effect of the drug they used still prominent in his system, he realized that he had little choice.

  The bearded Jew sighed. “Please, I am begging you. We’re pressed for time here, and we will shoot you if you force us to. There are more significant things that require our attention.”

  Scott figured he’d be dead already if they meant to kill him. He stepped away from the man, though he kept the gun trained on him. And then, with a deep breath, he lowered the pistol. He could feel himself shaking.

  Turning to face him, the one he had held hostage said, “It was a wise decision.”

  Scott only stared at him, warning him that it better have been.

  One of them walked back out the door, hopefully to get his pants, while the others came closer. “Can we please have the gun back?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He nodded, acknowledging the unspoken terms, and everyone lowered their guns. “So, who are you?”

  “Who are you?” Scott retaliated.

  After a second of musing, the man answered, “You can call me Daniel.”

  “Okay, Daniel.” He leaned against the table, fatigue almost causing him to collapse. “You can call me Matt.”

  “Are you a soldier?”

  “No.” His head was getting heavier.

  “You handle yourself like one. You have obviously been trained.”

  No response.

  Daniel tilted his head to the side as one of his men whispered into his ear. He didn’t look all that happy with whatever was said. He nodded, however, agreeing to whatever it had been.

  “Matt, it is essential that we understand who you are not.”

  The puzzle wasn’t coming together by any means, Scott still feeling as if he were on some kind of hallucinogenic, but he was starting to sense that these men simply wanted to know whether or not he posed a threat to them. “I’m nobody. Just a guy trying to survive.”

  “And your relationship to Edward Cairns?”

  “A friend.”

  “I see.” Daniel put his hand over his mouth, staring at the floor, thinking. “Well, Matt, I do not have time to keep asking questions, so I am going to take a slight risk in exposing myself. In hopes that you… cooperate.”

  Just then, the man who had left returned with a pair of pants. “They should fit.” He threw them at Scott.

  “Thanks.” He kept the gun ready while struggling to get the pants on.

  Daniel continued, “We are Israeli Mossad.”

  Scott’s eyes narrowed, and a dark chuckle escaped his lips. “What are you doing here, in North America?” His tone reflected a slight bitterness that accused the man’s home country of having something to do with the former Republic’s current world status.

  Detecting this, Daniel answered, “We are operating outside of national scrutiny. You could say that we are ‘off the grid.’”

  “Rogue agents.”

  Daniel flinched. “That is a bit harsh. Let’s just say we owe our primary allegiance to the Promised Land and to our faith.”

  “So then you’re not part of the global cabal running things back in the Holy Land or you are?”

  Daniel shook his head. “No. On the contrary.”

  And all of a sudden, through fatigue and all, Scott realized in part what had happened out in the woods. “You took out the people on the hill.”

  “Yes.”

  “So then who were the people that took Edward from the cave?” Even as he asked, Edward’s last words floated through his mind.

  Israelis…

  “That was us.”

  But before Scott could work out the arithmetic in his head, Daniel called his attention to something else.

  “When you reached Edward, you took the ring from him.”

  The world seemed to drop out from under his feet. “You were after the ring?” he asked.

  He shrugged. “Why else would Edward be of interest to us?”

  Scott forced himself to stand tall. “And the little visit he got last night?”

  “That was NAU Intelligence.” He looked to one of the men next to him and signaled for him to leave. Then he walked closer to Scott. “Look, you cannot understand what is taking place, what is on the verge of happening. Not now. And we simply don’t have the time to explain it to you. I don’t know who you are, but for some reason I believe you are on our side, or at least not opposed to it. You were Edward Cairn’s friend, so I am assuming that you shared a common belief in what is happening in the world now. That it is the end of days.”

  Scott stuttered, “I neither espoused nor rejected his prophetic views. I didn’t share his faith.”

  “That is unfortunate. I am sure he would be sorry to hear you say that. Nevertheless, your attempted escape and your fight with the soldiers suggests that you have no love for them.”

  Scott raised his heavy eyes. “Them? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He brought his hand up to his head, a sudden sense of vertigo sweeping over him. He felt where the sniper’s shot had grazed his scalp.

  Appreciating Scott’s mental condition, Daniel explained, “I am sorry that we had to drug you, but under the circumstances, you would have been confused as to who we were and would have mistaken us for the enemy.” He smiled sheepishly. “In a way, we saved your life.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “No more questions.” It came from another voice, from another room. “Matt…” And a figure appeared, suddenly emerging from the shadowy entranceway, walking straight into the room and past the armed Mossad agents. The man was tall with silver hair and eyes that beamed with purpose. He was also wearing the white collar of a Catholic priest. Without any introduction, he asked, “Do you know what this is?” He held the mysterious ring up to Scott’s face, his tone forceful — not one to play games and against the clock.

  “No.” Scott eyed him suspiciously. This was the guy he’d heard speaking with a European accent. And why a Catholic priest would be keeping the company of Jews, and vice-versa, didn’t seem to make much sense either. History didn’t necessarily paint them as the best of friends.

  The priest said, “They say rings were introduced as a symbol of power. Probably in Egypt. Evolved from the signet or seal in about the 16th century BC.” He smiled, his eyes locked on the clear lens. “You’ve felt its power, haven’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You know there are many legends and myths surrounding rings.” He seemed to be entranced by it — they all did. “In medieval times, rings made from certain materials were thought to have occult powers. They were made to protect a person or to influence another. Cabalistic words or sentences and astrological signs were believed to hold mysterious powers.” Then he let his eyes slide upward to meet Scott’s. “Some wonder whether or not those myths and legends were born of a truth.”

  Though Scott could not deny the strange way the ring made him feel, he surely wasn’t going to admit it. Not to this clown. The room started spinning, and he found himself dropping his guard, his mood too foul and his brain too weary to keep up with the unfolding present. He just wanted to s
leep.

  The priest looked him straight in the eye and asked, “What does the year 1947 mean to you?”

  “1947?” repeated Scott. “Is this a game we’re playing now?”

  “First week in July.”

  Daniel looked uncomfortable. It was obvious that he either disagreed with what the priest was about to say, or that he didn’t trust Scott to hear it.

  Scott smiled a twisted and sarcastic smile. He knew the reference. “Martians invaded earth?” He was leaning back against the table.

  “Whether or not they were Martians is a subject of debate. What is not is the fact that something significant happened and that the government covered it up.”

  “Roswell? What the hell does that have to do with anything?” He pushed himself off the table and walked forward, his gun hand waving. “You better start making sense real quick, or I just might assume I’m the subject of some old MK-Ultra experiment.”

  Just then, another Israeli burst through the door. “They’re here!”

  Daniel took one long look at Scott before turning and fleeing through the door along with the rest of the Mossad agents.

  “Who’s here?” Scott asked the priest.

  “The enemy.”

  And then gunfire erupted somewhere far away.

  “What’s going on?” Scott demanded. He was tired of riddles. His mind needed some kind of foothold on reality.

  “I am sorry, but there is no time to explain now. We are under attack.”

  “By who?”

  The priest shook his head as if he almost didn’t know how to answer. “I guess it depends.”

  “Depends on what?” Scott asked, incredulously.

  Ignoring him, the priest turned and exited the room, leaving Scott standing barefoot and bare-chested with only a pistol in his hand. “Wait!”

  Somewhere above him an explosion rocked the earth, and clouds of dust began to fill the small room.

  Scott stumbled forward, chasing after the priest.

  12

  Explosions were rocking the ground and rattling the walls around him. Reaching out to steady himself as he ran up the stairs, he tried to determine what kind of facility he was in. It was a concrete base of some kind, maybe a prison. He could hear all hell breaking loose somewhere close by, and all he had was a pistol and pants. His feet were freezing on the cold steps, and a draft was blasting his bare chest.

  Finally clearing the steps, and still no sign of the priest, he found himself in what looked like a deserted cafeteria, tables lining both sides of the room. Looking around, he noticed that the windows had bars on them. He checked the 9mm pistol he’d taken from the Jewish agent and tried to think of what to do next.

  And then the room disappeared in a flash of white, a piercing ring screaming in his head. His eyes didn’t want to focus. Everything was slow, blurred, but he could tell that he was lying on the floor, the pistol now absent from his hand.

  Groaning in pain, he rolled onto his side. He could see the gun lying in some burning debris nearby. He tried to get up to retrieve it, but his body didn’t respond to the command.

  After what felt like an hour, but couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, he started to regain the feeling in his limbs, able to hear past the ringing and see through the white haze. Crawling across the floor, he could also detect a fierce burning in his back. Moving forward an inch at a time, he tried to get a sense of what was happening. But everything was still spinning. Things were on fire, he could tell that much. A wall seemed to be missing, the dark shapes of people outside running past.

  And then a huge monster — a locust freed from the depths of Hell — lowered itself down to the ground and sat staring at him through the hole in the wall, its tail extending away from its body and curling up like a scorpion.

  He cursed and forced his body to move, even though he still didn’t have all the feeling back in his legs. Soon he was on his hands and knees, the ringing in his ears finally evaporating and giving way to another sound — the mutant insect watching him.

  The Apache.

  Finally, reality resumed, and everything began unfolding at normal speed.

  Scott stumbled to his feet and dove for the gun just as the black AH-64 Apache helicopter tilted to its side and hovered laterally away from the opening while releasing a burst of fire from its automatic cannons. The sound was deafening, the rounds striking the floor, tables, and the back wall, shooting pieces of debris through the air like shrapnel. But Scott managed to avoid the somewhat passive assault still intact.

  He got back to his feet and ran across the room to the crumpled wall, momentarily forgetting how cold he was, that he couldn’t feel his feet.

  Climbing over the broken wall and stepping out onto the grass, he entered a war zone. He watched in horrible fascination as three Apaches circled the facility, strafing it with rockets and missiles. Their rotation was taking them away from him, so he was safe for the moment. But he knew they would be circling back around. He had to get to the woods. Without a second thought, he began sprinting toward a barbed-wire fence that was lying twisted across the ground.

  As he sped across the fifty yards of open grass, he turned to see where the Apaches were and saw that one was swinging around toward him now.

  A figure suddenly exited the woods with something on his shoulder, and a surface to air missile went streaming through the sky a second later, heading straight for the Apache.

  It struck the tail of the flying beast and exploded, the heat wave forcing Scott to turn away, arms covering his face. Looking up, he watched the Apache — spinning in circles and a trail of smoke spiraling from its broken tail — crash into the building and burst into flames, its rotors snapping off on impact and flying through the air like huge lawnmower blades. A piece flew right by Scott as he started running for the person with the missile launcher.

  But the man began jerking spasmodically, collapsing to the ground under an umbrella of blood.

  Scott’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for the hidden culprit. What he found, however, were the two remaining Apaches swinging toward his position. Rising up above the building, they elevated together like uncoiling twin serpents, ready to strike. But they were still on the other side of the…

  For the first time, Scott was able to get a good look at the complex. At the guard towers. The razor-wire fences.

  A gulag.

  Amidst the sound of explosions blowing the deserted prison camp to pieces behind him, the distinct sound of machine gun fire suddenly came erupting from his right. Swinging the pistol around, intent on covering himself from whomever was shooting at him now, he saw two men running toward him from a hundred yards away and shooting weapons from their shoulders. But Scott wasn’t feeling the reports of their aim, which, considering their rate of fire, should have been accurate enough. When one of the men noticed him bring the pistol up, he stopped shooting and began yelling in Hebrew, pointing at something behind him. Barely keeping himself from squeezing the trigger, Scott turned to see what it was they were shooting at, if not him. Four men with black ski masks over their faces. They were moving back and forth between scattered debris, shooting at either him or the two Jewish agents. Either way, he was in their line of sight.

  The Apaches opened fire.

  The Mossad agents were instantly turned to hamburger, the large rounds from the helicopter shredding them to pieces. The four black masks concentrated their aim solely on him now, and the ground began to explode at his feet. He wasn’t going to make it. But then there was a deafening explosion, and pieces of the four masked men went flying past him.

  He ran harder, the woods just feet away.

  Finally crossing the tree line and finding cover behind a large rock, he turned to face the camp. The Apaches were taking fire from somewhere within the demolished building, and they were now pulling out of the area to get a better angle of attack. There were a few firefights unfolding in the surrounding area between Mossad agents and whoever these masked men
were, and Scott thought it best to start making his way through the woods, to get as far from the place as possible.

  The sun was dropping, and colder temperatures were coming.

  ****

  Two hours later, darkness had spread itself over the woods, bringing with it a frigid air.

  Matthew Scott was rolled up into a fetal position beside a small, almost insignificant fire. He couldn’t sleep. He was too cold to sleep. All he could do was stare at the pathetic fire he’d managed to create and hope he didn’t get hypothermia. It was maybe a degree or two above freezing. Too cold to spend the night shirtless and at the mercy of the elements. He’d thought about making his way back down to the gulag and taking the clothes from one of the corpses, but the sun had dropped before he could make up his mind. Besides, if the “enemy” — as the priest called them — had decided to prolong their stay there, they’d probably torture him just to stave off boredom.

  As he lay there, his body convulsing from the cold, a distinct sound suddenly captured his attention.

  Snap.

  Something was walking toward him. But the cold torment made it almost too unbearable for him to care. Familiar thoughts of suicide began tempting him with soothing promises of warmth. But Scott knew there was a very real chance that his afterlife might be a little too warm.

  Through the struggling flames, he could make out the form of something or someone walking through the woods toward him. He tried reaching for the pistol but was shaking too hard to move. He felt his will drip away as he closed his eyes and somehow fell asleep… completely missing the loud noise and glorious flash of heat.

  13

  There was much more to see when next he opened his eyes, the sun just starting to climb into a cloudless sky and illuminating the forest around him. There was no sign of anything but trees — both bare deciduous and evergreen pines — in all directions. The fire before him was now a black spot on the ground, just a few charred remains glowing red with the morning breeze.

  Scott sat up quickly, immediately confused by the army jacket and wool socks he was wearing. He jumped to his feet. A stab of pain shot all the way through his toes, and he had to step gingerly. Adjusting the jacket, he began looking around. There were footprints scattered around the scorched earth that weren’t his. The gun was still there though. He picked it up, checked to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with.