The Solomon Key

by Shawn Hopkins

  Scott sat down and started eating while Ralston watched. “You’re the leader here?” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “More or less.”

  “You don’t seem the type.”

  “What do you mean?” Ralston asked.

  “The profile of a cult leader.”

  He laughed. “You think we’re some kind of Doomsday cult?”

  Scott shrugged, more concerned with his eggs. “You do adhere to the New World Order conspiracy theory, don’t you? Where were you on the first of January, 2000?”

  Ralston’s lips spread in an amused smile. “The FBI’s, Project Megiddo…” Scratching an itch over his eye, he said, “I’m pretty sure the cat’s out of the bag by now, their ‘strategic assessment’ a bit off.”

  The Project had stamped anyone who believed in the second coming of Christ and His millennial Kingdom, the antichrist and the New World Order, as potentially dangerous conspiracy theorists.

  “You sure you’re not one of those neo-Nazi groups?”

  Again, Ralston laughed. “Look around, you won’t find a single weapon.”

  “Well that’s just stupid,” he answered with a mouthful of egg. He was about to say something else when a shadow fell across the table and a small thud sounded between them.

  Malachi was standing over them. “I think these belong to you,” he said, pointing to the books he just dropped on the table. And then he walked away.

  With a casual glance, Scott recognized the two books belonging to the priest and the one Isaiah had written. He continued eating, not saying anything.

  But Ralston was curious. “Diaries?” he asked.

  Scott shook his head, no. He motioned toward them with his fork, indicating that Ralston was free to have a look. Which he did. As Scott finished his breakfast, Ralston flipped through the pages to one of Father Baer’s books. One that Scott hadn’t seen yet.

  “Are you serious?” Ralston asked once Scott finished clearing his plate.

  “What?”

  He pointed to the book that was open on the table before him. “Is this for real?”

  Scott shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Ralston flipped through a few more pages. “This is incredible.”

  Sighing, Scott leaned forward. “What is?” Though he didn’t care.

  “The Ark of the Covenant.”

  “What about it?”

  But Ralston didn’t seem to hear him, just kept turning pages. “I’ve heard of this before. Where did this come from?”

  “A Catholic priest.”

  “Interesting.” Then he spun the book around so that Scott could see it. “Look at this.”

  Scott forced his eyes open and saw a two dimensional diagram sketched across both pages — some kind of underground contraption.

  “This is supposed to be beneath the Temple,” Ralston said. “Jachin and Boaz.” He tapped the drawing, indicating what looked to be two pillars rising up from the ground. Then he moved his finger to the left a little, into another area of the Temple. “The Holy Place.” And finally he touched it down in the small room all the way to the left of the page, to some kind of protrusion drawn on the floor. “The Holy of Holies.”

  “Solomon’s Temple?”

  He nodded. “Jachin and Boaz are the two pillars in front of the Temple.”

  “What’s all this other stuff?” Scott was now pointing his own finger at the strange subterranean mechanism scribbled inside a long cave positioned below the Temple.

  “Some sort of reverse lever system that was operated by sand hydraulics.” He was smiling.

  “For what purpose?” He faintly recalled all that stuff about demons building the Temple, and he knew offhand that Freemasonry took credit for its construction too.

  “Okay, look here. See this?” Down under the diagram was a list of verses and their references. “First Kings 7:16.” He pulled a small Bible out from inside his coat pocket, flipped through it until he came to the appropriate spot. “Listen. ‘And he made two chapiters of molten brass, to set upon the tops of the pillars: the height of the one chapiter was five cubits, and the height of the other chapiter was five cubits: and nets of checker work, and wreaths of chain work, for the chapiters which were upon the top of the pillars; seven for the one chapiter, and seven for the other chapiter…’”

  “Hold on,” Scott interrupted. “How long is this gonna take?”

  Ralston forced a smile. “Okay, just note that when the pillars were built, they had five cubit capitals of brass on top of them.”

  Scott’s face was blank.

  Ralston continued anyway. “Well, according to Second Kings 25:17,” he pointed to another reference on the page, “when Nebuchadnezzar came to Jerusalem some five hundred years later, the height of the capitals was recorded as only being three cubits.”

  “So the Bible’s wrong. I already knew that.”

  A gentle patience stroked Ralston’s eyes. “Jeremiah records that the Babylonians tore the pillars down and carried the brass back to Babylon. And the brass capitals they brought back were measured at five cubits.”

  Scott dropped his bored gaze back down to the diagram of the lever system and re-evaluated the two pillars. There were rods extending down out of their bottoms and connecting to the short side of the lever.

  Ralston said, “The Ark was kept here, in the Holy of Holies.”

  The lever stretched from beneath the pillars all the way to underneath the area Ralston just indicated, under the Holy of Holies. There was some type of protruding base that the lever rested on, closer to the pillars, giving it the appearance of an off-centered see-saw. Only connected to the right end there were rods or poles going up into the pillars, and on the left was some kind of underground compartment or elevator.

  “Second Maccabees says that Jeremiah and the priests were warned in a dream how to hide the Ark from the invading Babylonians, and the theory is that a secret escape passage was built beneath the Temple, leading out beyond the walls of the city. That’s what this is.” There were steps leading away from the underground box below the Holy of Holies. “There were supposedly four key stones within the Holy of Holies that the priests of Levi would stand on to unlock the elevator.”

  “Elevator?” Scott raised his eyebrows in mock amusement.

  “Yeah, basically. The lever system supposedly worked like this: while the priests unlocked the ‘elevator’ in the Holy of Holies, someone else would smash the base of the pillars. They were filled with sand, and as the sand leaked out, the capitals would sink down, the long rods connected to them engaging the lever. So, the rods would force that side of the lever down while the elevator atop the opposite end of the see-saw would rise up out of the ground and into the Holy of Holies. A built-in sand damper system would allow the lever to operate slowly. The Ark of the Covenant would then be moved into the elevator, and the second sand damper would allow its decent back down into the subterranean cave, granting access to the secret tunnels below the Temple leading out of the city.”

  Scott’s blank stare continued unwavering.

  “That’s why there’s no record of the instruments from the Holy of Holies being carried off to Babylon. They weren’t there when they arrived. They’d already been hidden. That’s why the capitals were recorded as being two cubits short, but then full size again once the hollow pillars were broken apart. The French explored some of these tunnels in the 1800’s. They found a half-carved cherubim that’s now in the British Royal Museum. Second Maccabees states that a priest began carving directions to the Ark and that Jeremiah rebuked him, saying that the Ark must remain hidden in the secret place until the Lord brings it forth in the last days when His glory will be seen above the mercy seat as it was in the days of Moses and Solomon.”

  “I read that Solomon’s son switched the Ark with a fake and carried it off to Ethiopia.”

  Ralston nodded. “That’s another theory. The language in the text seems to give it some credence. I’m just telling you what this i
s.” He flipped the page, bringing to light something about a secret pact Solomon made with Hiram, the king who helped in the construction of the Temple.

  Scott wondered what part the rings played in the whole Ark scheme, wondered about the Treasure Scroll, the Copper Scroll, and all the other pieces needed to unlock the Ark from the mysteries of time. Then he thought about the things Mayhew said about NASA introducing the Ark as something alien…

  “Didn’t expect to come across this today,” Ralson proclaimed. Closing the book, he stood and took the plate from Scott. “I’ll be right back. You stay here.” Then he walked away.

  He came back with a set of folded clothes in his arms. “Here, I think these should fit you.”

  Scott was taken aback by the kind gesture and looked around. “Don’t you need them?”

  He shrugged. “Not as much as you do. Please, take them. I’m cold just looking at you.”

  “I can’t do that,” Scott said, feeling guilty about what was going to happen to these people.

  “Come on, we insist. Besides, it’s what the Bible commands. ‘He doth loveth the stranger, in giving him food and raiment.’ You can change at my place.”

  “Okay,” he answered. He stood and followed him to his little abode, and he went in and changed as fast as possible. Loose fitting jeans over a new comfortable pair of socks, a white t-shirt, and another hooded sweatshirt.

  “Thank you very much,” he said to Ralston, who was waiting for him outside.

  “You don’t have to thank me. Treasures in heaven, my friend.”

  “Is that all you people think about?”

  “What, eternity?”

  “Going to heaven.”

  Ralston shrugged. “It’s a nice prospect, especially considering what’s become of this place.”

  “And you don’t think that your obsession with heavenly matters distracted you from the earthly ones?”

  Ralston smiled, started walking. “On the contrary, actually.” And then he asked, “Have you ever read the Bible?”

  “Parts.”

  “Here,” Ralston handed him his. “Take this.”

  Scott hesitated.

  “Take it. You need it more than I do.”

  Leaning in close, Scott breathed icily, “Is there a verse in there that will explain to me why it pleased God to kill my wife?”

  Ralston’s whole demeanor instantly deflated. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” And then he grabbed the books, turned and walked back toward the tent, leaving Ralston standing there, Bible still in his hand.

  Malachi met him at the steps of the tent with a cup of coffee. He offered it to Scott, and Scott took it.

  “It was a necessary evil,” Malachi began explaining, unprovoked. “We had to destroy their progress, their work.”

  “And of course you couldn’t have just let them go,” Scott answered back, enjoying the bitter liquid running down his throat — it complimented the state of his soul.

  “Go where? They would’ve died in the woods. And destroying that place may have saved millions of others from a similar fate.”

  Scott shook his head. “You don’t care about their work. You just care about the ring. For all I know, you blew the place to cover your tracks, to cover the fact that Melissa Strauss is alive and in your hands.”

  Malachi sighed, defeated.

  “And what about these people? You just gonna hop on your chopper and fly out of here right when the army shows up?”

  “Not everything can work out the way we wish it could. We can only make the most effective moves, and, unfortunately, that means that the safety of a few will be compromised for the safety of many.”

  “You really believe that?” Scott asked.

  But Malachi didn’t answer him, just stared at him.

  “Where are my sneakers?”

  Malachi pointed.

  “Thanks.” Then Scott brushed past him and went to put them on. He tilted the coffee back and drained it all at once, setting the cup down on a table. There was some walking that he needed to do, so he preferred the sneakers over the boots. Grabbing them, he went over to an empty seat and set about exchanging his footwear. As he tied the laces, he noticed some weapons laid out across a nearby table. After bouncing experimentally in the cushioned sneakers, he went to the table and snatched a pistol. He felt the cold steel against his skin as he tucked it into the back of his pants. Then he picked up a shotgun, a few clips, a pocketful of shells, and he was on his way.

  He needed to find the train tracks and follow them west, to a bridge. He had almost a full day to get there.

  A day he was sure would be his last.

  39

  With the hood up over his head in an attempt to keep the biting wind from freezing his face off, he felt as if some black-hooded drummer was stomping on a bass pedal, the beater swinging up and smashing into his back every time he took a step, the little flame flickering in his shoulder the hi-hats rhythmically clanging shut to complete the internal symphony of pain.

  He looked up to the dark clouds that were threatening to make his night yet another unpleasant one, and then settled his gaze back out in front of him, to a spot up ahead where the ground began to slip down and out of sight. He could hear the sound of a stream trickling over rocks, and the smooth sound tempted him to sleep… forever. But what awaited him on the other side of this life was not peaceful sleep, and so he pushed the thought from his head.

  To ensure they wouldn’t blow his head off as soon as he walked into their sights, he’d told them that the ring wouldn’t be on his person, that it would be hidden somewhere nearby. He hoped the bluff would keep him alive long enough to do what had to be done. Grabbing on to little trees shooting up through the hillside around him, he was able to slow his descent.

  As he walked on, following the stream south, he started to realize that it wasn’t so much the life that he had with Jennifer that he was mourning the loss of, but the hope of what it could have been. In truth, their marriage hadn’t been easy, not with his line of work interfering with every aspect of it, and he knew that she’d deserved much more than the secrets and lies he offered her as a wedding present. It was the unfulfilled promises, all that they had envisioned as they stood there at the altar reciting their vows, the sons and daughters they never had, not growing old together…

  He walked on, trying to think about anything other than his dead wife, and eventually he found himself considering Malachi’s lying to him about why he wanted the ring. Scott knew he wanted it to find the Ark, not to hide it for when the Messiah showed up asking for Melissa Strauss’ explanation on how to use it.

  He looked up to the sky and figured it was around one in the afternoon. His breath was no longer appearing in front of him, and the snow was beginning to melt from the branches above. When his eyes fell back to the terrain before him, he stopped, just barely able to make out a set of train tracks in the distance. It was time for a rest.

  He sat against a large evergreen and pulled the last of the priest’s books from his jacket. But because he couldn’t stand the pain of leaning against the tree, he had to lay down on his left side instead, his injured arm designated for page turning. The ground around the tree was dry, the thick pine needles above having acted as an umbrella during the snowstorm. He opened the book and recognized the handwriting right away. It was of a more formal construction though, like it was a letter to someone. And, in fact, after reading the opening, he knew that’s exactly what it was.

  My dearest friend,

  I believe that I have uncovered a puzzle, though a puzzle neither of us suspected even existed at the start of our proud adventure to locate the most sacred object the earth has ever known. All that we have seen and everything that we have done and all that we have worked for over the years has now led me to yet another discovery. It is a discovery of great importance and one in which all of our endeavors must be checked against. It is the past, my friend. The hidden things, covered by time and secrecy.
I long to see you again, to show you what it is that I have found within the ancient records, in the records of the Holy See. I feel as though I have only just begun to understand something much more complex than someone like myself could ever grasp. I need your help, your knowledge of things Jewish. But I have probably said too much and will await your reply before mentioning anything more. And though I cannot say why, I must ask you, for both our sakes, to cease immediately from any further mention of our discoveries concerning the resting place of the aforementioned. Trust me, Benjamin. May God bless thee and keep thee.

  Recalling what Isaiah had told him of Benjamin and Father Baer’s passion, Scott knew that the priest was referring to the lost Ark. Reading on, however, it appeared that the letter gave way to a private journal. Scott was glad it was in English.

  It is my sincere belief (and that through much research conducted by both my colleague and I) that the Temple of Solomon was built with a secret chamber below the Holy of Holies itself. A chamber through which the Ark of the Covenant and the other priestly artifacts could be taken away and hidden in the event of an enemy invasion. I believe, because of our studies, that this chamber led to an underground passageway that perhaps stretched beyond even the city walls. It is here, within these secret tunnels, that I believe the Ark may still rest.

  Scott flipped open the other book, the one Ralston had fussed over, and paid closer attention to the sketches drawn of the Temple and what supposedly rested beneath it — to the reverse lever system that provided access to a secret chamber. He flipped through more pages and realized that the book was mostly concerned with the Temple — sketches of caves and secret rooms, Bible verses, and quotes from Josephus and Maccabees. He returned his attention to the other book.

  The legend of Solomon’s ring (though it shows up everywhere from the apocrypha to witchcraft and the Occult), I believe to be based on a truth. While no one is quite sure what that truth might be, it is clear that, based on the writings in the Book of Tobit and the Testament of Solomon, it has something to do with the Temple. Various works together actually make a case for two separate rings. They are presented within those texts as being a sort of spiritual tool. And though I do not believe they were used to make demons build the Temple, I do believe that they were used for something else.