by Chad Brecher
The street was unpaved and trash lined its edges. Boarded up storefronts framed the road. In the not too distant past, Ellie imagined that the street was probably the center of a thriving marketplace where fabrics, rugs, and produce were sold. Now it was empty and eerily quiet.
The soldier scratched nervously at the back of his neck and mumbled, “I don’t like this. This doesn’t feel right. I don’t like this.”
Gordon shot Ellie a tense look, unable to hide his sudden concern. Ellie squinted, seemingly unfazed by the soldier’s comments. Why did I agree to let Ellie go? Gordon asked himself. This isn’t a game. This is all too dangerous. I shouldn’t have put her life at risk.
“O.K. Our target is there,” the sergeant explained as he knelt and pointed at a store diagonally across from them. The store was nondescript — boarded up windows, chipped and peeling paint, and faded Arabic above the doorway. Ellie studied the writing: Al-Faiha…The Paradise.
“Let’s go,” commanded the sergeant, waving at two soldiers.
Ellie watched over the sergeant’s shoulder as the two soldiers darted across the street with their rifles clutched against their chests. Sergeant Rafferty turned to Ellie and Gordon. “O.K. You two…let’s go. Follow me and stay close.”
They made their way quickly across the street and paused beside the soldiers who flanked the doorway. With a nod from the sergeant, the two soldiers pushed open the door and entered. The sergeant turned away momentarily as he relayed information into his phone back to base. Ellie could feel her heart begin to race in anticipation while a tingling sensation spread across the nape of her neck. As if in a trance, she inched forward.
“Ellie, what are you doing?” Gordon whispered, crouching by the storefront as he tried to maneuver past the sergeant.
Sergeant Rafferty, catching Ellie’s movement in the corner of his eye, tried to reach out, but his fingers only grazed the edge of her flak jacket.
“Dr. Griffin…wait! It is not secure!” the sergeant roared, watching helplessly as she pushed forward and disappeared into the store.
The room was a muted purple as her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. When light streamed in from the opened front door, she emitted a gasp. The store was filled with several rows of shelving units all containing rows upon rows of artifacts. Approaching the first line, Ellie smiled wildly — it was more wondrous than she could have ever imagined. Hamzi was right, she thought. A nearly intact statue of a gold bull adorned with lapis lazuli rested against the wall. Several stone tablets were stacked on a shelf, engraved with scenes that appeared to depict royal ceremonies. Beside the tablets was an open box containing ancient scrolls. A small dagger with a golden sheath of meticulous craftsmanship rested at eye level next to a damaged but beautiful bronze helmet. Ellie nearly ran alongside the artifacts, unable to contain her excitement.
“Dr. Griffin! I’m in charge of this operation. Me! The welfare of you and my troops is in my hands and frankly, I’m two seconds away from having you sit in the APC. I knew it was a bad idea having civilians on site for this operation,” bellowed Sergeant Rafferty, his eyes ablaze. “I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Ellie apologized, hoping to placate the soldier. “I really am. You’re in charge. I don’t want to do anything that could endanger this mission or your men…or myself for that matter.” Ellie gave a guilty smile and then quickly turned her attention to Gordon, who was wide-eyed scanning the shelves beside her.
She squeezed Gordon’s shoulder. “Gordon…my God. It’s incredible. It’s more than we could ever have dreamed of,” Ellie nearly giggled. She stopped in front of an irregularly shaped stone tablet. “Look, Gordon. This may be the lost compendium to the Hammurabi Codex you wrote about. Think of what impact this will have on the field, on your research! We could spend days just inventorying these items. Sergeant, I think we are going to need more trucks.” Ellie laughed and twirled around.
“Sergeant…I think we have a problem.”
Ellie stopped her search and peered back over her shoulder. Macowski had emerged from an adjacent room with a grim look. “I don’t want to ruin the party but I found something you should take a look at.”
While the sergeant made his way into the adjoining room, Ellie and Gordon followed closely behind. The interior was sparse, with a bare table pressed against the far wall and a large basket resting on the floor in the corner. Several broken vases and statues rested against the wall. In the middle of the room lay a man with his gaze fixed upon the ceiling, his arms awkwardly splayed out beside his body. A pool of blood silhouetted his head. A small dark hole was centered on his forehead, with the hazy gray-black rim of a powder burn.
A look of concern flashed across Sergeant Rafferty’s face before he could suppress it. Several other soldiers had arrived and looked down at the dead man with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.
The sergeant turned to Ellie and asked, “What the hell is going on here?”
Ellie could feel a tightness forming in her abdomen. The sergeant’s eyes went from the man to Ellie. “Where is this Hamzi fellow?”
Ellie dropped to her knees and cradled the dead man’s hand. Staring at the lifeless face, she muttered, “You’re looking at him. This is Hamzi.”
Ellie’s hand rose and cupped her mouth. She had never seen a dead man before, at least not one that had not died thousands of years ago. Macowski knelt beside Ellie and roughly gripped the dead man’s arm. “This man hasn’t been dead for long,” the soldier said.
The room grew silent. Ellie studied Hamzi’s face, seemingly frozen with fright. A creaking noise suddenly broke her trance, nearly causing her to jump.
The creaking lasted only a second, but it was long enough for Macowski to pinpoint its origin. Lifting his index finger to his lips, he drifted backwards until he stood over a woven basket in the far corner of the room. With the tip of his M-16, he pushed aside the lid, allowing it to land on the floor with a dull thud. He quickly jabbed the barrel of the gun into the basket like a bayonet and peered into the darkness. Frightened eyes stared back with wide pupils and bright white sclera. Ellie watched from the distance as two small, trembling hands poked out of the top of the basket. In one hand was a rectangular object.
“No shoot! No shoot!” pleaded a voice from inside the basket.
“Out! Out!” Macowski commanded, forcefully jiggling the basket with the barrel of the gun until it teetered precariously and suddenly tumbled to the floor. A boy, no older than eight, quickly crawled out. Macowski bent down, grabbed a fistful of shirt, and roughly dragged the scrawny boy to his feet. The boy shook as his eyes scanned the room, finally settling on Hamzi’s lifeless body.
“Baba! Baba!” the boy wailed mournfully, struggling to free himself from Macowski’s grip. His slender form only bounced backwards as if tied to a rubber band, and he landed hard on his knees.
“Let him go, please,” Ellie pleaded, looking up at Sergeant Rafferty to intervene.
The sergeant nodded to Macowski, who begrudgingly obliged by pushing the boy forward, sending him stumbling towards the feet of his father.
“Where is the interpreter?” barked the sergeant as he surveyed the group of soldiers who had gathered in the room.
A thin Iraqi stepped forward, wearing oversized camouflage fatigues and a flak jacket. He had an uneasy look.
Macowski began to pace around the room, muttering, “He’s a freakin’ terrorist.”
“He’s a scared little boy for Christ’s sake,” Ellie responded curtly. She watched as the boy clutched at his father’s pant legs and whimpered.
“Don’t be so sure. He’s a terrorist,” Macowski shot back, giving her a venomous glare.
“O.K. Quit it,” interrupted the sergeant. He turned to the interpreter and said, “I want you to ask this boy what happened here and tell him that unless he wants to go to prison, he better tell us the truth.”
The interpreter paused and translated. The boy stropped crying and looked up, as if surprised to hear Arabic. He listened sil
ently for a moment and then began to speak rapidly, glancing around the room as if searching for support.
“He says that it is fault. He says that he got his father killed. Men came here for the box but his father did not have it because he stole it and hid in the basket. He says he was scared, scared of the men, scared of what his father might do if he found out. When his father said he did not know where this box was, they killed him.” The boy grew morose, muttered several more words in Arabic, and was silent.
The interpreter looked around the room. “He says that he got his father killed. It was his fault.”
Ellie studied the boy’s face as he clutched a wooden box tightly against his body. She could see the familial resemblance to his father, the dark eyes, jet-black hair, and olive skin. She felt profoundly sorry that not only did the boy lose his father, but that he also felt responsible for this loss. It was a brand of grief she knew well.
“Who killed this Hamzi fellow?” Sergeant Rafferty interjected and waited as the interpreter translated.
“English,” the boy uttered under his breath.
“Yeah, bullshit,” Macowski blurted out. “BULLSHIT! This kid is a liar and he’s a goddamn terrorist. I can’t believe we are listening to this crap.”
The boy looked away from Macowski and continued to talk, his eyes filling with tears. He reached out suddenly, pushed the wooden box into Ellie’s lap, and released it with a look of relief.
The interpreter paused and appeared to be thinking about how to best translate the boy’s words. “He says take the box. He does not want the box anymore. He says the box is cursed. He says that he is cursed.”
Ellie stared down at the item in her lap. The box was constructed out of a pale brown wood that appeared almost white. Symbols and figures were meticulously carved into the surface. It was truly beautiful, a treasure of master craftsmanship. No wonder the boy couldn’t resist taking the box, Ellie thought as she ran her fingers across the surface, as if reading Braille. She could see Gordon’s eyes open wide at the sight of the box. A grainy voice in the distance interrupted her analysis. The voice was speaking Arabic, chanting over a loud speaker. The expression on the face of the interpreter grew grave.
“This is no good,” said the interpreter, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an exit. “That voice is not a call to prayer. It is a call to arms. They know we are here and they are coming for us.”
Sergeant Rafferty marched into the front room and swung around, his face inches from Gordon’s.
“Doctor, you better grab what you can and do it right quick.”
“Sergeant, Sergeant!” urged a soldier kneeling in the corner of the room. “Check this out.”
The sergeant leaned on one knee and looked down with alarm. A rectangular device of white clay, wires, and a timer sat casually on the stone floor. The timer display flashed neon blue. Fourteen minutes. The numbers continued to count down.
“What the shit!” Sergeant Rafferty exclaimed, instantaneously quieting the room. The unraveling of the sergeant sent a sense of uncertainty through the unit. “Those are military grade explosives.” He had been in Iraq long enough to know that this wasn’t the M.O. of the insurgents. The sergeant rubbed his chin. “Do you think you could disarm it?”
“I don’t know…probably. It’s fairly sophisticated. There’s a trip switch and I think a backup module. But, Sergeant, it’s worse than this.” The soldier paused to wipe sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. “I found five more of these explosives. Someone knew we were coming.”
“It’s a freakin’ ambush. I knew it,” Macowski growled.
Sergeant Rafferty looked around the room at his men and nodded. His mind was made up. “O.K. That’s it. We’re out of here.”
“Fuckin-A,” applauded Macowski, temporarily relinquishing his grip on the boy. Seizing his moment of freedom, the boy twisted away from Macowski and sprinted towards the door. Macowski raised his gun and placed his finger against the trigger. The sergeant pushed the barrel up at the ceiling.
“Just let him go,” Sergeant Rafferty sighed. The boy disappeared into the street, the pitter-patter of his footsteps growing faint. The sergeant made for the doorway but Ellie blocked his exit.
“Sergeant…what about the artifacts? What about the mission?” Ellie pleaded.
“After the dead guy and the bombs, the mission just changed. Screw the artifacts,” replied the sergeant with a scowl. He pushed passed Ellie and into the sunlight.
Ellie looked desperately at Gordon. Gordon held the wooden box and was examining it intently. “We can’t leave these artifacts. They are going to be destroyed.” She ran to the shelves and looked with frustration at all the artifacts, trying to decide what to take. Grabbing a box from the floor, she began to quickly place several of the smaller artifacts into it until it was nearly full. Gordon bent down and lifted the bull statue, feeling the muscles in his back tighten with pain. Straining, the two exited the store and stumbled slowly across the street. They climbed up into the APC and deposited their haul on the floor. Ellie looked back at the storefront. The Hammurabi Codex! Everything was so frantic. I should have taken it, she thought. There was so much to choose from.
Ellie turned to Gordon. “I’m going back,” she said with a look of determination.
The first explosion was deafening and disorienting, sending Ellie hurtling towards the ground. She landed in a spray of pebbles and dust. A soldier beside her had sustained the brunt of the explosion and rolled on the ground in pain as his uniform smoldered with molten shrapnel. Above the ringing in her ears she could hear a desperate call for a medic. A long train of machine gun fire erupted as the other soldiers dove behind the vehicles and returned fire wildly.
Ellie suddenly felt herself pulled off the ground as if she were weightless and dragged back against the side of the APC. Gordon brought his face close to hers, his beard coated in dirt with a trail of blood at the corner of his lips.
“You all right?” he screamed as the gunfire continued to echo across the street, ricocheting off the ground and against the armored plating of the vehicles with a mix of thuds and pings. A whizzing noise cut through the air. A soldier screamed, “RPG!” but it was too late. A storefront was blown out by the rocket-propelled grenade and two soldiers were sent tumbling through the air. Ellie turned to see the sergeant screaming into a walkie-talkie as he pressed his palm tightly against his right ear.
Ellie began to feel strangely calm as she looked into Gordon’s blue eyes, the whites tinted pink from smoke. “Gordon, listen to me. I’m going back in there. I’m not leaving here without the Hammurabi Codex.” She turned away and tried to rise, but Gordon held her shoulders.
“Ellie, please! It’s not important. It’s not worth your life,” Gordon pleaded.
“I can’t believe you are saying this. It’s going to be destroyed.” Ellie twisted herself free from his grip and stood up, her back flush against the APC. Gordon quickly reached out and tightly caught her left wrist, bringing her close.
“Ellie, please. I’m begging you. Get into the APC. There isn’t time.” Gordon looked into her eyes. They were ablaze. Her face was taut with determination. She shook her head slowly.
“No, Gordon. I’m not leaving without it.”
Gordon knew what must be done. “I’ll get it,” he said and pushed her back towards the APC.
Ellie watched as Gordon took two steps forward. An immense explosion shook the street as the Humvee burst apart, sending hot metal into the air. Ellie fell backwards onto the ground. A searing pain shot forth from under her left armpit. Her fingers found the space below her axilla, where the flak jacket hung limply, and felt warmth dripping. Her vision turned red and she struggled to stay conscious. Every breath was a battle as she fought to get air in. She tried to stand up but only fell forward, managing to prop herself up on her knees as if in prayer. The staccato rhythm of gunfire continued to reverberate around her.
Through the black smoke, Ellie c
ould see Gordon take several steps forward, suddenly stumble awkwardly, and crumple to the ground in a cloud of dust.
Ellie tried to scream but nothing came forth. Gas that had spilled from the smoldering Humvee erupted in flames. Ellie watched in disbelief as Macowski rolled frantically on the ground as flames engulfed him. She fell forward into the dirt in a heap. Several feet away, she could see the undersurface of Gordon’s boots and his motionless body.
“Gordon!” she attempted to scream but wasn’t sure if anything came out.
She tried to move, but the pain was excruciating. Her cheek on the dirt, she could see that the boy’s wooden box sat within a puddle of burning gasoline. As the chaos swirled around her, she found herself strangely fixated on the box. The flames lapped at it but were seemingly driven away. The box isn’t burning!
“Gordon, the box isn’t burning! Gordon!” she pleaded with frustration.
Somewhere above her, she could make out the thump-thump of helicopter blades cutting through the gunfire, sending the black smoke swirling in the air. Propped up on both elbows, the rest of her body limp, she crawled slowly towards the box until she could feel the heat of the flames against her face.
“Gordon! The box!” she screamed and reached towards the fire, her hands stinging with pain. She hesitated for a moment and then plunged them through the flames. The agony was unimaginable.
Fourteen Months Later
1
Venice, Italy
Venice is sinking.
Pietro Zeno looked down at his rubber boots as he sloshed through the thick mud. What was to become of his beloved city, he asked himself as his fingers searched through the pockets of his pants, finding a loose cigarette. He brought the cigarette to his lips, cupped his hands around the flame, and lit it with a long puff.