by Olly Jarvis
Ten minutes later the headlights illuminated a left turn winding up a mountain with rocks and debris on either side.
Ella’s mind was in overdrive, thinking through all the permutations of what might be waiting for them at the top. Her heart raced as they drove on up into the sky.
The road began to level out as they reached a car park with a small hut and a brand-new building off to the left. The complex seemed out of place after the emptiness of their journey up.
‘What’s that?’ said Broady, pointing to a Turkish food lorry parked in one of the bays.
Ella gulped and turned around in her seat. ‘I think it’s best if you two stay here.’
Lizzie shot her a look. ‘Too late for all that.’ She opened the door and was the first to get out. Badil followed them, swinging his AK47 over his shoulder. Ella saw it, glanced at her daughter, then decided against saying anything. It was impossible not to be gripped by the sky above, their elevation providing a panoramic view of the constellations. The whole of the heavens was twinkling.
The place was quiet apart from the sound of cicadas and the distant barking of a dog.
They followed the path up towards another hut. ‘There’s the comet,’ said Broady pointing up towards the summit. ‘And there’s Deneb, just behind. The tip of the Northern Cross.’
They reached the turnstiles and, after an anxious exchange of glances in the starlight, they climbed over. They could see lights moving, coming from the top of Pot-belly Hill.
‘Torches,’ Broady whispered.
Ella put a finger to her lips. Her heart was pounding as they crept up the newly laid path towards the source of the light. She could make out a roof, standing on girders. A stairway led up to an open walkway that circled a pit from where the beams of light were emanating. On all fours, they silently manoeuvred their way up the steps onto the wooden walkway then slithered on their bellies to the balustrade. The lights were coming from the furthest section.
They moved back from the rail and crawled their way around using their elbows to pull themselves along until a stone circle became visible, lit up like a beacon in a sea of darkness. The two pillars facing each other in the centre stood out. They could see the comet belt on the thin end, gripped by hands and arms, carved in relief along the longer sides of the pillar. It was Enclosure D.
As they peeked over the edge, a dozen or so people came into view, dressed like jihadis, all busily arranging placards around something. Ella squinted to see. Her heart pumped faster. The altar.
One man seemed to be in charge, barking orders in English at someone adjusting a tripod. The whole thing looked like a film set.
‘That’s Kline’s voice,’ mouthed Lizzie, raising herself up on her elbows.
‘It’s a set up,’ whispered Broady. He moved his head, straining to see one of the placards. ‘It’s in Farsi. They’re trying to fit up the Iranians.’
‘For what?’ Ella whispered back, able to discern Broady’s features now her eyes had adjusted. She caught a glimpse of the astonishment on Badil’s face, glued to the spectacle unfolding.
Two of the jihadis bent down and lifted something heavy off the ground. A female voice, whimpering followed by a weak scream. ‘Please,’ the voice protested. A woman in her underwear was being laid down lengthways on the altar.
‘Oh my God,’ whispered Lizzie. ‘It’s Sarah Hart.’
Ella shuddered.
One of the masked men pulled a long knife out of its scabbard and handed it to Kline, who was now standing over Sarah’s body, splayed out on the stone surface. ‘Hold her tightly,’ he ordered his subordinates.
The animal carvings took on a macabre essence, the expressions magnified by their shadowy illumination in the torchlight. The starlight around the sides of the roof added to the surrealness of what they were seeing.
Kline glanced over at the cameraman. ‘Turn it on.’
Sarah’s ribcage heaved up and down as she struggled in vain to break free. Her frantic pleas echoed off the stones.
Badil had moved back from the rail and crept along the walkway to get behind them.
I can’t stand by and watch this,’ said Broady, beginning to get up.
Jay put a hand on the middle of Broady’s back and pushed him back down. ‘You haven’t got a weapon, they’ll kill you.’
‘I have,’ said Ella getting to her feet.
Broady gave her a quizzical look.
‘My advocacy,’ she said with supreme confidence. ‘This is insane,’ she shouted, her voice bouncing off the metal roof giving it an added resonance. ‘You’re not killers,’ she said directing her observations at Kline’s henchmen.
Kline flinched, then put his free hand above his forehead like a visor. ‘Ella Blake?’ He let out a demonic laugh. ‘What a good student you are.’
Some of the disciples pointed their weapons at her.
‘I thought you understood Genesis?’ she shouted across the pit. ‘You’ve studied the pattern. We need to break the cycle of violence, not perpetuate it. We should be seeking unity, dialogue.’
‘But nobody listens,’ shouted Kline dismissively from the pit.
‘Or cares,’ shouted one of his followers. ‘The Amazon is burning.’
‘Species are dying,’ said a male voice.
Broady got up and stood side by side with Ella, as did Jay and then Lizzie. ‘You want more division to divert us from the right course?’ shouted Ella.
‘Rebirth is the only way to effect change,’ bellowed Kline. Holding the knife with both hands he raised it in front of his body with the tip pointing down towards Sarah’s abdomen. ‘Kill them,’ he said.
‘Like you killed Greg?’ said Ella. She leaned over the balustrade. ‘The trouble with cults is there is only ever one voice. Proper debate requires two people.’ The attention of the armed disciples moved from the intruders to Kline and then back. ‘This is how the last cycle ended,’ Ella said. ‘Plato said the people of Atlantis were consumed by war and greed.’
‘God spoke to Noah, the man who built this place you’re desecrating,’ shouted Broady, his voice bouncing off the stones. ‘Genesis, Chapter Six, Verse Thirteen: Then God said to Noah, the end of all living creatures has come before me, because through them the earth is full of violence.’
‘Attila, Alexander, William the Conqueror, Napoleon,’ said Ella, desperate to keep the dialogue going. ‘None of them made a difference. They were driven by their egos, like him,’ she said, pointing an accusing finger at the man stood at the altar. ‘The people that brought the greatest change chose another path – they were against any form of violence.’
‘Jesus Christ for one,’ said Broady.
‘I was chosen, destined to lead,’ Kline roared. ‘Born under the power of Halley’s Comet in 1986.’
‘No David, that’s just wishful thinking,’ Ella said in a controlled, patronising tone. ‘If anyone was chosen it was Matthew Shepherd. He was born on the 11th April when the comet was nearest the earth.’ She let out a scornful laugh. ‘You were born on the 6th January. Halley’s Comet wasn’t even in our solar system until February.’
Kline’s disciples looked to him as if waiting for a response.
He faltered. ‘Kill them,’ was his only answer.
Jay and Broady moved in front of Lizzie, trying to shield her.
‘Don’t do it,’ shouted Ella. ‘Man’s greatest strength is free will. Our ability to choose, to change. Don’t let Kline take that from you.’
The man nearest Kline hesitated then slowly lowered his weapon. Others quickly followed.
Kline sneered then raised the knife above his head, ready to plunge.
‘Don’t move or you die.’ It was Badil. He had climbed down into the pit to the edge of the circle. The nozzle of his gun was pointing at Kline through the site hole, his body protected by the rest of the monolith.
Ella heard the sound of a gun being cocked immediately behind her.
‘No, your friends die.’ It was Stone, pushin
g a sidearm into the back of Ella’s head. She turned her head a fraction to see that his goons were in similar positions behind the others on the walkway. ‘Do it, Kline,’ Stone commanded.
The great leader plunged the knife towards Sarah’s abdomen.
A gun fired. Kline staggered backwards, a bullet through his stomach. His arms went limp.
Stone and his men twisted around. Behind them, Harris and Grant were standing, firearms drawn, smoke still coming off Harris’ gun. Before Stone had time to take aim, Harris fired again. Stone dropped to the ground. At the same time, Grant took out the others, all hitting the floor like ragdolls.
Ella and the others stood frozen to the spot as they watched a troop of Turkish soldiers take orders from Harris and then file off in two lines around the walkway, pointing their weapons at the disciples, who dropped their guns and pulled off their scarves, revealing their faces. Ella was shocked to see that most were no older than Lizzie.
Badil dropped his weapon and walked across the stone floor of the circle towards the altar. He ripped a scarf from one of the men and placed it carefully over Sarah’s bare flesh before lifting her off the slab and carrying her in his arms.
She wrapped her hands around his neck and sobbed into his chest.
Ella stepped over Stone’s body, pulled Lizzie to her and gripped her with all her might.
Seemingly unperturbed by what had just unfolded, Harris came over to Ella, ran a hand along the rail and leaned over, taking in the stone circle of Enclosure D. ‘Göbekli Tepe?’ she asked, stumbling over the pronunciation. ‘What the hell is this place?’
Ella followed her eyes down to the altar and the carved slabs, standing proudly in the torchlight. ‘It’s the world’s first temple.’
Epilogue
Cambridge was at its glorious best. Spring was on the turn. The sun reflected off the silver and golden stone of the colleges, accentuating their timeless splendour.
Ella, Lizzie and Jay skipped up the steps into the arched entrance to De Jure.
Bartlett was leaning against the doorframe of the gatehouse, munching on a piece of shortbread. ‘Ah, the wanderers return,’ he said, half-raising an eyebrow as he flicked a few stray crumbs off his shirt. ‘You’ve caused quite a stir,’ he said, tipping his head towards the quadrangle. ‘So many journalists, we’ve had to put up a marquee.’
Ella looked at the enormous white tent that covered the lawned courtyard. It was full of TV crews and photographers, all jostling for position.
‘Where’s the Yank?’ Bartlett asked.
Ella’s cheery countenance wavered. ‘He went home.’
‘Nice fella,’ Bartlett replied. ‘Shall we?’ He held out his elbow.
Ella laughed and put her arm through his.
Bartlett puffed out his chest, lifted his chin and in a regal walk, escorted her to the marquee’s side entrance.
Master Desmond was waiting for her at the side of the stage like an excited puppy. ‘Ella!’ he gushed. ‘Lizzie, Jay, can I call you that?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘This is a momentous day for De Jure.’
Ella smiled.
He calmed himself down, then said, deadly serious: ‘Words are not enough.’ He dipped his head to emphasise the point. ‘De Jure is in your debt.’
‘No,’ she replied, totally at peace. ‘I’m in yours.’ She felt herself welling up.
Someone tapped Desmond on the shoulder. ‘It’s time.’
Desmond took a deep breath and readied himself for his great entrance.
‘Hey, blue eyes…’
Ella would know that voice anywhere. She swung around. ‘Hank!’
He gave her a sheepish grin.
‘I thought you were in Arizona?’
‘How could I miss the big reveal?’ he said. ‘And besides, I never got to see the Old Observatory.’
Ella flung her arms around his neck and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek, holding on to the embrace as if he were a raft in a stormy sea.
‘Wow,’ he said, winking at Lizzie over Ella’s arm. ‘This isn’t the Ella Blake I know.’
She let go and held his gaze. ‘She’s gone. Thought it was about time I started a new cycle.’
Broady laughed. ‘I was kind of thinking the same thing.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ announced Master Desmond. ‘Welcome to De Jure.’ He looked down at his notes on the lectern. ‘Thank you all for coming today for the announcement of the most important discovery of our time.’
The buzz around the room intensified. ‘A theory that goes to the very core of our humanity. We are honoured to have someone very special here today to tell you more.’
‘By the way,’ said Broady with a mischievous grin. I’ve been meaning to ask; how come you knew all that stuff about Halley’s Comet and Kline’s birthday?’
Ella smiled. ‘It’s the first thing they teach you at Bar School.’
He looked confused. ‘What is?’
‘Please put your hands together for Ella Blake QC.’
‘Know your opponent,’ she replied before walking up onto the podium.
Ella waited for the applause to peter out. ‘A great polymath, who you’ve probably never heard of, called Matthew Shepherd understood the difference between two of the greatest reasons for learning anything – knowledge and enlightenment.’ She paused. ‘He realised the pattern of the world, the ebbing and flowing of our inhumanity to man. He wanted to find a common denominator that unites us all… To help us find a new beginning so that we can work together to save this planet. I was never fortunate enough to meet him but I think he would have approved of the words of another former member of this great university, almost four hundred years ago.’ She glanced at Broady, watching from the wings. ‘Isaac Newton once said: Truth is ever to be found in simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things. If I have seen further than others, it is by standing on the shoulders of others. We build too many walls and not enough bridges.’
She nodded to Desmond who, on cue, pressed a button causing dots and swirls to appear on a big screen behind the stage.
The audience was transfixed.
‘This is the story of how we lost our way.’ She waved an arm at the screen. ‘This is the story of Genesis.’
Note from the Author
February 2019, 4 a.m. The alarm on my phone echoed off the rendered walls of my hotel room, jolting me awake. I wanted to see the stars from the top of the mountain before the sun came up, just as our ancestors had done. I’d heard about Göbekli Tepe but had to see it for myself. Eleven thousand, five hundred years old, some kind of temple that seemed to have been inexplicably and deliberately preserved in a mound of thousands of rocks ten millennia before. Monoliths with great carvings in relief – lions, scorpions and ducks that looked like dodos. It changed everything I thought I knew about prehistory.
Still groggy from the flights, the first to Istanbul, then a delayed internal to Sanliurfa, I set off from the hotel in my temperamental hire car and headed out of town through the checkpoint that had a system of cones to create a chicane. Was I really doing this? Why did it matter to me so much?
The car made it up to the top of the mountain and I stopped in an empty car park. There was no one around. I’d expected security guards, especially at night. Surely it couldn’t be as important as some were saying?
Lost in time, I watched the constellations fade as morning began to break. At last, a few workers arrived to let me through to the site itself. I hurried up the path, past the new excavations off to my left and towards the circular walkway I’d heard so much about.
I’d finally made it. Leaning over the balustrade, I impatiently scanned the stone circles in the pit below until I saw what I was looking for. In all its mysterious splendour, Enclosure D. I moved around the walkway and fixed on the intricate, Pillar 43, the Vulture Stone. And off to the side, there it was, the altar.
A moment I shall never forget.
Why wasn’t the world shouting about this p
lace? Seven thousand years older than Stonehenge. It didn’t make sense.
And then I realised. An inevitable part of learning is forgetting. This book is about remembering.
Olly Jarvis
June 2021
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, to Rebecca Collins and Adrian Hobart of Hobeck Books for all their tireless work in publishing this book. I thank them for seeing beyond the usual genres and for understanding so perfectly what I was trying to say with this novel.
My thanks to Victoria Blunden for an early edit and some straight talking. And to Vanessa O’Loughlin for some valuable advice.
Much gratitude to all my friends and family for their support and understanding whilst I was obsessively writing this novel. Special thanks to my daughter, Amber, and my son, Ben, for their inspiration and for sharing the optimism and enthusiasm of youth. Your breath is in these pages.
All the people I came across, whether in Cambridge or Sanliurfa, too many to name here, thank you for making my journey so memorable.
A humble acknowledgement to all the great thinkers and scholars through time, each sewing a stitch in the great tapestry of our shared history.
And finally, an acknowledgement to my wife, Kelly, not just for reading drafts along the way, but for always believing.
About the Author
Olly Jarvis is a thriller writer and practising criminal defence barrister.
His first book, Death By Dangerous was longlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger in 2016. He subsequently wrote Cut-Throat Defence and Unconvicted, a two book series featuring a young barrister, Jack Kowalski.
He wrote and presented a documentary short on location in Sumatra for BBC Radio 4 about tribal law and a crime drama, Judgement, exploring a barrister’s thought processes when defending in a rape trial.
He is also the founder and presenter on thecrimehub.com. Launched in 2019, the site is about all things crime – both fact and fiction. He hosts interview podcasts with crime writers and people who work in the criminal justice system. He also produces solo voice monologues with leading writers and actors.