Solomon's Throne

by Jennings Wright

  “So when you stole the letter and found the journal…” Rei prompted.

  “When our abbot saw the journal, he became a fanatic. He said that God intended for our order to have the Throne. He disregarded the letter completely—the letter we had searched for all of these years. It had no importance to him in light of the Templar’s treasure.” He sighed. “I see now that he was insane, perhaps senile, but in such a small family of brothers, such things spread like wildfire. Suddenly we had a new quest, and we were to stop at nothing… Nothing… to accomplish it.” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

  “What does that mean?” Rei asked.

  “Lucius said it was a Crusade. That taking lives in pursuit of this holy object was justified. He wanted you dead… He wanted anyone or anything in our way eliminated. And we just went along. We did whatever he asked. We hacked into computer systems. We bribed people. We hurt people to get information… I can say that we have not, thank God, killed anyone, but I think we would have. I think I would have.” He sighed again. “Lucius is dead. While we were in Goa waiting for you the word came to us from the brothers still at our monastery that he had a massive stroke. I had already been appointed as his successor, so the ‘crusade’ became my own.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?” Rei asked.

  “Your men did not kill us. Lucius knew that your husband had been in the Army. We found out that your pilot had also been a soldier. He told us that it would come to us killing you before you could kill us, that you would have no mercy in your quest for the treasure. He said you would sweep everything out of your path. But I see now that that was his own mind at work… He would sweep everything from his path. But you and your men have shown us mercy, and did not kill us, although they most clearly could have done so. As I lay in such pain yesterday, God showed me all the wrong we have done. And for what? A treasure that does not, nor ever will, belong to us. We have been led astray for many years—young men who have been recruited into a small and isolated brotherhood because of our zeal, and told delusions of old men who have spent wasted years finding nothing.” He leaned his head back against the wall, exhausted, eyes closed.

  The young monk who had been sitting next to the abbot, looked at him, his face anguished. “Father Thomas… is this true?”

  Thomas didn’t open his eyes. He nodded, and sighed. “I believe so, my son. I believe so. We have been told, and we have believed, lies. We have sinned… While we wait here for our rescue, we will put ourselves into the hands of Almighty God and His judgment.”

  The Quinns and Mac headed out first thing the next morning. Thomas had decreed that both of his men would stay with him, and adequate food and water had been left, along with two flashlights and a supply of batteries. They made good time going back, following the marks left by their ancient patron, and feeling the weight of the monks’ lives on their shoulders. They spent a restless night in the cave with the stalagmite, and kept a brisk pace from early morning on.

  Arriving at the cave mouth at dusk, they decided to spend the night there so as not to risk descending the waterfall and hill in the dark. They awoke at first light, a slight but welcome sliver of sunshine coming though the crack. They squeezed through, one at a time, and carefully stepped out from the waterfall and onto the ledge. They decided to descend on that side of the falls, which took them almost two hours of angling back and forth. They were hot and sweaty by the time they reached the railroad tracks that crossed over the first ledge to the other side.

  Rei looked up at the trestles. “Anybody know the train schedule?” she asked.

  Mac looked at his watch. “I did a few days ago… I feel like the first train arrives here around ten, give or take.”

  “What time is it now?” asked Gideon. His watch had been cracked in his rescue of Mac, which seemed eons ago.

  “9:36,” Mac answered.

  “So do we wait, or go for it?” Gideon asked.

  “Wait!” Rei said.

  “Go for it!” Mac said at the same time. There was an awkward silence.

  “Personally, I’d really like to get out of here, and get someone from Kulem on the rescue operation. If we can get up there fast,” Mac pointed to iron steps leading up the stone bridge, “we should be ok.”

  “We’ll be ok if the train is after ten. I’m not sure we’ll be ok if it’s before.” Rei said.

  Gideon stood still and listened for a minute. “I don’t hear anything but water. Let’s just go.” He put his arm around Rei’s shoulder and kissed her ear. “We can do it, babe.”

  They all scrambled up the metal rungs and out onto the stone bridge holding the track. They walked quickly but carefully west, crossing over the last tier of the waterfall. They were still thirty feet from the next service ladder when they heard it: the train whistle.

  “I knew it!” yelled Rei as she began to run.

  “The train won’t be going fast—it stops for people to look at the falls,” Mac said as they jogged along.

  “Is it legal for us to be up here?” Gideon asked.

  “That I don’t know…” Mac said.

  “Then let’s get down!” Gideon said, and sped up, holding Rei’s hand and pulling her along behind him.

  They took the rungs down as fast as they could, and as soon as Rei’s feet touched the ground the engine of the train passed overhead. Mac was right, it was barely moving, bringing the viewing cars to a stop across the span of the falls. The three stayed under the bridge for fifteen minutes, until the train slowly moved off towards its next destination.

  “Alrighty then…” said Rei as she started walking in the direction of the SUV. “That was about all the excitement I can stand in one week.”

  Getting the rescue operation started took longer than they could have imagined, as the authorities in the small town could not, at first, understand what they were saying about caves and an injured man. The head official kept shaking his head.

  “We do not have caves in this region. No sir. We do not.”

  After nearly an hour, Rei asked to step outside, where she placed a call on her cell to Mr. Xavier. After explaining that they had, indeed found the treasure, and it was, indeed, King Solomon’s Throne, she finally broke through his excited questioning to get to her immediate point.

  “Mr. Xavier! Sir! I’ll show you pictures and send you emails and everything as soon as we get to a hotel. But please, listen… One of those monks is injured, and he’s still two days back in the tunnels, with two other men.” She listened for a long moment. “Yes sir, but that’s a long story. What we need is for the authorities here to mount a rescue operation for Thomas and his men. They’re not near the Throne room, we can figure that out later. But they have a limited supply of food and water, and we need to get going to get them out. The people here just aren’t seeming to get it!”

  After another long pause she said, “Thank you!” and hung up. She ran back into the building and whispered to Gideon, “Mr. Xavier’s on it. The phone here should ring soon…”

  In fifteen minutes the head official picked up the phone on the second ring and barked a greeting, still annoyed with his crazy American guests. He listened for a long moment, his eyes on the tourists, his back straightening ever so slightly.

  “Sir, yes sir. Consider it done, sir. Yes. Thank you, sir.” He hung up the phone. “It seems that word has come all the way from New Delhi that I am to provide rescue for men trapped in a cave behind Dudhsager Falls. A cave that I have never heard to exist.”

  He stood up and put on his hat. “You, sir,” he said, pointing to Mac, “Will accompany our rescue team. You will tell us what we must bring to accomplish this thing, and you will lead us. There is not a question. You will come.” And he walked out of the office.

  Five days later the Quinns were sitting on the veranda of Mrs. Pandey’s guest house when they heard car doors slam shut. They looked at the patio door, expecting Mrs. Pandey, who had gone to a local bakery for pastries for tea.

  �
�Glad you guys are kicking back, resting up. Some of us had work to do…” Mac said as he came through the door, followed by Thomas and the two young monks.

  Rei jumped up and ran to hug him. “Mac! We didn’t expect you til tomorrow! I’m so glad you’re all ok!” She smiled at the monks and said, “Bem-vindo de volta do escuro! Welcome back from the dark!”

  Thomas said, “Thank you, Mrs. Quinn. And thank you for assisting with our rescue.”

  “We would never have left you!” Rei said, aghast at the thought.

  “No, I have come to know that. Please accept my apologies for my order, and for myself. Tenho pena. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s water under the bridge…or over the falls,” said Gideon, shaking his hand. “Come have some tea and tell us about Mac’s heroics.”

  EPILOGUE

  It took a crew of forty workers and six archeologists five months to extract the Throne of King Solomon from its long resting place. Luis Xavier hired an expert spelunker to discover a secondary entrance to the cavern, and after two weeks of exploration, they emerged through a diamond mine, long forgotten. Apparently the ancient miners had dug through to the cavern, following the alluvial deposits as they meandered under the hills. When the Throne and other artifacts were illuminated by generator driven lights, the workers also found ancient pottery and tools, indicating the miners had used the cavern as a primitive dormitory.

  Under tightly controlled conditions, after analysis by the archeologists and two engineers, the Throne was disassembled, and it, along with all the accompanying artifacts were documented and crated. A half dozen shuttle cars, used in coal mining, and just small enough to traverse the tunnels, moved the crates from the cavern to the mine entrance, where they were loaded on trucks, taken to Mumbai, and flown to Israel.

  Kingfisher Resort, Mozambique

  Three Months Later

  Rei was lying, eyes closed, soaking up the sun on a chaise lounge beside the crystal blue sea. She had been dozing, enjoying the sounds of the surf and the sea birds, and the delicious thought of having nothing to do for two whole weeks. Hearing a noise next to her, she opened one eye and saw Gideon settle down on the chair.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “It’s all done,” he said. “Mr. Xavier has agreed to present the Throne and all the accompanying treasure to the public at the Tower of David Museum in Jerusalem on the first of Nisan, which is the New Year for Kings. That falls on March 24. And we are invited as the official finders of record for the lost Throne of King Solomon. All expenses paid…”

  “Wow, that’s awesome!” Rei said, sitting up. “So we’re going down in the history books.”

  “Something like that,” Gideon said, adjusting his sunglasses and lying back on the chaise. “Oh, and we’re getting a big fat bonus.”

  “What about the St. Paul letter?” Rei asked.

  “Mr. Xavier agreed to let the Society keep it. He’s quite happy with the treasure, and I think also happy to be relieved of the burden of that letter.”

  Rei took a sip of her fruity adult beverage, and kissed him. “I’d do it again, you know.”

  “Don’t even say that!” Gideon pulled a towel over his face.

  The Prime Minister himself opened the exhibit, and the Quinns, Captain McMillan, and Luis Xavier were feted all across the city for a week. Tales of their exploits were blown up to Indiana Jones proportions, and no mention was ever made of a letter written by Saint Paul, or a secret organization bent on finding it. Father Eduardo/Joao Xavier and his wife Isabel had an exhibit with all of their letters prominently displayed on a map of the Portuguese spice route.

  Rei and Quinn stood at the foot of the throne, looking up.

  “It was worth it,” Rei said.

  “Yep,” Gideon agreed.

  Mac joined them. “Pretty awesome, seeing it here with all the lights and fancy displays,” he said.

  “Better than in that cave!” Rei said. “But it was nice to have it to ourselves for a little while, wasn’t it?”

  The men nodded, still gazing up at the seat on which Gideon had sat, and the crown that had lowered onto his head.

  “Hell of a job, y’all,” Gideon said, raising his glass of champagne.

  “And by Father Eduardo. Or Joao. Whatever we call him, he was an incredible guy,” Mac said.

  “And don’t forget his Isabel… They had quite an adventure, too,” Rei said.

  They toasted, and drank, and each said a silent thank you.

  Lisbon, Portugal

  1704

  Joao and his fifteen year old son Quico trotted along the busy street atop bay mares, heading to the wharf. Joao had promised his son an outing, and he always enjoyed the ships along the quay. A nau was in port that reminded him of the Santa Antonio de Tanna, which had been sunk several years before. They stopped at an inn, where a groom took their horses, and Joao told him they would walk a bit before coming in for their midday meal.

  “Papa, why do you not go on any of the voyages anymore?” Quico asked as they walked slowly down the waterfront.

  “I have done my share of seafaring, my boy. I have your mama and your sisters now to think of. And you, of course,” Joao ruffled his head, which he knew annoyed the young man.

  “I could come with you! I would love to go to Africa, to see all the places that you and Mama talk about in your stories at bedtime. The oliphants and the camels…” His eyes were dreamy and far away as he remembered the stories he’d heard all his life.

  Joao laughed. “When you are grown and running the business, you may make those decisions. But I am done with that life, Quico. I am content.”

  They stopped at the wall where many years before a young Father Eduardo had been confronted by a man in black about a dead Templar. That life seemed to have belonged to someone else. And yet it was that day, and that life, that had led to this young man next to him. To his beautiful wife and three young daughters at home in their large home overlooking the river. Ah, God indeed moved in mysterious ways.

  “Come, let us sup. I am famished, and this inn has very good bread. Maybe we shall take a loaf home to your mother, what do you think?” He began to walk along the top of the wall, arms out for balance.

  Quico laughed, shaking his head at his father’s exuberance and love of life. “I think, Papa, that you are doido, crazy!”

  THE END

  THE HOARD OF THE DOGES

  by Jennings Wright

  Available soon!

  Venice, Italy

  1125 AD

  “You should have seen it, signore, truly, you would have marveled!” said Doge Domenico Michele to his oldest friend, Pepe Dandolo. The thirty-fifth Doge of Venice, newly returned from the Holy Lands and the First Crusade with the Venetian fleet, continued, “We could not contain all the plunder in the holds of the ships! And there was that fat William, Prince of Galilee or some such title, begging me—begging me, I tell you!—to help them attack Tyre. Out of the goodness of my heart, of course!” He laughed heartily and guzzled wine from a silver goblet. They were sitting in the Doge’s private study, a warm, wood paneled room. Rich jewel toned tapestries hung on the walls, and an elaborately carved winged lion presided over the room from the stone fireplace.

  “The goodness of your heart has been known to be expensive,” observed Dandolo dryly.

  “Oh, indeed, and it proved as much once again. Not only did we receive the majority of the plunder from the conquest, but they have given us what amounts to free reign in the entire Kingdom of Jerusalem, a quarter of the city of Acre, twenty-one villages in Tyre… And no taxes!” He laughed again. “Apparently, I can be quite persuasive.”

  Dandolo smiled. “And yet you did not return to Venice with ships overflowing with riches, my friend.”

  “T’would have been impossible to bring it all and yet still carry the men, who were, of course, most anxious to return to hearth and home. And it was also unnecessary. Venetian influence continues to grow, but that influence is expensive to maint
ain, and we were stretched thinly while I was away with the fleet. There is much unrest everywhere these days.” He took a long draw from his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “However much the Patriarch and William wish to believe it, the Holy Lands are not secure, and the sultans will fight to regain it. Our fleet conquered Samos, Lesbos… we even destroyed Rhodes on our return voyage, but the Greeks are resentful, as always. We must keep a military presence in the territories, and quickly colonize our new holdings in the Kingdom and Levant.”

  The Doge walked across the polished floor, his soft shoes barely making a sound. A middle aged man, but full of vigor, he had the swarthy complexion of a sailor from his time with the fleet. His dark hair had only a few strands of gray, and his patrician nose and high cheekbones gave him an unmistakable air of authority. He stopped at the window and looked out at the newly restored Church of St. Mark.

  “So then, where is it?” Dandolo finally asked.

  Michele turned and looked at him, then waved his arms in an expansive gesture. “It is everywhere. I have left some of it everywhere we have influence. It will be under the control of the doges, allowing us to protect and defend and grow Venice in a way not dreamt of before.”

  “You will not keep some for your family? For all of our families?” Dandolo asked. The aristocratic families of Venice had ruled the city-state among themselves for generations, and their wealth had grown along with hers.