God's Lions - The Dark Ruin

by John Lyman

  As with most Turkish cities the romantic old section of town was centered on an ancient bazaar where Arab and Turkish villagers dressed in traditional garb arrived every morning to sell fresh produce and other handmade wares. Exotic cooking smells drifted through the quarter, wafting through open windows, and as the line of vehicles entered the city and passed through the bazaar quarter, the occupants saw harried waiters carrying trays piled high with food to low-lying tables where they spread everything out on newspapers to be eaten with fingers. It was a far cry from the modern air-conditioned restaurants and apartment buildings that lined broad leafy avenues just a few streets away.

  In this milieu of antiquity mixed with modernity, the line of vehicles continued on, passing through narrow streets into a quieter part of the city filled with traditional mud brick homes built around enclosed central courtyards that contained dripping stone fountains next to tiled urns filled with flowers. These little oases of domesticity provided a quiet respite away from the heat and noise of the streets outside, bringing a sigh of relief to the dust-covered group when they finally rolled to a stop and entered the large three-story house Mendoza had rented for their stay in the city.

  After being shown to their rooms, Leo headed straight for the shower. Adjusting the temperature of the water to a level just below scalding, he immersed himself in the pounding stream for a full five minutes, and after lathering up, he could actually see the fine, orange-colored grit flowing from his body and circling down through the drain. When he finally felt clean, he inched the water temperature a few degrees cooler and rinsed off before stepping out and wiping the wet sand from his ears with a hand towel. It was a stark reminder of why he preferred doing his research in the comfort of a library, far from the heat and dust of the archaeological digs that Morelli always found so fascinating.

  After pulling on a clean white dress shirt and a pair of gray slacks, he walked from his room out into an airy, red-tiled hallway and stopped to peer out over a cast iron railing into the shadowed greenery of the central courtyard below. Following the sound of voices tinged with laughter, he descended a set of narrow, white-washed stairs that curved downward in a tunnel-like spiral, until finally he stepped out into an enclosed space of towering white walls highlighted by subdued yellow lighting.

  At the far end of the room, large oriental tapestries hung above a cave-like alcove lined with silken, multi-colored pillows that formed a wide seating area, and a fresh breeze on his face brought his attention to a row of Moroccan-inspired arches draped in white gossamer curtains that flowed in and out into the courtyard beyond, as if the room had lungs.

  It felt as if he had stepped into another world—an ancient, magical, breathtaking respite from a long day filled with uncertainty, and he found himself wanting a drink, any drink, just as long as it was cold and made his nose feel numb after a few sips.

  A gentle hand found his neck, and when he turned, he saw a familiar pair of liquid brown eyes staring up at him.

  Evita Vargas giggled. “Hello, my love.”

  “Evita!” Leo reached out and took her in his arms. Though it had only been a few months, it seemed like it had been years since he had last seen her. He felt lightheaded—a man past middle age, once again experiencing the schoolboy pangs of love usually reserved for the young. The air smelled sweeter, and there was a faint hint of music in the air that only he seemed to hear whenever she was around.

  “Come on, dinner is waiting,” she said, leading him by the hand through the tall billowy curtains out into the courtyard where, under a star-filled sky, flickering candles painted dancing yellow patterns down the length of a long, linen-covered table. After they took their seats next to the others, a servant carrying a large tray began handing out ice-filled glasses containing a clear, sparkling beverage topped with wedges of lime and sprigs of green mint leaves.

  “What’s this?” Leo asked.

  “It’s a mojito,” Evita winked. “It’s a Cuban drink made from white rum, sugar, sparkling water, mint, lime ... all the yummy things you like. It was Hemingway’s favorite cocktail. I had a feeling you might need something with a little Latin influence this evening after digging around all day in a 12,000 year old megalithic temple.”

  Stroking Evita’s long black hair, Leo exhaled slowly and sipped his drink. He felt totally satisfied to be here in this place at this time, living in the moment and not wanting to think about the next day as his nose grew slightly numb—a signal that the mojito was having the desired effect.

  As trays of food began to flow from the kitchen, overpowering smells of cooking reminded Leo that he had not eaten for hours. Soon the table was filled with steaming ceramic dishes overflowing with Midye dolmasi, mussels stuffed with spiced rice and served with lemon. These were followed by several large serving bowls swimming with levek pilakisi, a Turkish seafood stew of simmering sea bass, potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, onion, and garlic.

  Looking down the table, Leo saw Dr. Raul Diaz, his face highlighted by a flickering candle as he sat locked in an animated discussion with Morelli. Catching the Spanish scientist’s eye, Leo lifted his glass in his direction and smiled. With a blank expression, the doctor returned the liquid salute with a glass of red wine before resuming his apparent battle of wits with Morelli. As usual, Diaz was displaying his disdain for social niceties, but since he was one of the world’s leading experts in molecular biology, most people overlooked this one flaw in his behavior.

  Mendoza had been right. They needed help from the Spanish team—all of them, for even though all of the Israeli members of the Bible Code Team were onboard the Carmela in the nearby Aegean Sea, they needed more boots on the ground here in Turkey. Somehow Mendoza and his team had managed to arrive just in the nick of time, and Leo was glad they were there.

  Standing at the end of the table, Mendoza tapped on his glass. “Cardinal, if you would be so kind as to do the honors.”

  “Oh ... yes, of course.” As the unwelcome signal traveled down his tired legs and urged his muscles to move, Leo stood with a grunt and made the sign of the cross over those gathered around the table. “Let us pray. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from your bounty. We ask that you watch over those who have gathered here together in your name, and that you open our eyes, for our purpose here has yet to be revealed. We also beseech you to guide us out of the darkness, for we are blind to your wishes, and it is only by your light that we will walk down the true path you have set before us. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

  Resuming his seat across from Abbas, Leo could hear the man muttering the words, Bizmillah ar-Rahman, ar-Raheem. It was a traditional blessing all Muslims said individually before beginning a meal.

  “I have to say,” Leo said, shaking out his napkin, “that it’s very heartening to see a group of people from so many different faiths breaking bread together around the same table.”

  “It helps when you’re with a group that’s united against a common enemy, Cardinal,” Abbas added. “No matter how profound our ideological differences may be, I think most of us understand that we must place our petty squabbles aside and stand shoulder-to-shoulder against the coming darkness ... a darkness I fear may soon envelop the entire world. If we could all only learn to embrace our differences, a united mankind could be a very powerful force against any threat.”

  Leo smiled through the paraffin-infused smoke given off by the candles. “I believe your words match those spoken to us by the Holy Father the day before we left Rome.”

  “I’ve heard that the pope is a very wise man, and that his battles against the forces of darkness are legendary. It’s unfortunate that the political and religious rhetoric we’ve been bombarded with on a daily basis seems to advocate violence as the only solution to problems that have plagued humanity for literally thousands of years. If people could just stop for a moment and emulate our little gathering here tonight, our little planet might be able to step back from the brink of a very deep abyss.”


  Mendoza retrieved a bottle of Spanish wine from a wooden case and set it on the table. “Unfortunately, politics and religion have always resembled blood sports in my view. My way or the highway! Death to the unbelievers!” Mendoza raised his glass in a mock salute. “As a matter of fact, using sports as an analogy isn’t so farfetched,” he continued. “Just throw on some different-colored jerseys and you have a soccer stadium full of people primed to fight one another in the name of team spirit. Every year, all around the world, people die in post-game rioting just because their favorite team lost. It’s all very tribal, and if you can’t expect people to come together for something as benign as a soccer game without killing one another, then good luck in bringing warring religions together around a campfire and expecting them to sing Kumbaya. With all the increasing religious tensions that have been building up over the past few years, world peace continues to remain an insurmountable goal that’s dangled before our eyes in a cruel taunt.”

  “What about you, Cardinal?” Abbas said. “What are your thoughts on all of this?”

  “Well, I’ve always said that if you want to solve a problem you have to go after the root cause, but when you’re dealing with a problem that’s become so global, things tend to get a little confused in the fog of differing world viewpoints. It could be that we’re finally beginning to see some of the darker after-effects of the information age, especially now that we can all disagree with one another at the speed of light from behind the cloak of anonymity provided by the internet. Who knows? But there is one common denominator I think we can all agree on. It seems that most of the unrest we’re seeing now is centered on the Middle East.”

  “I agree,” Diaz said. “Who could have foreseen that a bunch of ignorant nomadic sheepherders would have been able to penetrate America’s defenses and mount such a vicious and deadly attack on U.S. soil—an attack that even the military powers of Germany and Japan were unable to pull off in WWII.”

  Abbas took a sip of orange-and-cinnamon-laced tea and stared up into the star-filled sky before his dark eyes focused in on Diaz. “Unfortunately, some of those ignorant nomadic sheepherders you refer to were smart enough to turn your own technology against you.”

  “I meant no offense, Abbas,” Diaz responded in an uncharacteristic show of empathy, “but I’m a practical man with little patience for political correctness, which in my opinion only serves to get in the way of honest dialogue. I was merely stating a fact. For years now, vast sums of money from oil have been flowing into the tribal hands of a group of people whose minds are stuck in the 14th century. Their newfound wealth has given them the ability to force their beliefs on large numbers of people by funding the radical elements within their religion, and we all know what religion that is.”

  “You’re referring to Islam, of course,” Abbas said, “but there have been wealthy Muslims all along, Doctor, and they didn’t let money pervert their religion into something unrecognizable to the rest of us. Before oil, the sultans of old were some of the wealthiest people on the planet due to the spice trade. The word Arab is synonymous with trade, because they’ve been some of the most successful traders in the history of the world. This recent trend toward violence against the west using religion as an excuse is an aberration of our faith, and those who are doing it are about to lead us all down a very dark path. They’ve created some very fertile ground for a very destructive future that has the ring of Armageddon to it.”

  Mendoza rubbed his temples before reaching for his glass of wine. “Which begs the point of why Eduardo chose to move to Iraq of all places.”

  “Wasn’t there something in the Book of Revelation about Babylon becoming the center of the world after the Antichrist appears on the scene?” Evita asked. “Maybe that’s where we should be looking for answers.”

  “I’ve heard that the Antichrist would sit on the throne in Rome.” Mendoza winked at Leo.

  “Yes, some have made that interpretation,” Leo said, ignoring his friends playful jab, “but I have to say that I’m not one of those who take everything I read in that book literally. Many esteemed biblical scholars have come up with some vastly differing views of what John was trying to say in his cryptic writings. Regardless, it makes no sense for Eduardo to take his family and move to Babylon at this point. If his son is really who we think he is, then he’s still just a teenager ... hardly an age for someone to be taken seriously when they step onto the world stage.”

  “Maybe they’re getting a head start by setting up their power base there now,” Evita ventured.

  “Who knows,” Leo continued. “That’s certainly one possibility to consider. But Iraq is still a very unstable piece of real estate, and any foreigner would almost certainly be a target for extremists right now, especially if they’re not Muslims.”

  Abbas’s eyes narrowed as he peered over his tea at Leo. “Being a Muslim doesn’t necessarily guarantee your safety there, Cardinal. As a matter of fact, it may even make it more dangerous, especially if, like me, you’re a Sunni Muslim. For years, Saddam and his Sunni ruling class dominated all aspects of Iraqi life, creating fierce enemies within the Shiite majority. Now that he’s gone, a huge power vacuum exists within the country. The war has opened the door to extremists, and it seems like Muslims all over the region are more intent on killing one another right now than they are on attacking the west.”

  “Which makes it even more puzzling as to why Eduardo has decided to move there now,” Leo continued. “Unless he knows something we don’t, he and his family are sitting ducks out there all by themselves. The American military has finally pulled all of their troops out of the country, which means there’s only a small private security force left to protect him and his family.”

  Abbas spread the buttery mussels on his plate and squeezed a lemon wedge over the fleshy meat. “Are you really that naïve, Cardinal?”

  Leo blinked hard at the remark. “Naïve? In what way?”

  “Do you really think the crusader army has abandoned Iraq?”

  “Crusaders!” Diaz’s eyes flashed in unrestrained anger from his end of the table. “I find it difficult to believe that a progressive Muslim like you, with all of your education and so-called understanding of Christianity, could refer to the American army as a bunch of crusaders. That’s extremist rhetoric.”

  “Not really, Doctor, especially when you look at the big picture from an historical point of view.” Abbas’s tone remained calm and measured. “I happen to be one of those people who believe we can all live together in peace, but I’m also a realist, and it doesn’t take a strategic genius to see a plan developing ... one that has probably been in the works since the last Crusader knight rode off into the sunset over the mountains of Turkey after the last Crusade.”

  “Ok, Mr. Sadik ... let’s hear it,” Diaz said, frowning.

  Abbas stirred his tea before continuing. “OK ... here goes. Before 9/11, most Americans, not to mention the rest of the world, looked upon Islam with about the same passing interest that they gave to the sun coming up every day. But after the terrorist attacks, America found herself at war with a religion ... something that had never happened before in her short but glorious history. America wasn’t attacked by a country; she was attacked by a religion ... a concept so unimaginable that many Americans had a hard time trying to comprehend what had just happened.”

  “You’re right about that,” Morelli said. “I’m still trying to come to grips with it.”

  “You may find it hard to believe, Bishop, but there are many of us in the Muslim world who are on your side, because almost overnight, Bin Laden and his merry group of terrorists had turned a large part of the world against our religion. What he did was so unimaginably stupid that many of us wondered about his sanity. It was almost as if he was sowing the seeds for the destruction of his own faith ... a faith he claimed to be defending. You don’t go around poking a sleeping dragon for no good reason, especially when the only reward you will receive will be a fiery death when
it awakens, which brings me back to the point I was making when I referred to the Americans as crusaders. Just think about it for a moment. Why did the Americans spend billions of dollars building the largest and most fortified American embassy in the world right in the middle of Bagdad before making a big show of leaving? I mean, everyone knows they still have quick-reaction Special Forces teams scattered in secure bases all over the country with stockpiles of men and supplies sitting just across the border in Kuwait. Add that to the fact that they still rule the skies and you can see that they have no intention of leaving the region any time soon.”

  “I think we can all agree that there’s a very good reason for a continued U.S. presence in the area,” Leo said, leaning forward on the table. “The country still has a long way to go, and right across the border you have a country like Iran that is becoming increasingly aggressive in its quest for nuclear weapons.”

  “Exactly, Cardinal,” Abbas agreed, shoving his plate away. “Please keep in mind that all of this talk is just theory, but some see a larger goal in mind. It’s true that people who claimed to be radical Islamic terrorists attacked America, but they were based in Afghanistan, and many of them were either Saudis or Egyptians. Why then go after Iraq? Hussein was a ruthless dictator, but there are equally ruthless dictators and regimes around the world, so why hasn’t America gone after them? It was common knowledge that Saddam actually kept the terrorists from operating in his country. Most of them were Shiite’s after all, and he was a Sunni like me. Everyone knew he hated the Shiites, and that helped to keep the Shiite radicals in Iran out of Iraq. Also, as proven after the fact, there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, yet America still invaded. Why? Because they needed a base in the Middle East, that’s why.”