Helios (Cerberus Group Book 2)

by Jeremy Robinson

  Pierce managed a diplomatic smile. He was receiving the message—We don’t want you here—loud and clear, but he had no intention of slinking away. He was prepared to wave the UN flag in the monk’s face all night if he had to. He was pretty sure that Father Justin wasn’t going to call and check his bona fides like Zdanovich, the Russian administrator at Arkaim. Even if he did, St. Catherine’s Monastery was a World Heritage Site, and Pierce, as an inspector-at-large, was justified in paying the place a visit, even if he wasn’t being honest about his motive.

  “We just need to look around for a little while, take a few pictures for our report, and then we’ll be out of your hair. We’ll be very discreet. You won’t even know we’re here.”

  Father Justin wasn’t quite ready to throw in the towel. “It may take several hours for you to document everything. I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you overnight, and I doubt that you will be able to find lodging in the village. The damage was quite extensive there as well. Perhaps it would be wiser for you to return in the morning.”

  “We’re prepared to work through the night.”

  The monk gave a heavy sigh. “Very well.”

  “Great. Let me just grab my team.”

  Pierce returned to the aircraft to give Gallo and Fiona the news, and to update the pilot, a cocky young Egyptian army officer, who looked barely older than Fiona. Pierce had no idea how long the search would take. If Fiona could make the memory-metal sphere work like a dowsing rod, they might find the sun chariot in a matter of minutes. So for the moment it seemed prudent to have the aircraft standing by.

  Father Justin regarded the two females with a pinched expression, but made no comment as he turned on his heel and shone the lantern toward the gates. “Follow me.”

  “I don’t think he was expecting women,” Fiona whispered.

  Pierce grinned. “I don’t think it’s going to be a problem. Just be glad this isn’t a mosque or a synagogue.”

  “Actually, there is a mosque here,” Father Justin said, looking over his shoulder. “But if you knew anything of our teachings, you would know that women are greatly esteemed in the Orthodox Church.”

  Pierce ducked his head in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  The monk made a sweeping gesture. “This place honors a woman, Saint Catherine of Alexandria, a child…” Here, he turned and gazed at Fiona, “About your age, I imagine, who devoted her life to studying the teachings of Christ. She condemned the Roman emperor Maxentius to his face for his cruelty, debated his wisest advisors, and won, converting many of them to Christianity, even though doing so meant instant martyrdom. Maxentius imprisoned her, tortured her, but she would not renounce her faith. More than two hundred individuals, including Valeria, the wife of Maxentius himself, came to her in prison, begging her to deny her faith. Every one of them were so moved by her words that they, too, confessed faith in Christ and were martyred. After her execution, angels brought her body here, to the Mountain of God. It is said that a healing spring flowed from the place where she was buried.”

  Fiona gave a wry smile. “I like her.”

  Justin stared back for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes. She still has that effect on people.” His demeanor softened a little. “Why have you truly come here?”

  Pierce exchanged a glance with Gallo, but before he could figure out his next move, Fiona took the bull by the horns. “We told you the truth. We are here because of the earthquakes.”

  “But not to survey the damage?”

  “No. We’re trying to stop any more of them from happening.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?” He waved again. “From here, no less?”

  Fiona’s smile did not falter. “With a miracle, of course.”

  Pierce allowed himself a tentative sigh of relief. Fiona’s approach was spot-on, and despite his initial surliness, the monk seemed to be warming up to her. Pierce took a step back, nodding for her to continue.

  “A miracle.” Justin nodded, as if intrigued. “Are you here to pray?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Fiona replied. “We know that this was a holy mountain long before the monastery was built. We’re looking for something that has probably been here a lot longer.”

  Some of the cleric’s earlier wariness returned. “You’re treasure hunters.”

  To Pierce’s dismay, Fiona did not deny the accusation. Instead, she held out her hand, displaying the sphere of memory metal she had recovered from deep under Arkaim. “We’re looking for something like this.”

  The monk shone his light on the artifact, bending close to inspect it, then stood up straight. “I am sorry. There is nothing like that here.”

  Pierce sensed a curiosity in the man, a desire to know more, despite himself. He decided to take a page from Fiona’s playbook. “This artifact was made by an ancient civilization called ‘the Originators.’ They don’t appear in the historical record, but they do show up in the myths and legends of other cultures that we do know about. The ancients thought they were gods, but they didn’t have any magic. Just technology.”

  “Gods,” Justin echoed, thoughtfully.

  “The Originators created a device that can harness solar energy.” Pierce went on. “Unfortunately, it can also cause seismic disruptions. Earlier today, the device was used, and you have seen the results. We believe there is another device here that can stop it.”

  Justin spread his hands helplessly. “As I have said, there is nothing like that here.”

  “Please,” Fiona said. “There’s got to be something here. Just let us have a look around.”

  Justin stared at her for a few seconds, then managed a tight smile. “We are not in the habit of refusing those who come here praying for miracles.”

  TWENTY

  Death rode to the holy mountain, not on a pale horse, but in a pair of road-weary and battle-scarred minivans. The men inside the vehicles speeding along Nuweiba Road, the highway that snaked through the lesser peaks, all the way up to the infidel church on the slopes of sacred Jabal Musa, were killers, freshly blooded after a swift surprise attack on a police checkpoint further down the mountain.

  The firefight had been unavoidable. There was no hiding the fact that they were armed to the teeth. Most carried AKS-74 carbines, but their arsenal also included an RPG-7 anti-tank rocket launcher. So even though killing policemen wasn’t their primary mission, it had been a necessary action. A prelude to what would soon happen when they reached the end of the road. And, from what Abdul-Ahad al-Nami could discern after listening to the subsequent conversation of his fellow passengers, their first chance to kill in the name of the Prophet.

  They were all strangers, all young men like him, gathered from Egypt and all over the Arabian Peninsula, all full of zeal for the fight. At first, he was not sure that he should trust any of them. However, the more he heard, the more he knew that they were his brothers, fellow soldiers who had heard the trumpet of Israfil.

  Israfil was one of the Malak—a messenger of God, an angel—who would sound the trumpet on Yawm al-Qiyāmah—the Day of Resurrection. But Israfil was also the nom de guerre of a senior organizer in the army of the Caliphate—the Islamic State—or at least that was how he had introduced himself to Abdul-Ahad a few months earlier, in an online forum where holy warriors gathered to indulge their passion for jihad. Over the ensuing weeks, Israfil had opened the young man’s eyes to the urgency of the times and prompted him to be ready. The Caliphate had been restored, and soon the armies of Rome would gather on the plains of Dabiq, for the final battle. Abdul-Ahad had wanted to travel to Syria and join the fight, but Israfil had urged him to be patient, promising him a far greater role in the outworking of God’s plan.

  Tonight, he had made good on that promise, summoning Abdul-Ahad and the others to a coffee shop in Suez, where the minivans and the weapons were waiting, along with the mission: go to the Jabal Musa and stop the agents of Masih ad-Dajjal—the anti-messiah—from defiling the sacred ground where Moses
spoke to God.

  Israfil had explained that the outcome of the great battle between good and evil would be decided here, on the holy mountain, and Abdul-Ahad knew that it was not an exaggeration. He had heard the news reports, of the earthquakes, and the signs in heaven.

  The end of all things was upon them.

  He glanced down at the pictures Israfil had sent them, photographs of the enemy’s agents. A man, a woman, and a girl—all Westerners.

  Abdul-Ahad had no reservations about killing women or children, not if they were servants of the anti-messiah.

  Tonight, they would kill the enemies of God, and, he did not doubt, they would be welcomed into Paradise as martyrs.

  But first, the world would burn.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Almost from the moment she tried to attune herself to the orb, Fiona knew they wouldn’t find the sun chariot at the monastery. “It’s not happening,” she told Pierce. “I’m not getting anything.”

  “Let’s try moving around a little.”

  She knew, with the same vague certainty that had guided her into the subterranean labyrinth beneath Arkaim, and then back out again, that it would be a futile effort. But she nodded and followed Pierce around the thirteen hundred year old religious complex anyway.

  Before leaving them to conduct their search, Father Justin had played the tour guide, telling them the history of the monastery, explaining that there had indeed been a Christian presence on the mountain as far back as the fourth century. The monastery was a more recent addition, going back to the ninth century. It had been built to protect the monks from Bedouin attacks. While the rest of Christendom had suffered through the Dark Ages, with churches across the Holy Land being razed or turned into mosques by the conquering Saracens, Saint Catherine’s had endured.

  There were several different chapels inside the walled fortress, along with, as Justin had earlier intimated, a mosque, converted from an older Christian church during the Fatimid Caliphate between 900 and 1100 CE.

  “This is a holy place to all the Abrahamic faiths,” Justin explained. “Moses is revered as a prophet in the Islamic tradition, and this mountain where God spoke to him, is held as sacred. The Prophet Mohammed himself issued a covenant—the Ashtiname of Muhammad—sealed by his own hand, granting us protection in perpetuity. The only concession was this mosque, which we maintain to this day.”

  “I guess that explains why the Islamic State leaves you alone,” Gallo observed.

  “We rely upon God for protection,” Justin said. “However, it may be that this peace that has endured for a thousand years is God’s way of showing us all—Christian and Muslim alike—that co-existence is possible.

  “You may go where you wish,” he told them. “I would only ask that you respect the sanctity of this place, and please, remove your footwear before entering the Katholikon.” He gestured to the enormous church basilica dominating the interior of the walled complex. “It is holy ground today, as it was in the days of Moses.”

  Wandering the monastery was like being in an M.C. Escher painting. Inside the high walls, the buildings were jumbled together, connected by stairways that led up to rooftops, and tunnels that ducked beneath old stone buildings, no two of which were the same shape or size.

  The earthquake had left its mark on the monastery. Although none of the buildings had collapsed, everywhere they turned they had to pick their way through piles of rubble. Some areas were blocked off, but Fiona didn’t need to visit every nook and cranny of the site to know that they weren’t going to find anything.

  Maybe Gallo had misinterpreted the reference in the Heracleia. Maybe there was no sun chariot at all.

  No. She pushed the thought away. She had seen the vision of Raven for a reason, and this was it. There was a way to fix what was happening, and she was going to find it. But if it’s not here, where is it?

  After twenty minutes, Father Justin rejoined them in the northeast courtyard of the monastery, as they were putting their shoes back on. He did not seem at all surprised by their lack of progress. “Why did you believe that you would find what you seek here?”

  “We didn’t choose this place randomly,” Pierce said. “In ancient texts, this place was called Thrinakia, the island of the Sun God, Helios—”

  “I have read the Odyssey, Dr. Pierce. In the original language. Sinai is not Thrinakia.”

  “There are other stories,” Gallo said. “Stories older than Egypt itself, about the Sun god’s herds that roam a mountain across the sea to the east of the Nile.”

  “Herds? Cattle?”

  “Cattle are a symbol of agriculture. Domesticating cattle made civilization possible. The Egyptians worshipped cattle, and I believe that’s what Homer was alluding to when he spoke of the sacred herds of the Sun God on Thrinakia. There are universal truths hidden in those stories.”

  Justin considered this for a moment. “Interesting.”

  Fiona sensed the monk wanted to say more. “Do you know something? Have you heard about sacred cattle here?”

  “I would not use the word sacred. However, when Moses led the sons of Israel out of Egypt, he brought them here. For forty days and nights, Moses spoke with God upon the mountain. Right up there.” He gestured to the darkness above the monastery complex. “During his absence, the sons of Israel fell into despair. They begged Aaron, the brother of Moses, to make a god for them to worship.”

  “The golden calf,” Pierce said, nodding. “I had forgotten that one.”

  “When Moses came down, carrying the Covenant, written by the very finger of God upon tablets of stone, he saw the people worshipping a calf of gold. What has always intrigued me is that, in the book of Exodus, chapter thirty-two, the sons of Israel do not tell Aaron what sort of god to make. And when Moses questioned him, he said: ‘They said to me: Make us gods, that may go before us: for as to this Moses, who brought us forth out of the land of Egypt, we know not what is befallen him. And I said to them: Which of you hath any gold? and they took and brought it to me: and I cast it into the fire, and this calf came out.’”

  “Wait,” Fiona said. “The calf came out of the fire? On its own?”

  It sounded like a golem to her.

  Justin smiled. “Aaron was trying to shift the blame. The Bible is very clear that he was the craftsman of the golden calf. But it is interesting, is it not? It would seem there have been sacred cows here after all.”

  “What happened to it? The calf?”

  “Moses pulverized the idol and mixed the powder with water, which he forced the sons of Israel to drink.”

  Fiona grimaced. “Harsh.”

  “Not as harsh as what he did next. Moses gathered his cousins, the sons of Levi, and instructed them to put the evildoers to death. Twenty-three thousand in all.”

  Fiona had no response to that.

  Justin went on. “That is how Moses recorded the story, and I accept it as true, but I also recognize that it was written more than a generation later, to instruct the children of those who made the Exodus from Egypt. It is a cautionary tale, warning of the dangers of willfulness and apostasy. Perhaps there is more to the story that we do not know. Details that would help us grasp how the God of Moses was also the God who came to live among us and offer his life on behalf of sinners.”

  Pierce waited for him to finish before turning to Gallo. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Gallo nodded. “It’s possible. There are similarities.”

  “You guys want to share?” Fiona said.

  Gallo offered the explanation. “Odysseus was warned to leave the sacred herd of Helios alone, but his men disobeyed him. They took some of the sacred cattle and ate them. They also sacrificed some of them. As a punishment, Zeus killed them all. Except for Odysseus, of course.”

  “It’s not the same,” Fiona countered.

  “No, but it might be referencing the same event, just like the story of Raven and the story of Phaethon are similar. It means we’re on the right track.”

>   “I choose to accept that the Bible is the revealed truth of God. That is enough for me.” The monk stared off into the distance for a moment, as if contemplating a weighty decision. “There is something I want to show—”

  A bright flash, like a nearby lightning strike, cut short his sentence. Before anyone could comment, there was a loud boom, followed by a shock wave that hit Fiona like a gut punch.

  “What was that?” she gasped.

  Pierce, looking as stunned as she felt, then managed to reply. “I think it was the helicopter.”

  Father Justin stared at the explosion, a horrified expression on his face. He crossed himself. “We’re being attacked.” He shook himself out of his stunned stupor and turned to them. “Quickly. Follow me.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Geneva, Switzerland

  As they looked through the open gates of Tomorrowland, Dourado could not help thinking of the haunted amusement park from a Scooby Doo cartoon. It wasn’t just the name, though that was part of it. Although it was still early, not even eight o’clock yet, the sprawling campus was dark. Not a single light burned in any of the windows in any of the buildings, and yet, there was a subtle energy in the air, an undercurrent of activity.

  Machines lived here, clockwork ghosts haunting the shadows. Under any other circumstances, she would have found that cool, but tonight, it just felt creepy.

  “Not good,” she muttered.

  Lazarus parked the rental car just outside the already repaired gates and they disembarked, heading through on foot. The logic behind this move was straightforward. If things went pear-shaped inside the walls of Tomorrowland, it would be far easier to outmaneuver the robots on foot, and keeping the car outside the walls would ensure a quick getaway once they made it through the gate. And, as long as things didn’t go south, transportation inside the complex wouldn’t be a problem. There was an automated cart waiting for them just beyond the gateposts.