Helios (Cerberus Group Book 2)

by Jeremy Robinson

  Gallo sagged against the wall, the adrenaline of her escape draining away, leaving her feeling weak in the knees. “Safe?”

  “Does Fallon still have you?”

  She shook her head, momentarily forgetting that she was on the phone. “I got away from him.”

  “Good. I tracked Fallon’s flight to France. Dr. Pierce will be there soon. Do you want to talk to him? I’ll patch you through.”

  Before Gallo could answer the question, she heard Pierce’s voice. “Gus? You’re safe?”

  “I should be asking you.”

  He laughed. “You didn’t really think a hole in the ground would keep us down for long?”

  “No. I mean, I hoped you’d find a way out.”

  “Where are you? Are you safe?”

  “I think so.” She glanced around, afraid that Fallon had ignored her warning and sent his hired thugs to grab her again, but there was no sign of them. “I’m at Chartres Cathedral.”

  “Chartres? What made you decide to go there?”

  “I figured out what you were trying to tell me.” She related her plan to trick Fallon into lowering his guard so that she could escape with his phone.

  “You got all that from what I said?” There was a hint of awe in Pierce’s voice.

  “What did you actually mean?”

  He chuckled. “Follow the Templar trail. Find the Ark. But I like your way better. Besides. Now I know where the Ark really is.”

  “Do tell.”

  “It’s in London. I know I told you to ask the Templars, but that’s only the beginning of the story.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Chicago, Illinois

  Ishiro Tanaka was a patient man. He had been waiting his whole life for this, for his chance to stop the endless cycle of suffering and death. Now the goal was in sight. He could wait a little longer.

  Still, he was not immune to the frustration that came with being stranded.

  Twelve hours after leaving Tomorrowland, his plane had touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. International air traffic was still a jumbled mess, but there were flights to be had for the right price, and the Children of Durga no longer had any reason to be thrifty. Twelve more hours and he was still there, stuck in the Windy City, and the prospects of traveling on any time soon were not looking good.

  The West Coast was a wreck. Portland and Seattle were still digging out. Anchorage had been leveled. The only aircraft going west of the Rockies were military, carrying relief workers and supplies, and that did not seem likely to change any time soon.

  Durga had promised to provide a way for him to continue on to the goal, but as a physicist, Tanaka was all too familiar with the property of inertia. He had lost his momentum, and now it was going to take an extraordinary amount of energy to get moving again.

  Another tedious hour ticked by. He sat in his hotel room, a few miles from the airport, watching the news coverage with a mixture of horror and satisfaction. The suffering galled him, but thousands had already been freed from the anguish of the slow death called life, and that was his doing. Soon, very soon, the misery of the survivors would also be at an end.

  His phone began vibrating on the night table, signaling an incoming text message from Durga. He snatched it up and read the message. It was not the news he had been hoping for.

  >Pierce alive. Fallon alive.

  Tanaka wasn’t sure why Durga was sharing this news with him. There wasn’t anything he could do to help now. Before he could articulate a question, the phone buzzed again.

  >Went to Jordan, then France. Believe Pierce is still looking for a way to stop you.

  “And you’re telling me this why?” he muttered, but then he tapped in a more thoughtful reply.

  >>>If he’s still looking, it means he didn’t find anything at Sinai. He’s desperate. Grasping at straws.

  >Straws can break backs. Is there a risk?

  Was there? He recalled the conversation in the Geneva safehouse a day earlier, when Pierce’s people had trusted him with their plan to find some ancient relic made from the same meta-material as the Roswell fragment and the Black Knight.

  A sun chariot from some Greek fairy tale?

  It had sounded ludicrous to him at the time, but the same could also be said about the Black Knight satellite and the ancient alien explorers who had probably left it behind.

  >>>We can’t take any chances. You have to stop him. Go all in.

  Durga did not respond for several minutes, and Tanaka thought perhaps the conversation was over. Then another text arrived, with an accompanying location link for a U.S. Air National Guard facility in Peoria, Illinois, a three-hour drive from Chicago. The message read:

  >Found you a seat on a supply flight leaving at 1800. Will get you close. The rest is up to you.

  He was still processing this information when another text came through.

  >Final message. You will not hear from me again. The victory of Durga begins.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Axum, Ethiopia

  Lazarus returned to the grounds of Our Lady Mary of Zion before dusk, but he did not approach the cathedral. Instead, he took a stroll around the outer perimeter. He wore a red and yellow dashiki suit, with matching sokoto drawstring trousers and a black brimless kufi cap. He wasn’t sure if the ensemble, which had been purchased at a tourist gift shop, would make him stand out or blend in. Ethiopia was an ethnically diverse country, and his Persian complexion was just dark enough that he could pass for an Abyssinian—someone of Habesha ancestry. Ultimately, he didn’t care if he was noticed or pegged as a visitor, so long as they paid more attention to the outlandish outfit than they did to the man wearing it.

  As the sun dropped behind the cathedral, he did a quick 360 degree check and then slipped into a wooded area near the southeastern corner of the structure’s foundation. One corner of the Chapel of the Tablets extended out beyond the fence separating the church from the outside world, just forty yards away.

  Once concealed, he slipped out of the dashiki, which covered his jeans and a black hoodie, and then crouched down to wait for darkness. He waited a full hour, barely moving at all, then another, watching people come and go, or simply passing by on the street. Some carried candles and oil lamps, others bore smoky torches. After three motionless hours, he checked his watch and rose to his feet, although he did not step out from his hiding place. Stiffness wasn’t a problem thanks to his regenerative capabilities, but he stretched anyway, cracking his knuckles and then his cervical vertebrae, in anticipation of the go-signal.

  It came just thirty seconds later, a harsh explosion. Sounding more like the report of a mortar or RPG launch than something mundane like a car backfiring or a big firecracker. It was in fact the latter, a firecracker about the size of an M-80, with a makeshift time delay fuse and a slight aftermarket modification to increase the volume of the detonation. Carter had dropped the lit firecracker a block away eight minutes previously. If she was following the plan, she was already long gone.

  A few lights came on inside the church complex and a few brave souls ventured out to satisfy their curiosity about the noise. Lazarus also spotted a policeman emerging from a concealed watch-post, just outside the church grounds, to investigate the disturbance. When nothing more happened, everyone seemed to lose interest. The lights went out, and the police officer returned to his guard post.

  Lazarus waited another twenty seconds, then made his move.

  He stole along the edge of the wall, crossing the forty yards to the corner of the Chapel of the Tablets in four seconds. He vaulted up and over the fence like a parkour master, dropped to the ground on the far side, and pressed himself against the rough brick exterior of the Chapel. He paused there only a moment, just long enough to make sure that he had not been noticed, then kept going. The door was on the north wall, just a few steps away.

  It opened with no resistance.

  Lazarus moved inside with the same decisive swiftness he had once used when conducting milita
ry raids. He doubted very much that the lone monk assigned to the lifetime position of guardian would be lurking in the corner with an AK-47, but that didn’t mean the venture was risk free. If he was spotted and the alarm was sounded, getting out of Ethiopia would be tricky. If it happened before he was able to verify that the Ark inside the chapel was a fake, it would all be for naught.

  He moved inside and closed the door behind him. The interior was dark and still. He waited a few seconds, listening, breathing, tasting the air for any sign of trouble, before clicking on a small disposable flashlight. He kept the light covered with one hand, allowing a sliver of illumination to slip through his fingers. It was enough for him to navigate the interior and make out a few details.

  The chapel’s layout was simple, a large open room surrounding a tall square enclosure in the middle. The walls of the enclosure were adorned with brightly painted panels, depicting scenes from the Bible and the story of how the Ark came to Axum. Lazarus could not fathom why the builders of the chapel would decorate a room that only a few men would ever be permitted to see.

  Three sides of the enclosure had shuttered windows. The fourth wall had a door, screened off behind a partition of colored glass. Lazarus ducked around the partition and approached the door with the same assertiveness he had shown entering the building.

  The closed door reminded him of Schroedinger’s Cat, the old thought experiment used to explain competing alternate realities in quantum physics. While the door was closed, there were two potential realities occupying the same space on the other side. In one reality, the enclosure contained the highly sought-after Ark of the Covenant, the actual relic from the Bible, imbued with supernatural powers. In another reality, the enclosure contained a forgery. Yet, it was not a case of one or the other. While the door remained closed, the actual truth known only to the guardian monk, the two realities existed simultaneously. The Ark was there for those who believed it was, and it was not for those who did not believe.

  Once he entered the enclosure, one of those realities would cease to exist.

  Lazarus did not hesitate. He was certain about which reality would survive, but not so certain that he did not harbor a small sliver of doubt. He and Carter were only here because of that sliver, that remote possibility that could not be completely dismissed.

  What if that reality survived? What if he found the actual, real Ark?

  Sneaking into the Chapel of the Tablets was one thing. Trying to sneak out, while carrying a holy relic that probably weighed hundreds of pounds, not to mention possessing the power to strike anyone touching it dead, would be another matter.

  Still, if that happened, at least the question of the Ark’s final disposition would be resolved. They could work out the rest of the details later.

  He opened the door and saw it. A chest, covered in shiny yellow metal that gleamed as it caught the flashlight’s reflection. It looked like pictures he had seen, right down to the angels covering the lid with their outstretched wings.

  But that did not mean it was the real Ark. There was only one way to determine which reality would survive. As with Schroedinger’s Cat, he would have to open the box. If it was the true Ark, he would probably be struck dead, and given its supernatural properties, there was no guarantee that his regenerative abilities would bring him back. The wrath of God could be tricky that way.

  Without hesitating, he stepped into the enclosure, reached out both hands, and took hold of the covering angels.

  Nothing. No electric shock. No release of divine retribution.

  He lifted the lid, and immediately knew that the metal covering the carved angels was not gold, but something lighter and harder. Polished brass in all likelihood.

  One reality blinked out of existence. The Ethiopian Ark of the Covenant was not the real deal.

  Time to go.

  He set the lid back in place and clicked off his light. The open layout of the chapel would be easy to navigate in the dark. No sense risking discovery now, with the mission almost complete.

  He exited the enclosure, circled around to the front door, opened it…and froze in his tracks.

  Abuna Mateos stood just outside, flanked on either side by old men in priestly vestments. They all held burning candles, which cast just enough light upon their faces to reveal a hint of disappointment, but not a trace of surprise.

  None of the men were armed, at least not that Lazarus could see, and they did not appear poised to attack or to attempt subduing him until the authorities could be summoned. They just stood there, blocking his escape route.

  Lazarus considered pushing past them and bolting for the wall, but that wouldn’t get him out of the country. Before he could make up his mind, Mateos spoke.

  “Are you satisfied, now that you have seen for yourself?”

  Lazarus sensed he was being cryptic. Did Mateos know that the Ark in the chapel was a forgery? Did any of the men standing before him? And if they did not, what right did he have to burst the bubbles of their faith? “You could say that,” he answered, equally vague.

  “I knew that you would come.”

  “Was I that obvious?”

  Mateos smiled. “I saw it in a vision. The Lord told me to expect you.”

  Lazarus had no response to that. “I’m finished here,” he said, keeping his tone firm but diplomatic. “I won’t tell anyone what I saw in there.”

  He hoped the subtext was clear to the older man. Try to stop me, and I’ll tell the world.

  Mateos, however, just shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Chartres, France

  The pain subsided to a dull ache after about half an hour, but Fallon’s dark rage showed no sign of abating.

  That bitch, he fumed.

  Even more powerful than the pain and anger was the fear. He had abducted Gallo. Taken her across international borders. Buried Pierce and his young protégé alive. In the heat of the moment, he had not even stopped to think about the potential consequences of these actions, but now he was terrified.

  How am I going to get out of this?

  The answer disturbed him.

  Kill her. Kill them all.

  He couldn’t think of another way to avoid rotting in a jail cell.

  But first, a strategic withdrawal. He had limped from the nave of Chartres Cathedral and found Williams waiting outside. If Gallo had left, she had done so unnoticed. Fallon couldn’t take the chance that her threat to call the police was a bluff, but he left Williams and the Alpha Dog mercenaries with instructions to keep watching, and headed for the airport, just in case.

  Before getting out of the car to board the plane, he called Williams on a borrowed mobile phone. “Any sign of her?”

  The mere act of talking sent a fresh wave of pain through his groin.

  “Negative,” Williams replied. “Maybe she slipped our net. But no sign of the police, either. I think she was yanking your chain about that. They don’t want cops involved any more ’n you do.”

  The mercenary was probably right about that.

  “We can go in,” the man went on. “Sweep the place for her.”

  He considered the offer, trying to ignore the pulsating ache between his legs. If they tried to grab Gallo in public it would only make matters worse, and they would be no closer to finding the Ark of the Covenant. The move against Pierce in Jordan had been premature, but his original plan was still sound. Let Gallo and Pierce find the Ark, and then take it away from them.

  But if he was going to pull it off, he would need more than just a quartet of hired military rejects.

  “No,” he told Williams. “Let’s hold off on that. Come back to the airport. I’ve got a better idea.”

  FORTY-NINE

  London, England

  The revelation had come to Pierce in the Templar chapel, deep beneath Mount Nebo. Pierce had contacted Dourado, and she had started tracking Fallon even before his plane left the Amman airport. When Gallo had escaped from
Fallon at Chartres Cathedral, the Cerberus jet was already in French airspace. Less than an hour later, the three of them were together again, exhausted but no worse for wear.

  The clock was still ticking, but now Pierce knew where they needed to go. He had explained his epiphany during the short hop across the English Channel.

  “The Templars came to Jerusalem looking for the Ark. They had the same scrolls and scriptures that led us to Jeremiah’s secret hiding place. What they didn’t have, at least not until they set up shop on the Temple Mount, was a standard of measurement. The true length of the Sacred cubit.

  “The fresco we found showed the Templars using a measuring stick. Historically, the length of the cubit was always understood to be the approximate distance from a man’s elbow to fingertip. Roughly eighteen inches. And that’s the figure they would have been most familiar with. It’s a more or less constant ratio of one cubit to average height—not quite one-fourth. Back then, the average height for a man was about five and half feet, but with better nutrition, the average is now almost six feet. As we know, the Sacred cubit is just over twenty-five inches. Based on the one-fourth rule, that could suggest the Sacred cubit was derived from a race of people with an average height of about one hundred inches—over eight feet.”

  “Giants,” Gallo said. “Like Goliath and the Rephaim.”

  “I know about Goliath,” said Dourado, who was listening in on speaker phone. “But who or what are the Rephaim?”

  “Everyone knows the story of David and Goliath. Depending on how you interpret the cubit, Goliath was at least nine feet tall, but he wasn’t just an outlier. Goliath belonged to a tribe known as the Rephaim, who were known for being giants.” Gallo turned to Fiona. “That name translates to: ‘the people whose speech sounds like buzzing.’”