Helios (Cerberus Group Book 2)

by Jeremy Robinson

  The passage followed a straight line for about a hundred yards before ending at a simple wooden door, slightly ajar. Soft light filtered through the opening, and a sweet smell, like pipe tobacco, cut the dank mildew of the tunnel.

  Pierce paused there until Fiona and Gallo caught up, and then he pushed the door open wide.

  What lay beyond bore only a slight resemblance to the round nave of Temple Church, and it did not look at all like a thirteenth century burial crypt. The area into which they stepped was round—an open semi-circle—and approximately the same width, with pillars supporting groin vaults overhead. The similarities ended there. Instead of a rustic church building with worn and damaged stone carvings and appointments, the chamber here was smooth and refined, with exquisitely worked marble and panels of polished wood. The floor was a chessboard pattern of polished white and black tiles. The walls were adorned with royal blue curtains, pulled back to reveal portraits, and relics on shelves and in display cases. The back of the door through which they had entered matched the décor, so that when closed, it would be almost indistinguishable. Beyond the door, the chamber stretched out into an enormous hall like the ballroom of a Renaissance-era palace. The far end of the hall, about fifty feet from where they stood, was draped in a dark curtain that stretched all the way across the room, though Fiona could see a narrow gap on either end. The most striking difference of all however, and the only reason she could discern any of the similarities and differences, was the fact that this room was illuminated with artificial light. Each of the elegant support columns sported an understated wall sconce of brushed brass and frosted glass.

  “This is a Masonic lodge,” Pierce said. “The checkerboard floor is a Masonic symbol for the duality of nature. Opposing forces. Light and dark. Good and evil.”

  “Not a big surprise,” Gallo said. “We suspected their involvement, after all.”

  “They opened the door for us,” Fiona whispered, even though it wasn’t necessary to do so. “Is there a connection between the Masons and the Herculean Society?”

  “None that I’m aware of,” Pierce said.

  “Then it’s high time you were brought up to date.”

  The unfamiliar voice—male, older, with a British accent—echoed in the hall. The rhythmic tapping of footsteps filled the space, and then the man who had spoken stepped into view.

  Older, in his seventies, with a mane of swept-back white hair, he stood tall and took long strides, quickly crossing the distance to join them. Aside from his dignified black suit, he was attired with a short, blue and white apron, emblazoned with the distinctive square and compass sigil of the Masonic brotherhood. He strode right up to Pierce and offered his hand.

  “How do you do?” he said, his expression serious but friendly. “I am Clive Chillingsworth.”

  Pierce introduced the others, utilizing formal titles and surnames only—Fiona was introduced as ‘Miss Sigler’—then he added, “We’re with the Cerberus Group, an independent research organization.”

  “Is that a fact?” Chillingsworth replied, raising an eyebrow.

  Fiona, sensing their shared wariness, pushed ahead. “You opened the passage, didn’t you? Were you expecting us?”

  The man swung his gaze toward her. “In a manner of speaking. Forgive me, it’s difficult to know where to begin.”

  “Once upon a time…” Fiona prompted.

  “Fi,” Pierce admonished, but then added. “She’s right though. We followed some pretty obscure clues to get here, and now you’re telling us that we were expected? What did you mean by that?”

  Chillingsworth waved a hand, gesturing to their surroundings. “The Grand Lodge of London was dedicated three hundred years ago, and for that entire time, we have been the keepers of ancient and secret wisdom. I know how trite that must sound, but it happens to be the truth. Come, allow me to show you.”

  He turned and started back down the checkerboard floor. Pierce followed, but before they had crossed even half the length of the hall, he let out a gasp. “That’s it. That’s the Tabernacle.”

  Fiona now saw that the curtain was a long piece of fabric, woven of bright red, purple and blue threads, embroidered with shimmering gold angles, draped over a concealed structure, at least twenty feet high and just as wide.

  “This is the real thing, isn’t it?” Pierce went on. “The actual Tabernacle created by Moses during the Exodus. The Templars found it under Mount Nebo and brought it back. When the Order was dissolved, they brought it to England and hid it in a crypt below Temple Church. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

  Chillingsworth looked back at him. “So it is said in our traditions,” he confirmed. “The crypt was kept sealed for over two hundred years until King Henry VIII broke with Rome and secretly restored the Templars. A century later, the Royal Society, under the direction of Grand Architect, Sir Christopher Wren, commenced a study of the relics brought back from Jerusalem. He also oversaw the creation of this hall, both as a way to honor the Holy items of the Covenant and to facilitate further investigations. Sir Christopher, and later Sir Isaac Newton, recognized that there was a code hidden in the Sacred Measurements of the Tabernacle, a code that could be used to calculate the End of Days.”

  Fiona was nodding along with him, right up until that last declaration. “End of Days?” she echoed.

  “It was a matter of great concern back then,” Chillingsworth said. “I suppose it still is today, but men like Sir Isaac were fascinated with the problem of calculating when the world would end based on chronology and Bible prophecies. Sir Isaac himself predicted the prophecies regarding the End Times would be fulfilled no sooner than AD 2060, which I’m sure must have seemed very reassuring in 1704.” He sighed. “We all thought we’d have another fifty years or so, but I suppose even Sir Isaac is allowed a mistake now and then.”

  Pierce stiffened. “You think the world is ending now?”

  Chillingsworth stopped and turned to face Pierce. “Isn’t that why you’re here? The signs are appearing. An earthquake that shakes the whole world, the sun standing still in the sky. And now…you lot. We were told to look for you when the fulfillment began.”

  “Okay, you keep saying that. Explain. Are you talking about another prophecy?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” The man now appeared ill-at-ease. “I gather you have some knowledge of our organization. Our reputation for secrecy, rituals, and such.”

  Pierce nodded. “I also know that a lot of what people say about you is rubbish. Most of your so-called secret rites are common knowledge.”

  “Most,” Chillingsworth agreed. “But there are certain…shall we say…‘nuances?’ Aspects of our rites and traditions that are not public knowledge. Matters known and understood only by Master Masons like myself, who have achieved the highest degree of knowledge. One such tradition, which it is said goes back to the time of the Templar Knights, compels us to offer assistance to anyone who invokes the Great Seal. When we saw the other signs fulfilled, we began our vigil, which is why I happened to be here at the Lodge tonight. Of course, you surprised us by coming in through the back door, as it were. We stopped using the Temple Church entrance after it was mentioned in that book—”

  “I’m sorry,” Pierce interrupted. “What’s this Great Seal you’re talking about?”

  “It’s the Ark,” Fiona said. “Remember, the Ark of the Covenant is on their coat of arms?”

  “That’s not precisely right,” Chillingsworth said, as he reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a fountain pen and a business card embossed with the same design Dourado had showed them earlier.

  “Invoking the Great Seal refers to demonstrating knowledge of the position of the cherubim within the circle of God’s glory.” He drew a circle connecting the points of the rays, and then drew vertical lines through the bodies of the paired angels.

  “That’s the Sign of Hercules,” Fiona said, unconsciously rubbing the tattoo of the same symbol on the back of her hand.

/>   The older man faced her. “We maintain video surveillance in the Temple Church sanctuary, just in case. When we saw you describe that pattern of the Great Seal, we knew that the time to fulfill our obligation had arrived.” He lowered his head slightly and gave a knowing smile. “I’ll be honest with you, most of us thought it was just a myth. But, here you are.”

  Pierce leaned close to Gallo, though Fiona had no difficulty hearing his whisper. “Alexander must have played a part in organizing the London Grand Lodge. He created, or at the very least, co-opted the Freemasons to keep the Ark of the Covenant safe and secret.”

  Gallo appeared unconvinced. “Why didn’t he just move it to one of the Society locations? Like the Citadel?”

  The Citadel was the original headquarters of the Herculean Society, located in a hidden cave beneath the Rock of Gibraltar.

  “I’m sure he had his reasons,” Pierce said. He turned to Chillingsworth. “As you said, here we are.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, as if Chillingsworth was waiting for Pierce to take the initiative. When that did not happen, he motioned for them to continue following him. As he approached the hanging, he resumed speaking. “The outer courtyard pillars and panels are still in storage. There wasn’t room to set everything up here. The brazen altar is in another hall. Sir Isaac indicated in his writings that the Tabernacle and all its utensils and relics would need to be restored to the Temple Mount when the time of God’s glory arrived.”

  “Why there?” Fiona inquired.

  Pierce was ready with the answer. “Jerusalem has long been associated with geomagnetic currents known as ‘Ley lines.’ There’s a reason Solomon chose to build the Temple where he did. It’s a power spot, just like Mount Sinai. I’m guessing the other relics are important, too. Maybe they’re part of the control mechanism, or a safety measure so we don’t get fried by the shekinah light.”

  “Well that explains it,” Fiona exclaimed. “The Nazis didn’t have the Tabernacle. That’s why their faces melted.”

  Pierce tapped a finger to the tip of his nose and pointed at Fiona. “Now you’re getting it.”

  Gallo groaned. “Don’t encourage him, dear.”

  Pierce turned back to Chillingsworth. “I’d like to see those writings, if you have them. I think Newton might have understood how we’re supposed to use the Ark to shut down the Black Knight.”

  “Of course. All our resources are at your disposal.” Chillingsworth stopped at the curtain, and, with a theatrical flourish, drew it back to reveal the interior of the sacred tent.

  The lights in the hall could not penetrate the thick fabric, but in the beam of Pierce’s light, Fiona could make out a rectangular space, twice as deep as it was wide. There was an ornate table to one side, a large six-armed menorah, and directly ahead, up against another heavy curtain, was a small altar. All the objects reflected the flashlight with a deep yellow glow like nothing Fiona had ever seen before. She knew, intuitively, that the metal had to be gold.

  “This part of the Tabernacle was called ‘the Holy Place,’” Pierce said. “It’s where the priests would offer the sacrifices and burn incense every day. The Ark would be in the next chamber, the Most Holy Place, or the Holy of Holies, behind the Altar of Incense. Only the High Priest—the Kohen Gadol—could enter into the presence of the Ark. He had to wear a special garment called an ephod, woven with gold threads. Some modern scholars have speculated that the vestments acted like a Faraday suit, insulating the priest from the energy of the Ark.

  “There was also a special breastplate called the hoshen, studded with gems and crystals, which might have acted as a sort of interface or control device, and the mitznefeta, a turban with a gold crown inscribed with the true name of God. But I think the Urim and Thummim are the most important components of the ensemble.”

  “What are those?” Fiona asked.

  “No one’s really sure. They’re only mentioned a few times in scripture and never described, but according to the Bible, they’re one of the three ways that God revealed his will to humans—the other two being dreams and prophets. The linguistic roots suggested literal translations of ‘Lights and Perfections,’ or ‘Revelation and Truth,’ or simply ‘Innocent and Guilty.’

  “It’s believed that they were a sort of oracular device, a Divine form of casting lots to determine the guilt or innocence of an accused person. Two stones: one white, one black. Put them both in a bag, ask God a question. ‘Is so-and-so a secret sinner?’ Take out a white stone and they’re innocent. A black stone, and—”

  “They get stoned,” Fiona finished.

  “But even that is just supposition. Members of the Latter Day Saints church believed that the Urim and Thummim were sacred crystals, which their founder, Joseph Smith, bound together like eyeglasses, enabling him to read and interpret the Golden Plates that contained the Book of Mormon.”

  “An instant translator,” Fiona remarked. “Just like Cintia’s babelfish.”

  “Only better, because these could read the secret language of God.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened a little at that possibility.

  “I’m eager to see them. All that was known about them was that they were to be placed in the small pockets sewn into the hoshen.” Pierce turned to Chillingsworth. “Do you have the High Priest’s garments? We might not need them if my suspicions about Fiona being a Baal’Shem are correct, but why take chances.”

  A frown creased Chillingsworth’s forehead. “No priestly vestments were found when the crypt was opened.” His expression indicated that there was more he wished to share, but instead of putting it into words, he stepped through the opening and walked the full length of the Holy Place.

  Pierce opened his mouth, perhaps to warn the man of the dangers of approaching the Ark unprotected, but before he could utter a single word, their host pulled back the curtain that separated Holy from Most Holy, revealing the cube-shaped enclosure.

  And nothing else.

  “Where’s the Ark?” Pierce said. Fiona could hear the fear in his voice.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, Dr. Pierce. The Ark of the Covenant is not, nor has it ever been, in our care. If the Knights of the Temple found it, they did not bring it here.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Lake Tana, Ethiopia

  Lazarus and Carter left Axum in the back of an old five-ton truck, accompanied by Abuna Mateos and half-a-dozen men armed with AK-47s and machetes, but they were not prisoners or hostages on their way to an execution.

  “They are here to protect us,” Mateos told them as they climbed aboard. “The roads are not safe after dark. And we cannot afford to wait for sunrise.”

  Lazarus did not need to ask how the clergyman knew this. The bishop had explained everything early in the night, outside the Chapel of the Tablets.

  “The Lord came to me in a vision,” he had said. “He told me that you would come for the Ark, and that I was to help you return it to Mount Zion.”

  “That’s not the real Ark,” Lazarus had countered. “But you already knew that.”

  “The vessel you saw is a holy, consecrated tabot. So, as far as the Church is concerned, it is an Ark of the Covenant. But you are correct. It is not the Ark the Israelites bore through the wilderness, and which Solomon safeguarded in his Temple.”

  “Well, that’s the Ark I need, so if you’ll just step aside, I’ll be on my way.”

  “I will take you to it,” Mateos had said in a solemn voice.

  The true Ark, he had revealed, had indeed been kept in the Chapel of the Tablets until 1991, when political unrest, civil war, and ultimately revolution, threatened the long-standing arrangement between Church and State. Fearing that a new government might attempt to seize the Ark, removing the symbol by which the centuries-old Imperial dynasty had ruled by divine right, the keepers of the Ark had fashioned and consecrated a replica. They had then removed the real Ark to one of its earlier resting places, the monastery of Mitsele Fasiladas on the isle of Tana
Qirqos, just off the eastern shore of Lake Tana, about 250 miles to the southwest of Axum.

  Lazarus took the bishop at his word. The man had no reason to deceive him with an offer of assistance. Lazarus had been caught red-handed, after all. The clergyman’s sincerity however did not automatically mean that his Church was in possession of the true Ark.

  Carter shared his apprehension, but they both knew that the only way to resolve the mystery was with a visit to the remote island monastery.

  They rode through the night, reaching the lakeside city of Bahir Dar just after sunrise. Mateos sent their armed escort back to Axum, and then hired a boat to take them twenty miles north to Tana Qirqos.

  Lake Tana was most famous for being the source of the Blue Nile, which joined with the White Nile in Khartoum to become the world’s longest river. But for Ethiopians it held great spiritual and historical significance. Many of the islands dotting the shallow but expansive lake were home to monasteries, and each monastery was linked to an ancient tradition or miracle. Tana Qirqos, their destination, not only figured into the story of the Ark of the Covenant, but also the history of Christianity.

  “Saint Frumentius, who brought Christianity to the ancient Kingdom of Aksum, is buried on Tana Qirqos,” Mateos told them, as the boat chugged along. “And there is an altar containing a stone upon which the Virgin Mary rested during her journey back from Egypt.”

  “Is that really true?” Carter asked.

  “There are many such stories in all faiths,” Abuna Mateos admitted. “Whether they are true does not diminish their symbolic value. The Lord taught in parables when he walked on the Earth. These places serve to remind us that the foundation of our faith reaches back many thousands of years.”

  Carter’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “In 1974, about two hundred miles west of here, anthropologists discovered the most complete skeleton ever of a female Australopithecus afarensis, who lived 3.2 million years ago. That’s my foundation.”