With a flick of his wrist, Solomon ordered the doors opened, the guards immediately granting them entrance.
And what Menelik saw had his jaw dropping as he came to a halt, the doors closing behind him. “What is it?”
“This, my son, is the source of our power. It is what gives us direct access to God, not only to his counsel, but his power as well. With this at the head of my army, no one can defeat us.” He turned to Menelik. “And this is why I can guarantee your kingdom’s security from such a great distance. Should anyone threaten you, I can send but a small contingent and defeat any enemy.”
Menelik stared at the chest that stood in front of him, the craftsmanship that had gone into its construction impressive, the sheer amount of gold indicative of the value placed upon its significance. He rounded the chest, supported by four gold-plated feet, two poles, wrapped with gold, held on either side by rings of gold attached to the feet, obviously used to carry the creation, perhaps by Solomon’s armies.
He paused, his heart hammering at the sight of two winged creatures, bowing toward the center, each with their wings outstretched, the reverence shown to whatever this represented evident.
His eyes narrowed as he realized that this chest did indeed have a top that appeared to be removable. “What does it contain?”
“The power and glory of God.”
Menelik regarded his father. “And that is?”
Solomon smiled. “It contains several things, the most important of which are the original stone tablets containing the commandments we live by, given by God to Moses so long ago.”
Menelik nodded slowly as he resumed his circuit around the impressive artifact. “How does it work?”
Solomon shook his head. “That, I cannot say, except that when carried before our armies, no one has been able to defeat us.”
“But what does it do? I mean, it must do something in order to defeat an army.”
“It is forbidden to speak of such things. Our most holy of men carry it ahead of our army, out of sight of us mere mortals, and when we arrive, we find our enemies slain.” Solomon shuddered. “Even I dare not question its power.”
The hair on the back of Menelik’s neck stood, a shiver rushing over his body as Solomon’s words, and tone, sank in. Could this chest truly contain the power of the Jewish god? Could it indeed protect his kingdom from any threats? And if it could, would the price for access to its protection mean he would be forced to remain here, never again to see his mother and his people?
He reached out to touch it, the urge irresistible, when Solomon grabbed his hand with an iron grip.
“It must never be touched!”
Menelik flushed, as if an admonished child, then stepped backward. “Then how do you carry it into battle?”
Solomon released his grip, then patted one of the two poles. “With these. These are the only part of the Ark that should be touched by man.”
Menelik’s eyes narrowed. “Then how do you know what is inside?”
Solomon chuckled. “I have faith.”
Menelik nodded. “What did you call it? An ark?”
“It is the Ark of the Covenant, and with it, my people can never be defeated.” He put a hand on Menelik’s shoulder. “Nor can yours.”
7 |
London, England Present Day
Dawit Ganno watched as the taxi pulled over, Father Amanuel climbing out moments later before ascending a set of steps. A man answered the door, and the elderly priest entered, as if expected. He turned to his driver, a local man with Ethiopian ties, provided in advance by the Ethiopian Friendship Center.
An organization that knew nothing of the order, or their mission.
“What address is that?”
The driver pointed at the GPS. “It’s right there. Number”—he peered out the window, squinting against the dark and the heavy rain—“1502.”
“Can you get me the name of who lives there?”
His driver eyed him with suspicion. “Why? Are you some sort of copper?”
“Yes.”
The lie satisfied the young man, and he pulled out his phone, something far fancier than his own, and began tapping away at it. Moments later, he held it up. “Looks like some bloke named Ullendorff.”
Ganno’s heart hammered at the name, his eyes widening. It had never occurred to him that Father Amanuel might visit the one man who knew the secret that shouldn’t.
“Do you know the guy?”
Ganno ignored the question as his eyes narrowed. It didn’t make sense. Lieutenant Ullendorff had seen the relic in World War Two, and it was unlikely he was alive today.
He turned to the driver. “How old would you say the man was that answered the door?”
The driver shrugged. “I don’t know. Sixties?”
“That’s what I thought as well.”
“Is he who you’re looking for?”
“I’m not sure.” He nodded toward the phone. “Can you bring up an obituary on a Lieutenant Ullendorff?”
The driver’s eyebrows rose, but he complied, and moments later he was reading the highlights, the man having died in 2011, leaving a son behind. “That must be the son’s house.”
Ganno pursed his lips, unsure of what to do. Lieutenant Ullendorff knew their secret through chance. He had gone public with it, then recanted, thanks to efforts by the Keepers and Ganno’s ancestors. It was likely the son knew the story, though didn’t believe it.
Yet the question remained.
What possible business could Father Amanuel have with the son of the one man they had left alive over seventy years ago?
“Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”
Steven Ullendorff smiled, taking Father Amanuel’s coat and hanging it up. “It’s my pleasure, Father. It’s not every day one gets a phone call from a priest requesting an audience.”
Ullendorff led him into a humble sitting room, his wife, already introduced at the door, bringing in a tea service. Poured, he clasped the cup with both hands, its warmth welcome, the chill and damp of an English evening something he had never experienced. He took a sip and smiled his appreciation at Mrs. Ullendorff, then dashed her hopes of an entertaining interlude.
“May we speak alone, Mr. Ullendorff. I’m afraid this is a very private matter.”
Ullendorff’s eyes widened and he exchanged a glance with his wife. “A private matter? With you? No offense, Father, but, umm, you’re not exactly from these parts. What possible business could we have?”
“It’s regarding your father.”
His eyes widened further, a shaky nod escaping before he ushered his protesting wife up the stairs.
“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Ullendorff, but it was necessary.” Amanuel lowered his voice. “Did your father ever tell you about his time in Ethiopia?”
Ullendorff shook his head. “No, beyond that he was there during the war.” His eyes narrowed. “Why, did something happen while he was there?”
Relief swept over Amanuel at the news. The elder Ullendorff had kept his promise, though only after being reminded of the original broken oath made to a layman years ago. Amanuel hadn’t been involved, though whatever had been said was enough for the man to later recant, at great risk to his reputation, preserving the secret of a discovery that could have made him famous the world over.
Perhaps he was simply a good man.
He looked about the room, noting several texts displayed with prominence, dealing with what appeared to be archaeology, with the son’s name on the cover. “I see you followed in your father’s footsteps.”
“Yes, in part. Obviously, I chose archaeology as my profession, not the military, whereas my father had no choice at the time but to put his ambitions aside.”
Amanuel nodded slowly. “In war, much is demanded of us. But it is your archaeology expertise that I have a need for.”
Ullendorff chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I retired a few years ago, Father, but I’m happy to help in any way I c
an. What do you want to know?”
“We have something very old that needs to be preserved before it’s too late.”
Ullendorff laughed. “Let me guess, the Ark of the Covenant?”
Amanuel managed to keep a straight face, though his heart hammered with the implications of the man’s words.
“Don’t tell me you believe the lies that were written about my father.”
Amanuel calmed slightly. “Lies?”
“Yes, about how he was shown the Ark when he was in Ethiopia during the war?”
Amanuel knew the story well. Every Keeper did. It served as a warning to all who undertook the honor of protecting the greatest of all secrets. During the war, a Keeper had left his post, leaving a layman behind to guard the Ark. When a British military unit arrived on patrol, led by Lieutenant Ullendorff, he insisted on seeing inside the church carved into the ground, a church of such construction something the lieutenant had never seen before.
And the layman had allowed it, terrified of the armed men.
And the layman had confirmed it was the Ark of the Covenant that sat inside.
When the breach had been discovered, after the war, and after the lieutenant had already gone public, many things had been changed in their procedures so it could never happen again.
Fortunately, it had happened so long ago, before the Internet had existed, that the incident was forgotten, and was now merely a conspiracy theory they were happy to exploit.
Amanuel smiled at Ullendorff and chuckled. “No, not the Ark, however something equally precious to us. It is very old, and time and nature have taken their toll. We must preserve it, and were hoping you might know how.”
Ullendorff shook his head. “I’m not an expert in preservation, and besides, I’m retired.”
Amanuel frowned, leaning back in his chair. “Can you recommend someone? Someone who can be trusted to not only do the job well, but keep it a secret?”
Ullendorff’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Amanuel. “For a priest, you really are concerned with your secrets, aren’t you?”
Amanuel smiled, waving his hand. “I come from a dangerous part of the world, where many would destroy anything they considered blasphemous.”
Ullendorff grunted, his head bobbing. “I hear ya. Well, I worked out of the British Museum. The head of archaeology there was Professor Laura Palmer. She was excellent, with a good reputation, though she did have some whacky theories about those crystal skulls. I’d contact her. She would definitely have the expertise, and I knew her for years. She’s young—at least compared to me—but extremely honest. She’s probably exactly what you’re looking for.”
“Professor Laura Palmer, was it?” Ullendorff nodded and Amanuel wrote down the name. “Thank you for your time.” He rose and bowed slightly. “I must be going, I’ve taken enough of your evening.” He waved his notepad before tucking it into his robes. “Thank you for this.” He shuffled for the door, then Ullendorff helped him into his coat. “Thank you, my son.” He lowered his voice. “Tell no one of my visit. Should the wrong people know I was here, meeting with an archaeologist, they might think my church back home had something worth stealing.”
Ullendorff’s jaw squared. “Of course, Father, your secret is safe with me.”
8 |
Royal Palace of King Solomon Jerusalem, Kingdom of Israel 10th Century BC
Saul stood at the front of the gathered crowd of Jerusalem’s ruling elite. His favored position had been occupied for as long as he had been a member of this court, the same honor bestowed upon his father, and his father’s father. He was loyal to his king, though the spectacle on display enraged him to his core.
A king, a Jewish king, fawning over a half-breed bastard convert from a foreign land, with the audacity to suggest he should inherit the throne and lead the Israelites upon his death.
It was outrageous, and if pursued, could lead to the end of King Solomon, no matter how loyal his subjects were.
The King’s desires would never be permitted.
Solomon had just spent the last ten minutes exalting his son, the young man, to his credit, seeming embarrassed by the words of praise heaped upon him. And when Solomon revealed he had shown this Menelik their holiest of relics, a relic even Saul had never laid eyes upon, a collective gasp of horror and outrage had swept the court, the revulsion at the revelation ignored as Solomon droned on.
If he’s revealed the source of our power, of our link to God, then Menelik may have been swayed.
“But, alas, even I haven’t been able to persuade my son to stay among us. As you know, I have asked him to stay, to become my heir”—again disgruntled grumblings filled the room—“however he has decided to return home to help his people, continuing the exchange of knowledge begun with his mother, Queen Makeda.” Solomon paused, his eyes staring into the distance, as if into the past. “To that end, I have decided that to help my son’s kingdom prosper, and to achieve the greatness we have in the name of the one true God, I hereby decree that the firstborn of all noble and rabbinical families shall accompany my son on his journey home, to assist him in the betterment of his kingdom.”
Saul’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened as he stared at his king, dumbfounded. Questions rippled through those gathered, many uncertain they had heard Solomon correctly, and once their fears had been confirmed, outrage tore through the room, the sense of open revolt causing the guards surrounding the room to shift in their places, uncertain of what to do.
“This is outrageous!” cried Saul, stepping forward, his privileged position giving him a direct line of sight to the king who would betray them all over a boy he barely knew. “This is unacceptable! I will not send my son Jonathan with this child to Africa! How dare you ask this of us? We have served you loyally for decades, and you betray us like this! It is unconscionable!”
Fists pumped the air as others edged forward, emboldened by his tirade, the guards rushing to fill the narrowing gap between Solomon and his irate subjects.
Yet Solomon didn’t react.
Though his son did.
With fear and embarrassment.
Solomon rose, raising a hand, his expression calm, the room eventually settling to hear what was about to be said. Saul’s heart pounded and sweat trickled down his back, as the next words could mean the end of his life for having challenged his king.
“Anyone whose firstborn isn’t in the courtyard in two days’ time, will be executed along with their son.”
Saul pressed his luck, stepping forward again, a spear immediately blocking his path. “How can you do this, how can you put the future of Jerusalem, the future of our people, at risk like this? How can you weaken our kingdom by sending away our best and brightest?”
Solomon finally acknowledged him. “They will be gone only for as long as they are needed.”
Though it was a small concession, it wasn’t enough, yet he knew there would be no further discussion of the matter. This wasn’t a negotiation. Solomon had made up his mind, and when he did, there was simply no changing it. He was about to lose his son to the unknown continent, for how long he didn’t know, with dangers he could only imagine.
Most likely, the future of the Jewish people, its cherished sons, would never return.
“My king,” he said, calming his voice, stepping slightly closer, his head bowed in reverence. “Please, if we are to send our sons as you ask, let them take the Ark of the Covenant with them so that they may be protected by the power of God from harm.”
Murmurs of agreement washed over the room, his idea clearly agreeable to all the fathers gathered.
“Out of the question.”
Solomon spun on his heel and left the hall, the court erupting in rage the moment he was out of sight though not out of earshot.
“What are we going to do?” asked Benjamin, the head of another noble family that traced its lineage back as far as Saul’s did. “Are we going to stand for this?”
Saul watched Menelik rush from the cham
ber after his father, his shoulders rounded, his head down.
He never asked for this, nor does he want it.
“What can we do?” he replied, shaking his head. “Challenge our king? He’ll have us all put to death.”
“Surely if we all unite as one, he’ll change his mind.”
Saul shook his head. “This is Solomon we’re speaking of.”
Benjamin sighed, throwing up his hands in frustration as a group gathered around them, clusters of loud conversations filling the hall. “Then we are to capitulate? To give up our firstborn on this ridiculous venture? All for some bastard son from a backwater kingdom?”
There were grumblings, though no one said anything, instead, all eyes turning to Saul, the most senior among them. He thought for a moment, moving past the useless thoughts of how to keep his son here in Jerusalem, and instead focusing on how to protect him while he was away, and no matter how large a contingent of soldiers they might muster to accompany their brave sons, he could think of only one way to guarantee their safety.
He stared at the others, and was about to tell them his plan, when he decided against it.
For it would take only one to betray him, and it would mean certain death.
Instead, he let his shoulders sag. “I can think of nothing, but to obey our king.”
The disappointment of those gathered was obvious, and he broke from the group, heading home, his outrageous plan already weaving itself together.
A plan that had to succeed, but could condemn him for eternity should it go wrong.
For stealing the Ark of the Covenant was surely an act against God Himself.
9 |
Acton/Palmer Residence St. Paul, Maryland Present Day
Keepers of the Lost Ark Page 3