Pagan's Ark

by Matt Eaton

  Donovan let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing, and he could see the General was suspicious he was being played for a fool. “We have deciphered the means to unlock the chamber in which it is stored,” Donovan continued, “and we wish to remove it for reasons of security and scientific research.”

  Chehab’s stared at Donovan long and hard. “I am waiting for you to tell me this is a joke.”

  Donovan laughed lightly. “It’s hard to believe, I will admit. But General, I assure you it’s no joke. What I’m telling you is the truth. This is why we journey to Baalbek. It’s also why we would prefer to keep our intentions a secret. We would not wish to alert our enemies. It’s also why we would very much like an armed escort.”

  “My government would also value such a discovery,” said Chehab. “And frown upon the efforts of any foreign government trying to remove it from Lebanese soil.”

  Donovan said, “The regular supply of armaments would just be the beginning of America’s support for cooperation in this regard. It’s worth considering, General, that an item like this might prove very hot to handle, given that it’s of immense value both to my country and the Soviet Union. Wars have been fought over less.”

  “Careful, Mr Donovan. A lesser man than me might take that as a threat.”

  Donovan knew he was skating on thin ice. He held up his hands defensively. “Please, don’t misunderstand me. America poses no threat to you or your country. But neither would we wish to see Lebanon caught in the crossfire.”

  General Chehab stared hard at his ashtray as he stubbed his Camel into a smoldering ruin. He picked up his phone, barked quietly but firmly at his adjutant in Lebanese then hung up.

  “You will have a platoon of my best men. They will be ready within the hour.”

  CHAPTER 9

  April 29, 1951

  They were crammed into the front seat of a flatbed truck with their driver, a Lebanese corporal named El Masry who spoke very little English. A canopy had been added to the truck to protect Donovan’s electrical equipment. A few eyebrows were raised as Chehab’s soldiers loaded the gear onto the truck, but nobody asked questions and Donovan wasn’t about to tell them what it was all for. They probably wouldn’t have believed him anyway. Two soldiers rode in the back of the truck with the equipment. Two other trucks with the remainder of the platoon followed behind.

  The journey should have been less than 60 miles, but they were forced into a more circuitous route by detours around sections of the road that were still cratered from all the bombings in the war against Germany.

  Paulson voiced his frustration when they were forced to pull over for the fifth time that afternoon. Donovan could tell something was eating at him and took him to one side so they could talk without being overheard. “Everything will be fine, Clarence. It won’t matter if we’re a few hours later than planned.”

  The priest was not about to be placated that easily. “We need to be in and out before nightfall.”

  But Donovan knew something else was eating him. “Go on, spit it out. What are you worried about?”

  “I know you don’t want strategic advice from me,” said Paulson, “but was it really a good idea to tell General Chehab what we’re doing? He has his own agenda...”

  Paulson stopped talking when he noticed Captain Nabil Azzam approaching. Azzam was in charge of the platoon travelling with them. He was always easy to spot, because every few minutes he found something else about his men to chastise or ridicule. He liked to throw his weight around, it was his idea of maintaining authority. Donovan and Paulson were agreed on one thing: they neither liked nor trusted the man. It was clear the other soldiers also held him in contempt, which was the natural response to constantly being treated like dirt in your commander’s boot tread.

  But Azzam was a sycophant in all his dealings with Donovan and Paulson. “We will not be here long, sirs,” Azzam assured them. “We will be at our destination by nightfall.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” said Donovan without bothering to look the man in the eye. But Azzam wasn’t to be fobbed off so easily. As he continued to stare at Paulson, the priest threw Donovan a furtive glance to indicate Azzam was still beside them.

  Donovan turned to face him. “Is there something else I can help you with, Captain Azzam?”

  “Sir, I simply wish to point out it would be easier to issue orders if I knew precisely the nature of our task at Baalbek. You have picks and shovels mixed in with loudspeakers and what appears to be a large portable tape recorder. I would very much like to know what is happening.”

  Donovan took a step toward him. “Captain, this is a sensitive operation. It’s nothing personal. You will see what we are doing soon enough, but until then that information is highly classified.” Azzam looked ready to object but saw in Donovan’s eyes there was no point in trying. He simply nodded and walked away, barking at a group of soldiers enjoying a smoke to get back into their truck.

  Paulson said, “Corporal El Masry tells me Azzam is Druze.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The Druze hate the Christians — Maronites in particular,” said the priest. “It’s historical.”

  Donovan said, “Isn’t everything around here? Chehab wouldn’t have put Azzam in charge if he didn’t trust the man.”

  “You don’t know what prompted that decision,” said Paulson. “Chehab could be repaying a debt. He could have done it to curry favor — Azzam’s father is highly placed in the office of the new Prime Minister.”

  Donovan laughed. “This country changes leaders like I change my underwear. Chehab controls the armed forces, he doesn’t need to worry about political favor.”

  Paulson grabbed Donovan’s arm. He was aware of the American’s reputation for recklessness. “Bill, we’ve been here five minutes. Don’t presume to know everything about who’s pulling the strings. I’m telling you we need to tread carefully.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The dusty trail took them along a meandering route that gradually rose higher and higher above Beirut. It took them through a zone of lush arable pasture at the start of the Beqaa Valley, an unexpected site in what Donovan had assumed would simply be desert. Baalbek sat on a hilltop in the Beqaa Valley. Behind the town and further to the east lay the Anti-Lebanon Mountains, the natural boundary that largely defined the border between Lebanon and Syria. As they drew nearer to Baalbek, the snow-capped mountain range loomed over them like a watchful parent.

  They stopped on the outskirts of the town and, by prior arrangement, Azzam ordered his men to form a perimeter around the area where the temple was located. The streets of Baalbek were ominously empty of the town’s inhabitants who had been ordered by General Chehab and thence by the local authorities to remain indoors all day.

  Donovan figured one day would be all they required.

  “Is Paolo going to make an appearance at any stage, do you think?” Donovan asked.

  “He said he would appear when he was needed,” said Paulson.

  At least it wasn’t hard to work out where they had to go. The temple platform stood on the western side of the modern town and was set much higher than its immediate surrounds, making it easily visible from a distance as they wound their way through the streets on the western side of Baalbek. The ruins themselves were also on the western side of town, and from what Donovan had been able to work out on a map, the location they sought was embedded within the western wall of the temple complex, near to a line of pillars that were the only standing remains of the ancient Roman Temple of Jupiter. The pillars ran perpendicular to the western wall of the complex and were built upon massive foundation stones weighing 400 and 800 tons each. How on Earth had anyone managed to pull off such a prodigious feat of weight-lifting?

  Most archaeologists believed these large foundation stones were the work of the Romans, but Paolo had set them straight on that point. He said they were originally set in place by the Ryl during the time of Utnapishtim’s reign.

  They pulled
up opposite the massive Temple of Bacchus, which was the most obvious landmark among the ruins being the most intact temple. From here they could also see the Temple of Jupiter ruins and the stone wall beneath it.

  Corporal El Masry cut the engine and hopped out of the truck to help unload. Donovan heard chatter in the back and his heart sank when he heard the bark of a familiar voice. He arrived at the rear of the truck to discover Azzam in the rear of the truck. Apparently, he hadn’t seen fit to inform them of his presence.

  “Captain, I didn’t know you were with us,” said Donovan wearily.

  “I thought it best to be here for you in case of any difficulties,” Azzam said. He hopped out of the van and muttered something to the soldiers in Lebanese. They started to unload Donovan’s equipment. Azzam did nothing to help. He simply smoked and watched.

  Donovan was surprised and more than a little alarmed by Azzam’s presence, but did his best to ignore the man while everyone else set to work. El Masry took charge of the two other soldiers, who must have had a wonderful time bouncing around in back with their beloved captain.

  From up close, the stone wall of the temple platform was jaw-dropping. Three 800-ton blocks sat on top of six blocks half their size. Below these were several courses of much smaller stone blocks, but even these were almost as tall as a man and had to weigh at least 100 tons apiece. It felt like a place that had been built by giants. Donovan surveyed the stone work and examined his notes drawn up from Paolo’s explanation of the precise location of the secret entrance. It was directly below the third of the largest stone megaliths closest to the Temple of Bacchus on the platform above. They would set up the speakers either side of this point to ensure full sound saturation.

  But before they could do that, the lowest course of masonry needed to be uncovered. It was almost completely buried in the ground. They would have to dig the earth away to allow for the Ryl chamber to open itself to them.

  It had been Father Donovan who had come to this conclusion, based on his analysis of pictures of the temple site. He had realized that after nearly 5,000 years of natural erosion the ground would be significantly higher than in the days of Utnapishtim’s reign.

  El Masry and the other soldiers spent about two hours digging the stones clear so that they were free to open outwards in the manner described to them by Paolo.

  Azzam did not offer to help with the digging. Once again, he stood and watched as his men labored.

  With the digging done, Corporal El Masry also proved more than competent in helping with the sound equipment. He listened well to Donovan’s instructions and precisely executed every task asked of him. As a result, they had the speaker array set up in less than half an hour. From the four loudspeakers, a cable ran back to the tray of the truck where Donovan set up the Rangertone reel-to-reel player. It was late in the day by the time Donovan was ready to hit the play button.

  He could sense Azzam staring at him like a coiled snake ready to strike. Why had he hopped on the truck without informing them? It could only mean he didn’t trust Donovan to tell him the truth — or that he knew exactly what they were here to search for.

  The sounds they were about to play had not been heard here for thousands of years. He knew this because Paolo had explained playing these nine exact notes in the right sequence would unlock the underground chamber containing the ancient Ryl spacecraft.

  Having come all this way, Donovan hoped like hell this was going to work. The notes they were to play were the opening refrain of one of the oldest songs in the world. Paolo had called it the Hymn To The Moon Goddess.

  There was no historical record of the song, however Paolo was able to recall the precise frequency of the notes that needed to be played, and the instrument upon which to play them. They went to an enormous amount of effort to build that instrument in the hope of reproducing the song in the manner it would have been heard more than 4,500 years ago. Father Paulson had sent teams of priests scurrying to dark and dusty corners of the Vatican Archive to find the specifications for making a Nevel — an ancient Phoenician harp, an instrument that had long since disappeared from the world’s musical lexicon. In the end, they found only modern sketches based on descriptions of the instrument translated from ancient cuneiform tablets.

  Thus, the Nevel built for them was no more than an approximation of the real thing. It had been built at great expense by one of the finest harp manufacturers in Europe, but it was impossible to compare theirs to the original. A musical note sounded different according to the instrument playing it because of the harmonic layers embedded in the sound. If the original harp sounded more like a ukulele than a modern harp, the timbre of the music would be wrong. Donovan could only hope their Nevel sounded enough like the original to trigger the Ryl mechanism and open the chamber below.

  Standing here in the fading light, the very idea suddenly seemed preposterous. Maybe Pizzardo was right after all, and they had both lost their minds.

  There was only one way to find out.

  CHAPTER 11

  After saying almost nothing for hours, Captain Azzam chose this moment to get inquisitive. He pulled another cigarette from his packet and set it afire as he casually asked, “What is it you are trying to do here, Mr Donovan?”

  No amazement. No surprise or incredulity. A question delivered as if from a lawyer hoping to trick an unsuspecting opponent into an honest response. A tactic Donovan himself had employed in the courtroom on many occasions. “I was wondering when you might ask that, Captain. But perhaps you know the answer already.”

  Azzam bristled, but didn’t take the bait. “If the noise from your speakers is too loud, we could attract attention. I think this is something you would prefer to avoid.”

  “Attention from who exactly? It’s your job to ensure nobody comes anywhere near us.”

  “Which my men will do. But you still haven’t answered my question — what are we doing here?”

  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough,” said Donovan, hitting the play button to start the music.

  It took several seconds for the tape lead to make its way through the machine before the music began. Hoping to avoid the need to repeat the process, Donovan had pushed the volume toward maximum. The hymn had a somber lilt. It didn’t sound especially melodic to Donovan, but then who could say what had been top of the hit parade in 4000 BC?

  As per Paolo’s instructions and just as they had rehearsed back in Rome, Donovan shut down the tape recorder after the ninth note had been played.

  There was movement within the stone wall almost immediately. It was the top stones that moved first, three of them silently sliding into the wall cavity and disappearing from sight.

  Donovan couldn’t help himself and let out a hoot of delight.

  The stones in the lower course moved next, three of them slid backwards and down. The stones on either side of this newly created void folded outwards, then slid backwards and into the wall like they were on guide tracks. The third row of stonework followed suit, leaving two larger stones revealed by the soldiers’ excavation free to swing outward, precisely as Paolo had told them they would.

  Behind this bottom layer of stones, a broad staircase descended into a cavern now revealed inside the temple wall structure.

  Azzam already had a torch in his hand and was first to scuttle into the chamber.

  “Be careful,” Donovan called after him, mostly concerned the damn fool might damage the hardware. He and Paulson unpacked four portable Electroline spotlights and handed them out to the soldiers. Donovan grabbed his camera and then they followed Azzam into the darkness.

  “Oh, my Lord,” said Paulson.

  “Indeed, padre.”

  It was a wonder of ancient engineering. The chamber’s stone walls were smooth to touch, as if freshly cut and polished. The floor consisted of rows of massive stone blocks that had to weigh at least 1000 tons each. The joins between them were almost invisible, so precisely had each block been hewn.

  Their batter
y-powered spotlights threw an eerie light around a vast, musty space about 30 feet high and at least 200 feet wide and deep. It was dank and airless but quite dry which, considering the amount of rain that must have fallen directly onto the roof above their heads over thousands of years, was simply remarkable. Donovan took a moment to marvel at the fact that this chamber had remained unflooded and undiscovered for so long, right under the noses of the Greeks and the Romans, who simply built on top of it. Finally, he remembered to take photographs.

  Most remarkable of all was what stood in the center of the chamber — a round silver craft, maybe 20 to 25 feet in diameter. It looked remarkably like two pewter plates stuck together, the top of the craft curving up at its apex in a bell shape. Three or four opaque portals were visible around the top half of the saucer. They were set back about an inch or so into the hull but joined to it seamlessly. No joins were visible in the hull itself. At its base, on the side of the craft nearest them, was an open hatchway.

  As he stepped closer, Donovan discovered the ship wasn’t actually resting on the floor of the chamber, but appeared to be floating above it. Azzam was circling the ship and running his hands underneath it, as if trying to understand the means by which it was held aloft.

  “How?” he wanted to know. “Who put this here? How long ago?” As much as he was astonished, Azzam was also angry, presumably because Donovan had declined to reveal the secret sooner. “It floats,” he said to no one in particular. “Nothing keeps it in the air.”

  He was right about that. Nothing tethered the craft to the chamber, it hung in space in defiance of the laws of gravity. It was a most peculiar spectacle. The soldiers were laughing and pointing at it in amazement. Donovan instructed them to point their lights toward the ship so he could photograph it — the proof that would hopefully keep Clarence Paulson out of an insane asylum.