Booker stared at him. Behind the growl of the bus and the chatter of the other passengers, he could hear a slight ringing. “That’s -- I didn’t sell my soul. The Bureau fired me. I was a free agent.”
Rick snorted. “Sure, ok. Because you’ll be super free under Nasim’s watch.”
“I’m trying to end this,” he growled. “That’s all I’ve been trying to do from the beginning! To put an end to the murders -- hell, I came to Ethiopia trying to save your and Kai’s lives. Nasim is the first person who hasn’t stood in my way, who’s actually listened and given me what I need to get the job done. So if it takes being on her payroll to bring some God damn justice to this world, then yeah, sure. I’ll be her attack dog.”
And if that’s what it takes to keep me from falling back down that black hole, he added silently, so much the better.
Rick’s eyes were wide, as if he were being told a fairy tale. “And what happens when you do turn up the folks responsible? Does Nasim let you hand them over to the authorities? Does she let the truth be known and risk losing her entire empire? Or does she sweep it all away, bleach any stains from the Radical Dynamics name?”
It was a question Booker had been wondering himself. He was under no illusions; he understood there would be a difference between acting as a federal agent and acting as a private security consultant. But he didn’t need to hear it from the mouth of a professional thief. “No one’s going to be getting off easy. Nasim has been very clear about that.”
“And you believe it?”
“And you care?” He shot back. “Honestly, do you care? About any of it, any of the lives that have been ruined or lost?”
“I care about what matters,” Rick replied simply “Me and Kai, and enough crypto to keep us fat and happy on this planet for as long as possible.”
Booker folded his arms. “I don’t believe that. You came back to Axum when you could have just taken off --”
“Yeah, for Kai.”
“You could have left me and Estelle in that camp. You could have given up on all this when we reached Gondar. Instead you agreed to help Estelle, to help Nasim.”
Rick sighed, rubbing his brow as if massaging away a headache. “Do I really need to explain to you what’s in it for me? You heard me talk Nasim up to a billion dollars, right?”
“It’s not the money. There are easier ways for a thief to get rich. So what is it? Why stick around? Why try so hard to act like you don’t give a damn?”
Rick gave him a long, flat stare, and then turned back to his notebook. Booker watched him for a moment longer, then returned his attention to the window. The bus was finally pulling onto solid ground, its tires spinning briefly in the mud as they left the river behind. Booker found himself wishing they would come to another crossing, if only so he could distract himself from fantasies of throttling Rick.
* * *
The bus dropped them off in Bahir Dar, a sizeable city built along a bay at the southernmost point of Lake Tana. A boat was already waiting for them, the rental arranged by Nasim before they left Gondar. Every aspect of this expedition had been expensed to her company.
“You know how to pilot this thing?” Booker asked as they boarded. He wasn’t actually worried about Rick’s piloting skills. His concern lay with the boat itself. It was little more than a shoebox with an outboard motor and a canopy to shield them from the sun. It sank to nearly flush with the waterline as soon as they clambered aboard.
Rick didn’t answer. He hadn’t said anything since their chat on the bus, which had been fine with Booker. Now he was beginning to wonder how they’d get this done without speaking a word to each other.
Rick started up the motor with a blat and a belch of smoke and began to steer them out of the marina. They passed much larger and more trustworthy-looking vessels whose wakes rocked their little skiff so much that water splashed onto Booker’s shoes. He gripped the sides and tried to focus on the far horizon. Lake Tana opened up as they left the bay, widening into a sheet of glimmering copper-green as broad as a landlocked sea. The shoreline fell quickly away to either side and the air smelled strongly of algae and mud and bird shit.
“I hate boats,” Booker admitted after a while, trying again to breach that silence. “Even taking the lakehopper from Chicago to Michigan.”
“Relax. There’s nothing in this lake that’ll take a bite out of you.” Rick was sitting astern, one hand on the tiller, apparently at ease with the world. The damp breeze ruffled his hair, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips. “Well, except for the hippos. They can bite the crocodiles in two.”
Booker drew his fingers back from the water, but didn’t release the sides of the boat. He scanned the glassy plane of Lake Tana, a hand shading his eyes. No hippos or crocodiles that he could see, but there were plenty of birds bobbing on the surface. A flotilla of large pink-white pelicans jabbered noisily as they passed, as if taking umbrage at the noise of their motor.
Further ahead, Booker could make out a pair of islands covered in forest. “That our island?”
“Tana Qirqos is another twenty miles north. We’ve got a ways to go yet.”
A part of Booker had known that, but he’d asked anyway, as if by magical thinking he could reshape the physical universe and end this boat ride sooner. You escaped certain death less than forty-eight hours ago, and yet you’re afraid of a boat? To keep himself distracted, and to maintain the reasonably-cordial repartee they’d established, he asked, “So what’re those ones?”
Rick glanced towards the islands. “Kibran Gabriel. Shares its name with its monastery.”
Booker squinted in the sun. He could just make out structures amidst the green foliage. “Do all the islands have monasteries on them?”
“Mostly. Only a few are still in use, though. At one time there were more than thirty islands in Lake Tana, a good twenty of which had their own monasteries. Most of them have been abandoned.”
“Why’s that?”
“Changing water levels. For a few centuries the lake was shrinking, but now it’s gone in the opposite direction. A lot of the islands are being swallowed up, the monasteries and settlements abandoned.”
Now that they were closer, he could see there was no clear shoreline. The canopies of half-submerged trees emerged from the water like strange lilly pads.
“Tana Qirqos has been abandoned for almost a decade now,” Rick went on. “Which works for us. You won’t have to get your moral panties in a bunch about stealing, because there won’t be anyone there to steal from.”
Booker was pretty sure that wasn’t how it worked, but he let it lie for the moment. “You’re sure the Ark is hidden there?”
“It makes sense.”
“Because of birds.”
Rick sighed. “Not just the birds. You have to put yourself in the mindset of the Ark’s caretakers. To the Hebrews, the Ark wasn’t just a box, it was a living manifestation of God. It needed to be fed with sacrifice and placated with the proper rituals. So if you were going to stash the Ark of the Covenant somewhere, you’d want it with the people who actually know how to do all that properly. Tana Qirqos is that place. It’s the oldest monastery on Lake Tana, with the oldest traditions. The monks who lived there always claimed that the Ark was kept on Qirqos from 400 BCE to 400 CE, before being moved to Axum. Plus, they still practice all the rituals of Solomon’s Temple as they existed prior to Manasseh’s polytheistic reform.”
“Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”
“I don’t expect it to, no. But it is important. Before reaching Ethiopia, the Ark may have been held in a Jewish outpost on Elephantine Island, in Egypt. Archaeological evidence dates that outpost to around the 5th century BCE, which is the same time that the Ark disappeared from Jerusalem. It’s also during the reign of King Manasseh. He reinstated polytheism in Jerusalem and set up shrines to Baal and Asherah in Solomon’s Temple. The priesthood was slaughtered and the old practices obliterated. After Manasseh’s reign, you won’t find eviden
ce of those old rituals anywhere else, except for two places: Elephantine Island, and Tana Qirqos.”
Booker considered this. “So the theory is, what? That some priests smuggled the Ark out of Jerusalem before they could be killed by the king and brought it to Tana Qirqos by way of Elephantine Island?”
“That’s the theory.”
“But if Tana Qirqos was abandoned, would the Kohen really send the Ark there? Wouldn’t you want to store it someplace more secure?”
“What’s more secure than an abandoned island being swallowed by the lake?” Rick nodded, as if acknowledging the genius of his own line of thinking. “The Ark will be there.”
Booker wasn’t so sure. “And if it’s not?”
“You are a real downer, Hopkins. Have some faith, will you?”
“I’ve been through too much shit on this job to leave anything to faith. We need a backup plan, Rick.”
“The Ark will be there.”
* * *
At a max speed of just over fifteen knots, they reached Tana Qirqos in just under two hours. Like Kibran Gabriel, it was actually a pair of islands: one small teardrop-shaped rock set above a longer, comma-shaped island. The larger island was just over a mile long and heavily forested, but the lake had clearly been making a steady advance on its shoreline. Branches reached up from the muddy waters like the arms of drowning men. The northern islet was already nearly submerged.
“Looks like we got here just in time,” Hopkins noted. Rick heard the skepticism in his voice. “You’re sure --”
“Yes,” Rick snapped.
He pulled them up to a curved shoreline on the east side of the island. There was a small wooden pier that stood only a foot or so above the water, with other, slightly-larger boats looking abandoned on the shore. Rick brought them right up onto the beach, ignoring the pier. It looked like it would collapse under the first footfall.
Before leaving Gondar, Nasim had provided all of them with new toys. Both Rick and Hopkins wore shiny new wristbands and clothing that would, in theory, be up to whatever challenges they were about to face. She had also given Rick a stipend to purchase what gear he might need to retrieve the Ark. Never one to turn down someone else’s money, Rick had found the nearest store that catered to adventuring tourists and purchased a backpack to stuff with upgraded replacements for all that he’d lost in Axum. He also bought a new waterproof side-satchel. Neither of them had been provided with firearms; according to Nasim, if they needed them, they were doing the job wrong. Rick had begged to differ, had pointed to his many scars as evidence to the contrary, but ultimately lost the argument.
He hopped out of the boat, boots splashing in water that came up to his knees. He grabbed the bow of the boat and hauled it up onto the beach so it wouldn’t be taken away by the currents. Only then did Hopkins climb out.
A heavy silence lay over the island, the sense of a place hurriedly abandoned. Something Rick recognized from his childhood, and more. This place was haunted, not only by the memories of those monks that had left it years ago, but by the ages of history rooted deep in its stones. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply to inhale the scent of the lake and forest, listening to the buzz and click of insects, the chattering of song birds, and the familiar honk of a crane.
“You ok?” Hopkins asked, utterly ruining the moment.
Rick nodded, opening his eyes. “Let’s go.”
A slope rose up and away from the shore, with a path delineated by large flagstones half-submerged in mud. Thick roots snaked through and beneath the flagstones, while dense vegetation spilled over and at times completely obscured the path. To either side he could occasionally see patches of sodden ground, the roots of the trees waterlogged in muddy puddles.
“This island must be porous,” he said, pointing one out as they walked. “The lake’s bubbling up through the rock, eating away at it. Probably won’t be anything left in another five years.”
More evidence of the island’s instability became apparent as they left the forest behind and came to a clearing. It must have at one time served as a communal garden for the monks: there were squares patches that had been cleared of brush to make way for vegetables and herbs. These, too, had become morasses. To the right were the crumpled remains of a wooden structure; judging by sunbaked cow patties, it must have been a barn for the island’s cattle. Rick wondered if any of the cows remained or if they had been ferried to the mainland by the monks.
The monastery soon came into view. It was a collection of stone structures with corrugated metal roofs arranged around a central square, with more paths branching away in multiple directions. The largest and oldest-looking building was what he took to be the chapel. Set in the center of a plaza atop a natural rocky outcrop that formed a sort of plinth, it was rounded like Our Lady Mary of Zion. It had no door, the entrance gaping like the mouth of a cave.
“Is this it?” Hopkins sounded mildly disappointed.
“I’m sorry, is your ancient monastery more impressive?”
“What?”
“C’mon.” He led the way to the chapel, leaving the hot sun behind for its cool, shaded interior. Just beyond the entrance was an empty vestibule. Alcoves held the stumps of old candles, and two short stone benches were fastened to the floor on either side. The walls were covered with colorful paintings, depicting scenes from Ethiopian history, religion, and folklore: horse-mounted warriors bearing spears, radiant figures of saints, a whole group of people crossing a lake or river by boat. A second doorway, covered by a thick curtain, led deeper inside.
“It looks like they left this place overnight.” Hopkins’ voice was hushed in a way that made Rick think he didn’t even realize that he was whispering. “Would’ve thought it would be harder to get monks to abandon their post.”
It did seem a bit odd. He pushed through the thick curtain and into the main chamber.
“Oh. That would explain it.”
It was a barrel-shaped room, wide and lofty, with gaps where the walls met the ceiling to let in fresh air. Crosses hung on the walls alongside more elaborate paintings, icons of Christ and the saints and the Virgin Mary, painted in traditional Ethiopian style. Between them, hollow windows looked out onto nothing. At one point it must have been a nice place to gather for some stoic worship; now, however, there was a gaping pit in the center of the floor.
“Damn,” Hopkins muttered. Carefully they approached, wary should the rest of the floor collapse beneath them. The pit was wider than the breadth of their shoulders combined and plunged down beyond the reaches of the sun.
“Ok. So, we know why the monks left.”
“Rick -- the Ark can’t be here. I mean, come on. Look at this place.” Hopkins nudged a pebble over the edge of the pit. There were nearly thirty seconds of silence before they heard a distant splash.
Rick didn’t answer. He moved to the pit’s edge and went to one knee, studying it more closely. “Why did it collapse in this spot, specifically?” He turned to examine the rest of the chamber. “There isn’t any damage anywhere else.”
Hopkins shrugged. “Maybe there was already a weak spot in the floor?”
“But you realize what that means?” Rick looked up at him. “There’s a cavity beneath this chapel. A cave.”
Hopkins frowned, glancing at the hole. “What? You think the Ark is down there?”
“It’s clearly not up here.” There weren’t any other rooms in the chapel. He turned his attention back to the hole. The flagstones of the floor had fallen away around it, but a few remained. Now that he was paying attention he could see that those closest to the hole had been cut strangely -- not regular slabs like the rest of the floor. More like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
“The altar,” he muttered aloud. “It would have been right here, in the center of this room.” He ran a hand along the lip of the hole, where the flagstones hadn’t collapsed and were strangely cut. “There was already an opening here, beneath the altar.”
Hopkins crouched beside him, stud
ying the pit with renewed interest. He turned on his wristband light and shone it into down into the depths. It revealed the sides of the pit, but no bottom.
“They’re smooth,” he said with surprise. “Not raw rock. It’s a shaft.”
“A secret tunnel.”
They exchanged a look. Then Rick was on his feet, unshouldering his backpack. He removed a coiled length of carbon-nylon rope and a pair of abseiling belts. He glanced at Hopkins, sizing him up. “How much do you weigh?”
“Umm --”
“Forget it. I was shopping with Kai in mind, so it should work. Put this on and make sure it’s secure.”
While Hopkins fastened his belt, Rick went to find an anchor point for the rope. He ended up securing it to one of the benches in the vestibule. The bench seemed bolted to the floor well enough; Rick returned to the pit and tossed the remainder of the rope over the ledge. He put on his own belt, checked that Hopkins hadn’t made a mess of his, then clipped both of them to the line.
“Ready?”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“The belt is automatic, all you need to do is flip the switch to Descend and choose your speed. I’ll be beneath you, so don’t go too fast or you’ll kick me in the head…” Rick trailed off, watching Hopkins’ face. “You can just stay up here. That would probably be easier.”
“No, I’m going down. I got it.”
“This isn’t the time for macho --”
“I’m going.”
“Ok, ok. Sheesh, now who’s obsessed?”
Rick backed up to the edge of the pit and lowered himself down into it before Hopkins could reply. He descended rapidly enough to make the wind roar in his ears, the belay device on his belt whining softly. Glancing up he saw Hopkins silhouetted against the mouth of the pit. He was lagging behind, but Rick decided that was for the best. Telling him to hurry up would probably just end with him panicking and falling the rest of the way.
He examined the walls of the shaft with his wristband light as he descended. They had indeed been cut by tools, forming a box-shaped shaft with right angles. It hadn’t been done recently -- the tool marks were faint etchings in the stone, less than a millimeter deep, only noticeable because he knew what to look for.
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