The Library of the Kings (A Tom Wagner Adventure Book 2)

by M. C. Roberts

  Moments later she was standing at the point where the wall to the churchyard was thinnest. She slipped the bag off her back and zipped it open. From inside, she took out a large block of C4 explosive and pressed it into a crack in the wall. Then she twisted the detonator deep into the clay-like mass and activated it. With the remote trigger in her hand, she moved away. She needed cover, and found it behind a rock on a small embankment. She extended the antenna on the remote, lifted the protective cap covering the trigger, scrunched her eyes together and flipped the toggle switch.

  Nothing happened.

  Suddenly, the deactivated detonator fell onto the embankment beside her and she felt the barrel of a gun jammed against her neck.

  75

  Bet Giyorgis, Lalibela, Ethiopia

  The device looked like a cross between a robotic lawn mower and a Mars rover. One of the soldiers set it down in a corner of the church. Then he took the touchscreen remote control, activated both devices and handed the remote to Noah.

  “Ground-penetrating radar. If there’s anything down there, I’ll find it,” Noah said, and the scanner began to move. It was not an easy job, however: the peculiarities of the church’s construction made the floor very uneven.

  The second soldier opened the smaller case for Ossana. It contained a slim folder and the other two sections of the stone. Ossana removed a sheet of paper from the folder and the soldier turned to Noah, who placed the third stone piece inside the case. Overhead, lightning flashed, followed instantly by the crash and rumble of thunder. For a moment everyone held their breath. Noah coughed. Tom and Hellen abruptly realized that there was more to this than mere hocus-pocus. This was deadly serious.

  The sheet of paper in her hand, Ossana turned and faced Tom and Hellen.

  “Palffy was obsessed with the Library of Alexandria and the Philosopher’s Stone. Twenty years ago, purely by chance, he managed to get his hands on this document, and recognized the ankh—the cross of life and the symbol of the Library—right away.

  Hellen nodded. She recalled that Palffy had once mentioned it to her.

  “But even with all his knowledge and contacts, he couldn’t decipher it. It was written in an unknown language. As we learned later from Noah, there were three brothers, the Negozis. The second brother, the one who gave part of the stone to the Americans, was caught by the Nazis and taken to a concentration camp in Poland, but he wanted to send a message to his brother in Rome about his mission. So he wrote him this letter secretly, using a coded language the three brothers had developed for themselves as children, and shortly before his death he asked a Russian soldier during the liberation of the camp to pass it on. The Russian apparently didn’t understand much of what the Italian said to him, so he simply took the envelope with him; after the war it ended up in a box in his attic.”

  Ossana paused, and a smile crossed her face.

  “Sixty years later, the Russian’s grandson found the letter, but he had no idea what to do with it. So he put it on eBay, to at least try to make a few dollars from it. Palffy saw it and bought it. That letter was what led us to the Smithsonian archive. Unfortunately, we did not know that the Americans had moved their piece of the stone elsewhere in the meantime.”

  Ossana smiled and shrugged. She waited a moment for Tom and Hellen to digest what she had just told them. Then she lifted up the page in her hand. “This is the last piece of the puzzle. If you’d do me the honor of reading the marked passage?”

  She handed the page to Hellen, who took it reluctantly and read aloud: “The thirteenth church hides the secret. The thirteenth cross is the key.”

  “In the letter, however, there is no mention of where the third brother had taken the stone.” Ossana went over to Abebe Abiye’s body. “But that, Ms. de Mey, is something that you were kind enough to reveal to us in Washington.” She tore open the man’s blood-soaked kaftan and took a chain from around his neck. The pendant was a small Lalibela cross.

  “Ossana,” Noah interrupted. “I’ve found it!” He rolled to her and held up the remote control. On the display was a grainy image of a passageway directly beneath their feet. But where was the entrance?

  The soldiers began to roll the carpets aside. Ossana went down on her knees and ran her fingers over the floor. Tom and Hellen were also curious. Ossana discovered a gap in the floor, at first glance no more than a crack in the rock. Hellen’s mind automatically returned to the antiquated punch card that Scott had given Tom to help them get into the archive below the Washington Memorial. She also remembered that, just a short while earlier, she had been holding a Lalibela cross more than eighteen inches long in her hand. Without a word, she returned to the curtained room. One of the soldiers blocked her path, but a nod from Ossana and he stepped aside.

  “Hellen? What are you doing?” Tom asked, surprised at her sudden participation.

  “The necklace reminded me of something in Washington. I want to see if I’m right.” She came back carrying the large cross, which she handed to Ossana, and began to pull down the cloths covering the walls. Behind them, two ropes appeared, one on the northern side and one on the southern side of the church. The ropes passed through an iron loop in the center of the ceiling and had been fed from there out through similar loops, to hang behind the curtains on the walls. Below the center loop, an iron hook was attached to the end of each rope.

  Ossana and Tom gradually began to understand. Ossana and Hellen lowered the hooks, and Tom hung the Lalibela cross upside down from the hooks. The decorative flourishes on the suspended cross resembled the barbs on a fishhook. Hellen released her rope a little, and with a push from Tom, the cross disappeared perfectly into the gap Ossana had found in the floor.

  “Turn the rope a little,” Hellen told Tom, and the cross dropped a little deeper. Then Hellen jerked on the rope and the cross caught in the gap. “I could use a little help,” she said.

  “Help her, damn it!” Noah barked.

  Three of the soldiers immediately went to the ropes and pulled on them together. Hellen stepped clear and, with the others, gazed intently at the gap where the ropes disappeared into the floor.

  With a grating noise, a stone plate about three feet square rose slowly out of the floor. The soldiers hauled on the ropes with all their might, and the plate lifted clear of the floor. Tom’s eyes followed the ropes upward, to where they met in the center of the ceiling. The shape that of the church was cruciform, and Tom suddenly realized something. “X marks the spot,” he said to himself, and smiled. When he looked back at those around him, he saw only eager faces. Beneath the stone cover, a narrow passage had appeared.

  “The path to the thirteenth church . . .” Ossana murmured.

  “. . . and the Holy of Holies,” Noah said, finishing her sentence.

  Ossana went first, then two of the soldiers lifted Noah down after her. Tom and Hellen looked at one another, then followed Noah into the passage.

  76

  Beneath Bet Giyorgis, Lalibela, Ethiopia

  The passage gradually sloped downward, opening into a large artificial cavern after about fifty yards. Ossana and Noah were already inside when Tom and Hellen entered, closely followed by three soldiers.

  The domed cavern was twenty yards across and about fifteen feet high in the center. In the middle of the floor stood an altar. A clever arrangement of mirror-polished metal plates reflected light from the outside through a small, innocuous shaft, directly onto the altar. The last plate, the one that reflected the light directly onto the altar, was mounted atop a large rectangular stone block that stood by the wall directly opposite where Ossana and the others had entered. Ossana moved off to the left, around the altar, while Noah slowly rolled toward it.

  The altar was large and reddish and had been carved from a single, polished stone block. On top of it stood an object covered with a blue cloth. Two points protruded upward beneath the cloth, and on the sides of the object, left and right, were two long horizontal poles. No one dared to breathe. No rain, no st
orm, no movement—only silence, so quiet that those inside could almost hear their own heartbeats.

  Hellen tried to take a step toward the altar, but Ossana raised her hand and the soldiers held her back.

  Ossana, in awe, moved very slowly now, circling the altar. Finally, she grasped a corner of the cloth and pulled. Dust swirled into the air, making the entire cavern shine with a golden, almost divine light. The glittering dust particles whirled and danced in the air, lending the scene a touch of magic. Noah was breathing hard, staring in reverence at the golden masterpiece. It more than lived up to its description in the Bible; it was more beautiful than he could have dreamed. On the pedestal before them gleamed the Ark of the Covenant. On the kapporet, the “mercy seat”—the lid that covered the Ark—the two points beneath the cloth were now revealed as two cherubim, the ancestors of the angels. They spread their wings protectively over the top of the lid.

  Noah stared at the Ark with glassy eyes. He had finally reached his goal.

  “Open it,” he said to Ossana.

  She waved two soldiers over. They shouldered their weapons, took up positions on opposite sides of the Ark, grasped the lid and . . . hesitated. Naturally. Everyone there knew the scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark. They remembered what had happened to the Nazis’ faces as soon as they opened the Ark.

  Tom and Hellen shared a grin when they saw the soldiers hesitate. But then they went ahead and obeyed Ossana’s order, lifting the kapporet clear of the case beneath.

  And nothing happened.

  “So much for Hollywood,” said Ossana, shaking her head at the twinge of panic on the faces of her soldiers. Relieved, they set the lid down carefully on the cavern floor and stepped aside.

  Noah opened the small case he had on his lap, and Ossana removed the first section of the stone to lay it inside the Ark. Noah’s dream was about to become reality.

  “Wait!” Tom cried unexpectedly. “Shouldn’t someone say something? To mark the moment?” He looked around. “I mean, something as big as this—you know, the beginning of the end—deserves a little respect and recognition.”

  “Wagner, just for once, shut your goddamned mouth!” Noah barked. He turned to Ossana. “Go on, put the stone inside,” he said.

  “Just saying . . .” Tom murmured when Hellen glared at him.

  Ossana carefully placed each piece of the stone into the Ark. Holding her breath, she stepped away again. Noah’s excitement was indescribable, Tom and Hellen looked at each other with anticipation, and the soldiers edged back toward the walls. Noah’s gaze was fixed on the Ark. He knew from legend that the pieces of the stone had to be placed in the Ark of the Covenant to unfold its power. He had studied the Scriptures countless times after Ossana had approached him with her plan. He had doubted at first, but then he had read through Palffy’s documents: the sources were unequivocal. There were also numerous historical accounts of the power of the stone, stories that could be traced back to Joshua himself. And now, the three pieces of the Philosopher’s Stone lay within the Ark of the Covenant. Its healing force was about to unfold once again.

  But absolutely nothing happened.

  Noah was confused, and began to get nervous.

  “Maybe we have to close it again?” Ossana suggested. She moved again around the Ark and the same two soldiers lifted the kapporet back into place. Everyone was looking around the cavern as if they expected lightning to strike, lights to flash or the actual hand of God to appear.

  Noah looked at Ossana. Seconds ticked by, and still nothing happened. From one second to the next, Noah’s anger grew.

  The Philosopher’s Stone had triggered natural disasters, had made the old popes rich, had decided the outcome of battles and wars, and had produced more than one miracle in the name of the Catholic Church. But now Noah was utterly bewildered. The pieces of the stone had been lying in the Ark of the Covenant for a minute or more, and nothing had happened at all.

  Suddenly, a burst of diabolical laughter echoed through the domed cavern. Mystification spread through the cavern. Most of those present knew that voice very well indeed.

  “J’adore quand un plan marche!”

  From behind the stone block opposite the entrance, François Cloutard stepped into the open.

  “And for you, Noah, because I know that you have no talent for my beautiful native tongue, once more for the record: I love it when a plan comes together! Connard!”

  77

  The rock churches of Lalibela, Ethiopia

  Vittoria did not move even a millimeter. If she gave the man behind her even half an excuse to pull the trigger, she knew he would not hesitate for a second.

  Her mind was racing. Was Tom still alive? What about Hellen and Abiye? What about the priests? Would they all drown because she had failed?

  “On your feet. Slowly,” said the man behind her grimly. Vittoria raised her hands beside her head and slowly stood up.

  “Please don’t shoot me,” she whimpered helplessly, trying to lull the man into letting his guard down. For a brief second, the man got careless. He underestimated Vittoria, and he was standing much closer than he should have been. When she was almost upright, she spun around in a flash, jolting the mercenary’s rifle to one side and grabbing hold of it. A shot rang out. She yanked the rifle toward herself, and the soldier, already surprised, lost his balance. Vittoria’s knee shot up and hit him hard in the groin.

  The man groaned and dropped to his knees, his face twisted in pain. Vittoria launched a right hook at his temple, putting him out of the fight for the moment. She snatched the detonator and ran along the embankment, but the soldier was back on his feet faster than she’d expected. Shots whistled past Vittoria’s head, but the pain and the falling rain made it difficult for the man to aim accurately. Angrily, he clambered to his feet and went after her.

  As she ran, Vittoria dropped the detonator and the remote trigger into her pocket and took out the pistol she’d taken from the chopper. She had to stop her pursuer, and she made a do-or-die decision. She would only get one shot. She slowed her pace slightly, turned and dropped to one knee in a single motion. Quickly, calmly, she took aim. The surprised soldier tried to raise his rifle, but Vittoria’s bullet took him down in an instant. If there was one thing she’d excelled at in her training, it was target practice.

  Trembling now, she lowered her gun and saw the body lying motionless on the muddy embankment. The next thing she knew, a searing pain flashed through her right shoulder. She turned around and saw another soldier, this one standing at the top of the rocky plateau. He fired a second time, but the bullet flew wide, and Vittoria was on the move again. Her shoulder burned like fire, but her mind was on the drowning priests. Failure was not an option!

  The water at the bottom of the embankment was up to her knees as she splashed in a zigzag toward where the embankment narrowed into the artificial ravine, back to where she had placed the C4. Her face contorted with pain, she fished out the detonator as she ran. Bullets whipped into the water to her left and right. When she reached the C4, she threw herself flat against the opposite wall. Shots rained down from above, but the wall curved back just enough to keep her out of the line of fire. The bullets missed her by a hair’s breadth.

  During a lull in the firing, she darted forward and jammed the detonator back into the explosive, quickly activating it, then she took off along the wall at a run. This time, she wasted no time—no more than ten yards away, she flipped the trigger. The shock wave picked her up and flung her forward and she landed face down in the water. Boulders flew through the air, and as if from a broken dam the water poured out of the churchyard into the outer ravine. It took only moments before most of the water had flowed out of the interior of the church and the churchyard.

  Vittoria struggled to her feet. Her first instinct was to take cover again, but she saw that the explosion had caused the soldier above to fall into the ravine, and he had been killed by a falling boulder. She ran into the churchyard, kicked the wedges out
from under the door and tore it open. Eleven exhausted, sodden priests emerged from the dark church one by one. Weakened, some coughing, they supported each other as they came out, hardly able to believe they were still alive. The priests, Tesfaye among them, thanked Vittoria profusely. She sat down on some low steps next to the church, exhausted and in pain, but overjoyed.

  78

  Beneath Bet Giyorgis, Lalibela, Ethiopia

  François Cloutard’s entrance had been grand, and the expressions on the faces now looking at him were priceless. He carried an old Luger in his hand and held it steady, pointed at Ossana’s head.

  The two soldiers on the left and right sides of the room raised their weapons, but Cloutard had not come alone. Marcello and Giuliano also emerged from behind the block, Kalashnikovs at the ready.

  “So, we meet again,” Cloutard said to Ossana airily.

  “Everyone stay perfectly calm,” Ossana said loudly. “If anyone starts shooting now we’ll all end up in body bags, and I don’t think anyone wants that. I think we can sort this out like professionals.”

  “What took you so long?” asked Tom and immediately answered his own question: “You wanted to show off, didn’t you?” Cloutard shrugged and smiled a little self-consciously.

  The third soldier, the one behind Tom and Hellen, pressed his gun to the back of Tom’s head.

  “Tu me connais. I like a little drama.”