Finding Sheba (Omar Zagouri Thriller Book 1)

by H. B. Moore

  A short time later, she sat astride a mare and made her way to the temple site. It might pale in comparison to King Solomon’s temple, but it at least honored the name of his god—the god who helped heal her heart and the god to whom she owed her new happiness. Batal had been right. She could find forgiveness.

  The site was situated on a rise, and although the work looked as though it had barely started, the crews had been working for over a month underground. Beneath the holy structure, Nicaula was having her own tomb built. When she died, she wanted her earthly body to remain in peace, hidden from marauders who plundered graves.

  Nicaula reined her horse to a stop a short distance from the temple site. The workers had been sworn to secrecy, promising never to reveal the location of her tomb. Their families would be executed if the information left their lips.

  The queen climbed off the horse and pulled her robe tightly around her shoulders as the blowing wind kicked up the sand, just enough to reach her eyes. Lowering her veil, she approached the site, admiring the muscled backs of the men hard at work. They shaped and moved the rocks, brought from a quarry in Upper Egypt. With the aid of ropes and donkeys, the stones were dragged, lifted, and put into place. Another team of men used a mixture of dirt, water, and gummy plant matter to seal the crevices.

  Entering the temple, Nicaula gazed at the innermost holy room. The altar of limestone sprang from the tiled floor, ready for its first animal sacrifice.

  “Leave me,” the queen commanded, and her servants scurried out into the sunshine. She moved behind the partially constructed holy of holies and lifted the tiles that concealed her tomb opening. Sitting, she drew her knees to her chest and felt the cool air escape the deep hole. She would not visit the place of her burial, in case it brought ill foreboding, but she wanted to connect her birth, her life, and her death all together in this new temple.

  She heard the crewmen call to each other as they worked, and she took comfort in their physical labor and routine. As soon as the temple was completed, she would instruct them to build a second tomb on the other side of the city. She replaced the tiles and walked to the temple entrance.

  Hope and happiness filled her chest as she looked over her kingdom. Soon the sun would set, and she would marry. She smiled to herself, knowing that on this day, her soul soared with God.

  CHAPTER

  51

  Shisur, Oman

  The first thing Omar saw was a set of gigantic white teeth. He blinked several times, and the teeth shrank to normal, human-sized ones.

  “Welcome back, my friend,” Alem’s thick voice boomed.

  “You’re alive? I thought . . .”

  Alem chuckled. “Got lucky, I guess.”

  Omar turned his head to take in his surroundings. He wasn’t in a hospital. That would account for the throbbing pain in his shoulder and most of his body. No morphine IV was in sight. It was early morning, if the weak glow penetrating the tent was any indication. “How many times was I shot?” he asked.

  “Counting the time in the tomb? Once.”

  “Only once?” Omar lifted his head, staring at his body. “That’s all?” He let his head fall back. “Are you sure? Feels like at least three or four. Did you check everywhere?”

  “Not everywhere.”

  Omar started to lift the covers when a female voice said, “I checked everywhere.”

  He turned his head. “Mia.” Looking at her, alive, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced.

  She sat by him. “Glad to see you decided to wake up.”

  “How did you all get away?”

  “Well, after you threw yourself against the patriarch, nearly getting killed again, Oman’s finest took over,” she said.

  “I heard the helicopters coming. I think that’s why Rabbel panicked and went after the patriarch.”

  Mia smiled. “Why are you smiling?” Omar asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Someone wants to meet you.”

  “If it’s someone important, I need to brush my hair first.”

  Mia rose, a smirk on her face. She crossed to the tent opening and lifted the flap. “He’s awake.”

  Omar’s eyes widened as the patriarch stepped inside the tent, clad in dark robes with a large Coptic cross hanging from his neck. He greeted Mia by saying, “Thank you, Miriam.”

  The Coptic pope knows Mia on a first-name basis? The patriarch crossed to Omar. Then, even more surprising, the man leaned forward and kissed each of Omar’s cheeks. The man must be grateful for Omar’s valiant leap in front of a loaded weapon.

  The patriarch pulled away, and Omar decided he’d probably get a blessing of some sort. Then Omar would go back to playing on Mia’s sympathy for an injured man.

  Instead, Mia moved to the patriarch’s side. “I’d like you to meet my father, His Holiness, Pope Stephanus II.”

  Omar opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He tried to sit up and soak in the stunning information. “But I thought . . . you said your father was a . . . herpetologist.”

  “That’s my stepfather. My natural father is—”

  “A pope?” Omar finished. He knew that Coptic priests were required to be married, but the pope and bishops must be monks. His Holiness must have divorced before joining the order of the Holy Synod. Both Mia and her father, none other than His Holiness, Pope Stephanus II, grinned. “I think I see the resemblance now. One is just a little more hairy than the other.”

  Before he could feel embarrassed at what he’d just said to a world religious leader, the patriarch laughed. “Miriam told me you were spunky.”

  Spunky? he mouthed to Mia.

  The next few moments were surreal as the patriarch sat cross-legged on a rug. Omar decided to let Mia’s father take over the conversation before he made any more blunders.

  “Miriam tells me you have a lot of questions.”

  Omar was grateful that he had this chance to speak to the pope. “Yes, but first, I want to know what happened after I went down,” he said, looking at Mia. “I saw you and Jade jump Levy.”

  “That was an easy takedown,” Mia said, “since I’d just shot him in the leg.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly that Omar wondered if he’d heard her correctly. “You shot him?”

  “He forgot to disarm me.”

  The patriarch put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

  “So all that time I thought I might never see you again . . .” Omar said. “But you were armed, and you knew things would turn out all right?”

  “I only hoped for an opportunity.”

  Omar exhaled, gazing at her. “You saved my life.”

  She cocked her head, half smiling. “You saved my father’s life.”

  “Touché.” He smiled back. “Where’s Levy now?”

  The patriarch answered for her. “Locked away for a long time.”

  “And the fake ring that caused all the fuss?” Omar asked.

  “Right here.” Mia patted her pocket. “But it’s not a fake. It was real all along.”

  “Part of the plan, I suppose,” Omar said. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He loved that she was smiling at him . . .

  “Of course.”

  “Can I see it?” Omar held out his hand.

  Mia took out the small box and handed it to him. He opened it carefully and gazed at the heavy gold ring inside. “Amazing.” He looked at Mia. “You’re amazing.”

  She leaned forward, her mouth less than an inch from his. “No, you are.”

  The patriarch cleared his throat.

  Mia pulled away. “Sorry, Father,” she mumbled.

  Omar’s heart thumped. She’d almost kissed him in front of her father—a Coptic pope, no less. A very good sign.

  “Al-Qadi has been arrested,” Mia said, focusing on the conversation again. “I turned over the recording betwe
en him and Rabbel. He awaits trial in Salalah.”

  “And Rabbel?”

  Mia looked at her hands for a moment. “Alem . . . shot him. Rabbel died on the spot.”

  Omar thought of Alem—his friend with the large stature and easy smile. “How’s Alem?”

  “You saw him. He seems to be handling it very well. He was questioned but released, and he’ll probably have to make a formal statement at the police station once we return to Salalah.”

  “Now the real question I have,” Omar said, waving his hand from Mia to the patriarch, “is, how did this happen?”

  The patriarch chuckled. “I never knew Miriam’s mother was pregnant until years after Miriam was born. When I found out, I’d already entered the priesthood. Miriam’s mother refused to let me have contact with my daughter until she reached adulthood.”

  “When I found out a few months ago, I guess I fell apart,” Mia said, looking at Omar. “Things were shaky between you and me, and it seemed easier to break things off so I could figure out who I really was. I tried to tell myself that my father hadn’t knowingly abandoned me for religion.”

  The patriarch put his hand on Mia’s shoulder.

  “Did Levy know this?” Omar asked. “Is this why he was involved?”

  “He found out who my father was,” Mia said as her eyes met his, pleading. “And, since a patriarch is required to live a life of celibacy, Levy tried to use that information to control us. He thought if the news reached the media that the Coptic pope had a daughter, my father might lose his position because of simple politics. No matter that he’s been celibate since entering the Holy Synod.” She glanced at her father, then back to Omar. “I’m sorry you were caught in the middle, and I’m sorry for my behavior.”

  Omar felt the old protectiveness return, and this time it was stronger than ever. He was no saint, so how could he deny the woman he loved forgiveness when she asked for it? Besides, she’d saved his life. It didn’t get any better than that. “You are completely forgiven.”

  She breathed out slowly and reached for his hand.

  He squeezed hers, seeing one thing in her eyes that he’d been waiting months for. Promise.

  “Venite, dilecti filii, egredemini in hortum,” the patriarch said.

  Omar turned to the patriarch. “What did you say?”

  “ ‘Come, beloved sons, go into the garden,’ as stated by Thomas Aquinas on his deathbed.” The patriarch leaned forward. “It’s believed that St. Thomas had a vision of the queen of Sheba and knew where she was buried—beneath a garden. Ubar used to be a garden with groves of spice trees, flowering plants, dams of irrigation water, and a system of complex canals.

  “Levy was a member of DiscoveryArch,” the patriarch continued. “Through a series of e-mails, he started to suspect that Dr. Lyon and I knew a lot more about the queen of Sheba than we were telling. He questioned us extensively, and it became a battle of intellect. He asked about the legendary poem, but I’d only heard of it at the time and had never read it. Dr. Lyon had seen some watered-down forms of it. When the tomb in Northern Jerusalem was discovered, along with the sketch, Dr. Lyon sent out an extraordinary observation.”

  Omar tightened his grip on Mia’s hand, soaking in her father’s words.

  The patriarch dabbed his brow, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Lyon said, ‘The sketch and the poem hand in hand will reveal the final resting place of Bilqis.’ ” The patriarch paused. “I called the professor and asked him to explain what he meant. That was the day I was nearly killed and the day before Dr. Lyon was murdered.”

  “What did he say?” Omar asked.

  “Lyon had a theory—simple, really. He had written an article, but at that point, I was the only one he’d shared some of his notes with. Of course I couldn’t put everything together with snatches of information, but I had enough knowledge to be a threat to AWP.”

  “So they tried to assassinate you for something Lyon wrote?”

  “No. They wanted to get rid of me because I wasn’t going to keep it a secret. The world—Ethiopians, Yemenis, Jews, everyone—deserves to know the truth. To AWP, I was a billion-dollar risk.” He smiled as if attempted assassinations didn’t bother him. “Why don’t you ask the others to join us? I’ve had a chance to study the translation of the poem Alem received from his grandmother, and I think they might find my conclusions rather captivating.”

  Mia released Omar’s hand and left the tent. No fewer than five minutes later, the tent flaps were flung open and propped with sticks. The warm desert breeze entered on the heels of Lucas, Alem, and Jade.

  The small group gathered around the patriarch as he laid out a copy of the sketch and the poem side by side. Omar glanced at Alem and received a confident smile in return. His good friend had been through a lot, but his countenance radiated. The worst was over.

  The patriarch pointed to the sketch. “You’ll notice that the palm tree in the center has a trunk in the form of a snake and flower—the canna lily.”

  Omar nodded. Mia had told him as much.

  “Surrounding the center palm are six others, each representing someone in the queen’s life. Now, there has been speculation that each of these palms represents another tomb.”

  That’s what I think, Omar thought. “More tombs right here in Shisur?”

  “I think the chance of that is very slim,” the patriarch said. “With the discovery of the statue of Azhara in Ethiopia, it’s very possible that one of these palms represents her tomb.”

  “So the tombs might be scattered about the world,” Jade said.

  “Or one tomb at each of the seven oases of Ubar,” Lucas said.

  The patriarch smiled. “I like those ideas, although the Ubar theory might rule out Azhara as one of the seven palms. And I must say, Dr. Morel, your colleague, Dr. Lyon, would favor that theory too.”

  “Seven tombs linked together in seven oases,” Omar said. “Fascinating.”

  Nodding, the patriarch continued, “But it’s only a theory right now, and it makes me wonder who authored the sketch. Who drew this seven-palm diagram on the tomb of King Tambariah?”

  Jade raised her hand. “Maybe Tambariah is one of the seven tombs?”

  “And that would be my guess too,” the patriarch said.

  “So if the tomb Jade discovered is Batal’s, where does that put the queen of Sheba?” Omar asked.

  “Ah,” the patriarch said. “That’s where I think the mapmaker made a mistake.” He clutched the edges of his robe and looked upward for a moment. “The queen of Sheba—whether we call her Bilqis or Nicaula or what have you—was a very intelligent woman. And like all high-minded royalty, she didn’t want her tomb to be looted.”

  “Didn’t she have the tomb builders put to death?” Jade asked.

  “It wouldn’t have really helped, since someone had to bury her.”

  “And whoever wrote the poem knew the true location,” Alem said.

  “He didn’t necessarily write it,” the patriarch said. “He probably handed down the story verbally, and it passed from one generation to another. Someone wrote it down much later, so the version we have is likely altered.”

  “What do you think it means?” Alem asked.

  The patriarch smiled. “I’ve given it my best educated guess, and you can each decide for yourselves if you agree.”

  Omar scooted a little closer to Mia, concentrating on every word.

  The patriarch began to read the poem. “ ‘O Queen of the South, death began your journey.’ ” He looked up. “It seems that death caused her to leave her home and travel to another location.”

  “Like Jerusalem?” Jade asked. “It would fit the next line of ‘To that night when seven women held one man.’ Solomon had plenty of women.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “But the poem takes a turn on the very next line,�
�� the patriarch said. “ ‘The feast of seven days brought him from your dreams, but your heart melted for another like incense spread gold upon cherubim.’ Although it sounds like a description written about Solomon, I think the queen had another love.”

  “Batal,” Mia said, glancing at Omar.

  “But the next lines are similar to the Song of Solomon,” Lucas said. “ ‘Until your desire became as bright as precious stones. Against your bed of spices, O Queen of the South. Your lips are lilies; your chaplets of flowers fill palms of love.’ ”

  “And what about ‘Yet your virgin flower faded as the face of the serpent appeared’ ?” Jade asked.

  “Something must have happened to her lover,” Lucas said.

  “How can he be a lover if she’s a virgin?” Jade asked. When everyone snickered, she blushed red.

  “Perhaps the relationship was never consummated,” Omar said as Mia jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Always possible,” the patriarch said. “But what’s more interesting is the next line that speaks of her death. ‘As sunlight wasted, six branches closed, and flowers wilted.’ ”

  “How sad,” Jade said.

  The mood within the tent turned somber.

  “ ‘Now the seven devils hide beneath the tomb, Waiting as seven lamps still burn above, Waiting for the queen of the South.’ ” The patriarch finished reading the poem. “This is the most troubling part. But I have an idea.” He rose to his feet. “Follow me.”

  The group followed the pope to the tomb site. Members of the media still hung around, and Dr. Stein rushed over to greet them as they approached. The patriarch invited the archaeologist to join them.

  They descended into the tomb and turned on flashlights. For several moments, the patriarch studied the cuneiform lettering on the walls and the sarcophagus. He said, “Nothing here. Let’s have a look in the treasury.”

  The group squeezed into the small room, and the others waited in silence for several minutes for the patriarch to speak.