The Cup

by Alex Lukeman

"He might be from Syria but that's not what Syriac means. It's a branch of Christianity. They claim to be the oldest Christian church in the world, beginning in 37 CE at Antioch. Their Patriarch is in Damascus."

  "I've never heard of them."

  "I'm convinced the two tiles together form a message about the Grail. Anastasius had it and gave it to the monk on the second tile."

  "The Syriac monk."

  "Yes. So looking for the Grail means looking for a Syriac Orthodox monastery."

  "How did you identify the monk?"

  "From the staff on the tile, with the two snakes and the diamond cross on the top. That's the symbol of the Syriac Orthodox Patriarchate. The Patriarch holds one as his staff of office, like the Pope's shepherd's crook."

  "At least it narrows things down a little bit."

  "More than a little," Stephanie said. "The Grail changed hands at the end of the fourth century. There was only one Syriac Orthodox monastery in the right timeframe, Mor Gabriel. It was founded not long after Anastasius left Italy for the monastery at Sumela. It's also in Turkey."

  "It still exists?"

  "It does."

  "And you think the Grail was taken there."

  "It's a logical assumption, if I'm right about the tiles."

  "That's a big if."

  "Yes. There's a problem, though."

  "There's always a problem. What is it this time?"

  "People have been murdering monks and nuns at Mor Gabriel for centuries. The Turks, the Assyrians, Tamerlane, the Kurds, it's one long history of persecution. Now the current government is after them."

  "Why?"

  "The Kurds and Turks killed thousands of Syriac Christians during World War I and the monastery has been lobbying for international condemnation of the murders as genocide. There's also a dispute over land the monks have owned since it was founded. Ankara is getting ready to take it over and kick the monks out."

  "If the Grail is there, they'd find it."

  "I'm not sure they would," Stephanie said. "The monks have hidden it this long. I can't see them leaving it where the Turks could get it."

  "That makes sense if they know what's coming," Elizabeth said. "But if Ankara pulls a surprise raid, they might not have time to get it out of there. Assuming it's there in the first place."

  "There's only one way to find out. You have to send the team to Turkey."

  CHAPTER 32

  Nick's phone signaled a call.

  "It’s Harker," he said to the others. "Yes, Director."

  "Stephanie turned up something. The figure on the second tile is a Syriac Orthodox monk."

  "Syriac Orthodox? I've never heard of them."

  Mercurio looked up when he heard the words.

  Elizabeth continued. "Put me on speaker. I want all of you to hear it."

  "Count Mercurio is in the room with us."

  "It's all right if he hears what I say."

  Nick activated the speaker. Elizabeth's voice sounded clear and far away.

  "Steph and I think the Grail was handed off to the monk on the second tile. He's from a branch of Christianity called Syriac Orthodox. The only place you could find a Syriac monk back then was in Turkey, at a monastery called Mor Gabriel. There isn't any other place where he could have come from. It has to be Mor Gabriel. The monastery still exists. It's not far from the Syrian border and the city of Midyat."

  "Does this mean we're going to Turkey?"

  "As soon as everything is cleaned up where you are."

  "How are we going in?"

  "By way of Incirlik. You'll fly from Milan to the Air Force Base there. But I don't want the Turks to know what you're doing."

  "They'll spot us as soon as we leave the base."

  "You have to make sure that doesn't happen. I can get you off the base without going through control but after that it's up to you."

  "And if we're recognized and stopped?"

  "That's when you pull out your diplomatic passports and give them your story."

  "Which is?"

  "That the US government is concerned about the Kurdish independence movement."

  "I thought we were supporting the Kurds because they're fighting ISIS."

  "We are, but if you're questioned you have to sell the Turks on a different story. Tell them you’re on a covert fact-finding mission. Tell them the president is deeply concerned about the problems the Kurds are creating for our valued NATO ally."

  "Some ally," Ronnie said.

  Elizabeth said, "I happen to agree with you, but don't advertise that opinion once you're in country."

  "Why are we supposed to be covert?" Nick asked.

  "Because an official mission could be compromised by leaks. That's something any Turkish official can understand."

  "We need some kind of documentation, something to back up the story."

  "I already thought of that. It will be waiting for you at Incirlik."

  "Do we have an excuse to go to the monastery?"

  "Yes. Thousands of Syriac monks were massacred in Turkey during World War I. If you're questioned, say you been told to find evidence laying all blame on the Kurds and absolving the Turks of any part of the atrocities."

  "Is that true? The Turks didn't do it?"

  "They did it, all right, with help from the Kurds."

  "That story is a little thin, Director."

  "It's up to you to fatten it up. Better if you don't get stopped."

  "I need intel about the monastery. Pictures, layout, internal plans, anything you can give me. If the Grail's there, the monks aren't going to hand it over because we asked. We're going to have to look for it."

  "Steph will put what you need together. It will be in the packet you get at the base."

  "You are all forgetting something," Mercurio said.

  "Who's that?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Count Mercurio," Nick said.

  "What am I forgetting?" Elizabeth sounded annoyed.

  "That you are looking for a sacred object unlike anything else in the world. You will not find it unless you are meant to."

  "Are you suggesting that we give up looking?" Elizabeth said.

  "Not at all. I have been searching for many years with no success. Perhaps I'm not meant to find it. Perhaps you are, I don't know. I'm only saying that if you do not pay attention to what the Grail means, it will never come into your possession."

  "I'm not in the habit of considering myths when I'm planning a mission, Count."

  Mercurio shook his head. "Are you so sure that it's a myth, Director? The recovery of the Grail could signal the beginning of a spiritual renaissance."

  "Unfortunately, that would depend on one's personal religious belief."

  "Perhaps."

  "It's precisely because it is such a controversial object that it must not be recovered by ISIS. It's propaganda value is enormous, as valuable as an army."

  "All the more reason to consider why it is so important," Mercurio said.

  "I appreciate your opinion, Count, but I'm not King Arthur and this isn't the quest."

  "I feel sorry for you, Director. Whether you like it or not, you are now part of a two thousand year old narrative."

  "What narrative?"

  "The search for redemption and the healing connection to God. But I suppose it doesn't really matter. If you are meant to find the Grail, your beliefs about it are irrelevant."

  Nick looked at Selena and raised his eyebrows. People didn't talk to Elizabeth Harker like that. He interrupted before she said something she might regret later.

  "Director, is there anything else?"

  "Not at the moment. Make sure the Count signs a secrecy agreement. Make sure he understands the consequences if he decides to break it."

  "Copy that, Director."

  Elizabeth ended the call.

  Selena said, "That was interesting."

  CHAPTER 33

  Lamont and Ronnie carried the bodies of the three dead terrorists out of Mercurio's study and dropped them in
the hall next to the other two. Nick and Selena moved the bodies of Maria and the cook to a storage room and covered them with blankets taken from a spare bedroom.

  By early evening, the cleaners hadn't arrived.

  "Man, I need something to eat," Lamont said. "I'm going to rustle up something in the kitchen."

  "I'll help," Selena said.

  "We'll all help," Nick said.

  "Let me show you where everything is," Mercurio said. "I'll choose wine for our meal. I have a rather exceptional cellar."

  "Do you have a nice Barolo, by any chance?" Selena asked.

  Mercurio's face broke into a broad smile.

  "One you will remember for the rest of your life," Mercurio said, "a 1958 Giacomo Borgogno, an astounding vintage. I have several bottles. It will be a pleasure to share it with you."

  Ronnie mopped up the Chef’s blood. Then everyone got busy doing something to make the meal. Lamont and Ronnie chopped vegetables. Nick put on a large pot to boil for pasta. Selena began assembling a salad in a large wooden bowl. The bowl was dark and gleaming from years of careful used and conditioning. No one had ever spoiled it with soap. Making a meal provided an illusion of normality in what had been anything but a normal day.

  They sat down at the kitchen table to eat. The wine was everything Mercurio had said it was and more. One sip set the body glowing, as if the sun had come out from behind dark clouds. It was that kind of wine. The count entertained them with stories of Italian politicians who had made fools of themselves in one way or another and stories of his childhood and his grandfather, the patriarch who had started the olive oil business.

  They had just finished when the cleanup crew arrived in two white vans. There were eight of them. The leader had a brief conversation with Nick and they set to work. Three hours later, there was no sign of the terrorist attack. The holes in the wall and ceiling from the bullets had disappeared. The chandelier was back where it belonged. The bodies and blood traces were gone. The broken windows in Mercurio's study had been repaired.

  Mercurio stood at the entrance with Nick and watched the vans pull away. He looked around.

  "Amazing," he said. "You'd never know anything had happened."

  "That's the idea, Count."

  "It's clear this isn't the first time you've used the services of men like those. Don't you get tired of dealing with this sort of mayhem?"

  "It's all part of the job. But, yes, I do get tired of it."

  "Then why do you continue?"

  "I've been asking myself that a lot, recently. It's pretty simple. There are evil people in the world who will do anything to get what they want. Some do it with money and politics. Others do it with bombs and guns. Someone has to stop them and that's where I come in."

  "Do you think any of it makes a difference in the long run?"

  "I don't know about the long run, Count. I deal with situations in the present. Does it make a difference? The day I stop believing it does is the day I'll quit."

  "That's a fair answer," Mercurio said. "By the way, thank you for what you did today."

  "You're welcome."

  "It's getting late. Let me show you where you and the others can sleep."

  Mercurio took them upstairs. Lamont and Ronnie had separate rooms overlooking the front of the house. Nick and Selena's room looked out over the villa gardens. It had glass doors that opened onto a wide balcony. The bed was a queen sized four poster with a brocaded canopy. A private bath completed the suite.

  "If the olive business ever goes bust, he can always turn this place into a hotel," Nick said.

  "It is something like a boutique hotel," Selena said. "That bed looks comfortable."

  "I'm going to take a shower. Care to join me?"

  "I thought you'd never ask," she said.

  Later, after they'd made love, Nick looked up at the canopy overhead and thought about how close they'd come to dying earlier. He fell asleep. He dreamed.

  He's in Afghanistan again, the rotors echoing from the valley walls, the monotonous sound of approaching death. There’s the village where he almost died, a shitty, dust-blown cluster of flat-roofed buildings surrounded by sharp, brown hills. A potholed dirt track runs through the cluster of hovels.

  He drops from the chopper and hits the street running, M4 up by his cheek, his Marines behind him. They're looking for a Taliban mullah who's making trouble. He comes to the market, a mix of cobbled together bins with cloth walls. Flies swarm around the butcher’s stall.

  He stays away from the walls. Somewhere a baby cries. There's no one in the street..

  Bearded figures on the rooftops open up with AKs. The market stalls shatter in a storm of splinters and rock exploding from the sides of the buildings.

  A child runs toward him with a grenade and he hesitates too long. The boy throws as he fires a three round burst. The child's head vanishes in a burst of blood and bone and brain. The grenade drifts toward him in slow motion and explodes...

  The dream changes. Before, he's always come awake when the grenade explodes but this time he finds himself standing before a building he's never seen before. It's a very large building of stone, old. There are galleries with windows and arches, long stone balustrades and open spaces, stairways and doors. Narrow bell towers topped with odd looking crosses soar into a dark sky.

  A deep voice booms in his mind.

  "PAY ATTENTION!"

  He woke shouting.

  "Nick, it's alright."

  Selena was standing by the bed a little distance away.

  "It's just a dream. You're all right."

  Nick sat up. He was slick with sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs.

  "What are you doing over there?"

  "You were thrashing around, the way you did when we first met. I didn't want to get in your way. Were you dreaming about Afghanistan again?"

  He rubbed his eyes and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

  "Yeah, it was the same old dream. Except this time it was different."

  "How?"

  Nick told her about the building and the voice.

  "What do you think it means?" she said.

  "I don't know that it means anything. I've never seen that building before. It looked real, like I was standing in front of it. Then I heard the voice. That's what woke me up."

  "You haven't had that dream for a while. It must've been because of what happened today."

  "I was thinking about today before I fell asleep," Nick said. "That was close, too close. I wasn't expecting it, and that worries me."

  "You think you should have anticipated it?"

  "Yes, I should have. I let my guard down. It was a mistake."

  "You're human, Nick. You're allowed to make mistakes."

  "Not when it can get us killed. We knew ISIS might follow up on Bergstrom."

  "But we weren't killed. That's why we're a team. We protect each other."

  "That's right," Nick said. "But Ronnie and Lamont won't always be around to save our ass."

  "I have an idea," Selena said.

  "I'm listening."

  "Let's go down to the kitchen and finish that second bottle of wine."

  CHAPTER 34

  The base at Incirlik hadn't changed much since the last time they'd been there. They were met by a man in civilian clothes who introduced himself by his last name, Monell. His eyes were hidden behind old-style aviator sunglasses. He led them to a blue Chevy suburban parked nearby.

  Lamont looked around the base as they drove away from the hangers. "Seems kind of busy."

  Monell nodded. "It's the war in Syria. They're flying missions all the time."

  "Any problems with the Russians?" Nick asked.

  "Every day. Most of it doesn't make the press, but there are always incidents. Some hotshot pilot in an SU-35 will come too close. It's only a question of time before something happens. When it does, all bets are off."

  "That's an encouraging thought," Selena said, "that some jet jockey just out of adolesc
ence could touch off World War III."

  "Let me guess," Nick said. "Langley sent you."

  "I work for the DNCS Monroe," Monell said. "I'm supposed to give this to you."

  He handed Nick a package. Lucas Monroe was Stephanie's husband and Director of National Clandestine Services at Langley, responsible for CIA's operations in the field.

  "He had good things to say about you," Monell said.

  "The feeling is mutual."

  Nick opened the package. It contained satellite shots, a detailed roadmap of Turkey, plans and photographs of the monastery. Nick took out one of the pictures and looked at it.

  "I don't believe this," he said.

  Selena looked at him. "Believe what?"

  "See this picture of the monastery? That's the building I saw in my dream last night."

  "You're kidding."

  "I wish I was."

  "How could you dream about a building you've never seen?"

  "How the hell do I know? Why does my ear itch when the shit is about to hit the fan?"

  Monell started to say something and changed his mind.

  "What dream?" Ronnie asked.

  "I had a dream last night that I was standing in front of the building in this photograph."

  He handed the picture to Ronnie.

  "That's the monastery?"

  "Yep."

  "Where I come from, dreams are important. My auntie used to say Spider Woman sends dreams to help us understand something."

  "Who's Spider Woman?"

  "She's one of our most important benefactors," Ronnie said. "She taught the People how to weave and grow our food. What else was in the dream?"

  "There was a voice."

  "A voice? What did it say?"

  "Pay attention."

  "Pay attention? That's all?"

  "Yeah. Scared the hell out of me. It was a deep, booming voice, the kind of voice you can't ignore."

  "Cool," Lamont said.

  "You wouldn't say that if it had been talking to you," Nick said.

  "I had a cousin that used to have dreams like that," Monell said.

  "You did?"

  "Not a lot of dreams, but once in a while this voice would pop up and say something. It was always something important. He had one of those just before he died."