The Phoenician Code

by Karim El Koussa

  The

  Phoenician

  Code

  By

  Karim El Koussa

  The Phoenician Code

  Copyright © 2011, by Karim El Koussa

  Cover Design Copyright © 2011, Sunbury Press

  NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information contact Sunbury Press, Inc., Subsidiary Rights Dept., 2200 Market St., Camp Hill, PA 17011 USA or legal@sunburypress.com.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Sunbury Press, Inc. Wholesale Dept. at (717) 254-7274 or orders@sunburypress.com.

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  FIRST SUNBURY PRESS EDITION

  Printed in the United States of America

  October 2011

  ISBN 978-1-934597-75-0

  Published by:

  Sunbury Press

  Camp Hill, PA

  www.sunburypress.com

  Also By Karim El Koussa

  * Pythagoras: The Mathemagician—2005

  (Historical Fiction/Philosophical novel, Cloonfad Press, USA)

  —Winner of the Saiid Akl Prize—Dec. 19, 2001

  —Receiver of two Official Citations—USA 2005

  * PYTHAGORAS the Mathemagician—2010

  (Historical Fiction/ Philosophical novel—Sunbury Press, USA)

  Acknowledgments

  I should like to express my indebtedness to Dr. Eddy Dib for his valuable comments and advice.

  I would also like to acknowledge a very special and extraordinary person, Father Dr. Youssef Yammine for the many helpful sessions granted for the realization of this novel.

  I also owe a great debt to all those who have helped writing this novel, and who wish to remain anonymous.

  In addition, I should also express my appreciation to my Editor, Ms. Wasilia Yapur, Ph. D. candidate in Medieval Spanish Literature at the University of Arizona, for her excellent comprehensive editing and literary input. Great thanks to her for revising the text in its English form and commenting on it.

  Great thanks to all my friends, in particular: Pierre Douaihy (cover concept), Jabbour Abidib, Pete Al Ahel, Ibrahim Sassine, Charles Frangie, Josephine Al-Tawni, Alicia Kortbani, for their support, each in his own different way.

  Special thanks to Suzanne Gonullu for standing by me all through the process of writing this thriller.

  I am also grateful to Mr. Lawrence Knorr, the Publisher who has given me another great opportunity to publish my second novel in the USA. Special thanks also go to the staff at Sunbury Press.

  And last but not least, I would like to show my candid gratitude to my readers around the world.

  Karim El Koussa

  Ehden, March 17, 2011

  To the Keepers of the Word…

  If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him, and make our home with him. He who does not love me, does not keep my words; and the word, which you hear, is not mine but the Father's who sent me. (John 14:23–24)

  Facts:

  The Great White Fraternity—

  An ancient fraternity founded around 1500 BC, or even a few hundred years earlier. The Great White Fraternity was a monotheistic religious community that began to function as an esoteric secret society in Phoenicia, and was then immediately adopted by Egyptian Priests.

  There existed a great religious and spiritual connection between Egypt and Phoenicia, and especially between Memphis and Gebel (Byblos). Egyptian Priests also adopted the story of Adonis and Astarte that had occurred in Gebel, and identified the names of these divinities with those of their own, Osiris and Isis. The death of Osiris, and his resurrection, is the Egyptian version of the death and resurrection of the Geblite Adonis.

  In addition, the Phoenician’s belief in the One Most High God “Al-Elyon” became the corner stone at the Temple of Akhenaton in Egypt, who initiated the preaching of the One God, Aton. Among the early prominent adepts of the Great White Fraternity were Pharaohs Thutmose III and Akhenaton of Egypt, as well as the Canaano-Phoenician Kings, Melki-Sedek of Jerusalem, Ahiram of Gebel, and Hiram of Tyre (also known as Ahiram).

  The Divine Messenger of the Great White Fraternity was Enoch-Taautus. Enoch (Anak) the Canaano-Phoenician became a Metatron—the chosen one who stood before God. The Father of the spiritual laws was also identified as Thot-Taautus in the Egyptian religion. He was also Mithra for the Hindus and the Persians; Enki/Ea in Mesopotamia; Nebo in the Babylonian mythology; Quetzalcóatl for the Mexican Aztecs; Thor in the Scandinavian tradition; Hermes-Kadmos for the Greeks, and Mercury for the Romans. He was Adam-Kadmon for the Kabbalists, Edris for the Arabs and Muslims, and recently Enoch for the Druzes.

  He was also the god of Wisdom, Science, and the occult teachings.

  The Keepers of the Word—

  A physically non-existent movement in the real sense of the word. It is not an organized entity. However, there are an increasing number of people in the world today who believe that the message of Jesus Christ in the New Testament was a spiritual and social revolution against the God of the Old Testament. That would be the reason for the crucifixion that led to the Resurrection—the real aim of the divinity of Jesus.

  Martin Luther wrote in Christian Liberty, “Therefore the Promises of God belong to the New Testament. Indeed, they are the New Testament.”

  All historical information on art, architecture, and masonry are the fruit of serious and intensive research.

  All quotations from the Old and New Testament are accurate.

  The three maps at the end of the book are authentic.

  Prologue

  1105 AD

  Troyes in Champagne, France

  Late Evening

  On the top of a hill, just at the outskirt of the village of Troyes, stood a beautiful castle of stone, overlooking the surrounding plains from the four towers on the four sides. It belonged to Hughes, the Count of Champagne. Despite the thick fog encircling the hill, and the heavy rain pouring from everywhere, a faint light could be seen from one of the windows that led to his study.

  Behind a wooden desk, clothed in a black cape, a well-built man in his early thirties, a long mane over his shoulders, a thick beard covering his face, appeared engrossed with something on his desk under the dim light of a two- candled chandelier. A sketched map of the Holy Land, and next to it, a beautifully crafted Cross of pure gold. However, three knocks on the door abruptly broke his concentration.

  “Come in…” he ordered in a sharp tone, lifting his head up.

  The door opened, a man, very similar to him in shape and costume, perhaps a bit shorter and thinner, entered the room.

  “What is it cousin?” asked the Count.

  “A messenger just brought up this letter addressed to you and said it’s urgent. He first refused to give it to me, saying that it should be delivered to you in person, but I assured him not to worry,” he explained, displaying his fidelity, as he moved closer towards the desk.

  “Very well then, have a seat.”

  Hughes de Payens, the cousin, was very loyal to the Count. In fact, he was his companion and right-hand man. He took care of almost all his businesses, and the Count trusted him greatly. When he found his seat, he handed him the scroll, wrapped with a red ribbon.

  The Count took his time before
he untied the knot and opened the scroll. His bright eyes, fixed on the written words, soon turned dim. Something bad seemed to have happened. His face began to show expressions of sorrow and exasperation.

  Something dreadful had really happened, Hughes de Payens thought. “What’s wrong cousin?” He questioned, in an anxious tone.

  There was silence for a few seconds…

  “Summon the stable boy and ask him to saddle up two horses. We’re riding to Troyes.”

  “What! Have you lost your mind? It’s late at night, and it’s raining like hell. Can’t you hear the thunder outside? There is a storm coming…” Hughes de Payens argued, with a hint of astonishment, in an attempt to talk him out of that foolish idea.

  “Do you doubt my reasoning, cousin?” The Count replied, “Don’t! Just do what I have told you. It is an important matter. Leave now.”

  Although Hughes de Payens knew almost everything, down to the slightest details concerning the Count: his love affairs, his money affairs, his political acquaintances, and his social status, still, he doubted the Count might have some sort of connection he didn’t know about. He rarely saw him in such a baffled state.

  With no further ado, the cousin obeyed the wish of the Count, and summoned the stable boy. A few moments later, on that clandestine night, the Knights rode on through the mist, and the sound of their running horses echoed eerily in the small valley below. Rain poured heavily that night, and the wind blew in all directions.

  A powerful thunderclap resounded, as lightening smacked a big Cypress tree on the side of the narrow mountainous passage, and it crashed on the road. The loud neighs of horses reverberated in the air, as the flash of the lightning strike glinted the way for the two horses coming to an abrupt stop, right at the verge of the fallen tree. The horses stood motionless on the rocky passage.

  Completely cloaked in black from head to toe, one of the riders dismounted hastily after seeing his companion sprawled on the ground by the forced halt. The roaring thunder had certainly impeded him from hearing the probable scream.

  “Are you all right, cousin?” said the worried voice in the darkness.

  “I am fine. Just help me get up,” the Count groaned angrily, as he struggled on the muddy soil.

  “Should we go back? The road is blocked…” Hughes de Payens added in an anxious tone.

  “No... No. We will jump over the hurdle. I have to meet the Big Brother, and urgently,” the Count spoke in resolve as he stood up, cleaning the dirt off his black robe.

  “Aha… now I understand the rush,” Hughes de Payens reasoned, and the Count gave him an affirmative look.

  Back on their horses, the two Knights moved some sixty steps further away, spun around to glare at the crashed tree for a moment then turned around, and whipped their horses to a fast gallop towards the village.

  Partly illuminated by oil lamps hanging from the pillars on either side of the road, Troyes appeared from afar like a haunted town. The black Knights entered at a gallop, riding directly to an old, gloomy residential area to the northern side of the village.

  Immediately, out of the dark, three armed men—holding oil lamps in their hands—dashed towards them. Despite the drizzling rain, the light helped the Knights discern the road better and more clearly distinguish the three guards nearing them.

  “Reveal yourselves!” One of the guards commanded.

  “I’m Hughes, Count of Champagne, and this is my cousin, Hughes de Payens,” the Knight on the black horse responded, as he lifted the hood off his head.

  The men came closer in order to identify them. One of them, evidently reassured by the identity of the Count, said: “Please, follow us. The Master is very ill, and he is waiting for you.”

  The Count and his cousin followed them silently to an ancient, somber house where they got off their horses and waited, as one of the guards knocked on the massive wooden door, once then twice. The door opened, and a huge man with a bald head, thick eyebrows, dark eyes, and a big moustache appeared at the doorstep. The two knocks on the door were apparently a signal for those inside to respond by opening, yet not enough for the Knights to be allowed inside, for the man at the door ordered them to stop.

  “This is Hughes, the Count of Champagne and his cousin. They are here to see the Master,” explained the guard.

  “Are you sure about their identity?” asked the guardian of the door.

  “Well… not yet, but I guess they are saying the truth,” answered the guard.

  “We will know in a moment. Have you searched them?”

  “Yes… they are unarmed.”

  The guardian of the door stepped out slowly, and walked steadily towards the Knights, turning around them once then again. While having his stabbing stare fixed on them for a few seconds, he came closer, near the Count.

  “What is the password?” he asked in a low voice.

  The Count looked at him through jagged eyes, and whispered in his ears the word: “RASHI”

  “Wait here!” the guardian intoned hastily, as he gave the Count and his cousin a quick look, before he turned on his feet and headed towards the door.

  Long moments passed before the guardian appeared again, inviting the Count in, “You can enter now, Count. Master Rashi is ready to receive you.”

  The Knights entered the house, but the Count alone continued left into a room behind a colorless curtain. Obviously, his cousin was not permitted to see the Big Brother; the letter was specifically addressed to the Count. Inside a dreary bedroom, lying on a luxurious, well-crafted wooden bed was a man, wrinkled by age and weighed down by life. Few white-and-gray, fine threads of hair covered his head. His face was round, his eyes lifeless, half open, in search of the visitor who had just entered. The Count drew nearer, and sat on a small black leather stool next to the bed.

  After establishing a long-time, special relationship with Hughes, Count of Champagne and his friend Godefroi de Bouillon, Master Rashi appointed Godefroi—who was the Duke of Lower Lorraine at the time—to be the first Master of their secret, religious, political, and military Order under the name of the Priory of Zion. This had happened almost six years ago, in the year 1099 AD, the same year in which Jerusalem had fallen into the hands of the Christian Crusaders, led by men like Peter the Hermit; Godefroi de Bouillon; Hughes, Count of Champagne; and Raymond de Saint Gilles, Count of Toulouse.

  Rashi had earlier revealed to Godefroi de Bouillon that the Sacred Cup and the Ark would confer amazing support and power to those who should find them. He had informed him that both items were hidden in the ruins of the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem. However, this important information had been totally concealed from the Count, but it seemed that Godefroi, who was sick and dying back then, had actually transmitted the secret to his brother, Baldwin of Boulogne—who became King of Jerusalem one year later, in 1100 AD.

  “Anything new from King Baldwin…?” Master Rashi inquired with a sudden cut off of his question due to his continuous painful coughs.

  “No. He told me to inform you that he had not yet found the item you are searching for, Master,” the Count answered in a low voice that betrayed his disappointment.

  On a table nearby, reposed an iron chandelier with seven lit candles, their light diffused dimly, extinguishing, like the old man in his bed. The Count stared at him with hidden pity; for he had figured out that his days were numbered.

  “You’ve been there for a few weeks…” he muttered, his voice unstable, “And you haven’t found anything! Baldwin has been in Jerusalem for six years now, and he hasn’t found it yet? He won’t… he won’t ever find it!” he shouted out loud, painfully. “The Cup might have been taken a very long time ago to a different place by… this darned Joseph…” the Big Brother uttered the words with a great rage that clearly showed the blue thick veins on his old face, and with difficulty, because of his persistent coughs. He was, indeed, in a very anguished and feeble condition.

  “Here… drink some.” The Count handed him a glass of water fro
m the bedside table.

  A few seconds later…

  “What Cup, Master? I was not there searching for anything. My visit was strictly for political reasons. The search, I believe, was Baldwin’s mission.” The Count explained; justifying himself from the burden Master Rashi had put on his shoulders. Besides, he knew all too well that Rashi was in the mixing-things-up phase of his life.

  “Come… come a bit closer,” the old man urged him with a tremulous intonation. “I’m dying, as you can see,” his eyes almost closed, no more power to keep them open, or half-open, “but before I die… before I leave, I want to reveal to you something of great importance… hem… hem… a secret about the Temple, the Ark, and a Sacred Cup…”

  The Count abided with veiled excitement that he found hard to conceal as the Master whispered strange words in his ears.

  The storm had calmed down when the two Knights left the village of Troyes that night, heading back to the castle of the Count, over the hill, just at the outskirt.

  The old man died a few days later. It was 1105 AD.

  In the couple of months that followed, the Count lived every single day in great perplexity. The secret the Big Brother had revealed in his last moments had haunted him since. He became obsessed with it, almost losing his sanity. What he knew was also, already known to Baldwin—King of Jerusalem—but what the King—the second Master of the secret Order of the Priory of Zion— didn’t know was that the Sacred Cup might have been taken, a very long time ago, to a different place by a certain man called Joseph.

  “Who was Joseph?” The Count muttered under his breath. It seemed that Master Rashi was not able to pronounce the complete name of that person, but the Count reasoned that Joseph might have been an important Christian figure. Curious to know the real identity of that man, the Count decided to travel to Jerusalem along with his cousin Hughes de Payens.