The Phoenician Code

by Karim El Koussa

  Dear Mr. Khoury,

  Hope this email finds you well.

  It was a pleasure meeting you at Padre Joseph’s Office last week. What a great man he is!

  Anyway, hope you are enjoying your stay in Geneva.

  Listen, we just thought of telling you, Youmna & I, that we started the digging in Gebel four days ago. Everything is going fine. No surprises.

  See you soon,

  Maya.

  Paul appeared to be enjoying himself, as he slowly read through the email he had just received. His face broadened with a smile, after he was done. Amused by it, he wrote back to her in a confident mood, choosing his words carefully, and assuring her and Youmna that he would be with them by next week.

  Just about an hour later, after checking his emails, communicating with friends on social networks, and finishing his second cup of tea Paul stood up, left the table, and then ambled through the pathway, three small steps beneath the terrace. He sat on the bench; his eyes set on the smooth water of the lake, lit a cigarette, and seemed to sink into reflection.

  Sauntering onward and backward on the beautiful terrace, minutes later, his mind labored intensely, formulating the concepts he would put forward, and the many thoughts he would share with an attentive audience the next day, concerning the Temple of Solomon. As a Ph.D. graduate in Ancient History & Religion representing Lebanon, his own country, in a global convention of such magnitude, Paul would do his best not to allow any flaws to appear on his thesis.

  Dressed in a cobalt-colored suit over a white shirt, his face round with average-sized brown eyes, Paul walked inside the Lobby with his laptop case over his shoulder. His mind was set for tomorrow’s seminar.

  “Mr. Khoury, Mr. Khoury… Sir,” a vibrant sound came like a scream from the reception desk. It echoed all around the Lobby. Paul quickly turned in the direction of the sound, and walked towards the lady standing with a smile behind the desk. She was not Fiona, the receptionist he’d met on his arrival at the hotel. This was Andréa, the other receptionist he had conversed with in the morning.

  Young and attractive, like Fiona, Andréa extended her right hand towards Paul, handing something to him that looked like an envelope. “This is for you, Sir,” she uttered, with a wide grin on her soft face. “It arrived almost half an hour ago.”

  “Thank you, Andréa,” Paul smiled back, looking at the watch on his wrist. It marked 7:56 PM.

  The envelope had been secured with the red sealing wax frequently used in official correspondence. The seal had been embossed with a letter ‘B’. What is this? he mulled over it, utterly puzzled. This is weird! the thought had quickly crossed his mind, as he lifted his eyebrows, and opened the packet.

  Paul tensed, as he read the words, written on the black paper he had pulled from the envelope. Unexpected words that surged into his mind like a thunderbolt, a warning he did not feel in need of at the moment. He had been listed for an important speech tomorrow, in front of Professors, Academics, Scholars, and students. Backing out was not an option.

  With an anxious look on his face, he gazed at the receptionist. “Who gave you this?” he asked in a commanding tone, filled with fury.

  “I don’t exactly know, Sir, who brought this letter in. It was not during my shift,” Andréa articulated in a gentle yet perturbed voice, sensing something was not well. “Is there anything wrong, Sir?”

  Paul did not answer. He just left the hall, and walked to the elevator. Once inside his room, he threw the black paper on the bedside table.

  It read:

  The Temple of Solomon is not a myth.

  It is a living reality to us.

  No room for error. Be wise, or…

  .5.

  Gebel (Byblos), Lebanon

  Friday, 11 AM

  The pit was dug in the form of a square, encircled with a thick blue rope, attached to four poles on each of the corners of the geometrical form. Nailed to each of the poles was a signpost with a clear inscription that read:

  Do Not Trespass. Excavation Work.

  Beirut National Museum.

  Lebanese Ministry of Culture.

  Inside the ditch, two attractive young girls, dressed in casual outfits with hard hats on their heads were kneeling on the ground, side by side, observing some ancient stones that stood in front of them. They seemed to have had uncovered these recently; having such archeological tools as trowels, a shovel, a digging spade, hand brushes, a hand pick, a caliper, and cotton gloves, all placed near them.

  They held a number of documents in their hands, to which they referred to during their analysis. However, the stones she and Youmna had just found, to their understanding, held no secret notation. Maya and Youmna were thrilled at what they’d found during their dig up here, at Gebel’s Archaeological Site. Although the relics appeared historically important, going back perhaps a thousand years before the time of Jesus Christ, they, in fact, held no mystery at all. They were just the usual sorts of building stones that Archaeologists often find at excavation sites all over the world. In the end; they had both finally concluded.

  “Zago… Zago,” Maya shouted, moments later. “I need you for a second,” she said.

  Not too far from the ditch, somewhere among the ruins, a bald-headed man with a thick black beard, that made him appear somehow older than in his mid-twenties, was speaking over his mobile phone. He turned to Maya, and signaled to her that he would be with her in a minute.

  “Do you truly trust the guy, Maya?” Youmna asked, giving the impression that she really doubted the wisdom in her friend’s choice for asking Zago to escort them to the site.

  “He’s been assisting me for almost ten years now. He has been a reliable person since high school. In fact, he loves to be a part of anything mysterious, and the city of Gebel is indeed one of the most ancient, mysterious places on Earth,” Maya rejoined in a comforting voice.

  “I found his, how shall I put it, his overall attitude a bit foolish, don’t you think?” Youmna persisted.

  “Well of course, with his unpredictable, impulsive character, Zago could well be a bit annoying at times, but he really is ok,” Maya explained. “He has never been an impediment to my work. On the contrary, he’s been a great support.”

  “I don’t know… he sometimes scares the hell out of me with his piercing eyes,” Youmna added, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Don’t be too judgmental,” Maya started. “You see he has been greatly influenced by Occult Doctrines. Zago is a seeker, compelled by a strong desire to know and comprehend the mysteries behind the façades. But then again, my dear Youmna, who would shun away from the truth on account of the outer shell? Right?” She reached out to her, as her imperative question lingered on.

  “I mean, look at you, at close range you are an Alchemist, in constant search for deeper realities behind what your eyes see, and even you sometimes go hysterical when you don’t understand things. Yet, I must admit, some of his misleading exploration has categorically exhorted him to believe in superstitions and false magic, something you haven’t fallen prey to. But that is all there is to him, nothing else. Trust me.”

  In fact, to grasp the knowledge of the occult world, in full, is definitely a difficult matter that requires a tight control on the mind, Youmna reasoned to herself. She did not comment out loud.

  “Ok Maya, here I am, how can I be of assistance?” Zago asked in a serious tone, as he approached the girls, working on the ditch.

  “Very well, do you recall the data we collected back at the archaeological site, in the city of Sur, a couple of months ago?” Maya inquired, pensively.

  “Yeah, of course, I have it all on my laptop at the base camp,” Zago answered without hesitation.

  “Great. Please file this information in concordance with the Phoenician masonry folder,” she handed him the document to be filed electronically.

  “Oh, Zago,” she called him back. He turned to face her. “Please do that as quickly as possible, and when you’re done, come back and
give me a hand. We’re moving the equipment to ditch number three.”

  Zago turned right, in search of ditch number three. He suddenly came to a halt when he found it. “The Great Phoenician Temple!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes!” she answered sharply.

  Without commenting on her decision, which took him by surprise, he lifted his thick eyebrows, and left at once.

  A few meters away, at the back of a small wall to the south of the Archaeological Site; the team had already erected the base camp, made up of two medium-sized tents set up in the shape of a square. It was enclosed within a triple-layered thick blue rope, attached to six wooden posts, one on each of the four angles, and two in the middle of the eastern side of the square. A sign was affixed to each of the posts on the angles with the following message:

  Do Not Trespass. Base Camp.

  Beirut National Museum.

  Lebanese Ministry of Culture.

  When Zago entered the base camp in order to work on the data he had received from Maya, Youmna, who had kept silent about her friend’s sudden decision to shift from one ditch to the other, turned to confer with her. Maya was just finishing her work in the ditch at that point, and getting ready to move up to leveled ground.

  “Are you quite sure there is nothing more in here?” Youmna queried, with a focused look on her eyes that only great researchers get.

  “One hundred percent positive,” the Archaeologist uttered firmly. “I have thoroughly examined the beautiful work of engineering done on this Temple, and compared it to similar work done on some religious buildings in some other sites around Lebanon and the Levant. In fact, they all, in some way, follow a pattern of basic convention in the plan structure.” Maya took a sip of water from her flask, but before she could continue her explanation, Youmna interrupted her.

  “Hold on to that thought. What do you mean, exactly?” she addressed her in a stern tone. “I mean, I saw you fetching through your private documents, but…” she bent down to pick up her blue notebook off the ground. “I didn’t quite understand what you were doing and what you are saying right now.” She bypassed her, looking for her tools on the ground. “I truly thought we would carry on with the digging right here. In fact, you surprised me when you opted to change trenches.”

  Maya looked confounded. It didn’t occur to her that Youmna could really create an argument out of her decision. She decided to sort things out with her, before they continued their exploration.

  “Oh, dear, listen to me, I am not here to boss you around and do things according to my wishes. We form a great team. Please, rest assured of that. In fact, we both inferred that even though those stones are historically important, aging perhaps a thousand years BC, they are void of any puzzling meaning, just simple building stones of the ancient world. Right?”

  Youmna nodded.

  “Just fine, so, would you like to tell me what you are basing your analysis on?” Maya asked in conformity.

  “Well, on various factors, mainly on the color of the stone, material, smell… everything that has to do with Alchemy in fact,” she replied.

  “That’s great,” Maya agreed with her. “Let me tell you what I based my decision on, for moving off this trench.” She gave her friend an explanatory look. “Common buildings, and some religious ones, are often planned and laid out from the exterior to the interior, and I mean from the façades of the outside walls to the core outlines of the inner walls. This is about the exact blueprint I saw here.” She took a deep breath, like a jogger getting ready for a race. “And so, dear friend, what I’m truthfully looking for is a construction, planned from the interior to the exterior, from the heart to the shell.” She paused for a second. “An edifice equal to the marvelous structure of the Phoenician Temple of Baal-Melkart in Sur.”

  A thought passed Youmna’s mind, a reminder of a previous conversation at the Padre’s office. It was the illustrious Architect, Hiram Abiff, who placed the foundation of that marvelous Temple, and the Temple of Solomon as well, as per the Biblical story. He had requested the help of the skillful Phoenician artisans and scientists in the construction, mostly originating from the city of Gebel. However, Phoenician legend has it that Hiram Abiff kept the secret of the makeup hidden from King Solomon.

  “You think that ‘The Great Phoenician Temple’ is built that way, from the core to the surface?” she asked, impassioned.

  “We’re here to find out. Aren’t we?”

  A wide grin surfaced on their faces, ready for an adventure in a world long forgotten by modern men and women alike.

  Yet time always lingers in wait.

  .6.

  Château de Chillon

  Friday, 2:45 PM

  The black Mercedes turned left, on slow wheels, and then came to a stop at the side of the road, in front of the Château. Paul had just finished arranging his papers inside his brown briefcase. During the pleasant ride from the Hotel to the Château, he had briefly reviewed the thesis he was about to discuss at the Domus Clericorum.

  “I shall be here around 5 PM,” said Sebastian, with a joyful expression on his face. “I’ll wait for you in the car until you come out, like yesterday.”

  “Very well, thanks, Sebastian,” Paul nodded in agreement.

  “Oh, Good luck!” he then uttered encouragingly.

  Paul grinned back at the driver, left the car, and walked in compact steps towards the archaic drawbridge that led inside the Château. To the left, a beautiful evergreen garden had been elegantly pruned for the public to gather for a chat. They would sit on benches, scattered here and there, or stroll under and among the trees, while enjoying the fine-looking ivy leaves on one of the walls, surrounding it.

  The Swiss flag, on the highest peak of the Château, moved with the soft wind blowing in the air. A huge and beautiful ancient clock on the left wall of the entrance alley had just marked 2:50 PM. Paul hastened his steps, as he walked over the bridge, a few meters above the surface of the Geneva Lake, between wooden logs that formed the two banisters on either side of the lane, roofed with brownish-grey blocks of brick.

  Upon entering the Château, Paul read his name and the title of his lecture, written on the billboard that was posed on a fine mahogany stand, which decorated the entry. “This event is organized by Ms. Alexandra Von Gunten, Responsible of the Cultural Affairs at the Château de Chillon, and sponsored by the ‘Geneva Art and History Museum’ in collaboration with the ‘Catholic Church’”. After reading that, a wide smile appeared on his face, as he moved right, heading towards the hall on the first floor of the ancient castle, where this event would be taking place today. His steps through the passageway, amongst those of many others attending, were steady and confident, sensing the positive vibes oozing from them, yet piercing eyes were also focusing on him all the way.

  “Once again we meet to discuss great topics,” Ms. Von Gunten declared. “Our three guests for today are authors of interesting and novel theses in their countries of origin. Ms. Aziza Ahmed, a Ph.D. in Archaeology from Cairo University will be speaking about Akhenaton & Monotheism. Then, Mr. Aaron Ben Levi, a Ph.D. in History from the University of Haifa will be talking about The House of David and the Kingdom of Israel. And finally, Mr. Paul Khoury, a Ph.D. in Ancient History & Religion at the Lebanese University will share with us some thoughts on The Myth of the Temple of Solomon,” she stopped, lingering on that thought for a while, inhaling deeply, while looking intently at the respectable audience in the hall.

  “Each one of our speakers will present his or her paper within their twenty minutes, before allowing a discussion of up to fifteen minutes from the audience,” she repeated the rules she’d described the day before. “Anyway, I guess we are all ready to start the seminar today. So, without further ado, please welcome Ms. Aziza Ahmed from the land of the Pharaohs,” Ms. Von Gunten heralded merrily, giving the Egyptian Archaeologist a big smile before ceding the place at the stand to her.

  “Salam,” Ms. Ahmed began in a hoarse voice. Clothed in a black
pullover and a multicolored scarf round her long neck, she looked to be in her mid-thirties. She had big maple-colored eyes on a circular face with rigid features, black curly hair reaching her wide shoulders, and a charming necklace, akin to ancient Egyptian artifacts, decorated her breasts.

  She narrated how Amenhotep IV came to power in Egypt, becoming its King during the Eighteenth Dynasty, reigning from 1375 to 1358 BC. He changed his name to Akhenaton, which means ‘it pleases Aton’, strongly revolted against the traditional polytheistic religion of the Egyptian Priests of Amon-Ra, and won against them. After wrecking their Temples, Akhenaton abandoned Thebes as the capital city. In so doing, he introduced the cult of Aton.

  Aton is Aten, the Red Solar Disk, the Sun at its pinnacle, open and strong, stretching its long rays down to Earth. Depicted in the form of hands, by which Aton would receive offerings from the Egyptians, these rays would offer in return the Ankh: a sign of life. By representing the One and only God, Aton became the Divine heavenly Ruler of the Egyptians, having King Akhenaton as his prophet and equal in divinity to him—the god Aton himself.

  A brilliant religious concept that lived for many years during his reign, especially in the city he had built in the northern region, using the wealth seized from the funds for the construction of Temples and Palaces to Amon-Ra. Akhetaten, Horizon of the Aten, known today as Tell el-Amarna, developed into the capital of his Kingdom, where Akhenaton and his wife—Nefertiti ruled Egypt. However, after his death, the toppled cult of Amon-Ra soon regained power, and succeeded in seizing complete control over Upper Egypt, three centuries later.