Jewel of Hiram (The Chronicles of Crash Carter Book 1)

by Frank Felton

  For me, there was a much more important objective, one which had not yet been made clear to me. I had a pretty good idea, and by war’s end, I knew without a doubt that I had accomplished it. My part of this tale begins on a runway in Great Britain, the summer of 1944, not really sure where I was headed, nor what I was in for.

  The Nazis besieged most of Europe and embarked on the oppression and murder of millions. I knew more about the modern world, and the war, than most of the kids on that plane. Yet, none of that mattered, as we all boarded and prepared to meet our destiny for God and country. We were paratroopers with the 101st Airborne Division, 2nd Battalion, 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment. They called us the “Five-O-Deuce”, which had a nice ring to it.

  It was a chilly, damp, dark morning, and I was awoken for the second time just a few hours earlier. This was after the normal duty day and we were allowed a few hours rest before the night mission. The air was dense with a cool humidity coming in from the Channel. The distinct smell of gasoline vapors filled my nostrils, one of the few pleasantries I’d experience on this night from hell.

  My head throbbed as my helmet vibrated to the tune of two massive radial engines. Every rivet in the thin-skinned C-47 Skytrain vibrated as the power plants strained. They soon had summoned enough forward velocity and airflow over the wings to pull the overloaded troop carrier into the air.

  We had thirty souls aboard, most about my age, except for two officers and a handful of NCOs. None of us knew much about the specifics of the overall mission. We had a small, specific task at hand. It is what we lived and breathed every day since arriving in England. Everyone on that plane knew what was unfolding, from the pilots down to the lowliest soldier. It was a massive assault, the most expansive in the annals of human history.

  We’d been stationed in England for seven months. Our unit had been quickly activated after Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese. That crushing surprise assault decimated the Pacific fleet. President Roosevelt gave his day of infamy speech and a formerly reticent nation seethed with bellicosity. It rallied for battle. America sprung headlong into a war she had carefully avoided, but after Pearl, there was no longer any other option. The sleeping giant mounted a pale steed to bring forth a reckoning.

  The War Department hurriedly activated my unit out of Fort Benning. Our preparation was grueling. Colonel Moseley, from a long line of West Pointers, was especially demanding of his troops. After what seemed like months of division training at proving grounds across the south, we sailed for England on the SS Strathnaver in September 1943. I had been on an ocean-going vessel twice before, but mostly I’d been fishing in the San Saba River back home. That was just a rickety little fishing boat, but the Strathnaver held more bodies than the entire town of Brady. To this day, I marvel at how so many tons of steel can walk on water.

  We made an emergency stop in Newfoundland after the ship ran into problems. The powers-that-be sent the SS John Ericcson to carry us the rest of the way to the United Kingdom. Once in England, our new home base was Chilton Foliat near Hungerford, as well as RAF Welford, all in Berkshire. The training continued unabated, with 20 mile hikes, training in German weaponry, chemical warfare, parachute drops, and land navigation. The rugged curriculum was to prepare us mentally and physically for the big day, our first combat drop into enemy hands.

  Our goal was to pry Europe from the grip of fascism in a full frontal assault against the German war machine. One thing I had going for me is that I could read and write French. I’ll agree, that was a bit of an oddity for a kid from West Texas, and I didn’t normally let on such information. Far more of the boys from Texas spoke German, as the Lutherans still adhered to predominantly German liturgy. My clan, the McCormack’s, may have hailed from the Scottish Highlands, but I didn’t give much care for the weather on that island. It rained a lot, and was much colder than I was accustomed.

  Once the Skytrain got into the air, we began a slow climb. It was a bumpy ride. The pilots had been instructed to fly low over the English Channel to avoid German radar. My foot tapped the ground, mostly because I was eager for the action. Random thoughts entered my head. I had yet to face off against an enemy armed with machine guns and hand grenades, so I imagined it. It wasn’t pretty.

  I was seated closest to the door. I’d be the first one out. Most of us were handling the situation as well as could be expected. The flight to our destination should have been only a few minutes, as the English Channel is not that far across. We had to wait for our assigned grouping, circling and joining up with other aircraft before the assembled force headed over the French beaches. The operation was a wonderfully detailed scheme, apparently, but we had little knowledge of its complexity. The planners must have been true geniuses to coordinate so many different forces, air, ground, and naval, to penetrate the dug-in German defensive posture.

  The Germans would be taken by surprise. Men like Eisenhower, Montgomery, and Morgan plotted one heck of a strategy. The Allied Forces were about to deliver a mighty punch to the German warmongers, but for the chaps at the pointy end of the spear, it was downright terrifying. Mission Albany was under way, part of Operation Overlord, and better known as D-Day. I’d be one of the first to go in.

  Down below were hundreds if not thousands of German soldiers embedded into the French countryside. Waiting, coiled, like a rattlesnake, they stood ready to strike at anyone who wanders too near. A rattlesnake has but one use, and that is to die. In combat there are times where you either kill, or you die. It is just that simple. Just as a rattlesnake gives warning to intruders, the German air defense artillery lit up the sky as we approached. They scattered our well-planned formations, causing the air drops to go awry. As General Patton stated; “No plan survives contact with the enemy.” I could sum it up even more succinctly; stuff happens.

  A burst of flak from the German triple-A cannons seemed to detonate right under our starboard wing. It had to be at least fifty yards out, or else the men inside would be dead already. The plane was thrust hard to the left in response to this sudden burst, the welds holding fast despite an exceptional test of Rosie the Riveter’s fortitude. The shockwave vibrated us around like a tin can full of pebbles. The pilot veered hard back to the right in a desperate attempt to get us back on course. He was probably a twenty-two year old kid even more terrified than we were.

  As more flak exploded around us, the plane felt as if we were driving over a pot-holed gravel road. “Stand! In the door!” screamed the jumpmaster, as he grabbed me by the arm and authoritatively removed me from my seat against the side of the C-47. I was just getting comfortable.

  The cool blast of air was a pleasant change of pace. It replaced the stale smell of sweat, tobacco smoke, and aviation fuel. We were about to jump out of an airplane into a void of great unknown darkness, into enemy territory, at night. Jumping out of a plane didn’t really scare me, but the darkness, well, that has always put me on edge.

  When men are faced with such dire circumstances, they feel a connection to their own mortality. Time slows. Senses sharpen. Some become afraid. Others see visions of heaven, or hell. Perhaps it was the stark reality of what I was about to do, but my mind soon became overwhelmingly clear. It was a Divine vision; a message from the Almighty. Unlike the other men on that plane, by war’s end, my mission would be only beginning. It is a mission set in motion as the Nazis pillared and plundered the arts and treasures of Western Europe. They disturbed the resting place of a sacred artifact, and brought it to Germany. It was an object created thousands of years ago.

  It was of great importance that it be found.

  4. The Temple

  But God said to me, ‘You are not to build a house for my Name, because you are a warrior and have shed blood.’ – 1 Chronicles 28:2

  Three thousand years ago, David was a skinny youngster who would topple a much larger and more fearsome warrior named Goliath.

  King David rose to his feet and said: “Listen to me, my fellow Israelites, and my people.
I had it in my heart to build a house as a place of rest for the ark of the covenant of the Lord, for the footstool of our God, and I made plans to build it.” – 1 Chronicles 28

  King David established Jerusalem as the capital of the Kingdom of Israel. Myths and legends endure as real truth became lost to history.

  Chronologies of great leaders, passed down through the remains of their kingdoms and caliphates, are all the world has left of what once stood on the Temple Mount. Ancient stones yield precious little detail about what happened here three thousand years before. Declarations made today, by any man, are mere speculation.

  Perhaps the most contentious location in Jerusalem is the peak of Mount Moriah, known as the Foundation Stone. It rests beneath the Dome of the Rock on the Temple Mount. This is where Abraham was to sacrifice his son, and where Solomon would later build the First Temple after his father David passed on the designs to him.

  Judaism believes the Foundation Stone is the spiritual junction of Heaven and Earth. The concept of an omphalos stone was previously seen during the Hellenistic age of Ancient Greece. Christians claim the Stone is where Abraham bound his son Isaac for sacrifice, who would further the Church of Christ. Muslims believe it was Abraham’s eldest son, Ishmael, who was bound, and would later become a forefather of Muhammad in the Islamic faith.

  The clash of these Abrahamic religions amongst each other, and from outside enemies, would continue for thousands of years. Jerusalem would be besieged, conquered, and crusaded against by various warring factions. All this bloodshed for a piece of the navel of the world:

  And the sanctuary in the center of Jerusalem,

  and the holy place in the center of the sanctuary,

  and the ark in the center of the holy place,

  and the Foundation Stone before the holy place,

  because from it the world was founded.

  -Midrash Tanchuma

  This Temple itself would become one of the most revered sites in all of human history, and to this day, the Temple Mount in the Old City of Jerusalem is claimed as one of the holiest sites of the Muslims, Christians, and Jews alike. Countless souls were sacrificed, slaughtered, or saved, both upon the site, and in the name of those revered by peoples who claim this tragic piece of earth. It would become the cornerstone of an enduring society known as Freemasonry, which passed on through spoken word the legends which escaped the inner walls of the sanctum sanctorum.

  Only remnants of that first Temple exists today, but the Foundation Stone beneath the sanctum sanctorum still remains under the Dome of the Rock. It contained the Ark of the Covenant. There have been many efforts to rebuild the Temple. Some Jews and Christians await the third, and final, incarnation as related in the Bible, bringing them squarely opposed to Muslims.

  Before this sad course of bloodshed succeeded, many men devoted their lives to the design and building of the first Temple. It was a thousand years before the birth of Christ, in 982 B.C. An army of stonemasons toiled faithfully to finish the masterpiece of a grand architect named Hiram.

  2 Chronicles 2:3-16

  ~~~

  Jerusalem, 982 B.C.

  As a week’s work came to completion, King Solomon, the son of David, sought counsel with the leader of the Temple’s construction, and admonished him accordingly:

  “Brother Hiram, the work of the brethren is nigh complete. You shall direct them to retire from labor to refreshment. Pay the craft their wages if ought to be due them.”

  “I will carry out the orders as directed, worshipful king,” replied the master craftsman, Hiram of Tyre.

  “Your creation will be the most revered site in the Kingdom of Israel. It shall stand as a testament to the sweat of your brow. I shall soon honor you, and you will return to your home with great reward.”

  “Thank you, most worshipful.”

  King Solomon brought forth a jewel of consummate splendor, which had rested in the Ark from times before. He would soon confer upon his master craftsman Hiram this gift to reward loyalty, vision, and perseverance in a colossal undertaking which would transcend the ages. It was not to be.

  Hiram had yet to complete this masterpiece of masonry, and thence return to his homeland, when he was murdered by jealous ruffians. They sought to gain untold secrets of their Craft. This would be the earliest rumblings of the Lodge of Freemasons, who met with the strong grip of the Lion’s paw of the Tribe of Judah.

  King Solomon now churned with rage. He brought forth swiftly his vengeance and pursued the ruffians. Their day of reckoning came quickly, with an austere penance. The king exacted blood to offset that which they had taken. After the execution of all responsible for the murder of Hiram, he mourned the loss of his friend, who had laid forth the grand designs of his Temple upon the great trestle board.

  But Hiram was not a man. He was a servant of God. He was an angel, a fact which escaped even the wisest king ever to rule. The murder of Hiram’s earthly body merely freed the angelic form from the bondage of flesh, enabling his powers to be released. His spirit remained to complete the assigned mission, and he continued to guide the Temple to completion.

  The Temple’s construction was finally brought to end. Upon this grand achievement, King Solomon sent the jewel to the King of Tyre. It was a jewel that was meant for Hiram, leader of the stone masons. It was made of the finest materials, diamonds and gold, rubies and emeralds. As it was to be a gift to the master craftsman, it would now belong to his King. The King of Tyre kept the jewel in his treasury and enjoyed a long and successful reign as King, spawning a progeny that would enshrine his legacy throughout Antiquity.

  But before the Jewel was sent to the King of Tyre, a strange thing happened.

  The priests brought in the ark of the covenant of Yahweh to its place, into the oracle of the house, to the most holy place, even under the wings of the cherubim. For the cherubim spread forth their wings over the place of the ark, and the cherubim covered the ark and its poles above. Then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of Yahweh, so that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud: for the glory of Yahweh filled God’s house.—2 Chronicles 5:7-8;13-14

  King Solomon carried the jewel with him into the Temple, and the Holy of Holies. This was the sanctum sanctorum, the room which contained the Ark of the Covenant and where he regularly prayed to the Lord. The Ark was possessed of the power of the Divine, and instant death came to any man who laid a hand upon it, either intentionally, or accidentally.

  As the King prayed for his departed friend Hiram, he clutched the jewel which he would have given to him. Unaware that Hiram was an angel, and not dead, Solomon asked the Lord to bless the soul of Hiram, the architect and master craftsmen who had laid out the grand designs of the very Temple in which he prayed.

  Now when Solomon had made and end of praying, the fire came down from heaven, and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices; and the glory of Yahweh filled the house. The priests could not enter into the house of Yahweh, because the glory of Yahweh filled Yahweh’s house. – 2 Chronicles 7:1-2

  The Ark itself began to glow. As Solomon remained in prayer, a beam of light cascaded forth from the Ark. It found its way to the jewel clutched in Solomon’s hand. The spirit of Hiram entered the Jewel. The angel, once again, was bound to an earthly vessel. The Jewel of Hiram began to glow.

  The Temple would in due course be destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar and the Babylonians. Later, it would be rebuilt and expanded by King Herod. In 70 A.D., the Romans would finally bring down the walls of this magnificent Temple for good, but the Jewel of Hiram had begun a new journey. Over the next three millennia, the Jewel would accompany the hands of kings, emperors, marauders, men of conquest, and men of peace, philosophers, and saints. Some sought the power for good, others for evil.

  Today the Jewel no longer encapsulates the angel Hiram. He would be freed from its chains in 240 B.C. to once again freely roam the earth. Yet the power of the Jewel remains. Just as the Ark of the Covenant, men conti
nue to seek it. Its location is rarely known by man or spirit, as it wanders the Earth. Some say the Jewel can amplify God-given abilities. Others say it grants you what you most desire. Some claim that it carries within the final secret of Freemasonry, in the words of Hiram himself, which he shared with only King Solomon. Some lost it, and some cast it away, to free themselves of any connection to such sublime power.

  It is here for a far greater purpose.

  One man who came across the Jewel wrote in the 14th Century this translation:

  Crafted by the hands of Bezalel.

  A force for good, not settled by evil.

  A path uncharted, free to roam,

  It’s keeper chosen, from the heart of man.

  A power beheld, deduced by few,

  Impure hearts, like cedars hewn.

  Yahweh’s power, deduced of the Ark

  A glowing light in a world of dark.

  Desire ye most, O seeker of God,

  To part the waters, as Aaron’s rod.

  Look in your heart, it does.

  A thousand times it delivers woe.

  An end of man, it ushers in,

  The end of time, will soon begin.

  In the 1700’s, Sir Isaac Newton argued that the Temple was designed with prisca sapientia, or sacred knowledge. He postulated that the design itself held secrets of the universe. Hidden within its arches and conic sections were the codes of a ciphered history that contained the mysteries of nature. Masonic tradition and lore date to the building of the Temple. Some say Solomon was indeed the first Master Mason.

  It is somewhat fitting that the latter day protectorate of the Jewel of Hiram would be Masons, though it is likely a mere coincidence. Both had their genesis in the Temple of Solomon. The Masonic brotherhood traces its roots to that same grand building. The Jewel is free of bias to those who hold it; to race, ethnicity, religion, or fraternal belief structure, just as is Freemasonry. Both have served the hand of Jews, Gentiles, Christians, and Muslims alike. The true effect of each is determined solely by the heart of the beholder, as they amplify those gifts in due and ancient form.