‘Omar is dead, the man who ordered the murder of your family is no more,’ Jana said. ‘That’s ... well, that’s about as final as it gets, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I was hoping so. More than you can imagine. But now it’s happened, I’m no longer so sure ...’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s difficult to explain. It doesn’t feel final, it’s not over yet, there’s more to come, more to be done – I can sense it.’
‘The tablets?’ Jana asked quietly.
‘Perceptive as usual. Yes, until that’s resolved, there can be no closure.’
‘What’s on your mind?
‘I believe the tablets should be returned ... to Ethiopia.’
Glancing at Carrington, Jana stopped. ‘Do you really think the Ark exists?’ she asked. ‘Silly question,’ she corrected herself, ‘I still remember your keep-an-open-mind-lecture, vividly!’
Carrington laughed. ‘At least now I know you’re paying attention.’
‘I hang on every word.’
‘It’s possible,’ Carrington said seriously. ‘I have no doubt that the Guardian actually believes the relic in his charge is the real thing ... but ...’
‘And the passionate archaeologist in you would happily give his right arm – and the rest – to find out,’ interrupted Jana, ‘... if the holy grail of archaeology does in fact exist. Right?’ She turned spontaneously towards Carrington and gave him a peck on the cheek.
‘As I have obviously become rather predictable lately, there’s little point in saying anything further on the topic,’ Carrington joked. ‘However, even if the original Ark does not exist, I do think the tablets should be returned.’
‘Why?’
‘Consider the alternative. Can you imagine what would happen if this went public? A single line written in hieroglyphs – There is only one God, his name is Aten – and the whole of Western theology’s rocked to the core.’
‘I hadn’t quite appreciated all that,’ conceded Jana.
‘Can you imagine the furore, the fierce denial by the Vatican, the endless scientific tests, the theological debates by armies of ecclesiastical spin doctors manipulating the faithful; the secret agendas, the cover-ups, the accusations, the pain? Can you imagine the damage to the Ethiopians, their church, their faith, their culture? It’s just too controversial, too emotional a topic for rational thought,’ Carrington explained passionately. ‘This is a matter of faith.’
He stopped, and looked back towards the temple brooding in the half-light behind them. ‘Omar was so keen to get his hands on this artefact,’ Carrington continued. ‘He recognised what it meant; he knew how much power and prestige it would give him, the political influence it would provide. In the hands of a fanatic, a terrorist like Omar, this would have been the most potent political and ideological weapon of our time. This tablet is capable of smashing the very pillars of Christianity. Can you imagine that? Far more effective than suicide bombs and maimed bodies, don’t you think? Nations have gone to war for much less than this.’
Jana nodded.
‘Of course, all of this involves Benjamin as well. I’ve already spoken to him about the Guardian and his request.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He has some serious reservations about the idea as you’d expect. He wants to make up his own mind and meet the Guardian first. But he has agreed, in principle. We just have to work out a way to bring them together.’
‘Why do you think he’s agreed?’
‘Apparently there’s a specific reference – a request, an entreaty if you like – in his father’s papers about this very point.’
‘What kind of request?’
‘There’s a letter written by his grandfather, Abbé Diderot, to his son, Benjamin’s father, expressing a wish. No, more than that, beseeching him that one day when the time was right and both tablets have been found, they should be returned to where they belong. And we know of course what that means. As the Guardian rightly pointed out, the tablets belong to the Ark. And then, there was one more rather curious plea,’ added Carrington.
‘What?’
‘Diderot was adamant that the tablets should be kept away from the Church in Rome – at all cost! Strange, isn’t it?’
‘Why?’
‘Remember, Diderot knew what was written on the tablet he had found. He was a scholar and a priest; the implications could not have escaped him. I think he realised that the Church would suppress all this. He must have known that the tablets would be lost forever if the zealous Cardinals in the Vatican got their hands on it.’
‘Incredible! And all this because of two small slabs of stone.’
‘The written word ... yes, it’s powerful.’
‘But you wouldn’t just hand them over now,’ asked Jana. ‘Surely ... you wouldn’t miss the opportunity to complete what the Templars, and the Church for that matter, have struggled to achieve for centuries? You want to find the – how did your Wolfram put it in Parzival – the consummation of ...’
‘... hearts’ desire. But remember, it will only reveal itself to us if we are worthy. Are we worthy? Are we worthy to make history – perhaps even change it?’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Jana said, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She leant across to Carrington and quickly kissed him again on the cheek. ‘Why don’t we?’
‘I thought the devil’s advocate was a man,’ Carrington joked. ‘I was obviously wrong.’
‘I don’t mean to taunt you, but wouldn’t you have to ask yourself for the rest of your days, what if ...? Especially you, Marcus, especially you!’
‘That’s precisely what I was wrestling with just now, before you came,’ Carrington replied.
‘And?’
‘I think I’ve found a way to do both.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Return the tablets to where they belong and find out – without starting a Holy War.’
‘And how will you accomplish all that, Marcus Aurelius?’
Carrington took off his hat and pointed to his cheek. ‘One more of those little kisses and I’ll tell you,’ he answered.
99
With his hand firmly planted on the horn, the driver of the police car wove his way through the narrow lanes of the crowded bazaar.
The Guardian, staying at the house of a Copt merchant was due to meet Carrington that evening. And Jack, eager to find out more about the mysterious Ethiopians, had pleaded for permission to come along.
‘I hope this won’t ruin your career,’ Carrington said to Haddad, sitting next to him in the back of the jeep.
‘With Omar dead they will forgive me anything,’ Haddad reassured him, ‘especially the disappearance of a few pieces of useless stone.’
‘Useless stones you call them? I see, that’s brave. What about Professor Khalil?’
Haddad winked at his friend. ‘Leave her to me. I think she will find your offer irresistible.’
‘And the body?’ asked Jack, turning around to face Haddad sitting behind him.
‘Releasing the body is up to me. What more can we hope to find out anyway? A foolish tourist ran into the crossfire and got shot. Regrettable, sure, but there you have it. In the overall scheme of things, not such an important matter, but please keep this to yourself,’ said Haddad, placing his hand on Jack’s shoulder. Jack nodded.
‘That’s going to be the official line,’ continued Haddad. ‘I’ll try to keep the Vatican out of it. Something tells me the Cardinals in Rome would appreciate that. And besides, with Sharm el-Sheikh ... let’s say my superiors in Cairo have other things on their minds.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Carrington.
Haddad patted Carrington encouragingly on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, my friend, this is the least I can do for you. Here we are.’
The outside of the tall, narrow building looked derelict, belying the spacious and comfortable internal courtyard. One face to the world outside and another t
o family and guests inside. As they walked in, they saw Habakkuk sitting next to the Guardian on a bench by the fountain.
‘I bring good news,’ Haddad announced. ‘The body can be released tomorrow.’
‘The Guardian thanks you,’ Habakkuk translated, ‘for having acted so quickly. He knows how busy you must be. He also thanks you for the courtesy of coming here to inform him personally.’
Haddad bowed politely. ‘We can make arrangements to have the body taken to your aircraft tomorrow morning if you wish.’
‘That would be most helpful. Thank you, Chief Inspector.’
‘As for the matter of the broken tablet ... Mr Carrington here would like to suggest something to you.’ Jack had discreetly remained in the background, watching. He pulled out his notebook and jotted notes about the exchange.
The Guardian lifted his head slowly and looked at Carrington with myopic, watery eyes. Carrington, though slightly unnerved, held his gaze, a sense of awe radiating towards him from the old man. He could smell frankincense.
‘As I recall it,’ began Carrington, ‘the Guardian said the tablet should be returned to where it belongs ... inside the Ark. The Ark as in the original from the Old Testament – correct? And am I correct also, in saying that he was its guardian and knew where it was?’
‘Your recollection is accurate,’ Habakkuk replied.
‘In that case, we agree – in principle – that the proper course would be to return the tablet to the Ark.’
‘In principle?’ asked Habakkuk. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Carrington smiled. His hint at more to come had been picked up. ‘We have a proposal, a simple request.’ Carrington paused, letting the words find their mark. ‘We would like to accompany the tablet and witness its return to the Ark.’ If the old man was in any way surprised by this suggestion, he certainly didn’t show it. His face remained composed; his eyes unblinking.
‘When you say we, who are you referring to?’ Habakkuk translated.
‘Three women and three men who have been closely involved in ... how shall I put this? The journey, yes, the journey of the tablets.’
‘You said tablets just now, Mr Carrington. Did you mean more than one, or was that a slip of the tongue?’ Habakkuk enquired, asking for clarification.
‘I am speaking about two tablets ...’
Habakkuk translated.
The Guardian appeared to have difficulty breathing and dropped his prayer stick.
Habakkuk looked thunderstruck. ‘Would one of the men you were referring to be Maestro Krakowski?’ he asked quietly. It was now Carrington’s turn to look nonplussed.
‘I must say, Father, this is surprising, one could almost be tempted to say – psychic.’ Jack took a step forward to hear better.
‘I think I should explain ...’ Habakkuk said.
‘Please do.’
‘The Guardian and his late brother have made it their life’s work to find the lost tablets and return them to the Ark. As you know, the tablets have been missing since the Templars removed them ... sometime in the fourteenth century. When he joined the Dominicans as a young man the Guardian was sent to Rome and worked there for decades ... he was a valued member of the Office of the Doctrine of the Faith ...’
‘Ah, yes, also known as the Inquisition,’ Carrington cut in.
The Guardian looked away.
Habakkuk, however, ignored the remark and continued. ‘Father Athanasius remained in Ethiopia and became the next Guardian after his uncle’s death twenty years ago.’
‘And you, Father, what’s your part in all this?’
‘I’m the Guardian’s assistant. We believed that the Diderot Tablet, as it is known in Rome, had been lost. But you now tell us otherwise ...’ he continued.
‘The Diderot Tablet, as you call it, was recently located in a bank vault in Switzerland,’ Carrington explained.
Habakkuk paled. ‘And Maestro Krakowski is prepared to return it as you suggest?’
‘Yes – in principle.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘To honour his grandfather’s wish, I believe ...’ Carrington replied, ‘but he wants to meet the Guardian first and make up his own mind.’
Sir Eric was right, thought Habakkuk, trying to suppress his elation. Then he turned to the Guardian and translated. Carrington noticed a slight smile as he spoke.
The Guardian closed his eyes and, clutching his prayer stick, lifted his head towards heaven. His body began to tremble and his eyes rolled back in his head; he seemed to have entered a trance.
‘Please, Mr Carrington. Do not be alarmed,’ said Habakkuk, noticing Carrington’s worried face, ‘the Guardian is only seeking guidance.’
Within minutes, the shaking stopped and the Guardian opened his eyes. He looked surprisingly refreshed, and stood up slowly. He walked up to Carrington, placed his right hand gently on Carrington’s shoulder, and spoke a few words in a high-pitched voice.
‘It is agreed, my son. God will reward you, in this life and the next,’ said Habakkuk, eager to translate the Guardian’s blessing.
100
As he walked towards the dilapidated DC3 parked at the far end of Luxor airport, Carrington began to have second thoughts about the journey.
‘Not exactly a Lear Jet is it, mate?’ observed Jack, struggling with his camera gear. ‘Do you think it can fly? I must say, travelling with you guys is a journalist’s dream; a new story every day. Now this one ... it’s a corker!’ Jack winked at Jana.
‘You’ve earned it, Jack. You’re part of it,’ Jana said. ‘The big story at last, eh?’ Turning to Carrington she asked, ‘Where’s the tablet, Marcus?’ Carrington shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I left that up to Naguib ...’ Carrington pointed to Haddad waiting for them at the gangway.
Jack glanced at Jana walking along beside him. She’s changed, he thought, noticing the different tone in her voice. The intimacy, the warmth was no longer there. Not for Jack. But for Carrington ...
‘Everything’s ready,’ said Haddad. ‘Here are your papers.’ He took Carrington aside. ‘Listen, Marcus, I feel uneasy about all this ...’
‘What, the trip?’
Haddad nodded. ‘Why?’
‘Gut feeling. Something isn’t right here. I just can’t put my finger on it.’
‘Come on, you’re just tired.’ Carrington squeezed Haddad encouragingly on the shoulder. ‘We made the right decision, you told me so yourself.’
Haddad shrugged. ‘Inshallah,’ he said. ‘The coffin is already on the plane, you’re all travelling in the same cabin ...’
Carrington looked alarmed. ‘What – the coffin as well?’
‘I’m afraid so. This is really just an old cargo plane, if you know what I mean ...’
‘And Professor Khalil?’ Carrington asked anxiously.
‘Ah, here she comes now,’ Haddad replied. ‘I told you – irresistible offer, remember?’
‘And the rest, I bet.’ Carrington watched her hurry towards the plane, a duffel bag casually slung over one shoulder. He noticed she was also carrying a wooden box.
‘Once I showed her Omar’s treasures from Uni’s tomb, she was ready to agree to anything,’ Haddad joked. ‘You should have seen her, I could hardly drag her away from it. And when I mentioned your plan with the Ark and the Guardian, well, she practically ran back to her room to start packing. She called it the archaeologist’s dream trip. I’ve done my part, don’t you agree?’
‘Here we go again!’
‘Marcus, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Part of me says I must be out of my mind,’ said Professor Khalil, trying to catch her breath. ‘Are you seriously suggesting we should all get into this jalopy here and fly to Ethiopia with an old man who claims to be the Guardian of the Ark of the Covenant? And all that just to return what may be one of the Tablets of Moses to where it belongs?’
‘Yep. Do you have a better idea? Would you rather bury it in one of those dungeons under your museum until the so-called experts ar
e finished with it?’ Carrington joked. ‘You want to know, just like me, don’t you? Not one day, but right now,’ he added quietly, helping her with her duffel bag. ‘What if the Ark really does exist? Have you thought of that? What if the tablet is authentic?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about it. We’ve become accomplices, you know.’
‘You mean partners in the archaeological crime of the century? How exciting.’
‘Archaeological crime of the century?’ Jack butted in. ‘Can I quote you?’
‘Not unless you fancy twenty years in a Cairo jail,’ replied Carrington, his tone suddenly serious. ‘We are in this together; all of us. Remember that.’
‘Seriously, Marcus, here, take it before I change my mind.’ Professor Khalil thrust the wooden box towards Carrington. ‘I never thought I would do this.’
‘The tablet?’
‘Yes. And is this your Indiana Jones hat – raider?’ she joked, pointing to Carrington’s much loved Akubra.
‘Something like that. This is the Aussie version.’
‘Most becoming – for a delinquent of your stature.’
‘I can already see where this story is heading,’ interrupted Jack, frowning.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Jana.
‘Most of it will have to remain off the record. What do you reckon, Marcus?’
‘Quite possibly.’
‘That’s just great,’ lamented Jack, shaking his head.
The engines of the old plane coughed into life, and slowly the propellers began to turn. ‘Thanks for everything, Naguib,’ said Carrington, embracing his friend. ‘I’ll take good care of your useless stones, you can count on it.’
‘Useless stones? I see, that’s brave,’ Haddad replied, laughing. ‘Officially, the tablet was destroyed in the blast. Pulverised, gone forever. It doesn’t exist.’ Haddad winked at Carrington. ‘There’s one more thing you should know,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I just had word from Cairo. Horst Newman is about to be released.’
The Empress Holds the Key Page 42
