‘The way to what?’ Jana asked.
Habakkuk stopped and turned around. ‘The Grail Stone, the Tablets of the Law, resting inside the Ark of the Covenant,’ he replied, ‘and the Rohischer Berg is not in Austria, but right here in front of you. This is Roha.’
107
Haddad knew he was taking a huge risk. Flying low and without lights the two unmarked helicopters crossed the border into Ethiopian airspace. The official cover story was that Haddad was following a lead on the recent terrorist attack at Sharm el-Sheikh. As officer in charge of the investigation he had the authority to do that. However, crossing the Ethiopian border was always tricky, especially at night, and could easily trigger an embarrassing incident, or worse. Everything depended on speed and timing, but having to rely on only four handpicked commandos, Haddad had to admit, was almost reckless.
Horst sat behind Haddad – wedged between two burly soldiers. He looked subdued; trying to make contact with his former business associates had almost ended in disaster. At first, no one wanted to help. If it hadn’t been for Zelelew, the mission wouldn’t have gone ahead. Zelelew, the son of a rebel leader Horst had befriended during an arms deal, would be meeting them at Axum; he would provide access and be interpreter and go-between with the monks.
Sorokin, unlike Horst, appeared calm and in control. Everything was going to plan. His plan. He was out of jail and out of Egypt. In return for clearing the way for the sortie with both the military and the rebels, he would be allowed to go free.
Suddenly, Haddad’s helicopter veered sharply to the left and dropped altitude. A blinding light raced past outside.
‘What was that?’ Haddad shouted into his microphone.
‘Rocket attack, from down there, eleven o’clock,’ replied the pilot calmly, taking evasive action. Haddad turned around and looked angrily at Horst sitting behind him. Horst shrugged. They were under missile attack – most likely by the very ones Sorokin had sold to the rebels the year before. Then another blinding light exploded out of the darkness, this time from a different direction. At first the light raced towards them just like before. The pilot nosedived, confusing the rocket’s heat sensor. The rocket changed direction. The second helicopter with Sorokin on board was directly behind, but flying a little higher. The rocket slammed into its fuselage from below and exploded, ripping the helicopter apart. Spiralling to the ground like a giant catherine wheel, the burning wreckage sent showers of sparks into the night as a fiery farewell to the four souls on board.
Axum was calm and in darkness. The pilot put the helicopter down at the end of the airstrip. Expecting an ambush, the two commandos jumped out and looked around. All appeared calm.
Haddad evaluated his position. With Sorokin, the pilot and two commandos dead, the mission was now severely compromised. However, turning back was out of the question.
‘Well?’ barked Haddad. ‘Where are they?’
‘There,’ replied Horst, pointing to a flashing light at the other end of the runway. ‘It’s a signal. I need a torch.’ Within minutes of Horst’s reply to the signal, a jeep materialised and stopped in front of the helicopter. Horst walked across to the vehicle and spoke to the driver.
‘Chief Inspector, please, over here,’ Horst called out, waving at Haddad. ‘There’s someone who wants to speak to you.’
As he approached the jeep, Haddad smelled the familiar notes of frankincense. He switched on his torch to see an old man wearing a pillbox-shaped hat sitting in the passenger seat. The Guardian, his prayer stick held with both hands, looked calmly at Haddad and smiled.
‘We’ve missed them,’ Haddad announced, hurrying back to the chopper. ‘We must leave at once.’
‘Where to?’ asked Horst, looking worried.
‘Lalibela.’ Haddad pointed to the Guardian and Horst’s contact, Zelelew, who’d translated for him. ‘These two are coming with us. Let’s go!’
On the flight to Lalibela, the Guardian listened patiently to Haddad’s account of Habakkuk’s betrayal. Suddenly, everything that had troubled him about his brother’s death appeared to fall into place. However, more troubling still, he thought, was the fact that Habakkuk appeared to have accomplices among the monks. Seeking guidance, the Guardian closed his eyes and began to pray. After a while, he opened them again, looked at Haddad and spoke in his tell-tale high-pitched voice.
‘The Ark is waiting, we must hurry,’ Zelelew translated.
108
The Protector of Secrets greeted them in front of the church. Behind him, holding lanterns just like their own stood a small group of monks, chanting.
‘These will keep you warm,’ said Habakkuk, pointing to a bundle of neatly folded woollen cloaks on the stone steps. ‘Please, put them on.’ Dr Rosen draped one of the cloaks – the same as those worn by the monks – over her shoulders. She instantly resembled a giant bat.
‘Ready for Gotham City?’ joked Krakowski, struggling with his own cloak.
Gebra Christos, the Protector of Secrets, said something in Tigrigna.
‘The Keeper is expecting you; he’s waiting inside, by the Amd,’ Habakkuk translated.
‘What’s the Amd?’ Jack asked.
‘A pillar in the middle of the church,’ replied Habakkuk. ‘It’s a symbol of the unity of faith. There’s a legend that in one of his visions King Lalibela saw Christ touch the pillar. The past and the future of the entire world is written on it. But, since man is too weak to face the truth, the pillar has to be covered to protect the faithful.’
The monks formed two long rows and, led by the Protector of Secrets, entered the church.
‘Time travel is possible after all,’ Jana whispered, reaching for Carrington’s hand. ‘Look, we’ve just stepped into the Middle Ages.’ The church – hollowed out of solid rock with mallet and chisel – was illuminated by dozens of lanterns. Long shadows – crazy demons trapped above the altar – danced along the arches and the barrel vault. Jack looked across and noticed Jana and Carrington’s linked hands. It’s my own fault, she’s moved on, he thought, unable to stop a large twinge of regret.
In the middle of the nave stood a pillar covered with cloth. Leaning against it, and holding on to the cloth with one hand, was an old monk with his eyes closed. His long hair – white as the first winter snow – was tied together at the back of his head. This was the Keeper of the Ark.
Slowly, the circle of monks surrounding the pillar opened. The Protector of Secrets walked up to the old man and kissed the large crucifix hanging from his neck. When the old man raised his hand, the chanting stopped. For a while, the voices continued to echo along the soaring walls of the nave before giving way to silence so complete that Jana thought she could hear her heart beating under the coarse woollen cloak.
The Protector of Secrets waved them closer.
As she walked towards the Keeper, Professor Khalil noticed a large slab of stone had been lifted out of the floor, exposing a narrow shaft. The slab was propped against the pillar, like a massive lid removed.
Eventually the Keeper spoke, but his voice sounded strangely distant; as if it came straight out of the Amd behind him.
‘The day of great joy has arrived,’ Habakkuk translated. ‘After much suffering and deprivation the faithful can rejoice at last – the tablets have returned. It is written,’ the old man paused, pointing to the Amd behind him, ‘right here.’ Smiling calmly, he added: ‘I have been expecting you.’
Holding his prayer stick firmly in his right hand, the Protector of Secrets stepped forward and began.
‘You have been found ... worthy. You are about to be granted a great honour, a rare privilege bestowed through the ages on but a chosen few ...’ Habakkuk looked momentarily confused. He was struggling with the translation. Gesturing for permission to go further, the Protector of Secrets paused and looked at the Keeper. Habakkuk watched intently. The Keeper nodded and pointed to the shaft. ‘The Keeper will now take you to the Ark of the Covenant,’ continued the Protector of Secrets. ‘Do not b
e afraid of what you may find along the way ... God will give you courage. Follow me.’
‘Sounds ominous,’ whispered Jana.
‘Too late,’ Carrington replied, squeezing her hand.
The chanting resumed and the Keeper walked slowly over to the edge of the shaft. Two monks – one on each side – helped him take the first step into the darkness below.
This is surreal, thought Jack, lining up with the others to follow the Keeper. Even if I could write about it, no one would believe me. Already, excitement was beginning to replace the ache of regret.
109
The pilot turned on the spotlights, aimed them at the rock-hewn churches below and set the helicopter down next to the old bus. Brandishing sticks, a group of monks came running towards the chopper. Haddad helped the Guardian get out of his seat and opened the door.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Horst, watching the angry mob surround the helicopter.
‘Just leave it to him,’ said Zelelew, pointing to the Guardian. ‘Watch.’
Leaning on his prayer stick, the old man addressed the crowd. The monks recognised the Guardian and fell silent.
‘The Guardian said we must hurry,’ Zelelew translated, turning to Haddad, ‘the others have already gone down into the catacombs ...’
‘Catacombs? Great!’
Haddad left the pilot and a commando to guard the helicopter. This left him only one soldier to take into the unknown. He had to take Horst as well, and Zelelew would have to do the translating.
Horst recognised Haddad’s dilemma. ‘You’re short of men,’ he said calmly. ‘You can’t do this on your own.’ Haddad looked at him but didn’t reply. ‘We should join forces ... we both want this to succeed, right?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘I’m on your side, Chief Inspector. Self-preservation ...’ he added, a crooked smile creasing his face. ‘Surely you must see that. And then there’s my sister ...’
Haddad checked his gun. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘I could watch your back; it’s your weakest point.’ Haddad looked at Horst. He was right. Allies of necessity? he thought.
‘All right, but no weapons.’
‘No weapons are needed,’ replied Horst, ‘only courage and resolve.’
I hope you have plenty of both, Haddad thought and hurried after the Guardian.
110
‘Did you hear that?’ Jana asked, following Carrington down the slippery stairs. A dull thud echoed along the narrow passage from above.
‘I think the tomb’s just been sealed,’ Jack observed from the back. ‘I hope it isn’t ours.’
‘We better pray there’s another way out of here,’ said Krakowski, looking anxiously over his shoulder. ‘You saw the size of that slab; we’ll never shift it from below.’
‘Thanks, Ben, that’s most reassuring,’ said Dr Rosen, holding on to Krakowski’s belt from behind to steady him. With barely enough room to walk upright, they had to bend low to avoid hitting their heads against the roof of the tunnel. Krakowski found it difficult to negotiate the narrow passage let alone keep hold of the leather portmanteau slung over his shoulder.
The Keeper was waiting for them in a small chapel at the bottom of the stairs. Several passages fanned out from the chapel, reaching deep into the mountain like the abandoned shafts of an ancient mine. Sparkling droplets of water ran slowly down the walls making the floor treacherous.
Next to the Keeper stood a young monk, his face ghostly from the pungent cloud of frankincense rising from the silver burner in his hands.
‘This is the burial chapel,’ Habakkuk explained. ‘All the Keepers and Guardians of the Ark are laid to rest in these catacombs. You will pass some along the way ... they’re in niches cut into the walls.’
‘See, I told you; it’s a tomb,’ Jack whispered.
‘Great,’ Jana said, bracing herself. She glanced at the Keeper kneeling in front of the altar, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. At last he looked up and pointed to one of the passages. Habakkuk held up his lantern and smiled. Carrington adjusted his backpack with the wooden box inside. I don’t like this, he thought, watching Habakkuk walk into the passage. If anything happens to us in here, no one will ever know ...
‘What is he doing?’ asked Haddad, following the Guardian twice around the Amd.
Zelelew shrugged. ‘A ritual ...’
Something cold touched Haddad’s neck and tingled down his back. He recognised the feeling – danger – and checked his gun.
The Guardian stopped and pointed with his prayer stick to the large flagstone marking the entry into the catacombs. Using crowbars, the monks went to work. Slowly, the stone was lifted out of the floor. The Guardian, holding the lantern high to spread the circle of light, began to descend.
‘He obviously can’t walk any faster,’ said Haddad, pointing to the Guardian shuffling along in front of him, ‘but he seems to be the only one who knows the way. I’ll stay with him in the front with Zelelew; you watch the monks ...’
‘Okay,’ replied Horst.
The Guardian stopped at a small chapel at the bottom of the stairs and looked anxiously around. He closed his eyes and began to chant.
‘What on earth is he doing?’ asked Haddad, turning to Zelelew standing behind him.
‘Praying. I don’t think he knows which way to go ...’
‘Great!’
The monks formed a tight circle around the Guardian and began to chant as well. Suddenly, the candles in the lanterns started to flicker. A draught of cool air, like the breath of a hidden giant, was blowing into the chamber through one tunnel. Smiling, the Guardian opened his eyes and pointed with his prayer stick to the passage on his right.
Dr Rosen bent down low to avoid an overhanging rock, lost her footing and almost fell. Trying to regain her balance, she found herself face to face with the broken skull of a past Keeper reposing on a rock ledge. She dropped her lantern.
‘He won’t harm you,’ said Carrington, picking up the lantern. ‘It’s the live ones we have to watch.’
‘Can you hear that noise?’ asked Professor Khalil. ‘What do you think it is?’ A distant rumble rolled through the passage from deep within the mountain.
‘Water,’ replied Jack. ‘Lots of it.’ Turning a tight corner, they reached a steep, narrow set of steps chiselled out of the virgin rock. The steps were wet, slippery and it was difficult to climb down without any hand support. The distant rumble turned into pounding thunder.
‘Up there – look!’ shouted Krakowski, pointing to the soaring ceiling with his lantern. The tunnel opened into a large cave.
‘What a place,’ said Dr Rosen, holding on to Carrington’s arm. Water gushed out of a crack in the rock high above them and cascaded down into a deep pool below. The chamber was filled with spray rising from the boiling torrent and the water disappeared in a whirlpool at the bottom. Carrington thought it looked like the gaping mouth of a hungry basilisk waiting to devour the damned. The noise was deafening.
The foaming water, racing along the polished sides of the cave, would have washed away anyone foolish enough to venture too close. They had suddenly entered an underground cathedral, thought Carrington, built by giants.
‘You must be joking!’ shouted Jana, pointing to a narrow suspension bridge strung across the steep chasm. Wooden slats, some broken, served as the walkway, and two thick, plaited ropes – one on each side of the bridge – provided the only hand support. The main load-bearing ropes holding the slats together were tied to iron rings set into the rock on either side. At its lowest point in the middle, the sagging bridge cleared the deadly water by only a whisker.
‘We must cross,’ shouted Habakkuk, pointing to the opposite side, ‘there’s no other way.’
One of the first monks to cross the bridge almost lost his balance, but then managed to pull himself onto a narrow rock ledge.
‘I can’t do this,’ complained Dr Rosen, swallowing hard and biting the sides of her cheeks. Ne
ither did much to control her rising panic.
‘It’s not too bad. He made it – see?’ Krakowski said, ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Let the others go first,’ suggested Habakkuk, ‘I’ll help you with your bag ...’
Krakowski caught Carrington’s eye. Carrington shook his head. ‘It’s all right, he can come with me,’ he said.
The Keeper and the Protector of Secrets crossed next.
‘I can take Bettany,’ Jack offered, reaching for Dr Rosen’s hand. ‘Come, just hold on.’ Jack guided Dr Rosen safely across; Professor Khalil and Jana followed.
Habakkuk watched Krakowski adjust Carrington’s backpack and smiled: the opportunity he had been waiting for had arrived all by itself. He could hear the Cardinal’s instructions: ‘Destroy the tablets. You must not fail.’ He would not fail!
‘You two, next,’ Habakkuk snapped. ‘We’ll steady the bridge for you from here and then bring the lanterns. Go. Quickly!’
‘Come on, Ben, here. Let’s sling the bag over your shoulder,’ said Carrington, helping Krakowski with the portmanteau. ‘That’s it. Let’s go.’
Krakowski stepped onto the slippery slats, tightly gripping the hand ropes on either side. The handles of the leather portmanteau cut deep into his neck but left his hands free. ‘Don’t look down,’ Carrington shouted from behind. When they reached the middle, the bridge suddenly lost tension and began to sag. The slats hit the water.
‘Look!’ shouted Jana, pointing to the collapsing bridge.
The two monks on the other side had dropped the ropes and were attacking them with knives. One of the ropes snapped, hurling Carrington and Krakowski into the foaming torrent. Carrington’s treasured hat flew off and disappeared.
The Empress Holds the Key Page 45
